sorcyress | Entries tagged with magus

Friends of mine have recently acquired a Maine Coon kitten. Coire is twelve weeks old and needs human socializing so that she grows up to be mellow about many people being around. I mean like...okay, if you need me to come to your house and harass your unbearably cute tiny cat I *guess* that can be arranged...

So Charis picked me up after service ringing¹ and we drove up north a wee bit to visit Magus and Keira and their menagerie. Coire was obviously the star attraction, but there were three more cats and Coda-the-parrot to hang out with inside, and a number of chickens to gently mock outside², plus rambling house-land-hill to wander on and bugs to seek out.

We did a stint of lying on the floor and playing with the cats (yes, Coire is absolutely as stupid-cute as you would expect from a twelve week old ~~owl~~MaineCoon kitten. She has the classic look I have grown used to from

seananmcguire on twitter, with those big big eyes and the incredibly tufted ears. She is also going to grow to be gigantic, and I *really* look forward to seeing her again in the future as that happens.

While the rest of us were hanging with the cats, Keira was working on making some sort of terrifying chicken-stack to go on the grill and be our dinner. Once that was prepped and it was time for the grill to heat up, we all went outside for A Tour Of The Grounds while it was still light out.

Too early for most of their food-plants to be blooming, but I did point out some early season sorrel and distribute samples to everyone to try. I saw so many good bugs (aaah yay!) and I wore some rhubarb leaves as a hat (Charis was impressed they lasted the entire walk, something something, any plan where you lose your hat...) and I got to upturn a random tub full of leaves and water so that it wouldn't breed skeeters, and we talked about maybe-fanciful plans for what could happen with the land eventually and it was all just really fun and nice. Extremely quality outdoor time!

Then back into the house, where Charis returned to socializing Coire, I did a wee bit of doodling (I have a new, as the kids say, "OC" and I was trying to figure out some ideas around her), and Marc and Keira engaged on food-quest. Dinner was eventually ready, with a delicious stack of grilled chicken, well marinated, made by Keira, hummus, cucumbers, and tzatziki prepared by one or both of our hosts at some ambiguous earlier time, and flatbreads created by Magus in their little outdoor pizza oven thingy. It was all very good!

Dinner was wrapping up when my alarm went off --oh right! The ISS was passing at a good time, do y'all wanna see? So we tromped outside and watched it shine across the night sky (they're dark enough to be quite good star watching) and I got to wave again.

Post-dinner entertainment was teaching this group Cat in the Box, my current favourite new game. It's a quantum trick-taking game, where the colour of your card doesn't occur until you actually play it, and a nice little land-grab minigame. The group (as predicted) quite enjoyed it and I almost won --Magus beat me on the tiebreaker.

Finished with homemade lemon meringue pie for dessert --Keira had, in the past, said specific that she would make one for me sometime and I was very very pleased to collect. Then finally home again home again for Charis and I, where I immediately passed out.

It was a good day!

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Bells is just a footnote today, but a nice one. It was me, Laura, Ricky, Danielle and we rang all the minimus in the world, including getting me some new methods (Reverse and Double Court). Lots of practice with the Bob suite (Plain/Reverse/Double), which is a good exercise in keeping track of the treble. I'm surprisingly happy about it, although my hands are currently a little achey in a way that suggests it was a lot for me.

2: Oh whoops, I should've seen if they had extra eggs to get rid of (yes. Always.)

Last night I got to play Hanabi using the internet!

See, Magus has been running a little twitch channel and playing games for people's entertainment, and he asked a bunch of his Scottish Dance friends if they wanted to come play Hanabi with him, and to be perfectly frank, the answer to "do I want to play Hanabi with Magus" is almost universally yes. So it was me and him and ShieldToad and a friend OwlSong who I've not met yet but will at Pinewoods next week. Good times!

The site he's using allows you to do really nice play-by-play recaps of the game after, which is marvelous for breaking down what's going on. So we played three games (two of them zero points, ouch) and then could go over where our collective "could've done better there" spots were. Theoretically, this will make me a better Hanabi player in the future, in the meantime, as someone who likes introspection and What People Are Thinking, it's a pretty cool reflection-time.

