sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Trigger Warning: Self injury

Learned a new thing about myself tonight. It is a thing that is important enough that I need to write it down. Writing things down makes them true. (Or at least, it confirms their truth, if they are a thing that is already true. I do not believe things until they are in text, not really.)

If I reach a point where I am going to start crying, at a place where I do not want to cry, it is more efficient for me to work out squares1 in my head than to dig my nails into my skin. It distracts me more effectively, and takes me more rapidly away from whatever is causing distress than self-injury does. Which is fascinating, since my number one use2 of self-injury has traditionally been "I want to cry but am not in a space where that would be okay".

(I have previously written more about me and self-injury here and here. Pretty much everything there holds true, despite being almost four years old.)

I have used nails to stop myself crying a lot. I have used the press of a thumb in the small of my throat. I have used my teeth sometimes, little nips at my hands and wrists3. All of them work, in their own ways. Which is to say, they keep me from crying. But they don't really take me away from the pain or exhaustion or whatever negative thing is throwing me off at the moment.

Distraction does.

I have tried in the past to distract myself with humour5, but even things that always make me giggle are fleeting distractions when my brain is that kind of crumpled. Computation? Computation requires more active thought out of me. I only have the first 16 perfect squares memorized, I am trying to get to the first 256, and working them all out is a fantastic way to occupy my mind.

I don't think this will stop me from sliding my hands up under my sleeves when I hit the wall, and it definitely won't stop me putting a hand around my neck if I want to still myself, but it will maybe work as a faster second step. And there's a nice usability to it --if I get good at all the squares, I can do cubes, or convert numbers to different bases, or find the prime factorization of the current time. Tiny mathy mind-puzzles to distract me from the distress at hand.

And then, where there's space and a place to write, and no one else around, I can process at my leisure. Is good plan.

~Sor
MOOP!

PostScript: I don't know a trick for cubes or higher powers, but here is a nice trick for finding what n-squared equals, if you know what n-1 squared is:

n2 = (n-1)2 + (n-1) + n

BECAUSE!

Say you have n sets of n items (a total of n squared items). If you add one more set of n, you will have (n+1) sets. If you add one more item to each set (including the new one), that will be a total of (n+1) additional items. You will now have (n+1) sets of (n+1) items each, or (n+1) squared!

EXAMPLE:

I know that 13 squared is 13 sets of 13, or 169. I add one more set of 13, giving me a total of 14 sets of 13. I add 14 more items (one more to each set), giving me 14 sets of 14.

132 = 169
+ 13 = 182
+ 14 = 196
= 142

I like math.

1: Squares as in a number multiplied by itself, not MWSD figures.

2: In fact, my *sole* use of self-injury. I have Alis and I have the weight of years and I have a lot of everything that keeps me from fucking it all up just because no one can see me. I only ever self-injure where people can see me, and I find that fact fucking hilarious. See also (TW: Rape)I have a dark sense of humour.

3: To the point where it is canonical that fictional!Sor4 has a network of tiny scars all over her hands from where she has bit herself and made her hands bleed. They don't come up often, but f!Sor is far less stable than I am, and so they're there.

4: f!Sor is not a character I write about very often anymore, which is a shame. She is from a collaborative storyworld I was part of in college. The group fell apart, but Snowtown lives on.

5: Things that are always hilarious: French ghosts (le boo!), n [animals] in a person suit, and this SMBC comic.

6: 16 and 25 are both perfect squares, which I find awesome, but that's not why I chose those numbers --16 is easy because computers, and 25 is already locked in pretty thoroughly because...powers of five? I don't know why 252 = 625 is quite so ingrained, actually.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
At 6:56 this morning, I finally dragged my bleary ass upright. I have found checking my email early in the morning can help jumpstart the "actually awake" part of the day, so I glanced at my phone.

Just 7 minutes prior, Julie Parr had sent me an email with a subject line of "Unit 2/3 Results". Oh gods. I always thought I was going to be the last to know, that they were going to come while I was at work and not able to check my mail. I never dreamed I'd be the first to see 'em.

And I read the email...and it doesn't matter what it said, because I am only one person out of a team. The thing that matters is that my brilliant and talented dance-sibs made it, not me.

***

(An aside that I find fascinating: I have been having serious brainweasels about the fact that I have seemed to myself to be far more mean then I would like. It's not a matter of girl socialization per se so much as a wish, a desperate wisk, that I were a better hufflepuff. Being as I have been worried by this latent capacity for brusqueness in myself. (not cruelty, never intentionally cruel, but I have been impatient and more efficient lately than nice --some would find it admirable, I am not sure it's a change for the better, even as I recognize that nice should only be a baseline and is not as important as kind.)

So it was unexpected, and deeply reassuring, to realize that my empathy was in force in such a capacity as to make it actually impossible for me to think about my scores. All my anxiety and hope and fear and crossed fingers and whispered prayer (St Genesius, pray for us) was bound up in THEM. My classmates, my team, my family, my nakama. My own scores are irrelevant as long as THEY made it.

