sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Like...mild trigger warning for slightly irreverent emotional abuse references

Oh hey, I almost forgot.

It's been nine years since I rode up the escalators in Porter Square Station, stepped out into the snow, and felt my heart sing out


In the spring of 2007, I had applied to UMaryland: College Park, Tufts, Brandeis, Lesley, and Boston University. I wanted to go north so bad I could taste it. On March 31st, mom walked into the living room to give me the only news that could distract me from my asshole-life-sucking-abusive-boyfriend and the presence of THE GREATEST PERSON IN THE WORLD1. She had two envelopes from colleges saying "thanks but your pre-ADHD-diagnosis grades and general shiftlessness are a no go" and one big thick packet from Lesley saying "come on down, and have some free money to boot!"

Shitpickle-assface of course had to try and ruin things by being UNBELIEVABLY SAD AND UNABLE TO COPE with the fact that I was going to move to another state (god, seriously, someone go step on that guy's foot, he's such a mayobutt) but that didn't matter because a) I now had absolute and objective proof that I wasn't a completely worthless piece of shit academically and could actually get my ridiculous dysfunctional ass into college and b) THAT COLLEGE WAS IN BOSTON WOO!!!

So I moved four hundred miles north (and somewhat east) and woke up one morning to a parade going past my college and one night I was across the hall when the disco bikes rode by and I discovered SCD and was told in no uncertain terms that Davis sq was way hipper than Harvard, tyvm.

And then there was a blitz-surprise-visit to the city I loathed2 and boy that was emotionally exhausting, the good and the bad ("Veronica, Veronica, Veronica" "KAT!" *cue hugs and tears*) and I didn't sleep all that much because I was busy being raped and dumping that dirtrag-monkeystain's face and so the plane ride home was weirdly meditative.

And I walked out the big glass doors and everything was quiet and muffled by a layer of snow. And well, I'd been ~*pretty sure*~ before, that this was where I was meant to be. But that single instant...the chord it struck in me hasn't stopped chiming yet.

I belong here. As much as I may consider the idea of trying somewhere new, as much as I flirt with the thought of going full nomad and wandering a while, my heart and soul and self belongs in the area encompassed by the MBTA's subway system.

So now it's been a third of my life that I've spent living here. It's too bone-fucking cold and there are massholes making every form of transit worse than the last, and ugh Ivy-snobs and gentrification and would the friggin green line just *expand* already and gods, I just love this stupid town so unbelievably much.

(Did you know Boston is the only city in the world where you can get lost on the public transit and find yourself in Wonderland? I've always found that amazing, and you should too.)

I am home, and I am here, and I am happy.


1: Which is to say, it was the first day that mek and I were actually in the same place together, and whats-his-ass was there too because he could not let me be happy about things without his presence, I fucking swear. But this isn't a rapist post, so let's move on.

2: I have mellowed considerably in my feelings towards Columbia, but I still refuse to ever move back there. It is not a place where I feel I can Exist.

3: That was actually pretty funny, because I got right off the bike and whirled around and started stalking towards them with my full on Teacher Glare and they immediately launched into "sorry sorry sorry, our friend's drunk, he wasn't aiming at you, we're sorry!" Boys.

PostScript: Often when I write deep sorts of things, I use the eye icon to show I'm feeling contemplative. But do you know what this icon is listed as in the keywords? "Boston Sorcy". This was my "yer a college student, Sorcy" present from Skullx, and you will notice that it has the Citgo sign in the background.

I pay silent tribute to that sign every time I see it.
sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
Trigger Warning: rape/sexual abuse mention

"Oh cool, it's D_D's birthday, that's right it's December 2nd, wait isn't there some other reason I...know...that date. Oh."

Today marks the ninth anniversary of my breaking up with my rapist. Nine years is a third of my life --I can't exactly say I've spent a third of my life without him, since the post-breakup was long and emotionally abusive (we were going to stay friends *rolls eyes*), but I can say it's been an entire third of my life since the last time I was raped.

That's pretty cool.

No, not that I was raped, obviously. But the fact that I endured and moved on and survived and that I have *continued* to survive.

And it's cool that it's fading. It's cool that it doesn't break me as immediately anymore --not that I can't still get triggered, and badly, and by sometimes ridiculous things, but just remembering his name or the dates of our relationship doesn't fracture me as much. It's cool that I'm better at saying no, and loudly, and strongly.

It's cool that I own a small purple elephant patterned with jungle animals.

And it's cool that tomorrow I'm gonna go to Salem and dance some Scottish and brief and teach a dance for this form I love so much, because the ninth anniversary of breaking up with my rapist means also the ninth anniversary of starting SCD. I've said in passing (maybe in not so many words) that it was worth it. And I mean it. A life in which I was never raped, but also never learned to dance like this1 would be, I think, a poorer life.

I'm not happy I was raped, I will never be happy about it. But the person I've become is strong and sharp and brilliant and here2 and all the ways I had to learn and grow because of what he did helped lead to that.

He lost. I still love myself, despite him.

Nine years, that's pretty cool.

Here's to nine hundred more.


1: Where I never met jere7my, who is one of my deepest and closest friends, and maybe as important to me as the dance itself. That too, matters.

2: What, you expect me to do a soul-searching post of any sort without linking to this? Too bad. Good Girls Aren't Here, so if I manage to find it in myself to stop dissociating and stop being a Good Girl then I get to exist instead and society's judgement is nothing compared to how freeing it feels to be.

Trigger Warnings go both ways: rape/sexual abuse mention
sorcyress: A character from a comic about the maintenance workers of the universe, holding a thumbs up and saying "MOOP!" (Zonker MOOP!)
I had a particularly good lazy-last-day of vacation!

We had to leave the house pretty early in order to take Alys to the airport. So there was a lovely mournful goodbye as we dropped her off, but then it was time for mom, Sparr, and I to head to McKinney for ADVENTURE!

Those of you who know anything about McKinney know that the relevant adventure is hunting up just heaps and heaps of Munzees, mom and mine's geogame of choice. There was also a bit of pokemoning (I got two new 'mons, which is extra-impressive considering I'm at over 150 in my pokedex!) and lots of wandering around and just general shopping with wabbit, who met us for lunch.

(What is Munzee? Munzee is an excellent little geogame in which people hide QR code stickers around the world (mostly on the back of street signs and base of streetlamps and the like). You can scan these QR codes for points! When you scan someone's Munzee, they get points too! Points all around!!

The game is an excellent way to enhance a walk, and a very nice way to explore new cities --often Munzees will be placed on or adjacent to Interesting Stuff to look at, or at the very least, in interestingly hidden locales to find. I do like scavenger hunts, and treasure seeking and the like, and this scratches that itch quite nicely.