If you like Hanabi, and want to watch or potentially play, ping Magus about it (or ping me and I'll throw you at him) --he's planning to do it some number of Thursdays this summer, when people are around. Hanabi continues to be the single most fun-per-volume and fun-per-dollar game I've ever bought, so yeah, I definitely recommend it!

~Sor
MOOP!

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 Seren 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)

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"

So,

badmagic has posted a thing about advice you would give to your 15-year-old-self. This is especially interesting to me, as the difference between 15!me and 16!me is...vast, it seems. Not just the change from heartbreak and an interest in sex, but in terms of anger, of introspection, of impulsive actions, of not just being asexual but antisexual.

It's the difference between being a child and being an adult.

So I started to write advice to my 15!self. This is going by memory --I have the ability to cheat, because I have this livejournal to look at for most of that year, and the BtW file for the three month gap-- and I tried very hard to restrict it to advice that would actively be useful to 15!self --it's all well and good to tell her to meet Sparr earlier and see what happens¹, but not when the opportunity won't even arise for more than two years.

So. Here's what I would have to say if me from six years ago and me from now had a nice sit-down and a chat.

1) Don't worry about not being sexual, but do be gentle to those who are. You don't have to be sexual to be sex positive, and I really do think you'll feel better about things if you stop calling people you care about tramps. Let them enjoy their sins.

2) The relationship you just started will be convoluted and confusing. Do not put as much energy into it as you do. It feels like your heart is breaking, and it probably is, but I promise it gets better. You'll be friends for a while, GOOD friends, and that's important. Even after it disappears, it was important. And I promise, eventually he dumps her, and the words he say will be the sweetest revenge you can imagine.

3) Remember that guy you met at Origins last year? Heh. Everything you dreamed and more, if I didn't change the timestream too badly by telling you all of this. And if I did...pursue his friendship. Keep his friendship, and take care of him. He'll repay you in kind, and that'll be more important than sleeping with him. Sex, as you're well aware, is not everything.

4) You have ADHD. You also have a mild auditory learning disability. This isn't why you're bad at school --you're just an unmotivated dumbass like that-- but this _is_ why you have so much trouble in Ms. H's class. See if she can give you help or advice.

5) In eight or nine months, you're going to realize you're wired to love more than one person at once. It will change things so much to tell you this -dangerously much, in terms of setting you back from being an adult- but never let yourself be forced into monoamory. Ever. Ever. It will only make everyone involved miserable. You will be younger for the experience, but you also won't cry as much.

5a) You're genderqueer by the way. Start working out how to be a boy now.

5b) Figure out a safer way to not be younger for the experience.

6) You will always have Veronica. Always. Keep her as well as you possibly can. Same with Pauli. Give both of them the attention and time they deserve.

7) If you have to wait for a boy, he will eventually be worth it. Every one of them. Even and especially the one who knows there are sparks, and makes you wait, for two and a half agonizing years. Even the one you've been waiting for ever since you made a terrible decision two years from now.

8) Go ahead and fail that class. It hurts, but it means you will get the teacher who changes your life. Let him. Tell him so. And try not to be quite so obvious when you flirt, it's just embarrassing all around.

8a) But seriously, stop being awful at school.

And as that last one doubles as advice to 21!Sor...yeah. We'll leave it at that. In all honesty...I liked myself at 15. I was young, but I've always been too clever by at least five eighths.

What would you tell your 15!self?

~Sor
MOOP!

1: *reads nametag* "Oh! Oh, you're the one my future self told me I should meet! Hello! I'm underage, would you like to be friends? I hear you'll introduce me to interesting things..."

So, I've decided to do Yuletide, despite having little-to-no experience in the world of internet fandom, and a nearly debilitating fear that I will do Everything Wrong and make the entire internet hate me. Or inadvertently find myself in the middle of OMGDRAMA.

Allegations that I just want to grow up to be Racheline someday are...well, completely true but have nothing to do with this. I just really like the concept of the Yuletide project, and anything that has a chance of getting me middlefic is a thing that I fully support.

Anyways. Dear person-who-is-writing-me-a-fic (Yulegoat? Why are you a Yulegoat? Oh dear, already this makes no sense!)

