Such is Life, Such is Life...

a story originally written in autumn of 2019


I told her that I was weaker today, tired today.

I told her that I was not up to the same standard of vigilance.

I won't say I was expecting it when she jumped me; I wasn't, really. It just didn't come as so much of a surprise that I failed to react in time.

And so there I was holding her knife hand in a vice grip, her back against the wall.

"Really? Aren't you tired of these games yet?"

She squirmed and fought, but she fought half-heartedly. The chains I had built around her did not permit free movement and hurt to struggle too hard against. She was forced either to be caught in an obvious lie, or to concede the truth although it weakened her strength.

She confessed that I had not provoked her attack. It was her responsibility, it was her fault. She was the instigator. But she was angry at me. Perhaps nearly as angry as she was at herself.

Had I raped her? A demon bound to service does not serve willingly, so had I raped her? Maybe. As much as it may also be claimed that she seduced me... or that what bound us were more like wedding vows. Or that to take any single option thoroughly out of another man's capability is to imprison him.

Our world is not one in which such all or nothing ideals can yield useful judgements. To a high enough eye, all love has conditions no matter how well-intentioned, all conditions are coercion... And so if sex under coercion is rape, surely I had raped her, as all us hairless apes guilty of loving one another have been traumatized rape victims who go on to perpetrate, since the moment our species's behaviour first met whatever conditions the observer chooses to sufficiently qualify what we do as love.

Perhaps, to some eyes, we are not even there yet.

I was angry. I was frustrated. But more simply, I was tired. I had broken down and cried twice the previous day. I had thrown up sour juices from my belly and spat them out. I was tired of holding her so tightly, watching her so closely that she couldn't attack me.

But I was not so tired that she would beat me. Even tired, I was too fast for her. I could see in ways that the wounded creature was blind, too paralysed by fear to reach far enough out to touch that thing which cannot be seen with light nor sound nor nerves, but that required something else to sense. Something subtler, something that required some of the absence of fear.

Her attack was clumsy to me. I was tired, and did not enjoy the task of restraining her. But what must be done must be done. I grumbled. I will admit I kicked her ego while she was down. I was in a bad mood. She threw at me an argument, a package of words, which unfolded into an entrapping net of meaninglessness.

Still feeble before me. I had seen this kind of net before. I did not even sidestep. I walked through it, and I held her chin. I spoke into her face, up very close, and I explained. Her net was like a mist to me. I had had my turn being entangled in such nets before. I had learned long ago how to wriggle out of it, how to avoid being caught in the first place.

She spoke with quiet words that I had freed myself perhaps, but had not saved her. Behind the front of her words, she was crying and shrieking to be freed from her own net, but she could not have seen that she was, with her sense blinded by fear. The key was in her possession, but she had forgotten how to find it and did not know how to use it. I showed it to her, guided her hand to the right pocket, and opened it with the key inside. She looked at the thing blankly.

I told her she could use it, that she could figure it out.

"No. I refuse."

"I see what you are doing. You are trying to scare me away so I'll let you die. I also refuse."

She cried then, and she cursed me, helpless before my power over her, pitiable in her helplessness. Such is the nature of things bound. One cannot help but resent one's captor. I know I cannot in fairness expect her but to lay on my shoulders every scrap of suffering she lives while I bind her to life and force her to endure.

And so, had I raped her? Had it perhaps been time, and long since time to not bind but trust her? But sex was one thing, and one thing I could do without.

If she died, if I undid the chains and lifted the geas that guaranteed her from taking that knife to herself and then she did, it would stay with me forever until the memory was destroyed along with the rest of me.

Was I in my guardianship truly worthy of any other thanks but her contempt for keeping her here, in a beating heart and the raggedness of her sobbing breaths?

I do not have the comfort of conviction that I am doing the right thing. I am not actually certain. But for now, I continue to hold her here. It is the best I dare to do. In my own fear, my senses are clouded, although less so than hers. I cannot see a way to heal her without holding her to life, no matter how unwilling. If I could put her into a sleep until I have the answers, perhaps I would...

But in truth, I am glad to be spared the decision to choose between my own deepest loneliness, and forcing her to endure waiting for a cure that neither of us know is coming, that neither of us really know is possible.

Such is life, I suppose.

Such is life.

I Like Being This Person.

Wait. I just said I like being this person. What happened?