The depth of emotion I feel about this is astounding to me. If you ever wondered, I am not a sociopath. (If you've never wondered, suffice it to say I have.))

***

So there we go. Just short of 7 AM, I've pulled out the real keyoard (too important to type on the phone) and sent off the first email in the "congratulations/commiserations" thread. And then the hard part: Waiting.

At 9:30 AM, I'm standing in the copy room as the RISP whirrs. I check my email again.

All of us.
All five of us.
Both units, ten total exams out of ten, perfect score. We all made it.

I want to cry, and I don't, because that would be hard to explain even as a good thing what with the red eyes and runny nose. I also want to jump for joy, and I do because dear goddess, I am so happy and pleased for this and I've never really let the presence of other people dictate my reactions of happiness. The teachers standing by the main copier do not seem to notice, anyways.

We passed. We all passed. There are five new level one teachers in the Boston branch and they are us!

***

Every
Other
Saturday
For
Eight
Months
We hauled our collective asses to Stow, and if you're local and thinking "that's so far!" oh honey, Connie drove down from motherluvin' Burlington VT! Stephen and I had the short commute, "only" an hour each way to bracket our five plus hours of dancing.

In the weeks between those Saturdays, we read and read and read and read and wrote lesson plans and talked our dances and sent each other snarky texts and practiced our dancing at our own weekly classes --o gods, did we practice.

Hit your thirds, more extension, sink and surge, THIRDS, hands up, hands in, hands relaxed, DON'T LOSE THOSE THIRDS, turnout from the hip, lift from the ankles, tuck in the tuchas, you're still hitting third position, right?, make eye contact across the circle, cover across the set, smile at your partner, and don't forget this is fun, look like you're having fun!

(it was fun. It was also intense. The two states are not mutually exclusive.)

Maybe sometime I will scan and put up the weekly quizzes Gregor wrote for us, every week talking about more figures and our 12 candidacy dances to perform and how to teach better and dance better and BE better. They remain ridiculous, so much of the work remains ridiculous, but every single one of us passed and I can't speak ill of our training, not with that in mind.

I have not been so proud of myself since I realized I knew how to juggle. I am so, so happy words can't even say that our little congratulations party is going to be only that when we have it. I am looking even more forward to ESCape than previously, because daaaamn, we're all gonna be there and it's gonna be *great*.

I'm a certificated dance teacher. Fuck. Yes.

~Sor
MOOP!

(Of course, this is only my level 1, there's still 2 years and two more units before I get my level 2 and full teachership. It's okay, it'll come. I've been spending way too much time this week hyperfocused on the future. It is nice to think just about being happy with the present for a little while.)
sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
I don't seem to have ever actually written this story down before, although I tell abridged versions of it relatively often. So here, have the explanation of how I started Scottish Country Dance.

My first semester of college (fall 2007) was a pretty great time. I was making new friends, reconnecting with old ones, and spending a lot of time just wandering around and exploring the world. You don't know what freedom is until you've moved six hundred miles away from home.

One of the people I was spending a fair amount of time with was my friend MagusMarc. He and I had met about three years prior, at Origins, chatted online for a while, lost track of each other, and remet at Balticon '06. From there, we were talking regularly and became pretty good online friends. When I moved to Boston, it turned out that he lived just about a mile away from Lesley. He was my only local geeky friend, and one of my only adult friends, and in general a nice alternative for when the college kids got too immature or mainstream for me.

As it got towards Thanksgiving, my computer was starting to act up a little bit. I assumed nothing too bad was going on, and when Mr Belm picked me up (I stayed the night after Thanksgiving at his place) he offered to run some computerwizardy on Seren1 for me. The computer proved to be more a challenge than he could endure, and so I left it with him on Sunday --he let me borrow his clamshell2 so I'd have a computer for school, and agreed to take Vera off to the mac store.

On Monday, I was out and about with some college friends, when I received the phone call from Dave. Seren's hard drive had self-destructed There was no chance of getting _anything_ off it, and the drive would just have to be replaced.

I was devastated.

I had gotten the laptop at the end of August. I'd been using it exclusively for three straight months, and everything, everything, was gone. All my photos, all my bookmarks, all my college work, all my writing, and most importantly, Behind the Walls version 2.0. My diary.

Since we were in the area, I politely excused myself from Dominik and the twins. I walked to Marc's house, and knocked on the door. "Distract me?" I whimpered, recalling other times when he'd been good enough to give me comfort.

"Well, I'm going dancing soon." he replied, and that made perfect sense to me. I went along with him, to Scottish Country Dance, and had a good enough time of things (despite having the worst possible shoes). And that might have been it. Except.

