Story #85 Is The Poem "A Ballet Dancer"

Story #20. "It all started with a calendar" 1/2

This is The X-Files fanfiction story.

Read it on AO3

This is not how she imagined getting into his bed. Not even close.

It all started with a phone call. No, scratch that. It all started with a calendar.

In the duo, Mulder, for all his photographic memory, is prone to being blissfully ignorant when it comes to dates. Her own birthday, not forgotten but rather celebrated in dog years, as he fairly dubbed it, perfectly illustrates an untold number of all the dates Mulder is conveniently forgetful of. Scully, on the other hand, always pays attention.

So she was the one to point at the calendar and circle Teena Mulder’s birthday in red ink. And Mulder was the one to make a face as if he bit on the lemon at her not-so-subtle inquiry if he was going to pay a visit to Greenwich.

He brushed her off, literally hiding behind a random folder and figuratively hiding behind the seemingly heavy workload, excusing himself out of that conversation. He explained later that he’d give his mother a call and FedEx her something nice. Something bright and shiny. Or something practical and utilitarian. Or something useless but obscenely expensive nonetheless. He didn’t really care. He was sure that his mother didn’t care much either. Missis Mulder and her son still happened to be at odds, and it was apparent to his partner that a nicely wrapped box with a ribbon, even with a “Love you, mom” card attached wouldn’t undo the damage. And Scully’s determination when it came to family bonds knew no bounds.

So she kept asking. And Mulder kept dodging her questions. Scully kept reminding. Mulder kept finding excuses. Right up to the moment when he found one hell of a legitimate reason to skip his mother’s birthday party (there was supposed to be a party after all, right?). A case of a teenager abducted landed on his desk, and Mulder leaped at the chance to shift his focus to anything that wouldn’t involve him in figuring out what to do with their mother-son convoluted relationship.

It was the divine intervention though that they ended up somehow in Connecticut around that fateful unfortunate birthday date to investigate an aforementioned case, and Mulder agreed to swing by Teena Mulder’s house if things went well. Not like he really wanted it, but more to indulge Scully. As luck would have it, the agents managed to solve the case in two days, which turned out to be a typical runaway, where an alien was the victim’s boyfriend, and the victim herself was abducted of her own volition.

Surrendering to the promise made earlier, Mulder and Scully drove to Teena’s place and arrived at the house in the middle of a nice family-like gathering, Missis Mulder surrounded by her peers. Good food, rich wine, lots of jokes, and laughter. Despite Scully’s concerns, Mulder felt at ease and seemed to enjoy himself.

The snowstorm came as a surprise. It was problematic to leave Greenwich then, not least because everything froze. They’d have to dig their car out, with one of them shoveling the roads clear in front of the vehicle all the way out of the state, and Scully definitely wasn’t going to let him drive in the midst of the blinding whiteness, let alone fly. Not even in the first class. Who are you kidding? She sighed heavily. Cattle-class flying is more like it.

“Well, now we have a legitimate reason to laze about.” She told Mulder when it became clear they weren’t going to leave any time soon. “I’m not sure about you, Mulder, but my circadian rhythms are terribly shifted out of whack, so I’m going to crash here,” Scully said with an air of finality. “And maybe even have a lie in. We’re not due anywhere until the storm passes. You shouldn’t skimp on your sleep either.”

The problem was that no one in Teena Mulder’s house was due anywhere. They all were stuck for the time being and there were only so many beds available.

This is how Scully finds herself standing at the door of Fox Mulder’s old room in his mother’s house in Greenwich, the one they resided in after his parents divorced, with her partner leaning against the door jamb next to her. The room is small but cozy, so neat actually that it’s the furthest from what Fox Mulder’s own place looks like these days. There’s not much furniture in there, a desk with some drawers, a couple of bookshelves, a wardrobe and a bed. The bed. The bed they’re supposed to sleep in tonight.

“Ah, Scully, you finally get to see my room,” fueled by a few glasses of Cabernet, Mulder gives her his best smile and unglues himself from his spot near the door only to hop into the bed and pat the covers in invitation.

It will be fine, Scully tries to convince herself. We go to bed, we sleep, we wake up, and head back to DC. She doesn’t want to contemplate how small and narrow the bed is and how awkwardly aroused she is at the thought of spending a night in Mulder’s arms. Hey, stop, where did it come from? It’s just sleeping. Nothing more than sleeping. That’s it. More fibs, Dana. Feed yourself with white lies.

“Could be worse, I guess. At least we don’t have to spend the night in a car.”

She has no choice but to grin and bear it. It’s not like they’ve never shared a bed before, let alone too small of a bed, but here, in Mulder’s childhood bedroom, she suddenly feels totally knocked out of the rut. It doesn’t bode well with the fact that she has it really bad for him but has no idea if the feeling is mutual. Mulder manages to get under her skin even staying in another room with a closed door between them, but she’s not so sure she can keep her walls up and her heart shut with him literally breathing down her neck.