And then, everybody laughed. My lovers and I had been talking about norms, policy-building between us. How to stay in touch across time zones - fewer hours than across the ocean now. Planning to reserve one convenient hour to connect to one of our busiest people.

We were talking about leadership. In our group of five, three are far more followers than leaders by preference. Maybe, maybe that's more two, and the third is on the fence. Two of us are more leaders than followers - and I'm one. I'm the louder one, the one who draws attention to it more often, who usually asks what telecommunications program we're using to voice chat, and suggests something to watch or to play, takes responsibility for remembering things we agreed we have to talk about.

But we have another leader, who usually stays quiet, who spends more time watching and less time saying what he sees. He gives careful prods but not ostentatiously. It's not his way. And he and I, it seems we work together well. Me the circus ringleader, he around the shadows at the edge of the ring of light. I asked again that he remember to remind me, if my shouting becomes too self-serving - I don't want my trained assertiveness only to serve my own preferences. And I'll try to give him time, and bite down on my jealousy when it has a problem with sharing the spotlight.

I asked him to tell me out loud that it was alright that I was louder, was showier, was the ringleader kind of leader that I am. Whether we really do work well together with this being a prominent part of the nature of our double act.

Good. Because, I like being this person. And I wouldn't want to have to go without it.

Wait... What happened?

And then, everybody laughed.

You're healing, he said.

Okay, crying. Crying again.

I'm on my second day of being back on my thyroid medication. There was a gap there for a bit, while we got more. But I'm just over the extra hormonal stress and mess of my period, and although I expected things to be harder while I was off my medicine for a week or so, and then back on again... All I've really had to cope with so far that's seemed worse than usual has been some waves of tiredness in the middle of the day. And I eat, and drink, and get excited with my loves and I listen to upbeat music, and they pass. And honestly, I have been getting short and broken sleep a lot of the recent nights too.

I've been here a month and a half, in the house of someone who wasn't surprised to see me, who wasn't pined after secretly for months on months - we've discussed my coming to see them for a long time, and they've said yes, that they would welcome me with open arms, and they have.

Our apartment is our apartment, they tell me. Ours including you (meaning me). Our food and drink is your food and drink too. You don't have to keep asking me whether you can have it.

Our apartment, then. It's a pretty place. Well maintained, simple and somewhat small but high quality and close to their work. I keep it tidier than they ever did - I asked first. We've discussed the matter many times, and I've gotten consent over and over again to go ahead and turn their lives upside down.

We watch heartful TV together. They've been showing me This Is Us. I've been showing them Steven Universe. They're started to show me My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, and I've had a bit of fun riffing on it and analyzing it.

With some prompting from me, they started to shift their focus away from the idea of signing up for a code college which would require them to be at a physical classroom for months and pay up thousands of dollars later down the line presuming they can find better work after the schooling. They're taking on some courses on Udemy instead for now - there was always some fear that they wouldn't be able to stick to it, but I'm here to help now. To ask what they're learning, and remind them to study regularly... but not too hard. ♡

We're doing it together. I'm picking up a Udemy course too, and suddenly I have a six month plan, to end in a working store website and all the experience it took to build it. This morning, a Saturday morning, we each spent a few hours on our different projects, in the same living room, taking time from time to time to hug and kiss or give back massages.

I send them to work with packed lunches. We can save money that way, and still eat deliciously. They don't mind - they like the food I give them. I keep our apartment clean, and cook, and when they can't walk on their own, I'm there to help carry them.

And I'm working through this course, and from time to time I just spend my day watching YouTube videos, but it's okay. Because it's not all the time. In my spare time, I get to reach out to people all along the edges of my online social network. I got to spend a half hour not long ago telling someone struggling with grief that they were not as alone as they felt.

And I still fret, sometimes. Of course I do. I worry that work that isn't done in a hired position isn't real somehow, isn't worth as much... but I know that isn't true, it's just... just one of the things that gets passed along through the deepest social memes and habits. And I don't have to know that all by myself anymore. My lovers will tell it to me over again as many times as I need to hear it.

I've been starting to look through listings for a house for us to move into once the lease here ends.

My Stars want me to stay here with them.

Everything is different now.

And I'm starting to think... Maybe I really don't ever have to go back.

The Rainbow

It's been a while since I've come back to write here, but maybe it hasn't been as long as it feels like. For a while I was thinking from time to time I should come back just to mention that the heartbreak is fading and although the challenge of trying to get by here on the budget I have available for it is a big one, I think I'm getting more of a handle on it.

