Blanche and Heinrich

Spent most of today at my place, trying to clean up and take pictures so my brother can rent out the main bedroom. Had to move all my stuff out of there to actually get clean shots — except I just moved it into other rooms. I'll have to go back and deal with all of it eventually. And honestly, I'm not excited for it. I just have so much stuff. Things from college, from high school, some of it from middle school. Boxes I haven't touched in years and don't really want to touch now.

But I did pull out some of my old notebooks while I was there. The ones from middle school, where I used to keep my creative worlds alive. I took a few pictures of them. That was the year I started The Gifted — my first fictional series, about a group of gifted individuals with special powers who could help humanity defend against natural disasters and stuff. Blanche, Heinrich, Sarah, the whole crew.

What got me, flipping through those pages, was a scene I'd written about Blanche — who, of course, was basically me. She had real power, but she was also insecure. She couldn't fully use her abilities until Heinrich reaffirmed her — until someone she trusted believed in her enough that she could finally believe in herself. I remember writing that without thinking too hard about it. I just thought it was a good plot beat. But sitting with it now, twelve-year-old me was already mapping out the exact dynamic I'd end up needing in real life.

Because that's kind of what I have with Jordan.

He's pretty Heinrich-coded honestly — INTJ, quietly steady, sees things clearly. And he believes in me wholeheartedly, often more than I believe in myself. He says it casually, like it's just obvious. It doesn't even occur to him to doubt it. Meanwhile, I'm here, often the one still needing the reminder.

I need to be grateful for that. More often than I am. I think I get caught up in the small fluctuations — the bad work day, the bug I can't fix, the random moment of what am I doing with my life — and forget to look up and notice that the person next to me is already doing the thing twelve-year-old Tim wrote into a story because he hoped someone would.

So that's the note for tonight. Tell him I appreciate him. Keep going. Keep working on the emotional regulation. Keep persevering with everything.

Yes.