On Wednesday or so, I got my computer back with a shiny new hard drive, and a surprise external drive (early Christmas gift). I named her Vera Serenfreude, based on Dan and Tho's suggestions. She is a wonderful wonderful beast, and even if she's getting old and cranky, thank god she's managed to get old.

The following weekend, I went home to Maryland. There were several goals for this visit --surprise mom, surprise Veronica, go see Rocky Horror and the LRHS play3. There was also one major thing that happened that hadn't been planned --I broke up with kSatyr, who I had been dating for about ten months at the time.

From noon Sautrday to noon Sunday I spent equal numbers of hours crying and sleeping.

I believe the actual number is something like "three"

BtW 2.1, 2December2007

So Monday I was back in town4. and I again show up at Marc's. I tell him what had happened, and I ask. "Distract me?"

From then, it was a tradition. I danced three weeks of December, went home on break, and came back and danced every week after. I kept dancing even after Marc stopped being able to make it, even after he moved away. I've dragged as many friends as I could (and Tricia and Jesse both _stayed_, at least for a little while!) and don't intend to stop. Due to Scottish, I've found two partners, gone to one con, and eaten slices from *way* too many cakes.

It's been four years now. It's one of the things I enjoy most in the world. And while I hate that the impetus had to be a tragedy, because those tragedies led me to dancing, they were absolutely worth it, every bit5.

Cheers.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: "Don't you mean Vera?" Keep reading.

2: one of these. I still want one _so bad_. Such a comfortable laptop!

3: Unfortunately the only one I made after I had graduated LRHS. I feel bad about that.

4: And my arrival back in Boston is a different strong memory --the first time my heart ever sang out that I was Home.

5: There are parts of the story that I never tell, but that you might know anyways. SCD, and everything and everyone I've gotten from it? Yeah. Yeah, they're worth that too. Every. Single. Fucking. Bit.


(Apologies to anyone who saw this twice --it didn't want to crosspost)
sorcyress: A character from a comic about the maintenance workers of the universe, holding a thumbs up and saying "MOOP!" (Zonker-MOOP!)
Some notes on Little Aliens:
Little Aliens go "bleep" a lot, making them aurally indistinguishable from certain models of robots. Luckily the two are visually dissimilar --you can recognize a Little Alien by it's wide eyes and mouth, green skin, tentacles, and abnormally long tongue. Additionally, they hardly ever clank, making it difficult for all but the least observant of researchers to confuse the two creatures.

As Little Aliens do not have hands in any traditional sense, they have some difficulty manipulating objects around them. They have a weak sense of touch, but a very strong sense of taste, strong enough that they can pick up some small amount of psychic data from licking sapient beings. Researchers are still looking for an explanation for this phenomenon, and while some skeptics hold out that being able to taste thoughts is frankly impossible, it is the common opinion from multiple different studies that sometimes the greater galaxy creates creatures that are frankly impossible.

Little Aliens thrive on happiness, and tend to behave in a nurturing manner to any creature they encounter, unless hungry. A hungry Little Alien is a sight to behold indeed --until it has eaten its fill, it will gleefully devour each and every living creature it encounters, regardless of toxicity or deliciousness. Hungry Little Aliens are easily recognizable by the red glow that gets into their eyes. Luckily, their hunger cycle occurs only once every six Typical-Earth-Lunar-Cycles (TELCs), and on a very regular schedule, making them easy pets.

They can be taught various sapient languages, but do not tend to progress past simple phrases. They communicate with others of their species through various maneuvers of the mouth, teeth, and tongue, and two Little Aliens having a long conversation has been observed to be quite similar to certain courting behaviors of other sapient races.

The courting behaviors of Little Aliens are widely varied, as they are one of the few species in the galaxy almost totally indiscriminate about partnering choice. They remain largely infertile across sapient boundaries, creating few cross-species, and do exhibit a tendency for pink-bodied beings of all species, though the preference seems to be minor.

They get no nutritional value out of Jell-o, but have been shown to be abnormally fond of it. Which seems about right, as most sapients get no nutritional value out of Jell-o, and yet it is still one of the single best selling food-products in the Greater Galaxy.

Some notes on Giant Sea Slugs and Hot Space Babes:
The Giant Sea Slug is a hibernatory form of your typical Hot Space Babe. Being as Hot Space Babes require more than average amounts of heat to survive (hence the "hot"), when their core temperature drops, they create a cocoon around them, typically made of cloth, pillows, and space debris, in which they hide until their core temperature returns to something more approaching normal.

A hibernation can also be triggered by a sudden drop across the surface temperature of a Hot Space Babe. These hibernations tend not to last as long, and can often be witnessed as overnight events, rather than season-long. The shell of the Giant Space Slug in this instance will often be made of less warming material, and portions of the more typical Hot Space Babe anatomy may still be recognizable outside of the shell.