If you would like to play with me, by all means let me know. Especially since there's a pyramid scheme aspect where I can give you a referral code and for every n points you get, I get .01n1! I have a secret goal/plan to do some serious deploying of Munzees throughout a) my neighborhood and b) the area around the Arisia hotel before the con this year.)

So that was quite good! All the shopping was very nice as well --I got a christmas present for jere7my (in part because Order 66 had everything on sale) and a handful more action figures for myself, meaning I have FOUR DIFFERENT LEIAS! This is a pretty awesome thing. I mean, obviously Rey is still my favourite figure, and the most likely to go with me on little adventures (though of *course* I'm gonna bring Jyn to see Rogue One with me), but Leia is the Best Ever and so I'm happy to have lots of her.

Da asked why I didn't get her in the Jabba's palace outfit, and I snarked that my plan is to get her in every other outfit first, and leave that one for last. Given that I'm not actually remotely serious about collecting, and I mostly just obtain action figures so they can sit on my bookshelf and make out, I think that'll be a fine hurdle to keep Huttslaya' Leia out of my hands.

((For reference, I've had Endor fighter-pilot Leia, and today I bought her A New Hope outfit with all the beautiful white robes2 and her Empire outfit for running around Hoth. And then wabbit gifted me the end-of-Return-of-the-Jedi Endor outfit for when she's partying with the Ewoks. SO MANY CUTE LEIA'S! Someday I will cosplay them _all_!))

We came home by way of WAFFLE HOUSE HECK YEAH, and then I settled in to play some video games and generally be hella lazy. Now it is a bit past midnight and I need to go pack my bags for my flight tomorrow. Tomorrow is going to be an exciting day of dance administrative stuff, whoopee.


1: I'm not positive it's a hundredth, it may be a thousandth. But at any rate, POINTS!!

2: SUDDEN INTERESTING FEELS ABOUT THE JUXTAPOSITION OF STAR WARS AND VALDEMAR. Except let's be real, General Leia would not be a Herald. She's strong and powerful, but she's just not that kind of selfless and that's a good thing.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Today, unlike yesterday, I felt like a real person. I was able to go out and live my life --do nannyingjob, get dinner with Austein, do organizey-dance-stuff at home-- without feeling catastrophically bad about everything.

I tried to make more of a point than usual today of being friendly to the people I saw out and about. It helps walking around with the Rbeast --she's fucking adorable, and so just about everyone smiles and waves back at her. But as I tell my students whenever I get the chance, we're all we have in the world. Be good to each other.

I was doing really well writing my words, but then I lost the streak on Monday (I crashed super hard after dance) and have been too numb the last two days to even really try. Tweets and short little things are coming, reblogs and restatements are coming easily. This is the first thing I've written in three days that's more'n a hundred words though. That's okay. I can start over sometimes.

I have been trying _really_ hard to hug just about everybody I encounter, as often as I fucking can. One thing that's really nice about DansaHausa1is that I am suddenly once again living with at least one person who is happy to receive frequent touch (and whom I feel comfortable touching frequently). I haven't had that in a long time, not since I lived with Sparr2 or Ezri, really. But Laura and I stim on each other's soft clothing, and she lets me come up behind her at dance and rest my chin on her shoulder, and she'll make a point to hug me before going to bed. It's really nice.

But yeah. I'm not good at politics, or leadership, or organization, or revolution. I'm a scared little white girl3 from a well off family with occasional capitalist leanings.

But I can be nice. I can be kind.

It doesn't really come naturally to me. Between dealing with the fallout of being an abuse survivor, and dealing with the wrath that comes from being invisible and not wanting to be, I have lost a lot of my softness. When Racheline wrote "good girls aren't here4", I took it to heart a lot of ways --and one of the strongest was the understanding that if I wanted to exist, I needed to be not good, and/or not a girl.

But I can be nice. I can be kind. And the world needs some nice and some kind right now. So I'm making an effort to lock down some of the sarcasm and some of the sharp, to smile at strangers and take a deep breath and let it go every time a masshole driver does something to make me swear. It'll take work, it'll take practice, but damnit, so did learning to juggle, so does Highland dance. I'm capable of working at things that are important to me.

This is important to me.

Be good to each other, friends. We're all we have in the world.


1: The current domicile is called Dance House or Dance Floor, I call it DansaHausa, because BodaBorg. Man, I should go back to BodaBorg, it's been since like June.

2: Who counts differently, in that I can touch Sparr whenever but it's a lot more likely to be sexual at any given moment for at least one of us. With Laura, it never is --it's always just comfort.

3: I am not a girl.

4: Over three years now that I have had it open in a browser window at all times.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
I haven't given a general update on my life to y'all lately, so have one of those. Here are things in my life:

Job: About...gosh, 7 weeks ago, I began a twice weekly nannying gig for a couple friends of mine. The Rbeast is about a year and a half, and an amazingly mellow child. (That does not make caring for her into something other than work, but it does mean that it's work where I am submitted to a lot fewer decibels1 of howling than I could otherwise expect.

We spend a lot of time wandering around the streets near her house, and about equally as much time hanging out in the local library. I have gotten to know the children's librarian by name --between storytime and just generally hanging around for hours twice a week, it seemed prudent. Typically, we go for a morning visit (which lasts anywhere from 1-3 hours) where she's in charge and puttering and playing with toys and the like, and then I'll stop by in the afternoon with her strapped to my back for naptime. (efforts to induce naptime without putting her on my back and walking for a bit have been utter failures.)

It's nice to be spending time on the regular with a small child. It kinda makes me want to take steps to acquire my own, but unless I manage to acquire a breadwinner alongside it (and I am not stupid enough to think that people in my peer group can support two adults and some children in Boston on their millennial salaries), it's gonna have to wait. I tend to be pretty content with the freedom inherent in not being responsible for anyone's movements other than my own, on the whole, so my childinstincts can shut the ass up.

The other days of the week, I am back to substituting. Nominally I am looking at grad schools.

Grad School Hahahhahahahahahahahah*sob*

Dance: Okay, admittedly, part of why I don't have a lot of cycles for the above is because I'm spending a lot of "let's sit down at the computer and accomplish something!" cycles on various dance-related pursuits. I am secretary for one of the SCD committees (doing fancy nooootes...I am actually due to send some out like two days ago), running the Highland Ball in May (you will hear more about that later) and teaching the Watertown basic class for November and December, which means writing programs and talking to musicians.

So dance stuff is taking up a rather substantial amount of energy.