Hello there, lovely person who is going to write me a story! You are _super super nice_ and I just want to say thank you and also glee! about the fact that you are going to write a story just for me! That's really really cool.

I've never done this whole Yuletide thing before, and I'm not a huge fandom person (though I enjoy both writing and fannish things) and really, I'm quite concerned I am going to freak you out or something. (Mostly because one of my prompts was "genderswap mad science smut"¹) So, I hope I'm doing this mostly right --I've stolen the general format from

futuresoon, since she seems to be pretty savvy about this whole fandom thing².

( So, I think here is where I babble about more elaborate things for my stories? And try not to be too verbose, which tends to be difficult for me. Also, warning, allusions to porn and kink and stuff )

Again, I hope this wasn't _way way way_ too long, and I hope you're not utterly freaked out by me or whathaveyou and I hope the plot bunnies go forth and multiply and you can catch a nice one and write the story easily! Also, I hope you find a five dollar bill and can buy a nice coffee somewhere.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: To my friendslist, if you identified the fandom without peeking under the cut, I give you three gerbils and a tin of mints. :mgrin:

2: And if you ARE Futuresoon, well then. That would be _pretty damn amazing_ is all I'm saying. And I expect one bang-up story from you, young lady! Also, like I've been saying for basically forever, we should hang out sometime. What's going on your week of March 7-13th next year?

3: *blows a kiss towards MarcMagus*

So this is technically fifteen minutes late. Sue me, it's not tomorrow until the sun rises or I sleep.

A week ago, I made a post being all "Half-Naked Thursday, whee!". It was meant to be a look at more metaphorical nakedness, stripping down the walls to show you what I've really got going on in my world.

At any rate, then I mentioned that I originally had two photos and was only showing one of them. This makes this weeks HNT really really easy for me to manage --next week, I will have to actually look around to find a bit of myself to reveal, if indeed, I continue on with this trend.

But yes. Have a picture of me being naked. Odd, in that it's also not a picture of me at all.

Happy Thursday.

This second is a little more new, a little more raw. It's the ceiling of my room, directly above my desk.

A week or two ago, I was having a rough night. In talking with Rackle, she brought up the term "Index card days", where you're just so socially frustrated and out of cope that you have to communicate through tiny 3" by 5" cards.

I have a pile in my desk drawer. Out they came that day, and it seemed the most logical thing in the world to write some song lyrics across them. Lyrics from strength-songs, where the lyrics don't necessarily matter in the slightest, but the message of being strong is crucial to my well being. "Go Away Godboy" is the song I use the most for this --I've never really had problems with people trying to convert me or mine, but howling along with the words can stabilize my mood like nothing else.

Because the words are meant to say "fuck you, I'm stronger than that", and on days when I am weak and helpless, I really need that.

And I forced myself out of the sobbing¹ to write more of them, because if I am actively writing, I am forcing distraction, and that little edge of distraction is all I need sometimes to stabilize. All of them have wound up there, tucked into the framework of the drop ceiling. I've got ten of them now, apparently. I'm sure that, as I enter this mood, and need the music and lyrics, I'll think of more.

So that's my current vulnerability. Come visit, I'll let you read them if you'd like.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Which itself was after that pervasive emptiness, and broken by my reaching out. I don't like playing shitty girl games, and I hate being cryptic, but that doesn't mean I manage to make all my words to people transparent. There are people who can read between the letters and the lines, through the /me and the carefully arranged punctuation and capitalization, and figure out what I'm actually trying to say over IM, that I just can't, because the words just won't come.

...and because there isn't an elegant way to put what I'd be doing in reality into words. It's that vulnerable look when I arrive on your doorstep, and ask for a hug, and pull myself into you, a double fistful of your shirt as I hide inside your arms, and pour myself out onto your shoulder. It's past want, straight into need, and I don't have a lot of people I've done it to, or *could* do it to (two? maybe three?) and I'm about to lose one of them, but I don't care, because sometimes there's safety there, and that's what I need more than anything else, that memory of safety. ((ETA: Holy run-on sentences, Batman! But this is kinda what my brain starts doing when I am in a vulnerable state))

It's an index card with eight words on it. It's an IM with eleven. It's being held, and being *held* and being held. It's the stairwells at Springstep, and just out the door at NEFFA. It's the long process of reducing the scarred and improving the weird. It's crying in June with the door shut, it's crying in July curled in the arms of someone I can't have, it's crying in August to a boy I barely know, it's crying-sobbing-breaking in January as I watch Next to Normal and try to separate their pain from mine, and try to find the strength I need to say the words I can't, I couldn't, I did.