It is rumoured that one particular subspecies of Hot Space Babe has a different hibernatory form, this one known as a Magnificent Sentient Hottub rather than a Giant Space Slug. Magnificent Sentient Hottubs have the unique distinction of being one of the only hibernatory forms in the greater galaxy to host multiple creatures --four is not an uncommon collective, and there have been alleged reports of even greater numbers. The Hot Space Babes with this particular hibernatory form often seem less reluctant to return to their more typical selves.

You can recognize a Hot Space Babe by the fact that they often keep tinsel in their hair. Allegations that this is used for the purposes of wicked deviance will be met with giggles, and perhaps a murmured invitation to come back home and play with their magic wand.

Under no circumstances should you go home with a Hot Space Babe and play with its magic wand.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
This isn't going to be every post. It's just going to be a handful of important posts and snippets from the last twelve months. Ayep.

2010 in Review:

January

*I took a Big Step and told my mom one of the big bad secrets in my life. She was cool about it. (Filtered post)
*I made a post detailing the songs of 2009 that I had found particularly affecting. (Yes, I'm going to do it again this year, but it's pretty much just going to be "Bad Romance" written sixteen times or something.)
*I wrote about meeting one of the minor goddesses in my world
*I went to Arisia

Offjournal, I started dating Sparr (Arisia was our first date).

The next eleven months are under here! )

I'll try and do my traditional year-in-a-sentence at some point in January, but I currently have Marc over, and the number of people (distractions!) in my life is just going to increase over the next week or so. eep.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: There is no one. Nothing leads to this note. Sorry.

2: I do not usually have a very good sense of what posts will be a hit and what will not. But every comment I got on this (on the post or elsewhere) was good, and there were a lot of them. I feel it was one of my better writing accomplishments of the year.

3: I would like to keep a central collection of links to public entries my friends and I have made about dance, gender, and costume. I already have a personal version, with links to some private posts. If you are okay with me posting a link to your words, or have a public writing on the subject you think I've probably missed (hint, most of them), let me know!
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
The other night, after dancing and hanging out with the roommate and eating Berryline (mmmm, pumpkin pie flavour), and picking up my bags and walking to the Harvard T-stop, I found myself in an interesting place.

That place was standing in the middle of a subway car, with no more than about six other people, scattered throughout. And that place was with my ipod on, and listening to music, a thing I have not done a lot of lately.

And when the bouncy music started, I looked around the subway car and dropped my bags on an empty seat.

And danced.

I danced like an idiot, bobbing to the music in my head, piped in through my broken little earbuds. I twirled and hopped and one-stepped and stamped, and found myself grabbing and rebounding from pole to pole. I danced like an idiot, flailing about in a most excitable manner, doing something best described as "rocking out".

And I got some odd looks from the other subway patrons, and I got other odd looks when I transferred to the silver line and found enough space to do more of the same (though there was also the man who smiled at me, when I glanced at him between thrashing to Bad Romance) but you know, I will take all the odd looks in the world. Because who cares if it gets me odd looks --I made a choice about the kind of person I wanted to be, and I am incredibly happy about which I chose.

Namely, that you can be the kind of person who wants to dance on the subway, and does, or you can be the kind of person who wants to dance on the subway, but doesn't. And oh sure, sometimes there will reasons you can't --it'll be too crowded, or the music just won't be right-- but all in all, I am incredibly satisfied with who I am.

Because however else I exist, and however else I feel about myself, I love myself when dancing, and always will. I've been dancing by myself behind closed doors before too long. It's time to stop worrying that other people will judge me for something that brings me joy. Fuck 'em.

I am the kind of person who, when she wants to dance on the subway, does so. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

~Sor
MOOP!
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
A play, in two acts, with far too many inanimate objects as characters.

Dramatis Persona:

Me: Your lovely heroine
Jackie: An ipod, with a docking station that works as a good little set of speakers/alarm clock
Magikarp: A telephone, and my primary clock and alarm clock.
Tadius South: A TI-83+ calculator

Act 1: Last night

Magikarp: Bee-tee-dubs, it is late, you might want to sleep.

Me: Blug, fine. Hmmm, now when do I want to wake up? Oh, I know, ten! Ten is a good number. Ten is plenty of sleep. Ten is time to get things done before class, like math homework, and that ELL project.

Magikarp: I am good! I know when ten is! *sets alarm*

Me: Oh hey, I should set a music alarm, because music is excellent!

Jackie: Is it 2000?

Me: ...no.

Jackie: Um...is it February?

Me: ......no.

Jackie: How about one in the afternoon? Is it one in the afternoon?

Me: .........Okay, you know what? I don't feel like fixing your temporal difficulties right now, so I'm just gonna add the same number of hours to your current time as the number of hours I added to Magikarp to get an alarm at ten. So, it's two now, so....six hours!

Jackie: I can do this! I can wake you up in six hours! It'll be awesome!!!