I'm also still plodding along with the Highland dance thing. It's still exhausting and difficult and I'm no good at it, but it's probably building character or something. I wish I could say it's fun, but it's mostly not --there are brief flashes of enjoyment through the middle of an interesting step, but the whole thing mostly doesn't feel fun.

If it sounds like I don't know why I'm doing it, well there's that. But I'm more'n two years into it now, and I've competed twice (and have the fistful of shiny medals to prove it) and I don't hate it and it's definitely good for me, so I'ma probably keep doing it for the foreseeable future.

On another foot (tee-hee), nannywork leaves me pretty close to Bluesy Tuesy, which is potentially awesome. I say potentially, because despite this, I've only managed to actually go once. Sigh. Maybe next week?

Love/Sex life: It exists! It's limping along --I manage dates with mek on the occasional (which I inevitably fall asleep during because my poor body can't handle not moving for more'n a couple hours without trying to catch up to what it needs --this sucks and I'm trying to figure out how to fix it) and dates with my sir on the different-occasional. Sparr came and visited for several days, which was _lovely_. Despite having a cold and spending substantial time in bed (hurr hurr), it was really fucking nice to have someone sharing my bed on the regular. I miss that intimacy, and don't always realize it's lacking.

I've put a lot of subconscious work into being fiercely independent which means I can live just fine without having close partnerships going on. But it's lonely, and it's probably not great for me to indulge that loneliness --I do better with people to keep me accountable.

Accountability stuff: I have a doctor's appointment on Friday and then maybe I can get more meds and I've been out for like a month and a half and oh god you have no idea how much things suck right now. It's really hard. Monday I took a pill and got allllll the things done and felt just so much more normal. Three more days, I can hack it.

On the plus side, my Habitica group has been fighting monsters on the regular, which means I have this added incentive to do my dailies called "don't let my friends get hurt because I'll feel like a tit". So I don't manage to protect them *all* the way, but I protect them as much as I can.

And that means I'm getting shit done that needs to get done to keep me at the bare minimums of functioning. Things like brushing my teeth, taking my birth control, and writing my words are all part of it. And hey, I managed to get the last two weeks of October without missing any days (I have not had a great track record lately) so that's pretty good.

This entry is probably long enough. Ciao!

sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Let's intersect some things that have been on my mind lately!

As I've been doing this character meme thing, I have come to terms with the fact that, ayep, books are how my brain does the media thing. Sometimes comics, but mostly just text. Of the nineteen characters I've posted so far, fifteen of 'em are from books or comics. (Well, okay, Zaph' is originally from a radio play but *I* encountered him first via the books.)

In the rest of my life, I have taken on a twice(ish) weekly nannying gig, running around the world with the Rbeast. She's a damn good kid, as these things go, but I still had her mother declare me "the baby whisperer" the other day when I was getting her into diper and pants and outside clothes. Which is...a pretty true thing. Like, I could be modest, but why bother when I am genuinely and seriously good with kids. Obviously not every kid every time, but the vast majority of the time, if given a chance to interact one-on-one with a small child, the child is going to come out of it liking me immensely.

So what's a character associated heavily with books and children? That's right, it's the one, the only, The Cat in the Hat.

I have owned a red and white striped hat for _years_, since before college I think. I picked it up from mum at some point, and it sits casually in my collection, to be worn on rare occasion. But tonight, for Halloween and dancing, I needed a proper costume1, 2, so I grabbed the hat and dug through my room and in well under an hour, I had a proper outfit --red tie, black vest, white gloves, and the iconic hat. I even found myself a good looking umbrella to try balancing things on.

Because the Cat is a symbol of reading, and a caretaker of children, but he is also a chaos demon incarnate, and damn doesn't that feel good. He's dapper and polite and will leave your house a wreck and your fish having an anxiety attack --except for the part where he's ultimately good and will come back and clean it all away when he's done playing.

And there's the word, play. The Cat believes in playing, as more important than just about anything else. So much of my life and who I am is predicated on playing --I mean, what is the whole "I wanna be the sort of person who dances on empty subway cars" thing if not an affirmation of playfulness. I like games and I like fun and I don't care who knows it!

So there you go. For the first time in twenty-seven years, I have gone ahead and taken the easy route, and dressed as a Kat for Halloween. And yes of course I put my twist on it, because I'm a little bit chaotic too, some days. As long as no one gets hurt in the long run.


1: I have a...thing about Halloween and reusing costumes. In that I pretty passionately don't. It's gotten shakier the last few years, as I have fewer incentives to wear good costumes (I miss trick or treating) but it's still a bit of a rule.

2: Now, I don't cosplay particularly well, but this? This is my strong suit. Find something interesting and creative to wear in less than an hour using only the contents of my bedroom? Done and fucking done! I even made myself a tail.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
It's the last day of October, and I have only done eighteen characters! C'est la vie. This doesn't bode well for me doing NaNoWriMo (which is almost definitely not going to happen, even a little bit) next month. I may work to finish the last (bakers)dozen characters over the next month. Find some closure, at least.

Anyways, let's have a small but important character: Alice Myles, the Pushcart Queen.

If you have never read The Pushcart War, do yourself a favour and find a copy and read it. It's not a very long or substantial book, and it's written explicitly for young people (as it states in the introduction, there's never been an account of this particular war for young'uns. Imagine, a ten year old child who's never even heard of a Mighty Mammoth!) It is a (fictional) account of one of the smallest and strangest wars ever to come to American soil, and it is everything childrens literature should be.

There is Maxie Hammerman, the pushcart king, who builds and repairs the pushcarts for every vendor in New York City. Later, after he has become quite a well known character, there is the battle of letters and one of them is from a young girl named Alice Myles. Alice wants to know why there isn't a pushcart queen.

((I don't think it gives too much away to say in the epilogue that an older Alice takes on some repair work of her own. It makes Maxie quite happy, as it's helping him to retire.))

When I was maybe fourteenish, there was a Christmas where my grandparents sent me and my sister absolutely beautiful nice warm quilts. Mine is still on my bed, and I use it every day. But my brother, that same year, got a toolbox with tools and by god did I complain to my grandfather about it. Why should he get tools and not I --especially not when I've always been the most engineery1 of my siblings.

For my birthday he sent me a toolbox of my own, which I still use to do basic repairs throughout the house. Because that's what's fair --that there should not be assumptions of handiness on children based on their gender, and also that when there is those assumptions, that they should be challenged.

Like I said, she's a small character, but I love what she represents: visibility. That's important too.