It's the response I need, when I need it. It's breaking the emptiness with a *kiss*, and breaking the sobs with an *embrace*. It's *comfort*, from everyone who's ever given it.

And it's s00j and Dar and Vienna and Amanda and Alice.

If you can figure out a quicker way to tell people I need "that" than all the above, I'd love to hear it.

Meeeeeeeeeeme!

( the ten meme )

It's over!

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Sorceress is a title. Sorcyress is a name.
2: R = None of your damn business, D = my real last name, A = None of your damn business.
3: 'of the family of'
4: 'of the location/world of'
5: 'of the god'

6: And in all honesty, "sneaking out? No."
7: Used here to mean "independent" and not "Indie"
8: Not actually proven and probably not a fact.

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.))

This is further Balticon con-reporting. Also, if you haven't bothered to click on the cut from my last entry, it's probably worth it. Slutty but Sweet and all that.

Part One

( Tweets are still in italics )

And this last tweet has nothing to do with Balticon at all:

23 days. Twenty three days, two hours five minutes. Oh my god. This is suddenly actually Real.

It is. It is absolutely positively real. And it is also 21 days 23 hours and 51 minutes.

~Sor
MOOP!

So, like I did with my NEFFA report, this con report is going to be based around the tweets I made, with elaboration as I see fit.

Let's begin! ( Tweets are in italics )

At any rate, holy shit, it's both getting late and this entry is getting long. I'll post the other (next?) half of the con report in the morning or something.

I talk too much. :/

~Sor
MOOP!

1: And Susan dG and Raven and Aaron and Mneme and probably a few other people I'm not thinking of right then...

2: Pan-Chromatic Afterglow, snickersnicker.

Original Tags: conventions, conreports

Some Thoughts on Some Things:

One of the things that really makes or breaks how much I respect a business is how easy to use their website is. In this day and age, in this country, if a store has a website, I should be able to go onto the website and easily find locations and hours for their stores. Chain stores seem to have a lot of trouble with this --is it that much bandwidth to give each store a little infopage if you don't have standardized hours? Wouldn't the goodwill of the shoppers be worth paying that extra bit per month?

Similarly, for the love of *god*, make your website easy to use. Five minute flash intros that I can't skip (and even, to a certain extent, ones I can) do not make me love you. Flashy menus that I can't figure out how to use do not make me a happyKat.

This is just another reason why I absolutely *adore* Good Vibrations (NSFW) I wanted to know what time they were open on Sundays, I went to the frontpage, selected "stores locations" from the store menu clearly located at the top of the page, and bam! There was the info I needed.

It turns out that there is a name for that particularly gorgeous example of femininity I was talking about the other week --Zerrai Ryouiki (TVtropes will ruin your life) which describes the ratio between length of skirt, amount of thigh shown, and height the stocking goes above the knee.

Okay, so it doesn't specifically mention the boots. But honestly, I'll trade boots for the stockings *any* day. Yum!

As you may or may not know, my New Years Resolution for this year is to stop saying 'less' when I mean 'fewer'. I'm really quite obnoxiously *terrible* about it, and I encourage you lot to call me out whenever you see me fuck up.

((For What It's Worth, fewer is things that are countable. "Less cat" means that the cat has become smaller somehow. "Less cats" is incorrect, unless, perhaps, you're trying to protest musical theatre. "Fewer cats" means that you at one point had a greater number of cats than you do now.))

In a discussion about this with Magus, he pulled a card on me that I'm not sure's ever been pulled before, when I was being irreverent towards my lack of grammar --"Aren't you a writer?"

It smacked me rather across the face at the time. Yes. Yes, goddamit, I *am* a writer. I have been a writer since I was seven years old, and I was a storyteller even before that.