Me: ...yeah, kay. *zzz*

Act 2: This morning

Jackie: DAYLIGHT IS AN AWESOME SONG, RIGHT?! YOU'RE AWAKE AND HAPPY AND STUFF, RIGHT!?

Me: Auuguuguguuuuuuuu shutupshutupshutup.

Ria: Mrrmrmmmphzzzzzzzzz

Jackie: *sniff* you don't love me, do you?

Me: No, not at ten in the morning, no. Teeth brushing!

Me: *while in bathroom* Ohcrapohcrap, I forgot to turn off Magikarp, and he is probably going off and annoying Ria as we speak! *rushes back to room*

Magikarp: zzzzzzzz

Me: Oh good, lucky me!

Magikarp: Bee-tee-dubs, it's like...eight in the morning.

Me: wtf?

Magikarp: Seriously.

Tadius: 2+6=8, dumbass

Me: ...*palm -> face*

Tadius: Also, how do you solve inequalities with negative numbers in them?1

Me: ...we are no longer on friendly terms.

Tadius: Neener.

Me: *is too awake to go back to sleep*

Me: FINE THEN.

Me: *punishes Tadius by doing lots of stupid extra work on him for maths instead of doing the problems in her head*

Stomach: Bee-tee-dubs, hungry.

Me: Wevs, we can wait until lunch like usual.

Stomach: UM. FOOD PLACE. ACTUALLY OPEN2. FEED ME.

Me: ...Ah! Lemme make a quick livejournal post then!

The end!

~Sor
MOOP!

1: I refuse to admit this story actually happened, as it's astonishingly terrible for someone hoping to get a math degree. You can ask Sparr, he is positively gleeful every time he tells it.

2: Food place normally closes for breakfast at ten, and opens eleven for lunch. I tend to aim for lunch most days.
sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
In this entry, I talk about flowers. )

Bouquet

These are the flowers I own that will not die. I look so honest, because it is a collection I do not tell people about. Most of them I found, or bought, or begged all on my own, because I like flowers that do not die, and not because they are a proof of attention. I like them because they are beautiful and strong. The world needs more of that intersection some days.

~Sor
MOOP!

ETA: See also Number 6
sorcyress: A character from a comic about the maintenance workers of the universe, holding a thumbs up and saying "MOOP!" (Zonker-MOOP!)
So, there was J. Cannibal's Feast of Flesh, which involved burlesque and horror and zombie costume contests, and a simply terrible (yet really good at it) horror movie called "Night of the Creeps". And the movie had enough jump moments that I told jere7my that he should be a gentlemen and ride me home, just in case I got attacked by alien slugs that move like rats.

We arrive at my house, and are standing outside for a bit talking, and like happens sometimes with jere7my, somehow he manages to lead or I manage to admit to something that is awful and wrong and weird about myself, and I wind up curled against his chest, crying as quietly as I could1. We're like this, my brain whirling and trying to process, and this soft voice just starts with "excuse me?" and there's this lovely young woman standing there, looking cold in a sleeveless dress and hose and heels.

Her name is Patricia, it turns out, and she lives not far from me. And she was having the craziest of nights (I told her I could relate), and had lost her keys, and her phone was dead, and she just couldn't get into her apartment. Luckily, she had left the back window open, for air and temperature stuff. Unluckily, the window was set about eight feet off the ground, and while she had a tentative plan --see if there was anything in the dumpster to use to climb on-- she wasn't exactly dressed for it, and she really just wanted to brainstorm ideas with anyone else, to see what could be come up with.

jere7my gives her his coat (for temporary use!) and I give her a smile and suggest that I am much better dressed for the climb, and besides, I like climbing things. Patricia, apologizing all the way, leads us around to the back of her building, where indeed there is her window, tucked away and open to the world3. jere7my gives me a boost, and I scramble through, meaning that I have officially gotten to break into a house, which is seriously the coolest thing I've done all month4. Patricia and jere7my walk back around to the front door, I unlock her door and open the door to the building for them, and she thanks me a million times, declaring me Spiderwoman.

Now, this is the sort of thing I do because I am a girl scout and a gentleman and an all around decent person, and this is the sort of thing I do because she is a human and she needed help, and I could provide that help. Normally, I would never think of a reward, and I certainly didn't do it for such. But as she gave me a hug, relieved as I've ever seen someone, she told me that she had to bake me a loaf of bread sometime, and insisted on getting my contact info. Hell, I'm a college student, I am not allowed to argue with free food (and I told her as much), and so not only did I get to break into a house, with the owner's blessing, but I am getting a loaf of bread for the privilege. Definitely the best thing I've done all month.

And as we rounded the corner to walk away from the house, there was that moment where I could tell things would be said, regarding where we had been when the saga had begun. I whirled on jere7my --"Not. One. Word!"

He laughed, and pointed out that not only am I awesome, I am so awesome that when he alone can't convince me of that fact, the universe itself will step in, and provide me with a damsel in distress to save.