1: Okay, so I mean, technically my brother is, in fact, a software engineer. But I'm pretty sure I've done a significant amount more construction/handiwork than he has. We may both have the drive to find small physical problems and _fix them_, I don't know. Butyeah.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
I have been using the word "witchka" on the regular to refer to myself. It's s00j's fault, obviously, but the word is important to me. Baby witch is exactly what I am --still learning how to come into my power, nevermind that I'm a grown ass adult. Just working slow and quiet and steady for my dreams. Not unlike the finest Pratchett protagonist ever written1, Tiffany Aching

Tiffany does what needs to be done, even when it's not glamorous or flashy or fun. Because she has to. Because _someone_ has to, and well, she's the one around.

But she wants more, some days. She wants to dance through the middle of the Morris set, and allow whispered powers to help her become great. She's got a lot of power wrapped up deep in her heart, and it's wonderful to watch her try to balance that.

I may never have a Granny Weatherwax to steer me true, but I'll take what advice the books offer. I'll try and keep getting things done, not for the glory but for the pleasure of seeing them done. And I'll keep working my own magic, quiet and useful.

It's a good way to live.


1: Look, I know this probably isn't true --I've read precious little Pratchett, only maybe a dozen books. I'll get there. And I'll probably still love Tiffany best of all, to be honest.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Most people, when doing a meme about the characters they are like, if they're gonna talk about a Hermione, it's gonna be a Granger.

Most people have not read The Pirate's Mixed Up Voyage, by Margaret Mahy, and therefore do not know about Hermione Hatchett.

Of all the pirates in the crew, she's the one I've always aspired to be. Her pedantic nature extends mostly to grammar and reading, rather than math, but that's only sensible when we're talking about a Doctor of Literature. Her outfit is something I've wanted to cosplay for _years_ --because it involves spiked belts, stompy boots, and the hood and robe requisite to her title. Yeah, how many pirates do you know of who run around in academic formalwear?

And all the illustrations have her with the most lovely looping braids. Fabulous!

Her love of reading I do fully share. She catches beef with the evil Dr. Silkweed (boo, hiss!) for spending her late nights curled up reading good books rather than burgling them. And her devotion to her students is such that when they decide to go off to the high seas, she joins them wholeheartedly --and being as her introduction to Captain Wafer was to literally fight his pants off with her saber, she's a welcome member of the crew indeed.

One who steals a whole set of readers from the classroom. Just in case.

sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
It's time for another double-entry for my character meme, mostly because I'm still like ten days behind (oops). Instead of goofy-girl-movies from the nineties, I'ma focus on another theme:

Girls named Violet from series of children's chapter books who care passionately about their siblings. (So it's a specific theme, sue me.)

When I was very young indeed, I was given the first several Boxcar Children books to read. This may have been the earliest series of books I ever read --and I read a goodly number of them! Not the one hundred and fucking forty-five that are currently published, but you know. A good number. And certainly all nineteen of the "actually written by Gertrude Chandler Warner" ones.

Anyways, for those not familiar, the Boxcar Children are four siblings who solve mysteries, with very little help from their rich grandfather. There are two boys (Henry and Benny) and two girls (Jessie and Violet). They go on a great many adventures and make a great many friends! I can read one of the books in well under an hour (I demonstrated this ability to myself when I was last at the Homestead, by reading about six of them in the span of an afternoon.)

Violet is the quietest of the siblings, but once she warms up to people, she's quite good at making people feel friendly and at ease. She loves to draw and make art. And during the time I was reading the books, she (at age 10), was the closest in age to me.

In retrospect, there's a lot of the bold and brash Jessie in me (and possibly even more of the super talkative Benny), but I've always had a soft spot for Violet. She's just such a quiet delight! I'm not usually that soft, but there's a strength and power to softness, and I covet it some days.

Now, the four of these siblings have things all working out for them, starting with the fact that their grandfather dotes on them and is a bajillionaire willing to help them reach any aspiration. They are incredibly fortunate children. Perhaps even the happiest kids in the world!

Certainly the polar opposite of the constantly miserable and morose protagonists of A Series of Unfortunate Events. And ten year old Violet Alden is _deeply_ unlike fourteen year old Violet Baudelaire.

True, our new Violet also has a deep and abiding love for her family, at least what's left of it. But that's largely because there's nothing else for her in the world, besides her little brother and sister. (And isn't that just perfect, a trio of siblings patterned girl-boy-girl.) But that's about where the similarities end.

Violet isn't necessarily artistic, but she is creative and methodical --she's an Inventor (one step further than my engineering brainset)! She has a fierce loyalty to her younger sibs, and wants all the good in the world for them. She tries her damndest to remain optimistic in the face of misery.

And she's got beautiful long dark hair, which she ties back with a ribbon once her brain starts working.

ASoUE is one of the best children's series ever written, specifically because it's *not* happy. I have read the whole thing (though I really ought to do a reread, since I've only read the last few once each) and have a lot of appreciation for the weird and the hidden in the books, not to mention Lemony Snickett's *amazing* writing style and quirks.

So far my parents haven't perished in a mysterious fire, nor have my sibs and I been sent to live with our evil third cousin four times removed. Perhaps I am from the timeline where the trio of sibs gets to be happy, or at least better loved.

In case my biases have not been clear these last few days, I really love book series'. I dreadfully wish I had more time for it all.

sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
A few days ago, I voted! Early voting is a pretty cool and convenient thing, especially since on actual voting day I will be nannying, which comes with much harder hours than teaching.

Anywho, any engagement with politics brings to mind the finest comic Vertigo ever published (and no, I do not mean Sandman, although I should probably do the typical perky-goth thing and write about Death sometime), which I reread about once every eighteen months except during election years when I read it over and fucking over again. I am, of course, talking about Transmetropolitan, and turning my eyes towards the violent and virulent Yelena Rossini.

Look, I am not Spider Jerusalem and never will be and that's probably a good thing in the long run. But I am more than comfortable with the idea of being one of his Filthy Assistants, and letting his conviction and corruption run through me. Which assistant? Well, there's the tall busty one who's good at fighting and has shitty taste in men. And then there's the short, flat-chested one who writes and sleeps with Spider himself. No questions here.

Yelena starts out kinda lost. She's not sure he even knows her name, she's just here to make sure the nice journalist has enough drugs to function. But he infects her with his wild passion, and she finds herself just as determined to bring down the corruption in the oval office. It is a delight to watch her grow and fight.

Plus, coming from a upper class liberal-leaning family and going out to find your own way, even if it involves being poor and miserable a lot of the time? Dude, I've fucking _been_ there. My father probably wouldn't use quite the same language as Oscar Rossini, but I can see himself presenting his wrists to the police with a wicked grin in order to make sure The Truth gets through and makes an impact.