I'm just a writer with terrible spelling and grammar skills. Which honestly, is no kind of writer at all. I'm not sure how immediately clear it was, but there is a huge jump in the way things are spelled in this journal, right when I got Vera. Because with her, I didn't bother figuring out how to turn the stupid little red squiggly "HEY YOU SPELLED THIS WRONG" lines off. So, while I still, as a rule, don't hit spellcheck before I hit post, at least I catch everything that Vera notices is wrong, and do my best to fix it.

Impressively enough, this actually has had some small effect on my real life. Embarrassing. --a-r-r, a-s-s. Two of everything in the middle there, and I couldn't spell it correctly until I had to see what the dictionary recommended for the upteenth time, and decided I was sick of having to right-click the word to fix it.

Do atheists have any right to use "goddamnit"?

(I'm not, and for many phrasings I substitute "gods" for "God", largely because I do that whole Eris-Athe-Mother-FSM polytheistic thing. Butyeah.)

~Sor
MOOP!

Original Tags: tagged, sexuality, writing, grammar, religion, shops, internet, links, nsfw, thoughts, resolutions, gendersex, magus

((A/N: I apologize, as this entry is *especially* meandery. I must be tired or something.))

Three years ago today.

Three years ago today, it was 2006. And I was looking for something, and found something else entirely.

That something else entirely was a journal, written by my clone. Among other things, it not so subtly said he loved me. Me, of all things, of all people. Crazy, confused, insecure little me.

It...started a very weird part of time for me. Not quite dating mek, but not really seeing Blue often enough to feel like we were even in our relationship. Everything got strained and confusing, and somewhere along the way, a word that I had heard whispered here or there pointed itself out to me: Polyamory.

I eventually broke, as I am inclined to do when I'm high on emotion and low on ability to deal, and talked to a friend about it all, and the end result of that was me giving mek a very firm "I've been really fucking confused, but we're just friends" talk. And things were weird between us for a while, but not very, and not for long, and we're both so good at masking ourselves that we pretended everything was perfectly alright between us. That word I had found got tucked firmly away, gnawing at the back of my mind.

The first person I ever came out to as polyamorous was Magus, which I inadvertently did via one of my first NancyButtons --"BiPolySwitch, I'm not indecisive, I'm greedy.¹". He asked me about the poly thing, and I may or may not have babbled something useless back. (I babble a lot around people I trust) I got the gist across though, certainly. I was poly. And breaking up with my partner in less than a month.

I was solidly single for about two months after that point, and while the next boy I went with accepted the poly thing (for reasons that would be really obvious if I was un-cryptic enough to properly explain who he was) the one after that, Ksatyr, didn't. No fault of his, at all --some people are monoamorous, some people are not. By the time Ksatyr and I broke up, I had pretty much figured out that I was solidly not.

I'm not going to swear I'll never be in a monoamorous relationship again, but I think it's somewhat unlikely to happen. I like people, more or less all of them, and if it's at all possible, several at a time. I'm really really happy where I am right now, with my complications and significant others and girlfriend-in-laws. I am connected to really really good people, and I like having that in my life.

So, three years ago today, my brain broke, with shock, and confusion, and weirdness. And, in putting itself back together, it realized one of the most important things about me that there is to know.

It's been a good three years for me.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Mom later forbade me from wearing the button, telling me only so much as that switch was not a thing I should be advertising. It took me bloody forever to figure out what the hell it meant --it's a BDSM term, meaning willing to play both Dom and Sub.

I'm not really in the BDSM scene at all --largely Not My Kink. But I, to a certain extent, both dom and sub relationships. I'm not indecisive. I'm greedy.

So, a proper report of the last few weeks!

On the fourteenth, I got my drivers license, because I am rad.

On the fifteenth, I flew Home and went to ( Arisia )

Nineteenth was Monday of Arisia. While packing, I think to check the internet, find out what time I can move into my dorm. I mean, last year I could doso just post Arisia, it seemed sensible to expect the same out of this year.

...heh.

"Hey mom? It says I can move in at noon. On the twenty-fifth."

Luckily, I had a handy dandy Magus who I could beg into giving me crash space for a week, so I did that.