“How are you even going to sleep without TV?” Scully asks randomly just to distract herself.

“You are my favorite box set to doze off to, Scully.” He flirts with her shamelessly and she feels how her cheeks start burning and blush creeps down her neck.

Keep your chin up, girl. But if she can’t tell him in all candor about her feelings, she at least can be brutally honest with herself. She isn’t just tired of holding back. She is tired of making the decision of holding back. Decision fatigue, they call it. Each tiny fraction of his body to hers makes her resolve waver. She can already feel how in the darkness of the night, with his body hot and impossibly close to hers, the arguments previously solid and credible become mired in uncertainty.

Mulder, a perceptive one in their partnership, seems to feel her distress and offers quietly: “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Scully immediately jumps at his rather weak attempt to protest, her voice of reason drowning out in a cacophony of thoughts and blood rushing down to her groin.

“If you sleep on the floor, you’ll feel even more groggy than before you nodded off. Come on, we are adults, we can make it work.”

“Can we…?” He asks with his voice barely audible, and when Scully lifts her eyes she sees that he’s not smiling anymore. Is it possible that he is trying to pull off that con scheme with sleeping on the floor not to save her virtue but because he actually feels something to her, something that she dares hope is as remotely affectionate as what she feels to him and doesn't want her to be uncomfortable? That's just too much for her hazy alcohol-filled brain to process right now.

“I’m going to take a shower.” Scully grabs her overnight bag and in a matter of seconds hides behind the bathroom door.

When Mulder hears the shower running, he growls in frustration and slumps back against the pillows, not even bothering to undress.

Story #58 is a super boring CPE report

Introduction

The purpose of this report is to assess the facilities of the “Garden Park” and outline a number of recommendations for improvement that would attract more visitors if implemented. The conducted investigation revealed the following. 

Stalls with food

The park has an extensive network of multicultural stalls of food throughout its area. Mainly, customers have been satisfied with the variety of dishes and beverages as well as the price range. Nevertheless, long queues during peak times might be taken into account as a possible concern, especially in respect to the atrium space.

Suggested action

The installation of several more stalls will be beneficial as it would reduce the waiting time in the busiest quarters of the park.

Bike rental services

Bike rental services are the park's primary entertainment currently available for visitors. Despite the abundance in the number of bicycles, their usage has decreased recently. It appears that the problem occurred due to the absence of electronic payment terminals.

Suggested action

I therefore strongly recommend looking into the possibility of implementing an acquiring payment system as an alternative to payments in cash. 

Playgrounds

There have been several complaints concerning the safety of “Garden Park’s” playgrounds, in particular, their suitability for infants and younger children. Some facilities available for minors are regarded by parents as health-threatening, which leads to their neglect of using them.

Suggested action

In the light of the information gathered, I would propose that we hang sign plates to indicate the age suitability of stated areas.

Conclusion

On the basis of the points mentioned above, it would seem appropriate to regard the implementation of the suggested improvements as they could increase the attendance of the park and enhance its premises for future visitors’ ventures.

(word count 288)

Story #67 is about all the would have beens in my life.

Everything changed. 

For better or worse is a pending question. 

My typical day now is more or less the same flurry of commotion as for any other teacher slash blogger. I teach Present Perfect and Conditionals, check CPE essays, attend another how to organize your language classroom webinar or let’s-read-or-write-or-watch-together club. However, unlike those multitaskers who somehow manage to tick every box on the list, I always have something in between. 

That something is kids. Every bullet point of my agenda is broken by “feed the kids,” “walk the kids,” “wash the kids,” and “do a million other things with kids.” And believe me, you better do, otherwise they will howl like werewolves on a full moon until someone finally draws a gun and shoots the poor bastards.

I could have done so much more with my life if I hadn’t had kids. I would have written the book I had been putting off for a decade. I would have designed a few writing courses of my own. I would have set up a gazillion of new projects. At the very least, I would have felt marginally less frazzled, drained and comatose.

Where’s that Jen who dreamed about driving along the Atlantic coast in a speeding red convertible, doing a Master’s in LSE and living in Belgravia right across Westminster Abbey? Does she know what my life would have been like if I had made other choices? Does she know what I would have missed?

It took me years to make peace with all the uncertainty those questions brought to my life, but I accepted the idea of only one true choice - all the roads would have eventually taken me right here, to this moment, when I’m sitting and typing that post. 

Indeed, my life is a far cry from anything I have imagined, yet it’s perfect in its failures. 

And even if I could turn back time, I wouldn’t change a day.

Story #77 is a 6-word memoir

I'm taking a creative writing course with an American specialist now, and the first task she gave us was to write a 6-word memoir.

I came up with the following:

Husband, daughter, son - my three kids.