Also, and this is important, I love the Filthy Assistant wardrobe aesthetic. I mean, my personal style is much more witchka1 than anything else right now, but I definitely have my punk-rocky Filthy Assistant days, and I always feel marvelous and powerful when I do.

Read Transmet. Vote. Make the world as beautiful a place as you can, because there's no one and nothing out there except us. Take care of each other --or uncle Spider will shoot you with his bowel disrupter and the rest of us will laugh and laugh.


1: Though like Tiffany Aching, I prefer to be a colourful sort of witchy. Black is too dull.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Weirdly, despite webcomics being one of my absolute favourite methods of media to consume, I have *very* few characters who started life therein. Mostly it's books, which probably says something interesting and completely obvious about how I relate to text YEP.

But I had Max, who I posted about earlier, and I have Melody Wildflower Kelly. (Did you know her middle name? Do you know where I looked to find it? I'll put a postscript at the bottom if you wanna try and figure it out yourself.)

Narbonic is one of the best webcomics ever written. It's a mad science love story, and it hits on virtually every mad science trope there is, at one point or another. The main cast is four characters: Dave, the everyman computer scientist tempted by the forces of evil, Helen, the wicked biologist with gerbil-based dreams of world domination, Artie, the superintelligent gerbil originally meant to destroy the world but more interested in saving it, and Mell.

Mell who likes big guns, easy answers, and causing a whole freaking lot of chaos.

It is an active shame that I have never sought to cosplay Mell, because we share the whole dark-hair and short-skirts aesthetic. I don't talk like her quite all the time, but I've certainly let her overwhelming Mell-ness infuse my vocabulary (have you known me long enough to hear me call something ginchy?)

Mell starts as an evil intern, getting school credit for serving under a Mad Scientist because the Narboniverse is just the right kind of wacky. She isn't a genius and she's definitely not Mad (not in a universe where that's a documented disability), but she is devastatingly effective about cutting through the bullshit and getting things done. We are men of action both.

I'm not *quite* as excited by guns as she is, but I am more violent than I ever let on, and I would certainly be willing to be the athletic member of the team (note to self, talk about Parker sometime) if necessary. That being said, she's also plenty lazy, willing to let Dave or Artie do things as much as possible so she doesn't have to.

Over the course of the strip, she graduates college, obtains a boyfriend, and quietly gets things done. She doesn't share a lot of her life with her coworkers --she doesn't feel the need to! There's always a weird shock that Mell Kelly has other things going on, but that makes all the more sense to me --I understand the value of compartmentalizing, oh yes.

I think she's badass as hell. You probably should too.


PostScript: You can find her middle name (and more!) in the spin-off strip Li'l Mell! I have a strip from this hanging on my wall, from what is probably the best storyline about anything ever --The Horror of Rukavina Caverns!

(I'm really big into children's folklore, okay?)
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Today's character is a little bit of a cop-out, in that I've written about her before and fairly recently. But I don't care --I continue to have a lot of love in me for Maxine Tabitha Fae Hellenberger. And not just for her crazy bits.

Max *exemplifies* vivacity. She is not a quiet person, in any way, not with an aura that's yellow and turquoise spots. She makes friends quickly, falls in love expansively, and is rarely in the same position from panel to panel.

(This is actually a small detail that I *love* Tailsteak includes. I'm especially fond of any sequence where she's sitting on the couch and talking with other characters, because inevitably her fidgeting will result in her being upside down at some point. As someone who perches-climbs-inverts on the regular, I recognize this plenty.)

True, I'm not vegan but I understand her reasoning and her incredible commitment to consensual hedonism for all. I'm not an animal caretaker, but then again, that's *her* passion. I think she could find familiarity in the way I throw myself into dance and the organization thereof. And I am poly, and I am set up in my poly in such a way that I can do a lot of flirting with strangers, because strangers are awesome and people are awesome and how is there so much attractive in the world?

And yes, we're both crazy. I'm only on one medication (although I suppose it should maybe be more, but I'm still pretending I don't potentially have Depression), and I've never tried to drown myself when I've not had access to it, but it certainly makes me lose track of myself to be unmedicated. (This last month has been a slow sliding testament to that. I'm working on it.)

Leftover Soup ends in 71 strips. That's 27 more weeks, and then on to the next project for Tailsteak. I like that he does this, I like that he works to create cohesive and finishing narratives. But it doesn't mean I'm not going to miss getting to check in with Max once she's gone.

sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Before I talk about the actual character for today, I need to talk about a half-character. So, let me introduce you to Green-Eyed Sue

Sue gets about twelve lines, in the last third of s00j's three part Wendy Trilogy (which picks up when Wendy is on Hook's ship and told to turn pirate or walk the plank --"the story goes she told him no, but not all tales are true").

One day Wendy says to Peter, "I'd like more girls on my crew."
So Peter goes a-hunting Lost Girls and brings back Green-eyed Sue.

Green Eyed Sue was feisty, quite surly and quite sad
called Suzy Rotten by her mum and tomboy by her dad.
At the chance to be a pirate and call Peter Pan a friend,
Her face lit up, her sadness fled, and she ne'er looked home again.
She proudly followed Wendy, and she ne'er went home again.

Sue becomes first mate, as she's the first Lost Girl to live upon
the ship and give to Wendy all the spirit she can give.

and then, after Wendy declares she's ready to go home...

Nearly all the crew let Wendy know they cannot wait
But stoic stand a handful, including the first mate.
Green-eyed Sue before her captain asks to plainly speak her mind:
"It's sooner I'd lay down my life than leave this ship behind!"

"A simple life of growing up is surely not for me.
Working as a sailor's been the first time I am free.
So by your leave dear Captain, I will be a pirate still
And carry on the legacy of our Red-handed Jill!"

and as a lesson, at the very end...

Such warning fables show each mom and dad a thing or two.
If e'er your sweetling makes a cutlass from a cardboard tube,
You'll ne'er berate nor tell her it's a boy's game she pursues.
The freer that you raise a mind, the brighter it will bloom,
And ye'd rather have her home than off to join some scurvy crew

Or sail with the likes of Green-eyed Sue!

Ohhhhhh yes. Thankfully, I was blessed with parents who wouldn't dream of telling me that playing pirate was a boy's game (not when Commodore Greykell rules the Chesapeake Bay), so I never had to go off and become a Lost Girl proper, but trust me, the freedom of the sea has called to me longer than most anything else. I was already well into the pirate theme when the original Pirates of the Caribbean movie came out --you can keep your x-wings, boys, I've got a different sort of ship to sail1.