There's a big damn smile on my face. And a daffydill5 attached to my bulletin board. Forget that I have to do homework, and go to class in too few hours. I am good at climbing, and now-termed Spiderwoman 'cause sometimes, the universe really does let you use your talents to swoop in and save the day.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: See, once I have determined that you are a safe person to cry on, then my brain knows you are safe for crying, and will feel more comfortable crying on you again (though I almost certainly won't, because I'm sure that if I cry on your shoulders too often, I will be seen as an incredible nuisance and dropped). jere7my, because he is awesome, has somehow managed to get my brain to decide that okay maybe if he's still interested in sticking around and being my friend after seeing that I really am pretty damn fucked up, and still makes an _effort_ both to be my friend and make sure I'm not sad or broken at a given moment2, he's probably not going to leave and go hang out with more interesting people. He wins an absolute impossible number of points sometimes.

2: ....huh. This sentence will probably make sense to only one of you: I think jere7my, somewhere along the way and either intentionally or non, geased himself to getting me out from behind my walls. I am okay with this.

3: It has occurred to me that this might have been part of the strangest robbery attempt ever, but seriously, she so wasn't dressed for it, and though I wasn't at all specifically nosy, her apartment was a slightly messy, young twenty-something single person residence --not anything glamorous, no big targets for a robber. Plus, she knew her way around the outside and inside of the building without a single hesitation --so, if this was a robbery, it was such an amazingly brash one, that I can't help but applaud.

4: I can say that, now that it is no longer the month in which I got to USE AN EXCAVATOR TO MAKE A GIANT HOLE IN THE GROUND!

5: She gave us the flowers, as we left, thrashing for any sort of reward, even though we are superheroes and do not need such (except for bread, and honestly, I won't resent her or the night in the slightest if that never happens, it'll just be a huge awesome bonus if it does.). I think I may have a new tag for my journal --flowers and strangers-- and it amuses me to think that this sort of thing happens often as a result of spending time with jere7my --perhaps simply because he's one of the people in the city who most gets me out of the house and wandering around to do interesting things and meet interesting strangers.
sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
So, it's not a line that will make sense to very many of you, as there is not so much overlap between my friends list and hers, but I was charmed last night when I found myself saying "I may have to write up the last hour of my life simply because it had so much ridiculous in it that I feel like Racheline".

(And of course, there is enough of an age gap between us that her ridiculous can echo memories in a manner that I simply do not yet have the experience to do, but the idea of how sometimes all the world aligns to be so strange and yet somehow entirely correct is a concept that I find very dear.)

And so that's how the bunny scampering away from me on the sidewalk last night (towards where I was going, foolish thing, meaning I kept scaring it further away) came to shift my mood ever so subtle that last click it needed --there is a specter of suburbia in my little patch of city home, and that's okay, and I can be happy at life again. It was just so strange and wrong and beautiful to have a rabbit here --this is not Columbia, bunny, what are you doing in the city?-- that it put a smile on my face as I dragged myself up the stairs and into the safety of a room that feels like home.

The stories of what else happened before are much the personal sort, like the fact that sometimes I do need to cry where no one else can find me, because sometimes I provide my own comfort and strength. I am a girl who cries often, and being well-practised at such a sport makes it easier to 'fix' myself, though I wouldn't always say my fractured mind is broken. And there are things that cannot be changed and are nobody's fault, and just because there is not a clear evil to blame, does not mean that it does not hurt with an intensity that makes it hard to think and impossible to talk.

(And there are things which are, so clearly, somebody's fault, but the matter of intent makes it difficult to blame them. Perhaps I give too much power over myself to the people who don't need it, but I've always been that way, as I try to be better and better and perfect. It has never been as crucial to me to please myself as it has been to please all the rest of the world.)

So my night was strange, but it followed familiar patterns, and I was given the chance to walk alone in the dark, and listen to music pushed very loud. Dar is right, you know --as long as she's got noise, she's fine-- and despite being so aurally inept, I find that I can drown myself in volume, as a way to save me from myself. And while the patterns and thoughts may be familiar, the world is far too vast for that, and so I find bunnies four hundred miles from where I saw them last and laugh.

My life is sometimes ridiculous in how it plays out. I'm very grateful for that indeed.

~Sor
MOOP!
sorcyress: A character from a comic about the maintenance workers of the universe, holding a thumbs up and saying "MOOP!" (Zonker-MOOP!)
The first bit of background information you may need is the fact that I really like Doctor Who. This is unsurprising --I am a geeky twenty-something with a thing for British accents and escapist fiction. Doctor Who is right up my alley.

The second bit of background information you need is that, my senior year of high school, I was going to Rocky Horror every other month or so with [livejournal.com profile] shadowcaptain and [livejournal.com profile] disc_sophist. At one of these, the latter of those two had a small plastic replica of the Doctor's Sonic Screwdriver. It glowed blue, and made noise, and I coveted.