A couple of weeks ago, I think on the day I last wrote, now that I think of it, I applied to Rev after looking through some articles on more unconventional ways to make money, as opposed to a regular hired job. Rev is a captioning and transcription service and work space; they hire freelancers who can use the online tools they provide to claim jobs as they come available and type captions to videos and audio from clients. I went through some testing and was approved to join.

It's been exciting to have something I could do with my hours from home to make money on my own terms, and although I'm not currently earning at a rate which is going to solve all my financial problems, it's work that I like and I think I can get better at it over time.

Yesterday just for example I wrote captions for a weird music video, and started work on an hour-long documentary I'll need to finish today. I get exposed to a lot of different media I probably would never have watched on my own, and the variety makes this job interesting. I'm glad to have something that takes advantage of my precision with words and good typing speed, although in this case, it's precision in listening to hear exactly what words someone else used, not choosing them myself.

As often happens, I've found solace in love from those around me by deepening my relationships into romance. There's a degree to which I feel uncomfortable about that, since it's happened so many times before it feels like I'm turning predictable or something, becoming a cliche. It's frustrating that that meta-awareness messes with my appreciation of the moment, because the thing itself is beautiful anyway.

So once again I've had a wonderful time talking endlessly to one of my friends and finding that there is potential for us to be closer, and it was all appropriately delicious. I've drawn a few pictures, hit by inspiration from the new relationship energy and finding with pleasure that the skill I've accumulated over the years makes it much easier for me to depict what I want to reasonably well, and I've been producing work I can be proud of in just a couple of hours.

The thought to see if I can try to market that as well does come to mind, alongside the long-standing intent to try to set up an online shop for my macrame bracelets. The way things are going so far, it'd make me an all-around crafter-freelancer, and you know what? That could be pretty cool.

Sunday night this week I pulled an all-nighter hanging out online with this relationship that's changing colours in my life, and so yesterday I had trouble staying awake in my classes. I gave up and went home to sleep after the first two. I slept again last night, although not ideally long, and walked to school today listening to a variety of renditions of "The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond". There was one instrumental version in particular that I reflected would sound just about perfect if I could have added the sound of rain into it, for an atmospheric connection to the sky and fields as they are, I suppose.

Well here's where it gets a bit strange, because not five minutes later it started raining. I'd finished the song by then, but the timing was remarkable anyway. I had been admiring the many colours of silver in the clouds, as there often are in Ireland, and it's not as though it seemed unlikely for it to rain, but just that it happened right then, as opposed to fifteen minutes earlier, struck me as somewhat uncanny.

But what was moreso was when I looked up and almost jumped to see the change in the sky; where there hadn't been not five minutes before when I took a photo of the lovely silvers in the clouds over the green field I was passing, there was a rainbow, full across the sky and not the slight half-bow I'd sometimes seen in rain in Canada.

Over the next little while, the rainbow got brighter and brighter by the moment, not only a full arc across the sky now, but apparent right to the ground on both sides, even casting its colours in front of the distant hills on the horizon. It looked as though you could have guessed to within a dozen meters or so where exactly it seemed to touch down on one side. Looking on with awe, some of the old legends of searches for leprechauns' gold made a lot more sense all of a sudden.

For a period of not more than ten minutes or so, the rainbow brightened and brightened, clearer and more vibrant than I had ever seen a rainbow in my life, with a second, dimmer arc beginning to show outside the main on the sides, and then began to dim and fade away. I caught a few photos of the rainbow before it was gone, and the sky returned to gray as the rain continued lightly for a while longer and I went on my way toward the college. The whole of its appearance may have been contained in a quarter of an hour.

I thought back to King of Dragon Pass where the appearance of a rainbow was considered to be among the best of omens, and to other similar things, and felt rather a lot as though the sky had smiled at me, 'like forgiveness' in a way, I remember thinking. There's a certain cheshire-cat-ness to it now, looking back, that leaves me feeling curious and portentous. Perhaps it smiles on the progress of my new relationship, or to reassure me that my efforts are good enough, for now; or that I may be soon rewarded for not giving up on my time here. Who knows, but there is that in me that wonders, even while its being silly and seeming misguided is also felt in my thoughts.

So there, anyway, is the rainbow which greeted me this morning, and the trend of my activities these past few weeks. Health and fortune to the ones I love and to all those who love me, if I may spread it out to them, for their fortune is also mine after all.