Wanted a dog. Got a hamster.

Stories written on skin and paper.

Will is my argument, albeit flimsy.

The first one is the real me. The second is about expectations that went unmet. The third is me wanting to remind myself so much of certain things that I tattooed them on my body and put 'em in my diary.

Number four is the story that found its place between my shoulder blades written in Latin "Sic volo, sic jubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas." It was supposed to always keep me on the go, let me always be free and weightless, and be my constant reminder of all the "you can do this". Yet, it only has succeded in keeping me grounded so far. Which is not necessarily a good thing when it stops you from trying to make your dreams come true. Your biggest, most daring dreams ever.

Here I am, reminding myself again. You can do this. There's so much more in store for you. Don't ever stop.

Story #17 which is a CPE article about traveling.

That was based on a prompt that asked to describe the experience of “Traveling with a companion who spoiled your vacation”.

Imagine a pretty woman in her prime age traveling worldwide five times a year. Imagine her sacrificing tour adventures for such mundane things as raising a child. Imagine the woman jumping on a plane and flying to the seaside after three years of home-locked existence. Wasn't she all that excited? I bet she was! Well, I am that woman. 

After my long-standing maternity leave, I was finally ready to head off somewhere to dig my toes into soft ivory sand and feel the vanilla-scented breeze. I envisioned myself with damp hair sticking to my neck and sun-kissed cheeks, jogging along the beach at the crack of dawn and buying strawberries in a Styrofoam cup at the local market. The only thing dissimilar from my past pilgrimages was my infant daughter Ann standing as my travel companion. I thought ahead of everything: a hotel with high junior chairs, an allergy-free menu, and a childcare center nearby. My suitcase was filled to the brink with diapers, pacifiers, soft packs of fruit smoothies, and formula Ann was still sipping first thing in the morning. There was nothing I failed to consider. Or that's what I thought. 

Our private paradise ended abruptly on the third day. I remember reaching for Ann at night, wincing suddenly as if my hand had been burnt. I've never felt her so terribly hot trembling as if she was close to having a seizure. Next several days we would have spent in a hospital. On the 10th day, the GP gave her a clean bill. On the 11th we left for home. 

It could be argued that our situation was no more than an "unlucky" break, but there is something I have to say if you are a parent traveling with a kid. Take it easy. I bet if you try, try really hard, you’ll be able to find something good even in that seemingly terrible predicament. Good memories are priceless. For everything else there's MasterCard.

Photo credit: Marissa Grootes (Unsplash)

Story #25, which is another CPE article. Based on true events.

“It’s negative, no cancer markers found”, the doctor said, perusing the paper with dots and numbers which made no sense to me. I exhaled sharply, not realizing I was holding my breath. Like a prisoner awaiting execution. Like a wanderer praying for a fountain in a desert to quench his thirst. Inadvertently her words defined the happiest moment in my life. My child was healthy. I leaned against the wall feeling my legs going wobbly. Silent tears ran down my cheeks. Relief. Contentment. Delight. Joyfulness. Gratitude.

I couldn’t stop scrambling over my memories to the day when her words, so easily and sharply, shattered my world to pieces. It all started with medical advice to vaccinate a child. A one-year-old son of mine. Preliminary blood work was recommended to exclude medical conditions which might cause after-vaccination negative side effects. No big deal. We did it before dozens of times with my older kid. But that time some indicators in his blood turned out abnormally high pointing to organs where his body suddenly started failing him. Failing to cancer.

“It’s negative. It’s negative. It’s negative”, I kept echoing in my head time and again.  The walls of the fragile fortress of my mind were reconstructed back. Suffice it to say, the fact that my child was safe and sound was happiness in its pure form. That was a moment to treasure. The memory to cling to. Indeed, to catch these dear moments and keep them close to heart is worth doing.

To me, it was a major epiphany. One does not need to chase ethereal dreams and get on the top of their career to make every moment meaningful. No need to be married, get promoted at work, buy the latest Tesla to feel happy here and now. This day and age you are alive and healthy. That’s what matters.

Photo credit: me. My son Alex with his father, the best in the world husband. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Story #78 is a poem inspired by a 2-word prompt "I'm from"

In the box of my memories is my Granny’s garden with yellow cherries  and apples,

And a merry-go-round where I was dizzy and sick,

All those cherries - slimy white purée on my black polished shoes. 

In the box of my memories are old fashion magazines that belong in a toilet,

And brown acidic paint Mum brushed the floors with.

In the box of my memories are the solo trips of a six-year-old me through the maze of streets, 

The smell of halva I tended to buy after school

And the traces left by the sharp blades of scissors I fell onto, giving me scars and scares.

In the box of my memories are the late-night X-files reruns,

The smell of the dead in a morgue,

and 180 questions to swot for my forensic exam.

