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

Despite having lived less than a mile away for all four years of college, and within five miles of Harvard Square the subsequent twelve years, this is the first time I've ever made it to the May Day festivities!

Context: it's first of May, first of May, and the morris dancers are out a'dancing in order to make sure the sun rises and the harvest is bountiful or whatever it is exactly morris1 dancers do. There was a Maypole and singing and a big ol' circle dance and several performances by various local teams!

There were like...100? 150? people there, to dance and sing and hang out and lean on each other tiredly. I biked in with Elishka, which was splendid for so many reasons, not least of which was having made this plan in advance, we were both stuck with it for fear of disappointing the other, and so we both rolled out of bed at stupid in the morning to head out. It was also a good plan because she actually knew where we were going --I knew the optimal route to Harvard (since my college was literally next door, and indeed, I gave her the tour2 as we biked past) but she got us the rest of the way once we were in the square.

I saw many people I knew, which was very pleasant! Elishka commented that she might've known more bellringers present3 than contra dancers, which was a very funny and not false observation. I spent lots of time chatting with Elena, and some time chatting with Martin, and was pleased as punch to see Neil4 and Iz and of course I said hi to all the morris friends in passing -- Laura and Amanda and Gillian and Sam and Lisa. Avalon was the first one to say hi to us, and I was unfortunately overwhelmed by their enthusiasm at 0'dark'thirty, but was good to hear them sing.

My biggest conclusion is that next year I need to figure out that obviously this is an event that I dress like I'm going to FaerieFest. Except I've biked home and had just enough time to eat some breakfast and type this out, so that would be a pretty quick turnaround if I had to also change into work-drag.

It was a really nice start to the day, month, season. And now I go off for work --seven weeks left, but who's counting?

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Do we capitalize "Morris Dancers"?

2: "I lived on that street for two years and that street for one year and in that tall building for one year annnnd now we're on Harvard's turf."

3: I think we had minor? Elishka, Kyle, Rachel, me, Mira, Arthur, Laura? Rachel and Mira were the two that showed up with bells on though, so bonus points to them!

4: Looking far more dapper than the rest of us, since this was "late night" instead of "early morning" for him, and also he had an *amazing* leather coat that looked real good on him.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
So I did a POWER HOUR today, my first one in a few weeks (yay!). Here's approximately what happened:

*Lie down on the bed and close my eyes for a few minutes. Debate naps. Be bored. Try to decide if I should read a book or like clean my room.

*Sit up, wander around my room a bit, decide to pull tarot properly1

*Realize I'm annoyed by the vast quantity of little plastic bags that keep falling out of their cubby and onto the floor, decide to finally put them away properly, and also to clean out that particular cubby.

*Do so.

*Expand cleaning efforts to the little shelf, decide I want to finally properly clean off my whiteboard. This requires isopropyl and a rag. Realize downstairs while fetching the iso that there are rags upstairs in my clean laundry bag because I did mixed house-and-personal laundry.

*Clean white board. Talk myself into actually pulling it out proper and also cleaning the part hidden by my dressers, because let's be real, it's taken me five months to do this much, I'm not gonna do it again.

*Having found the rags I have realized I should put away the clean laundry finally, so sort that and put it away.

*Also I should run dirty laundry, gather dirty laundry.

*Okay, you know how the last time you did srs laundry, like a month ago, you were all "I should replace the sheets on my bed!" and then didn't because ???. Yeah.

*So now my bed has clean sheets and I've put away the down comforter for the summer and also I flipped the mattress over because it was starting to sag quite dramatically in the middle and maybe this will help.

*And the laundry is in the washing machine.

*And my room is pretty much entirely straightened up


So basically, I did accomplish a fair amount of genuinely useful stuff (it was very nearly 90 minutes, instead of just an hour), and that's pretty good. But I find it pretty interesting that the way my power hour started was to lie down on the bed and be very bored.

And I think that's probably a previously-unrecognized really critical part of the event. The whole point of a Power Hour is _absolutely no electronic devices_ during the time, and then critically, it's also "it's cool if you're productive but you in no way have to be". But the problem is that I am pretty device oriented these days (and of course pandemic made it way worse, because guess how I see any of my friends or participate in any hobbies or work?) so my brain really quite needs that brief moment of boredom to cycle out the "wait but dumb games? watch taskmaster? play animal crossing? check twitter???" defaults that occupy most of my "it's time to do something" space.