Twentieth through the twenty fourth, I hung out with Magus, caught almost all the way up on Doctor Who (just need to watch the Christmas Special!), had a grand old time of things, and did a few other things, like harassing j7y more (it is a hobby! Also, we watched Mighty Boosh!!) and babysitting. And maybe I had a teeny tiny breakdown somewhere in the middle of All That, and had to spend a little bit of time righting my brain.

Twenty third was Friday of ( Vericon )

The twenty-fifth I skipped Vericon completely, moved in eventually, hugged my roommates, and got dragged to a lesbians house to watch a movie called "Wristcutters: A love story". I kinda want to write fanfic about that setting, though I think I'm not emo enough. Good movie though, very light and fun and reasonably fluffy. And romantic, of course.

The twenty sixth was today, and I'll report on all my classes once I've had the other two. Can I just say EEEE, CALCULUS! though?

And now food and dance. Ta!

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Conner? Connor? *shrugs*

1 Year ago today it was 2008. And you don't get a link for this, because I never posted about it.

But I started living a daydream. <3

~Sor
MOOP!

Three years ago today, it was 2006. And I was sick.

I don't really get sick very often. I don't tend to get much of anything often, due to a combination of sheer stupid stubborness, which keeps me going long after my body has decided it Does Not Like This, Thanks¹ and a relatively awesome immune system.

Of course, the latter is largely because I revel in germs. While I won't eat strange food off the ground, if I drop something, there's a fair chance that I will subsequently put it into my mouth, even if I know damn well if I shouldn't. Actually, I put a LOT of things into my mouth, even if I know damn well I shouldn't. I use my mouth as an extra hand, and biting things is a comfortable sort of way to claim them --certain things I own just feel right if I nip at them, like my luck-cat, and my most possessive² gesture towards people is to bite them lightly on the shoulder

Soyeah. Woo germs! While I'm not positive, I think that three years ago would be the last time I was seriously sick then.

And of course I watch too much television when I'm laid out on the couch miserable. Doesn't everyone?

~Sor
MOOP!

1: See any long dance ever, especially my first Contra
2: I have a big problem with the concept of possessing people, largely because I have a big problem with being possessed. So I tend to shy away from claiming behaviours, and the word "my" in relation to the human involved in the relationship. (Different from using my in relation to the relationship --ie, Magus is my boyfriend or my boy, but not my Marc.)

So, Arisia was pretty awesome. I was at a bit of a weird place hormonally (Anyone want to trade?) but the incredible emotional high of spending a weekend with a lot of people I really quite like totally made up for it and gave me a wonderful rush of homeness.

"Steampunk is easy. All you need is goggles and a top hat." "Yeah, if you WANT to look like a poseur."

(Sorry. Am having conversation while updating. I am scum like that.)

Annndyes.

So.

Here's the awesome(?) news. The fun of Arisia last year was that the monday of it was the day I could move back into my dorm. So, like a sensible person, I assumed that the monday of this years Arisia was the day I could move back in.

Classes start on the 26th. Dorm opens on the 25th. I have a week in Boston to screw around!

So, yeah. I'm going to enjoy being able to spend time in my city as it's meant to be, what with the good and glorious SNOW everywhere to play in. (I suspect I'll be sick of it as soon as I have to walk anywhere ever, but in the meantime, ohmygod, SNOWWWW!)

My shoulder is being read over, which is always slightly disconcerting not because I mind the words being read, but because it always tends to make me self-conscious when I am watched in any way, and doubly so for what I lamely consider my art. 'Specially because I tend to have just abysmal grammar.

Annnnd I'm going to finish packing now. Byeeee.

~Sor
MOOP!

You know what? Nothing amuses me like being silly, so I'm thinking I'm just going to repost this with slight changes.

Because three years ago today, it was 2006. And I decided to be a comments whore.

No one ever comments in my journal! Therefore, I'm going to delete it, and commit suicide. Possibly involving a fish, although I might use my Ravonous Bug-Blatter Beast of Traal.

After I'm done with that, I might go somewhere. Cool!

I've recently had a major life change! Thats right -I've morphed into an androgynous three eyed hooloovoo, with an extra arm shaped like a fork. And I'm getting divoriced from my friend Shirly. She's such a bitch.