In the box of my memories is my white wedding dress, two babies breathing into my chest,

All my dreams -broken, forgotten, the ones that came true.

Let me put ‘em aside - those memories - and make more room for the things to come. 

Story #42, CELTA weeks 5-6

These two were quite intensive, but after my second lesson, I seem to catch the flow and start enjoying the process.

Week 5.

✅Teaching practice started. Two 4-hour long sessions. Not the real practice though. Just a tiny part of it, where we designed a short “getting to know you” activity, observed our tutor and under her careful guidance planned our first lesson.

✅Another live session about phonology and pronunciation. One cool insight I took from that session: phonology is actually FUNology!

✅Assignment 2 was submitted.

✅Assignment 3 returned and resubmitted and now it's a pass.

✅3 more modules on the platform.

Week 6

Teaching for real.

✅ my first lesson was reading. No big deal (ha-ha), 16 students(😱), and your typical lead-in-prediction-pre-teach vocabulary-reading for gist-reading for details-follow-up productive skills task type of reading.

It was a blast. Seriously. The tutor gave me a few suggestions, but, all in all, she said it had been a success for the first lesson.

✅ my second lesson was grammar. The Present perfect vs the Past simple. I struggled with my timing, as the MFPA analysis took longer than I planned, and I felt like I had to give them all and everything in terms of Meaning, Form, Pronunciation, and Appropriacy. It wasn’t a failure, I got “to standard” for it, but looking back at it, I’d have changed a number of things. The most valuable advice from my Tutor was - prioritize.

✅ 3 more units on the platform

✅ started planning my assignment 1, which includes an interview with one of the students👌should be interesting!

Tomorrow I have a listening lesson. I’m well-prepared and pretty confident.

✅2/8 done. 6 more to go. 2 more with my pre-intermediate group, and then 4 more with Upper-Intermediate students.

Wish me luck ✌️🍾

In the photo, things I'm going to do right after I give my last lesson 😂

Story #76. Based on the prompt: 'Surprise!' They cried, leaping out from behind the door.

“Surprise!” They cried leaping out from behind the door, and the glass of water she was holding, slipped out of her grasp and shuttered.  She bolted down to clean the mess and peered sideways at her unsolicited guests shifting from one leg to another. One of them, Tom - she recalled vaguely - tiptoed around the shards and intercepted her hand, reaching for paper napkins in the bottom drawer of the desk. 

“I’ll do that, don’t worry.”

The words broke the spell, prompting others to hurtle towards the couple on the floor. Flowers were put into vases, cake was set on the desk, candles were lit, and presents were stored in the corner of the room. 

“Didn’t mean to scare the shit out of you.”  Someone offered and the woman huffed a laugh.

She took a moment to meander around the office, gauging mentally whether she’d be able to take all the wrapped-up boxes and bouquets to her car in one go and then backed up and plonked down on the chair. A high tower of a cake leveled her eyes. 

“Make a wish,” Tom encouraged.

I’d like this day to start over, she said in her head and blew the candles.

Story #66 "You are what you eat"

A cliche that sounds like a broken record. Well, I’m sorry to break it to you, but yes, you are. 

I’ll have to go back here to explain my point. In 2014 I was diagnosed with Cholinergic Urticaria (CU). CU is a reaction of your skin to an increase in your body temperature, resulting in tiny hives. They are itchy, swollen, and they cover you from head to toe, lasting from thirty minutes to two hours. I typically got them when I exercised, was extremely stressed or while taking a hot shower.

There’s no documented cure from CU. You just have to learn how to live with it. And I did.

In February 2023, after another regular run on a treadmill, I noticed that my skin was totally fine. No red itchy bumps closing together, nothing. For the first time in almost a decade, my skin was clean. To say I was surprised would be an understatement out of proportion. I thought that NOT having my body FAILED me, was a FAILURE in itself.

Over the following days I tested it with vigorous workouts, hot baths and sauna visits. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Now, four months later, I finally believe it. 

Do I know why it’s gone? I don’t. Do I believe that my immune system rebooted and my diet was a big part of it? Yes, I do. 

It dates back to my adolescent years when I started modeling. First, it was about trying to follow the elusive 90-60-90 standard, then about fighting acne off my skin and gastritis off my stomach. Today, I allow myself to have cheat meals and late-night snacks here and there, but what you MOSTLY won’t find in my diet is

🦋gluten 

🦋sugar

🦋red meat 

🦋dairy 

🦋tea 

Over the years things like checking the labels in a supermarket and having veggies and fruit in abundance at home have become my second nature. Whether it’s a curse or a blessing, I’m totally obsessed with what’s on my plate.

I’m a great believer in the theory that our body is capable of curing itself once you create the conditions for that. So, if there’s something to cure and you’re considering where to start, start with what’s on your plate. As simple as that. Your problems might not disappear overnight, but, little by little, they’re bound to get better.