Anyways, it's nice to be back on the upswing side of the cycle instead of the downswing side. Sigh. We build what structures we can while our brain works, in the hopes that we can slowly sustain ourself through the times it doesn't.

I hope you're well. I love you. <3

~Sor
MOOP!

1: By "properly" I do not mean any spread you've ever heard of, because I work very hard to not actually "know" anything about tarot so that I can most effectively use the cards to help sift my subconscious. But I do have a standard way of pulling cards, on the infrequent times I do.

I have also started to do single card draws, one from each of the decks my parents got me for chrimmas. It started as an attempted incentive to wake up in the morning and still sorta works like that. I don't know that I'm doing much with them, but it's a nice ritual to try and routineify.
sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
After my candidate exam, and after I got the results, and after everything else that was going on that week I sat and I processed and I wrote some words in my BehindTheWalls file. I wrote a longer entry there than any other I've written in this particular manifestation, and I feel it's an interesting turning point for my life as a whole. Absolutely not, you can't ask to know more.

Here is a line from the middle of it:

I was not fake. I was there. I was present. I was…what is the opposite of dissociating?


I'm pretty sure now the answer, for me, is dancing. Music: loud, howl along to a voice more powerful than my own, move body, move self, dance. If I am able to dance, and to sing, and to listen, and to pray, and to cast then I am more fully existent than I am at any other moment. Nothing else I do can make the spell-prickles run along my skin and the dark place that is my Self open and bear witness to the universe.

Reference, please, this entry about being a Demigoddex of Dance.

The corollary is that you have never seen me fully present unless you've seen me dance for myself. Despite my Truth that I will dance in subway cars and on rain-soaked streets, I am often more reluctant to do so before friends. Perhaps they will think me odd and it tucks the thing away.

(Perhaps they will think I am seeking attention. I am not performing for them, I am not performing at all. If I am dancing like the opposite-of-dissociating, it's entirely a selfish act.)

Anyways, tonight's playlist, howled along to and moved where permissible while riding my bicycle home on city streets:

Cheshire Kitten, s00j (Still sobbing, not-quite-back from someElsewhere of pain)
Alligator in the House, s00j (And ah, and yes, and this is the correct thing to do and of course I will move as I remount the bicycle it is a tango after all)
Go Away Godboy, s00j (Hail SJ, full of grace)
Glashtyn Shanty, s00j
Cheshire Kitten, again
Never Look Away, Vienna (I want to witness the beauty of your repair)
The Tower, Vienna
Level Up, Vienna (The last lines whispered with a wry grin outside 19 Banks street)
Go Away Godboy, again
Don't Stop Believing, Journey (Starting as I park the bicycle, and finished with me lying back on my own safe little bed)

If you don't think I'm a terrifyingly powerful beast, it's because you've never actually Seen me.

~Sor
MOOP!
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
I am allowed to want things that aren't fair.

Really.

I'm not entitled to them, oh certainly not, but I am allowed to want anything and everything I want. And I'm allowed to say that, and see if I can get it, and make compromises, and work through things, because that is what mature adults do when they have desires. They take steps to see those desires through, be that to fulfillment or closure.

I am allowed to want things that restrict others' choices. I am allowed to ask them to let their choices be restricted. They are allowed to say no, and if they do, it means I get to learn how to deal with it. I like learning how to deal with things, it makes me feel strong.

And I am allowed to want anything and everything I want, no matter how dirty or terrible or unfair or cruel or indulgent or useless. Wanting is not bad. Actions are changeable, feelings are not, and desire is every bit as much a feeling as hatred or sadness or guilt.

(Sometimes I find myself repeating in my writing and need to change the words to be less the same. Sometimes I find myself repeating because repetition is ritual and saying the words over and over and *over* again sometimes makes it easier to hear them.

And so despite the fact that I know asking for restriction is not fair, and something I find horrific asked of me, I am still allowed to want it. I can cry because I feel betrayed, cry because I am jealous, cry for any number of fucked up fractured reasons (because I am a fucked up fractured person and know that I'm just very good at hiding it) but I cannot cry because I feel wrong for wanting.

Desire is not wrong.

And so it is written and so it shall be cast.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Boston-Me)
Happy New Years.