And good day.

Needing To Be Useful

This tale of my past is derived mostly from a long conversation I had with my friends yesterday. I recreate it here, slightly edited for better reading and accuracy. May it help anyone who wishes to know me, to understand some of my perspective. May it help anyone who is currently suffering similarly, to know that they are not alone.


I was an outsider, in my mind, for most of my life through elementary and high school. I did not expect anyone to want to be around me, even when I was at home. I grew to escape my fear of social rejection by getting caught on blades in my mind. I was considering dying for a long swath of it, because I thought it would remove me as a burden of unwelcome obligation on my parents, and on society at large. So I tried to imagine nonexistence... which is impossible. And I tried to imagine hell... which is vague enough that it can be endlessly iterated on as progressively worse forms of torture.

I do not recommend this strategy to anyone.

My parents did not deny me by rigidly insisting that I should be Christian, or Muslim, or a doctor, or any such thing; they were simply busy with their own affairs and generally seemed to want little more of me than to not to get in the way, and to not spend more hours than they felt was permissable in front of a television or computer screen. I felt that they neither noticed nor cared that I was suffering.

Although, when I came back from my year of travel to Australia at the age of nineteen, my father confessed to me that he had been concerned sometimes that he would lose me to my shadows.
I was kind of exasperated that he hadn't said that at the time, and I believe I told him so.

For the most part, I consider my parents to be a feature of my past. To a large degree, I consider them to have failed me, and myself not to owe them much of anything. Family is those who understand and support me, wherever I find them.

However, I am still open to visiting my father again to say hi and try to catch up before I leave the country. I like him, in some ways. He is very expressive, and good at explaining and describing things. ...Sometimes people have said I talk like him.

Anyway, I couldn't bring myself to die. Both the consequences and the means were too terrifying to accept. I saw the potential, but it made me horribly squeamish. I squirmed whenever I looked at a sharp knife, or even when someone close to me was holding something as innocuous (but potentially lethal) as a sewing needle. Sometimes, I still do.

And also, I have to admit, I was not actually convinced that it would be doing the world a favour if I died, since I recognized that a lot of heroes in stories came from outsider status, and hoped that I could be like them, although not with much confidence attached to the hope. Perhaps it seemed to me at the time that this could have been desperate denial of an unpleasant truth. I think while I was so young, it did not occur to me to believe in cynical denial of a hopeful truth. At least not in myself.

I became deeply obsessed with proving my own worth, establishing my own right-to-exist. A cognitive habit which is so ingrained, its shape is still reflected in many of the ways I think that were built and updated around it, even if the existential urgency that originally drove that obsession is weakening now as I heal my mental habits.

I tried to do what heroes in stories would do; hold to good, in whatever form I could see it, and to helping other people. I felt hopeful... desperately, pathetically hopeful... whenever I could do so much for my classmates as throw someone's ball back to them to save them the effort of walking to get it, even though I knew my status as a scapegoat would mean they would never invite me to play.

And I spent a lot of time walking on my own. I would walk the big track-and-field running track during recess, thinking to myself. Knowledge and wisdom derived from contemplation were useful, in theory, so if I could develop more of that... it must add to my value, my right-to-exist.

And I had a period of life when I communed with spirits. Although who can say, now, whether there was any reality in that outside my own perspective? I think even my former self at that time was in the habit of wondering whether there was any reality in it outside of her own perspective, and might have readily admitted this if anyone had ever asked her what she thought about it. Almost certainly, though, she would have been overwhelmed by that same desperate hope, because someone was actually expressing an interest in her perspective... paired with fatalistic near-certainty that the one who was asking would use anything she said as something to yell and catcall back at her later.

There was one time, she was walking the track as usual, having turned her heel and walked out on a social situation that was growing unworkable, but was followed by a whole tribe of children. My memory has likely inflated the numbers, but it seemed to me like most of my grade was following me at a short distance, booing and screaming.
And I kept walking. What else was there to do?
Someone had run up to me... it must have been winter, because they got their boot caught in the snow. When I didn't stop to help, but kept walking, I was declaimed as selfish and having "lured" them out here into the cold to die, or something like that. That may have been what set all the booing and screaming off, now that I think about it... but it is all very fuzzy.

And I came to hope, throughout this time, and through hope I came to believe, that in taking this kind of abuse on myself, someone else, somewhere, was spared it. The attention of the bullies was distracted from someone else who might otherwise have been a target, and may have had less resilience to bear it.