But there are many cool people who aren't bitches. thorog's not a bitch for instance. He's smart. Same with naraht. And muzikmaker21 is of course just awesome. I got to see ~~her~~him (Oh god this is old) this weekend. I also saw werewulf. And artemisfowl2nd. And later I get to see jere7my and marcmagus! But not macaroniandtuna or drama_angel3189 which is a shame, because they are also cool people.

I am wearing very little! I won't post pics though, because I'm ~~embarrassed~~too lazy to turn on the webcam.

I saw this article about abortion in the paper. It was all about Montana's abortion laws. I think Montana is boring, except for Montana Jones. He's cute. Those are my opinions!

(((To all the people giving me VERY strange looks at this point, I'm merely playing with the idea of the Naraht-ian laws of getting comments)))

~Sor
MOOP!

Apologies for missing yesterday, I suppose. This is really only just my project, I think, so I don't know why I feel the need to offer apologies to anyone else. Still though. It's just been...a long day. Didn't get a chance to post, not really, so I'm just going to skip the ninth and go onto the tenth.

The tenth is more relevant, anyways.

One year ago today, it was 2008. And I had a bit of a panic attack. Nothing too serious --just me bailing on reality for a bit, climbing my tree, talking to the denizens¹. Being shoeless and in a t-shirt in a tree, at night, in what I think I remember being wet. All of this (including and especially the bodymisery²) is very normal for me.

Different from most every panic attack prior to that date, this was the first time I have any memory of being able to Get Help with my insanities.

I'm up there, in my tree, with Gabe just holding me --not trying to help me, not trying to sort me out, just being this presence wrapped around me in a way that no one had ever really done in the real world³. And somehow, he gave me the strength to know that I would listen to someone else, and that the only way to do that was to use that tool in my pocket and call someone.

I forget exactly what I got Magus to tell me when I called him...something along the lines of "You're a worthwhile person, okay?". And...it worked. We talked a little on the phone, and a bunch on IM. It's frightening to trust like that; I'm still not really any good at it.

But at least I'm getting better.

Oh, and Sor? You're right here:
And I have no idea why I'm telling you all this and I think I may need to go sit quietly back behind my walls for a little bit, but that's probably not the right answer except it's safer there
Only not, because walls trap people inside them

Soyes. I'm actually planning to discuss the entry from today more when I get around to making my resolutions2008 post. But damn. It's nice to know how to trust people. And it's really really nice to know that I have people who, when they ask how I'm feeling, I can say I feel shit and babble a bit and they'll comfort me and randomly and for no reason tell me I'm pretty⁶.

Take care of yourselves, y'all. And call me if you need that shoulder --I mean it.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Annnd slitting Alis's throat. Yeah. I get fucked up during panic attacks. Luckily, denizens don't die like that.

2: Bodymisery --using the world around me to inadvertently hurt myself. Letting myself be hungry or freeze my ass off. Yes, I know I should do that sort of shit, but when I'm in that sort of state, I can't bring myself to care or believe I deserve the proper human comforts I tend to love.

3: I have this thing...since I was very young, most every time I've cried, I've had this desperate want for someone to just be there to hold me and help me feel better. Of course, if I called them or in any way got them to come do such a thing, it would be tainted by the fear that I was hurting someone through my own misery, or dragging them away from something more important⁴. As such, I have *been* held like I needed when I cried, twice now even. It's mind-bogglingly amazing to realize you're living one of your fantasys.⁵

4: Yes, I know this is *really* stupid. You don't have to tell me.

5: 2008 I got to live three big ones, that I remember. Yeah. Yeah. It was an amazing year.

6: Gods, I love that. I never get tired of it, and I'll probably never stop blushing and smiling like an idiot.

While working on my X Years Ago Today post for today, I stumbled across last year's "review of the year in a sentance"

The exact wording I used to explain was "So, unless there's something from the last 12 months that you really want to know about, I'm going to skip doing a nice big wordy post this year, and give you the one sentence summery of the past twelve months:"

Last year? Sorcy got into college, met her clone, made some bad decisions, made some good decisions, survived her first semester at college, and didn't die.

This year?

Sorcy started dating two utterly amazing people, went to a bunch of cons, got a job at a thrift store, traveled to North Carolina to see one of her favourite musicals, made friends with the right people and continued to enjoy school, a lot.

~Sor
MOOP!

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