It's seven AM, new year's day. Twelve hours ago, I was at work, closing the shop. An hour later, I was at a party that was...not right, but close enough. There were many people I am fond of, and I spent a New Years playing games, which is a thing that never happened before --usually the number of people I want to spend time with far exceeds the amount of time I have. But with six people around a table, I felt rather that was perfect. And I lost at everything.

(But I was a smart-ass in Innovation, and I lost better than Pi did at the bumper cars game. *My* car had no points AND crashed into the wall. He merely had a score of zero.)

We counted down to midnight, all slammed together into the basement. I kissed many people fewer this year than I usually do, and none on the lips. That was the first thing that felt very strange about this year, and will most likely not be the last.

I had a need to pull away, just after, and I trailed upstairs where I could take photos in the mirror (including one for my mother that I will send her). Then I went outside to get another drink, and the mission was very simple and very clear. I would find a star and wish on it, the first wish of a new year.

Of course I won't tell you what I wished for.

It's not what I wanted to wish for, because that want was(is) frivolous, and this wish was(is) important. But I made my wish, and stood for a moment, and whispered happy new year to the blackness. And then there were tears on my cheeks and I knew, very hard, that I should distract myself before I started sobbing.

So I went back inside, and spent an hour or two talking to interesting people. I left concurrent with one of them, and he invited me back to his place (a few blocks away) for hot chocolate. Being as it's a proven fact you can lure the Sorcyress with hot drinks, I followed him home, and we spent several hours chatting and drinking rather well-made chocolate. I approve.

I biked home just a few minutes ago --downhill most of the way, and the only tricky bit was going through Powderhouse circle. And now I am home, and theoretically I should sleep, but in all honesty...I'm not ready to. I feel really quite awake, be it adrenaline or enthusiasm. Were I a truly organized sort, I'd be finding some high place to watch the sunrise, but let's face it, that's a difficult attempt in this city.

And just now, sitting here, it has occurred to me the solution to my problems. I am hurt that I will not spend the night of New Years sleeping between two people who love me, who I love. Fine. There's an easy way to fix that.

I will not sleep.

The holiday was very different, and there were things unspoken I wish could have found voice. I miss my mother. I miss all I love. I miss you, whoever you are, reading this tonight.

But I am happy, and I think that maybe if 2011 was a wonderful year than 2012 will be as well. And maybe if 2011 was horrible, 2012 will just be better.

Happy New Years, cats and kotchkas. Be well and know I love you.

~Sor Kyress
MOOP!
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
The entire output of my 750words for yesterday consists of ten words, repeated a hundred times.
(And two lines with an additional seven words, just to round it out.)

In some unrelated words, a space where I am supposed to be strong and intelligent and sensible, I was beginning to talk like I wasn't. Like maybe some of the bad things that other people do are my fault, and I should feel guilty for them.

And yes, it's punishment, and I am not the person who should be receiving punishment for them, but sometimes my brain works very very poorly, and sometimes simply the best answer is to present myself with a ritual. I have always responded very well to ritual, and I feel it's a thing that sets me apart from the rest of the world. Certainly, there are things I'm reluctant to talk about with people, because I feel they'll make me look foolish.

Let's be honest, because I am not sure they would understand. Even if I do not look the fool, I don't know that they will interpret the meaning and import of my explaining what I did. In part because I don't always know how to explain it myself --what makes one hot shower just a hot shower, and another ritualistic?

But repetition can easily have a ritualistic component to it, and it's a thing I have been using more often than usual lately. There were the *hugs* to Harena the other night1, and there was that entry into my commonplace book, in which I filled a page with script2, and now there was this.

And of course, part of it is doing it right. Writing each and every word myself. Copypaste is incredibly good for winning arguments or for being silly, but some things must be done fully by oneself, or they don't...they don't count. I could easily fool the website, fool anywhere, and the output would be just as pretty to look at. But I wouldn't fool myself, and cheating thus would take away some of the import of writing the words, over and over and over again.

It is important to write the words over and over and over again. That's what makes them true. Oh no, not for everything of course --you can write "the sun rises in the west" until your hands fall off without changing a thing. But for thoughts, for feelings, for emotions? For subconscious ideas that are not right and need to be changed?

Sometimes the only want to change them is to acknowledge them, and insist that you simply will not take their shit any longer. And so you say the words --and sometimes you can't, sometimes your brain simply will not let you (I deserve happiness, and it takes a deep breath and a pause to admit that) and so you find a form that your brain will accept. And you use the compromise until you believe it, and then you take a step closer to your goal.