And at the end, that's the line I need. "First time I've been free" --freedom is my life force, my desire, my need. Everything from my love life to my collection of notebooks echo and reflect on my endless drive to be forever free.

So that's Green-Eyed Sue. But she's not really a character, she's only a few lines in a song2. Not like, say...

Mary "Bloody Jacky" Faber.

There are 12 books in her saga --the last of which I have not yet read3-- and they are some of the finest young adult literature I've ever had the pleasure of consuming. In the first book (Bloody Jack: Being An Account of the Curious Adventures of Mary “Jacky” Faber, Ship’s Boy), we follow Jacky as she sneaks onto a ship of the Royal Navy as a ship's boy --doubly complex since she's every inch a fiery young woman. Her series of books is some of the finest historical fiction tall tales there are to read --she rubs shoulders with Goya, Napoleon, Washington, and King George at various points. She sails the seas of China and all the way down the Mississippi, she sings and dances and acts, and she sails on every ship imaginable --navy, slavers, whalers, pirate.

Please read these books, they are so so good.

But the thing that makes them the most good is the spitfire heroine, who me. So *very* me. Even for this project, she is *exceptionally* me. Jacky is impulsive, she doesn't always think her plans through, instead trusting in her ability to improvise her way out of anything. She loves the sea, she loves her *freedom* and she's forever moving towards it. She somehow manages to inspire an overwhelming loyalty in her friends and loved ones, even when she frustrates them madly. And the flirting! Oh, the flirting!!

She is the first YA character I've ever seen who I actually had a stake in her love triangle. Mostly because Jacky's got her true love forever (and she is, of course, saving her precious maidenhood for dear Jaimy), but when he's not around, she's more than willing to have a little bit of fun with the closest bit of pretty...and not just pretty boys! It's pretty clear in a couple of them that she's willing to snuggle up with other young ladies (and I stubbornly maintain the interpretation that her and Cheng Shih were lovers, it's increasingly un-subtle as the series progresses...and yes, that is Cheng Shih as in the greatest pirate queen of all time.)

And her dreams! Oh, Jacky dreams big and wide and splendid! Somewhere around book five or six I took a step back and said "okay, this is too much suspension of disbelief that a character could have all these things happen." And then I checked my damn brain, and reprocessed and went "ah. These are tall tales. She is a folklore heroine, and therefore *of course* she's going to hang with everyone famous of the day." She has such brilliant adventures, from singer to spy, and throughout it all she's going back and forth with her costuming as to whether she wants to present as a girl or a boy. She's not presented as a trans character, not really, but she is presented as a female character who actively *wants* to spend a lot of time dressed as a boy, and not because she "has" to, and that's a very satisfying kind of queer for me to read about.

I love Jacky Faber like fire and earth. I'm probably due for another read through of her books.

I'm going to post this before it gets any longer. Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me!


1: Actually, I am one thousand percent in favour of space pirates. Someone has a little meta-fanfic they wrote for Captain Jack Sparrow and the second great Age of Exploration (which has not yet happened), and it's perfect.

2: ACTUALLY apparently she's also s00j. Like, s00j was called Susie Rotten and everything. There are some substantial reasons why I don't wanna compare myself one way or another to Ms. Tucker (although I will always feel a weird twinge looking at the cover of Tangles because UM THAT'S ME in the drawing. Most of the drawings of her don't twitch that in me, but that one, man.

3: For much the same reason I've never read Dirk Gently. LA Meyer passed away a couple years ago (may the sea keep his soul), and once I've read the last Jacky book there will never be any more, not ever. It hurts too much to consider. Someday, just not yet.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Today I'm gonna cheat and talk about two characters, right in a row, who come from the same sort of movie but are very different people. But I see myself in both of them, at least a little.

Put on your blonde and head to the valley, because we're totally talking about Cher Horowitz, from Clueless! (Don't feel bad if you didn't recognize the last name, I had to look it up too.)

Look, on the surface, Cher and I appear to be absolutely nothing alike. In the immortal words of Wicked, I am unusually1 and exceedingly peculiar and all together quite impossible to describe, and she is Blonde. But there's more to us both than the surface.

Cher is a little aimless and a little vain. She wants to do great things and help people, but she doesn't exactly know how. When things start going bad for her, her first impulse is to indulge in some retail therapy --oh sure, half the clothes I wears, she wouldn't touch (and vice versa), but both of us know the value of a good outfit on a bad mood.

Her projects often start from a self-serving place, but they are intended to help people. She listens, and tries to empathize (even with people she normally wouldn't socialize with), and she just wants everyone to be their happy, cute, best self. Oh, and she's a virgin who can't drive2.

Perhaps Cher exhibits more of my bad traits than my good, but I still can't help but see myself reflected in her ambition some days --and both of us tend to aim that ambition at places other than expected. That being said, I did successfully argue at least one quarter of 12th grade psychology from a B to an A, because I felt I should. I don't know if my parents were proud --and I don't know if they wouldn't've been prouder if I'd earned it myself.


Now while we're talking about blonde girls from the nineties, we would be utterly remiss in continuing the conversation if we didn't take a step by Katarina Stratford.

It is _so rare_ that I meet other Katarinas, let alone ones that spell their name the same as I do. So of course I took attention when I learned there was such a person in 10 Things I Hate About You. It's Julia Stiles's best role, and if you haven't seen the movie, I can't recommend it enough.

And is Katarina Stratford a similar Kat to me? Oh yes. Ohhhhhhh yes. Admittedly, I hardly ever got called into the guidance office for inducing men to kick themselves into the balls (Bobby Ridgeway deserved it, I'm sure) but I've spent the last few years honing my sharpness into something useful and dangerous. Sarcasm is a language I've always spoken, and she uses it *well*.

My parents joked once or twice about inflicting the "you can't date 'til she does" rule on me and Alys --it proved unnecessary all around (since my parents are basically cool people), but I know what it's like to have the total babe younger sister. Who I would do anything to protect, even if I don't always know how to show it.

And I know what it's like to crave independence so hard you'll run a thousand miles away to find it. I love my parents, they are really wonderful people, but I have wanted to be free of anyone else's influence since I was about twelve years old.

All that and Heath Ledger in his prime. Sign me up!


1: Completely unrelated to anything else, I like how the first three vowels in this words are all "u's". "unusually"! It has a nice type-feel to it!

2: This line hits me so hard, every time. I'm not a virgin anymore3, but I was for longer than some of my friends, and I still have all the weird and complicated around traditional intercourse. And I drive much *much* more safely than Cher does --I've never gotten into an accident, never gotten a speeding/etc ticket, or anything like that. But it still doesn't come naturally (except on the liminal spaces of highway road trips, at which point I can access magic) and I often have just a little feeling of discomfort. And heck, I didn't get my license until I was nineteen.