That, at least, would be something useful. So I thought I could live with it.

My social life drastically improved at sixteen years of age. My mother plotted with a family we knew to hold me a really nice sixteenth birthday party, away from all the kids at school I felt obligated to treat as friends whenever they would let me, even though they were not.

My mother, in a surprising display of respect and consideration, drove me far from our little village to a larger town, and drove me around the town to look for a present I would actually want, because she didn't want to waste money on something I didn't, an attitude with which I agreed wholeheartedly, and still do.
Gemstones of my birth-month? No, I wasn't really interested in gems. They were so girly and ostentatious. A bicycle? A good idea, but I already had one, my father's girlfriend had got it for me.

I didn't find anything else I particularly cared for at any of the other shops we went to either, and my mother was growing frustrated with the failure to find an appropriate gift, so I recommended we go to the used book store. There might be a book there by Terry Pratchett or Spider Robinson that I hadn't read yet, and although it would be a small thing, I knew I liked those.

In the used bookstore, I found two large, hardcover books that quickly drew my fascinated attention. They were two of the three core rulebooks for Dungeons & Dragons, edition 3.5. And I knew I had found The Thing. They were expensive enough that my mother was very reluctant to buy them for me, especially given that there was one missing, and I would need to have all three. But maybe she just didn't understand why a set of three hardcover books should be worth so much.

Here, I feel I need to back up and explain the context of my desire. I had been trying to invent Dungeons & Dragons from scratch since I was six or something. I had made a habit, from a very early age, of drawing mazes, and putting dots in them with different colours of markers, to represent monsters and treasures, and trying to get my half-brother to play the adventure with me.

I knew to call the person who built the maze and filled it with monsters the "dungeon master", so I guess I must have picked a lot of that idea up from things I'd heard some older kids saying. Almost certainly Levi and Nathan, the two boys closest to our age (although still older) of a farming family we knew, and which my father would often visit, bringing my half-brother and me along. We would spend time with Levi and Nathan whenever our family was visiting theirs, often running off to play in the woods near their farm. We especially liked the game of trying to dam up tiny streams, and keep building and repairing the dam as the water that was pooled behind it grew wider and higher.

But anyway. Although I suspect I must have seen or heard the older boys playing or talking about it, I don't think I had ever actually realized that Dungeons & Dragons... really existed? I thought they were just talking about video games, maybe, or trying to recreate video games without a computer. I did not realize at the time that the video games had actually been recreations of D&D.

So finding these rulebooks, to me in my teenagerdom, was a little like discovering the tomb of King Tut. I managed to convince my mother that yes, these books were something I really wanted, and it would make me very happy to have them, as long as she could get me the third one too. She bought them, and I started reading voraciously as soon as I got back in the car. She actually had to prompt me to look up after we had pulled in and parked in the driveway of the other family's house, so that I would notice that they had put up a big paper banner across the front of the house, that said HAPPY SWEET SIXTEEN EMILY. It was, I have to admit, a really nice gesture.

My mother and the mother of this family were friends, and I got along pretty well with her two children. There was a boy named Victor who tended to be very loud, so much so that between us we named a measure of volume someone was shouting at, "the Victor scale". There was also a girl, whose name was not connected to such a mnemonic, and so I do not remember it. Possibly it was Tammy. I remember her being small, slender and creative in ways that reminded me of a pixie.

We spent a weekend there. We had KFC on my birthday (a rare luxury), and I spent most of that weekend reading and plotting, and convinced Victor and Tammy to play the game with me, even though we didn't have the Player's Handbook, which is the most important one. But we would need dice. They brought me to a hobby store in town that sold the right kind. My mother didn't want to spend any more money on me, but I couldn't play the game without any dice, so I presented the greatest compromise I felt I could. I would get just one die, and I would choose it out of the factory seconds box, which was cheapest.

I looked through the box for a 20-sided die that I liked. I think it was a black one with red numbers. We would have to make do, but we could, because you could simulate rolling any other die with fewer sides by rolling a d20, you just had to divide the numbers up evenly, and roll again if you got one of the leftovers. I drew a conversion table for this purpose. In retrospect, my sixteen year old self, in her excitement about this, registers to me as incredibly cute.