And a step closer.

And a step closer.

Until you can write the true words, the words you need to say in the form you need to say them. And admitting that sort of thing from deep inside you may hurt and be hard, but every time you say it, it becomes a little bit easier. And that's why I had to type the words myself. Because it's a phrase I say often, and a hundred times is somewhat of a pittance, but the trap I'm trying to avoid has sprung at me again, and that means I have to take slightly extreme steps to _shut that mental fucker down_.

Also, a hundred is such a pretty round number, and the phrase conveniently has ten words, and I *have* been trying to hit a thousand with my 750words account. The math just adds up so pretty!

Words are important. Ritual is important. And if I tell myself enough that I am not at fault, perhaps one of these times it will actually stick. Actually seem true.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Harena was having a bummer of a night, and I was worried I'd upset her, so I made reparations with a hundred hugs, each typed out, in her IM window.

2: Writing in cursive has been my creative meditation of the semester. It's a dying form, and that's a shame, because it's such a *pretty* dying form. Just perfect for writing diary entries, little bits of joy over the boys I love best, but yes, just perfect for writing secrets as well.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
How to continue studying like a Sorcyress. Also, how to test like a Sorcyress.

0430: Realize that the break is done, and you should begin researching something for papery goodness.

0545: Realize that, for all that you've really truly been looking at researchy things, you're not getting anywhere. Decide to sleep, instead, mostly because you're *cold* and beds with boys in them are warm.

0845: Wake up because your alarm is going off. Mentally swear and turn it off somehow.

1000: Wake up because someone else's alarm is going off. Realize that you meant to get up a sleep cycle ago. Swear, get up, and do a minimal amount of studying.

1045: Give up because you're not getting anywhere and do some strange combination of catnapping and daydreaming while leaning on the bed but not actually in the bed because you're totally not sleeping, no really.

1130: Give up the pretense and curl up into bed.

1215: Realize you have an exam, fifteen minutes away, in fourty five minutes. And that you haven't eaten breakfast. Or finished your test notes. Swear, leave.

1230: Get waylaid by the pretty-things-for-sale guy. Find an ankh that, while not perfect, is pretty damn near close enough, also made of wood which is really kind of awesome for the whole nature-worshiping side of you and the fact that you like earth tones. Wince because it's just not perfect enough to buy without knowing the price. Decide it is perfect enough if it costs ten bucks or less. Ask the guy. Hand him the last ten in your wallet and put on your new permanent accessory. Mentally mark off a mission 101 goal.

1235: Get waylaid by four of your friends spontaneously showing up at the same time, all unrelatedly. Don't look at Lezzie-Beth's boobs, no really. Flirt. Hug everyone and go to the finals place.

1240: Write up your page of notes.

1250: Go in. Explain to the professor why the take home question took you four pages to complete. (Answer: Stupidity) Take a copy of the test. Take the test.

1300: Decide that you are far too stupid for this test and you're going to fail the class because you know absolutely nothing whatsoever.

1345: Finish one of the five questions. Realize that you not only finished it, you kicked its butt. Smile smugly at the test. Hear the test tell you that "It is going to kick your butt so hard you turn into a popsicle" Start worrying about your sanity.

1415: Finish two and a half questions or so. Realize you need to pee. Do so. Listen to Id propose calling someone and asking for the answers. Smile in a self-righteous sort of fashion when Superego punts that bitch across the lawn. Talk to yourself in the mirror.

1445: Having finished three questions, return to hating yourself, the world, and everything.

1500: Have the teacher call ten minutes, with one question to go. Bullshit. Flatter. Pretty much admit to the teacher that you've no idea how this one works and that you hope he has a good summer anyways. Draw a dinosaur, and a slice of cake. Write the phrase "And I'm going to go to hell 'cause I ruined an Elmo, making a filk for you" on the side of your paper because it's STUCK IN YOUR HEAD AND WON'T LEAVE goddamnit.

1508: Hand the teacher the test. Realize that you're the last person in the room. Pout. Leave.

1515: Wander around campus absently halfheartedly seeing if friends are anywhere. They're not.

1520: Go back to your room, totally ready to pack.

1521: Turn on computer

1522: The rest, as they say, is history.

~Sor
MOOP!

(Also, anyone who can accurately explain the phrase "Kick your ass so hard you turn into a popsicle" will win a drawing or something because god damnit what on Earth does that even *mean*?!)

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