The third bit of background information you need is the fact that I moved to Boston a few months later, and found that Newbury Comics sold such toys, for a very reasonable amount of money. Fuck coveting, I went ahead and bought myself the shiny! I posted a gleeful picture showing it off, and was met with...with innuendo!

You people have dirty minds. My new little toy? Was not to go anywhere near my tender nether regions, really now.

The fourth bit of background information you need is the fact that having lived in my backpack or on my person for most of three years now, that toy has broken, conveniently timed with the tenth doctor going out of vogue and a new doctor appearing, with a new design for his Sonic Screwdriver. I have been saying for a few months now that I really must get my hands on one sometime.

With all that in mind?

This? )

Thank you for your time.

~Sor
MOOP!
sorcyress: xkcd panel with a single character alone at the computer and the text "Some nights, typing *hug* just doesn't cut it." (xkcd hug)
I realized, on further consideration while seated in the stairwell where I am not meant to be, still not home because the promise of safety was too tempting, and then the floor too distracting, that I have not had a final waltz tonight.

(I sat, very specifically out, and was told by a friend that he saw why I had such high standards for waltzing.)

And so, nevermind that dancing was long done an hour ago even, and my muscles are cold, and I am wearing sneakers and jeans, I determine that indeed, a final waltz is in order. For want of a proper partner, I select myself, and for want of a band, I polite request that Miss Vera Serenfreude volunteer. She complies, and so a song is played.

And some nights, it helps to wash the pain away with good cheer, and I applaud those nights with a full heart when they arise. But others, it is recognized useless to even try, and truly, the best way to fight some moods is to let them win.

Freedom is being alone. I fear liberation.

Which is not quite appropriate, but the pain in the words is there, and even if it is not my exact pain, it helps. I howl along in points, and sob at others, and more important than any and all else, I dance. It is not a pretty dance, or organized, or well thought out, but it is perfectly honest, and when it comes down to it, honesty is more important than aesthetics when one's partner is themselves.

And so I leave this message for you, Sorceress Katarina R. Ruth de D. de Whimsy de A. de MOOP! den Boston den Earth den MOOP! ged Athe ged Gaea (because such messages sent to the future must have all the appropriate names and titles listed, lest they arrive in the wrong hands.)

Dance. Give your pain to movement, and nevermind that you are cold and ache and have vision blurred by tears. There has not been better therapy devised by mortals or gods for you than this, and you would be ill advised by your self to attempt a faulty substitute. Shut the doors and pull the shades and just fucking dance.

It helps.

~Me.
MOOP!

((And to those who wonder and worry, the dancing was preceded by writing, for if dance is my therapy, writing is my sanity. The words are harsh and made in pain, but the messages are there to be sorted on the morrow. More stable responses will be made, Conversations will be had, and everything will be better tomorrow, simply by nature of the fact that I will have traveled through time until I reach such a day, and the sheer idea is a delight all by itself. Think of tonight not as a problem, rather the first step of a solution. Good day and good night.))
sorcyress: checklist of "bisexual kinky polyamorous horny" and ending with "and I'm still not sleeping with you" (bipolyhorny)
Yes, yes, I know I promised Saturday. I got distracted.

But for all my lovely perverts out there, have some delicious porn! Do not click this link if you object to such. )

You people are pretty much my favourite people ever, just so you know. Enjoy!

Blah blah, this entry not safe for work or children, blah blah.

~Sor
MOOP!

Lullabies

Oct. 14th, 2009 01:33 pm
sorcyress: xkcd panel with a single character alone at the computer and the text "Some nights, typing *hug* just doesn't cut it." (xkcd hug)
One of those those things that I apparently *really* like doing, despite not really getting a chance to much of ever, is sing lullabies.

So, on the rare (generally babysitting) occasion where I *do* get to croon, I tend to go all out, and sing whatever I think fits. Often, they're songs from evening circle at Wyo --when everyone would stand in a nice big circle and hold hands and sing pretty little songs to calm down some before bed-- but disuse has caused the lyrics to many of those to slip completely out of my mind.

In the interest of at least having the lyrics around for the future, here's a bunch of lullabies:

Songs that I know all (or enough of) the lyrics to:
Holderkin Sheep Song, by Mercedes Lackey )
Circle Game (from Wyo) )
Tin Soldier (From Wyo) )
Oh-ley-oh-bla-di-da (from Wyo) )
Rose, Rose (From Wyo) )
Dona (from Wyo) )
Blackbird (From Wyo, by the Beatles) )
The Babysitter's Here, by Dar Williams )
Lullaby (from Shock Treatment) )
Lullaby for a Stormy Night, by Vienna Teng )

These aren't all the songs I sing, but they're a significant portion. And they are all beautiful. If you ask me sometime, I am willing to croon any of these out. I assure you, my voice is not anything resembling great, butyeah, still willing.