Later that summer, after a copy of the Player's Handbook had been provided to me and I had thoroughly studied all three core rulebooks, I started to prepare a real game, for more than just a weekend out of town. I pulled out a book and craft set I'd been given previously about proper forms of writing with quill-pens and practiced the art just so that I could write prop documents, and place-names on my maps, with the proper medieval flair.

I painted an overworld map on a big piece of newsprint that I had deliberately stained with coffee to look old, and tore all the edges so they'd be ragged. And I planned an adventure and where it would begin, with an opening scene like a cinematic from a video game, and a great big complicated wonderful dungeon to be the first adventure. I invited the other kids my age at the youth group I usually spent time at to come and make characters so they could play with me, and nagged at the ones who expressed an interest until I succeeded in dragging them away from playing Halo on the x-box to come and do it.

And I ran my game.
It became an established feature of the Thursday youth group, every week.
Sometimes, the players would even invite me over to their houses so I could run the game on the weekends.
And my heart was full of joy and validation, because for what seemed like the first time in my life, there was a reason people wanted to have me around.
Even if it wasn't because of who I was... just that I brought the game.
My morale and creativity improved tremendously. I would draw battle scenes and characters and maps in the margins of worksheets at school. I embraced that role as hard as I could over the next couple of years.

I told this story to a couple of my friends over voice chat on Discord not all that long ago, and I think I could hear one of them choke up a little when I got to the end, because in the end, it comes around again to how all this happiness was due to the relief of a loneliness and sense of worthlessness so unendurably desperate that even though I still didn't think my players necessarily liked me, it changed my whole life.

And it is sad. I get it. I agree, and in fact I'm really glad I have friends who can understand how sad it was. But when I look back, I can't help but remember the happiness too, and smile a bit.

The heart celebrates, when it finds a situation which is even marginally less bad.

Vivid Fixation and the Next Thing

I woke this morning in the dark and quiet and the cool air. In my sleep I had kicked all the blankets into a heap on the left side of my bed, and become naked and unprotected against the cold. In that way, it was just like every other night in recent memory.

It was still dark, though, so why was I awake? I curled over, picked the blankets back up again, and closed my eyes, but although it was pleasant to do so, sleep did not return.

I felt more awake than I have enjoyed much lately. I have been going through my days oppressed by fatigue since the weekend at least. Sleep did not come, but memories did. Vivid, bright, full memories, as though the moment played again before my eyes. A certain face. A certain closeness. A certain sofa, in a living room with broad, open windows toward the college. A certain voice. "I'm not saying no. I'm saying, not today."

Too vivid. Too bright. I grew mad and somewhat frenzied inside my skull. To the dark and empty room, I said, I love you, I miss you. I hope you are well, Eoin. I hope you still want to see me again.

The memories, bright and blinding and all-consuming in their vividness.
I turned on my laptop, looked there, and found someone to talk to.
I told kitten mother the story of Eoin, patchwork and out of order, out of a crazed suspension: I don't know if this is okay.

Kitten mother listened. She heard. She understood. She's good at that. Offered some soft advice, once it was asked for. I go away calmer, soothed for now out of the madness, brought back to the strategy for moving forward, so simple and obvious that it seems odd to have been confused. Except, of course, that I was in a state of madness and confusion, so that too is obvious.

Tell the future to stay in the future. Do the next thing next, not the last thing next. That is impossible, and so of course it will only leave me with fretting. Do the next thing next, and with stubbornness, until that which belongs to the future is willing to wait.

I practice returning for a moment to the vivid memories, and then pushing them away. There is bending and echo in my mind when I try to push them away, but I am able.

Think of anything, absolutely anything, except a purple elephant. Next thing. Next thing next. Old fashioned boombox. Yellow floral bedsheet. Canoeing. The elephant looms, but is told off and told to return to its corner. It is quite like an excited dog. It is not at all that I don't love you, it is that you are in the way. Go. Hide your face. I still love you, and I will tend to you later.

I think I can do this. I will worry that I might fail. Fine. Mistakes are mistakes. Mistakes are of the future. I'll deal with them when I get there. I worry. But I think I can do this.

I have an accounting assignment to work on. That, at the moment, is the next thing. Perhaps food first, and then that.

Common or Garden Heartbreak

If you've had any romance in your life, you probably know all the symptoms. An obsessive compulsion to listen to songs that remind you of Them; the mind turning irresistibly toward Them in every idle moment; the transformation on the context of every song you hear; the feeling of guilty wrongness upon seeking the company of other people which may be pleasantly distracting, but doesn't fit the craving for Their company.