3: *jams out to appropriate Poe song here*
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)

By which I mean I am the world's huuuuugest wuss and so of *course* I'ma watch the horror tv series alone, at night, in a rainstorm with lots of creepy wind effects outside the house, in the dark, in a house that's not mine so is technically even creepier!

Also the set up of the TV and the windows and curtains means that I occasionally spot the reflection of the TV in the window to my right, just out of the corner of my eye, and it's just...*shivers* Noooooo. No random little whisps of movement, please and thank you.

I'm quite enjoying it! I should do this to myself more often, ideally with even creepier media! Theoretically, that's what I've done gradually over time with creepypastas. Now I hardly ever get creeped out when I read a hundred scary stories in a row HAHAHAH THAT IS A TOTAL LIE YEP.

(Actually, I haven't been reading all that much horror fiction lately. My quiet steady binges of r/nosleep and r/shortscarystories have shifted over almost entirely to r/unresolvedmysteries which is horror *non*fiction. And sometimes not-horror. To be perfectly honest, I'm most excited about the non-horror threads, just because the endless press of missing persons and unidentified bodies makes one weary.

((to say nothing of Jon-Benet Ramsey. Can we just...not? I'm really not keen on her. FWIW on other big mysteries: EAR/ONS = fascinating because serial killers, Maura Murray = died in the woods because Vermont in winter, Elisa Lam = I'm so so sorry that people are trying to make you supernatural because you don't deserve a harder death than you already had in life.))

But yes, The Max Headroom Incident is awwwwwesome, and I ought to go see for reals some Tonybee tiles sometime.)


I am four episodes in and entirely happy about it all. I like...pretty much every character thread, which is a fascinating thing to have happen in an ensemble piece. Obviously, the kids and Eleven are the best-best-best, but Jonathan is exactly my kind of awkward weird eye-candy (STOP JUDGING OKAY. HE WAS TOPLESS BRIEFLY, AND IT WAS GOOD), and Nancy is *also* suitable eye-candy (as well as completely understandable to me, even though that's not who I was in high school), and I don't hate the sheriff (which is shocking), and oh gods, Joyce is so perfectly tragic. IT'S A GOOD SHOW, IT TURNS OUT!

There are not many jump scares. Instead, I just start twitching every third scene or so, knowing that something awful is coming.

I'm probably not going to watch any more tonight --it is after one in the morning, and I shouldn't encourage myself to do terrible things with my body and sleep schedule-- but I look forward to powering through and finishing the series tomorrow. I am...not likely to read LJ until after I've finished, because spoilers.

(I am entirely indifferent about spoilers for things, until I am actively and rapidly consuming the thing at which point NO NO SPOILERS TELL ME FUCKING NOTHING! And I mean, if I could avoid knowing the length of episodes or how long they are (or how many pages I am from the end of a book) I'd take that too. Nothing objective or subjective, damnit!)

I have nothing else useful to say. If you haven't seen it, have Netflix, and like horror, you should go watch it sometime!

sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
((Yes, I'm jumping back to eight. We'll see how many more I manage to crank out over the next ten days. Maybe all of them!))

Clifford B. Hicks has a character named Alvin Fernald, who has all sorts of books and goes on all sorts of adventures. And I think Wabbit would likely write about The Pest, if she knew of these books. (A girl desperate to be thought of as a boy, to be able to do fun things with her brother and his friends).

I like The Pest too. And I like Alvin (and though my brain never quite ran the right directions, I always *wanted* to be an inventor.) But what I like most of all --and who I relate to most of all, after a weird moment of thought, is Shoie.

Shoie is not The Magnificent Brain. He's the best friend, the follower. But he's also the incredibly physical one, who burns off energy by walking on his hands or along fences. Maybe it's the ADHD, maybe it's just my own weird quirk, but I've almost always been a fairly physical person. I used to go regular with the high school gang to play blind tag at the playground, and once there, I was one of the ones balancing on the monkey bars with my eyes closed and trying to make the Leap of Faith from the slide to the entrance of the structure. Nowadays, I sublimate a lot of my "need to MOVE" into dance, but I still climb up and walk on walls instead of the sidewalk some days.

Shoie is caring and supportive of Alvin, helping him out of (and sometimes into!) scrapes. He's a good dude, all around, and I'd like to think I am able to be that friendly and that loyal. But most of all, I know full well that neither of us would be happy to live our lives sitting down.

sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Meant to write this down this morning, spent quite a bit of time sleeping through my alarm(s) instead. Well done, self.

Dream fragment: I am sitting in a chair, wearing my princess robe and nothing else. My robe is open, and I am curled up, reading a book. I am not at all concerned that I am mostly naked.

A man (who had been blocking my way with a large van, causing me to choose and sit and curl up? Who was some kind of workman, or claimed to be some kind of workman? These are early-dream details and I don't remember them) pointed his phone at me, briefly, while I was reading. I looked up in time to catch him trying to put it away in a pocket, and understood with a sudden nasty shock that he had been taking a picture of me.

The man is well bigger than I am --my waking impression was "Huh, that was Victor Dubenich1 but grimier and sleazier2" but I basically get up and shove into him, grabbing the hand holding the phone before he can put it away and clamping down. At which point I demand, without sweetness, that he go into his photo album and delete those photos, now.

He tries to fake me out (including trying to go into the ebay app, maybe to convince me that the only photos he's taken recently are of something mechanical he wants to sell?) but scrolls through his phone and eventually gets to the right app. He seems quite scared of me, even though I'm half his size and underdressed --he tried bluffing that he didn't have any photos, but I clamp down harder, digging my nails into the side of his thumb, and it is revealed that he has, in fact, taken four creepshots of me. I may have threatened to punch him in the head, or murder him, or something in between. I don't recall exactly.

I woke up right after confirming that he had the photos, so I didn't get resolution that he'd deleted them, but I've no doubt they'll be gone. And if he didn't make them gone, my dreamself would've quite ended him.

It was a very empowering dream! I like that kind of creeper-dream, where I am in full command of myself and I will destroy you for damaging me.


1: Okay, fine, Saul Rubinek, except I'm sure Saul's a totally nice Hollywood guy, and Dubenich is a classic -*the* classic- Leverage asshole villain. I definitely don't wish to tar him by my dream filling him in for "eh, kinda scummy working class dude?"

Unrelatedly, apparently Saul Rubinek played the rabbi in "Oy Vey! My Son is Gay!!", which I have never heard of and _must watch_ because what? Thank you IMDB.