~Sor
MOOP!
(2/12)

1: Technically should be Nik and Aly and me, but the scansion is less effective, I think.

2: This is one of my favourite lyrics from any song ever. Just chilling in it's beauty

Middleman!

Oct. 13th, 2009 01:37 pm
sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
So, there's this really damn interesting person known as [livejournal.com profile] rm who posts a lot about things I'm interested in, like sexuality and gender. Especially gender. Lots and lots of very awesome gender things.

One of the things I have gathered from reading all this is that, occasionally, he sees fit to dress himself up as Ianto, from Torchwood. Not as a cosplay, specifically, somuch as a "it's time for work, and today I would like to look nice and smooth and stylish like Ianto". I mean, as far as I can tell, of course --I don't know his exact motives in the action, merely that it is something he does sometimes, and completely rocks.

Rach may have Ianto days. I apparently have Middleman days. At some point, my brain ticked over into "goddamnit, Sorcy is a bit of an irresponsible twit, but MM is about the most steadfast and responsible person ever. Let's be him today, instead, and get stuff done!"

And so, after lunch when I came back to the room...


...I redressed myself accordingly.

It's a fantastic outfit. The whole thing is designed to feel solid, accomplished, good about myself. Those are grade A boots of butt kicking there, the cargo pants are designed for girls, with actual pockets, the belt is in the least known of "my colours", the button down shirt and tie are just professional, and the jacket is made pretty much entirely of win, some more win, a little bit of awesome, and even more win.1

Oh, but of course, I'm leaving out my favourite part.



Hey, at least if I'm a tremendous dork, it's for one of the better organizations out there. (It's worth noting that I'm also wearing boy scout socks...also that sometime I should write an essay detailing my thoughts and feelings on GSUSA and BSA)

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Okay, and a tad "needs buttons" but whatever. I can fix that.

On biting

Jul. 20th, 2009 12:44 am
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
That's twice in the past thirty-six hours that I've wanted to bite someone gently, as a way of indicating "mine"

It's something I've done for a while now. Biting things is how I claim them as my own. CD's, books, comics, art --if I get something new and utterly fantastic, my response is often to bite one of the corners lightly, not even so hard as to mark it. But hard enough.

With people, it's never an exclusive claiming, of course. Even were I *not* poly, it would not be an exclusive claiming --owning people, and the prospect of being owned both frighten me. But sometimes, the affection and the love wells up in such a way that I do feel in some manner possessive. And so my automatic thought is to bite, lightly, and on the shoulder generally.

It's definitely a light and gentle sort of biting. While I can and sometimes do bite to hurt (both myself and others, always *with* consent, thanks) that's a very *very* different sort of biting, for a different sort of situation. Possession bites are not ever meant to hurt, even in a good way. They are my way of saying you are a friend, you are family, you are nakama, you are part of Mine, and at this moment, I feel particularly close to you, whether you realize it or not.

Of course, I have only a very limited subset of the world that I can do that to -casual biting is not really encouraged in formal circles, or even informal ones, and among those I think of as Mine, not all of them are bite-friendly. But maybe I should start again. A subtle little kiss, with teeth, a way to say in actions what I can't always work out in words.



I find it amusing that I already have a tag for this sort of entry...

~Sor
MOOP!
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Stollen for Ria, 'cause it's memetime!

* Post ten of any pictures currently on your hard drive that you think are self-expressive.

* NO CAPTIONS!!! It must be like we're speaking with images and we have to interpret your visual language just like we have to interpret your words.

* They must ALREADY be on your hard drive - no googling or flickr! They have to have been saved to your folders sometime in the past. They must be something you've saved there because it resonated with you for some reason.

* You do NOT have to answer any questions about any of your pictures if you don't want to. You can make them as mysterious as you like. Or you can explain them away as much as you like.

((My note? Please DO ask questions. A couple of the images are easily misinterpreted, and while I think it would be really really funny to have to answer the question, I really do not feel like telling everyone I know "no, I am not going to be a boy, I am happy being cisgendered female" or whatever. Also, I like comments.))

I should point out that I have roughly gabillions of images on my desktop. These are ten that fit me today. Tomorrow's batch would be completely different, I expect. )

~Sor
MOOP!
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Unrelatedly, at Origins, I found true love:



Yes, that is a GIGANTIC orange pyramid. Yes, it is fuzzy. Man, can you imagine how awesome it would be to play Icehouse with those things? The regular giant pyramids got nothing...

~Sor
MOOP!

Photo credit Akchizar, 2009
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Goddamnit, do I have a tag that says "I have a crush on every boy" yet?

Because I have a crush on every boy.

~Sor
MOOP!

((Inspired in part by "I love photography, origami, board games, bondage, science fiction, movies, and computers", from a new friend's userinfo. Oh, I do so love boys who are honest about the things they like.))

((Also, sometime I'll write a real post about this.))

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