2: This word very much feels like it should be spelled sleeze instead. Sleeze just feels/looks sleazier than sleaze.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Biking through Medford (which seriously, of all the little townships around here, Medford is definitely the one with the most shouty-assholes in it...and it is *not* where I spend most my time!) and I come up to a T intersection. I'm on the part going straight, with a blinking yellow "yield" light. There is a road that goes off to my right.

I slow, because there's a truck turning from the lane going towards me into the road-to-my-right. Then I go on through the intersection, because that's how bikes and roads and "yield" works.

As I pass the turn-off road, a man shouts at me from behind "LOOK BOTH WAYS!". A quick glance shows he is in a pickup truck, that has turned from my lane into the road-to-the-right, and he is glaring at me.

And just...what? Like seriously there, what? I have gotten the occasional fair criticism before1, although not often since I am pretty good at following rules of the road2. But what on *earth* was he trying to get me to do? I was going straight. I was going straight through an intersection. I looked to make sure the other road didn't have a car coming. I didn't look the other way to check if there was a car coming from there because there was a sidewalk and houses and I'm not really keen on that sort of weird paranoia.

My only guess is that he wanted to cut me off by turning right directly in front of me, and was angry that I didn't look behind me and see that he was signaling his turn. not my job? Like, if he had pulled up beside me (which he technically legally couldn't do, there wasn't a bike lane there, although the road was mostly wide enough), I probably would've been aware of his presence and might've glanced to check for a turn signal. But mostly, I was focused on going straight, legally, through the yellow flashing light.

My only other guess is that he's some kind of time traveler or something, and this was the quickest way he could think to impart a grave warning. So I suppose, for the immediate future, I will be looking both ways. But still probably only when it makes sense according to the street layout.

Fuggin cars3, man.


1: I'm still a little annoyed at the pedestrian, who I gave space to and waited for them to cross the street in front of me, who turned and snidely informed me that "red lights are for bikes too." Yeah, jerk. I know I ran the red. Because when there's a pedestrian light (and I am aware of pedestrians and let them have right of way, like I clearly was) it is safer for me to get through the intersection and out of the way, than try to play "who can accelerate faster!" with the cars. He was technically right, but clearly doesn't actually understand realistic expectations or logistics of bicycles and I wouldn't be so miffed, months later, if I hadn't first made a point of giving him space.

2: I'm not a speed demon and I don't run red lights *unless* I have the aforementioned pedestrian walk light. And I look out for cars turning right when I do. But I don't go the wrong way down one-ways, and I wear my helmets and my reflective-vest and my lights and I am about as safe as a bicyclist can be in this city.

3: I find myself occasionally amused/fascinated by my disconnect between "cars" and "drivers". I am much more likely to impart blame to the former category, which is ridiculous, as they're just dumb animals following directions. The car is not the one doing anything wrong, and yet...


Oct. 17th, 2016 05:35 am
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Apparently when the heat gets turned on, my room gets amazingly warm.

Like, I woke up (admittedly after having slept next to Sparr, who is the warmest boyfriend) and was just lying there on the bed, sweating and unable to cool down. I'm really quite impressed!

Anyways, here are some things that have happened since the last time I actually managed to write my words:

*I came home from the wedding! Yayyyy for visiting Kateface, for late night drives, and for hitting up all the rest stops for Munzees! (Of course, I shared my meager accomplishments with mom who retaliated by pointing out that she'd had a 14k day. There are some small advantages to living in Texas, and being near the start of Munz is one of them.)

*I spent Columbus Day doing basically nothing. I think my total sum accomplishments were bringing my luggage inside from the car. Not unpacking or anything, just physically bringing the bags up to my room. This was not great, but I do deserve an emotional day of rest, right?

*I was hit with the most exhausting and draining cold I have had in a *long* time. This involved a significant amount of snot coming out of my face (Ughhhhhhh) and an equally significant amount of sleeping. Just...most of what I've been doing for the last week is sleeping as much as possible while still going to work.

*Then on Thursday! Thursday when the cold was basically peaking, in terms of misery! Thursday when I went nannying for Rbeast! I finished nannying and found that my parked bicycle had been smashed all to bloody hell and just UGHHHHHHHH. I am unthrilled.

(Okay, so, the back wheel is unusable, but the frame might have escaped damage --I'm going to take a closer look today, and send all the relevant photos and stuff to my mechanic.

Also, I called my renter's insurance to be all "I know you don't handle this but..." and their response was "no, actually, that's a hundred percent what we handle." So that part's good. Either my bike will be less damaged than my $250 deductible, at which point I may choose not to use insurance and may do just in case of other emergency, or my bike will be smashed way the fuck over my deductible (if there is serious frame damage) at which point USAA is buying me a new bike, and that's pretty kind of them.

Yeah. Fucking hit and run car assholes can rot.

*Anywho, I have not yet called my mechanic in part because I know damn well he's off camping in the woods in Connecticut this weekend, but mostly because late Thursday night...Sparr arrived!! He's been visiting all weekend for what is probably the most chill weekend we've had together since we lived in the same place. It's been just days of stretching out alongside and atop each other, playing video games and chatting and showing each other things.

That's a thing I miss a lot. I miss the sex, and I miss the body warmth from sleeping alone (although see above note about having awesome insulation in this house --although we'll see if it's the same effectiveness when I am not leaving the door closed full time to keep the cat out) and I miss a million little things --I miss him, certainly-- but I miss just having someone around to be easy with, to do parallel play with while cuddling. I should cuddle my roommates more, Laura doesn't seem adverse to physical touch and Triona encourages it.

We went out for lunch on Saturday and ice cream on Sunday, we hung with a handful of people I quite like and don't get to see much (Kas! Al!), and Saturday night we went candlepin bowling --me for the very first time. This involved hanging out in a completely different social setting with a sometimes work-friend of mine (who has a secret different name when he's doing this sort of thing that I don't always remember). It was cool! I suck at candlepin, but not any worse than I do typical bowling, and my arms hurt less the next day. (Managed to substantially twinge my left hip though...)

This weekend I also met a nice woman going through a shitty time who is going to be our new housemate --it sucks that she is dealing with a separation/divorce, but weirdly convenient that it's happening just after Triona decides to scramble.

So that's me! Feeling better, and able to start throwing myself back into doing my habitica tasks and the like. Tuesday upcoming is the Boring Dance Meeting, and speaking of dance, I have to program November and December's beginner classes and social hours.

Be well, friends!


(postscript: I have not forgotten about the character meme, and do plan to get back to it and maybe even catch up on the backlog. Just...not tonight.)


sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Katarina Whimsy

December 2016

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