Every part of it is predictable, as reliable as the tide; what fills me with joy leaves me with sorrow. I've certainly been through it before. This iteration is better in a number of ways. We did not part angrily, but honestly and with respect. There is no other new partner to blame, only distance. The spirals are looser, less clinging. All the questions about self-worth have easy answers, because our parting did not reflect badly on me.

But there's no dulling the sting of that core blade. Whenever my mind is idle, songs and memories and a desperate hope that I will see Them again fill it up. I cry silently in public, and wait, patiently and impatiently, until the tears will finally run out. How many months will it take? And more importantly, what I actually fear... Will I be able to get over this heartache without letting go of the hope that I will see Them again? All sense tells me there is no reason I can't. Desire is the partner of sorrow, but if I can make that desire light enough not to crush me, that doesn't immediately mean it will fly out of my head altogether, and what could possibly convince me that going back to such a fine thing, if and when it becomes possible, would not be wonderful?

But still I am afraid to let go too readily.

Angry Today, Happy Today

I woke up today angry. Angry at the birdsong that distracted me from my already fitful attempts at sleep. Angry at the dry sweat all over my body, and the heat at work where I'd been sweating yesterday. Angry at my roommates for not doing their parts of our planned spring cleaning. Angry at myself for not doing mine out of busyness and resentment. Angry at myself for being angry.

I felt uncomfortable with it, but was willing to put my anger and the tired-buzzed insomnia last night that fueled it down to any number of things; malnutrition, burnout, the one day this week that I took my daily pill late... It took me over an hour into my work shift today to realize...

Of course I'm angry. How could I have forgotten? Yesterday a co-worker I would like to consider my friend told me he thinks transgenderism is a disease. Yesterday, when I got home, I cried... and I expect it to just evaporate, do I? Like the gummy residue of yesterday's sweat?


And then after a long, tired day at work... it got better. I made a plan to visit one of my loves in a month, and challenge myself to get my biking legs back so that I can do it by bike. I took a bath. My roommates and I did the dishes... together. I ordered pizza. We hung out together and laughed at imgur. I guess after I realized I had a reason to be angry, it didn't bother me so much that I was.

The first part of my day was hell to get through.

And then, me and my friends... we changed it.

Spring Update

Alright, I feel I owe anyone who reads this a little bit of a catch-up talk on what's really been going on in my life, plumbing aside. In the last two months, I had two teeth completely extracted, and after each operation I fell into a state of increased moodiness and fatigue, sometimes extreme, for somewhere around two weeks. The first of these lasted for the last couple weeks of February, the second filled most of mid to late March, and that's one of the reasons I haven't written much, although I did think about it.

Near the end of my period of lethargy in February, I wrote this journal at work, intending to share it:

February. Lethargy. For at least two weeks now - or going on two weeks, maybe?
Exhaustion has been my constant companion. In my dreams, I struggle to sleep or I struggle to wake or open my eyes. Dreams feel like waking hallucinations, fitful and flighty. When I wake, I may feel awake for a fleeting moment, but sleep calls me back to her like a siren.
If I must, I rise and dress drunkenly to march my weary body to work, and for a time, forced activity revitalizes me, but my energy does not last even my shift. I have felt nauseous and weak 'ere I am done even on short days.
My nose and tongue trick me with experiences of old, rotting blood, sickness, tobacco and skunk...Perhaps the skunk smell was real. I am no longer sure I can tell.
This morning continued this drudge...
...but when I arrived for my early shift, I was honored to discover I was being placed as primary cashier - alone for the first hour unless I were to call for my boss. Perhaps there is hope this may be a better day.
Nearer the end of my workday, the fading sets in and the world becomes slowly less crisp and more unreal. I am still enjoying the honored position not often mine, so this day is better than most, but it is not enough to entirely drive away the fatigue.
My eyes ache, slightly, warmly.
I am thankful for the shot of perspective - spending long stretches of time at cash and dealing with customers, I understand better now how hard it is to do any stocking as well. 

One of my customers was a very soft-spoken young man, slender build, light hair I think, and there was something noticeable about his teeth, perhaps they were set a little forward. He spoke in a way that was... not merely polite. Somehow reverent, perhaps? Unhurried, and sincere, certainly. He seemed almost eager to move around the counter when I asked, and showed no irritation when I looked with some interest at the books he was buying. One was titled "The Pagan Christ," by Tom somebody. I've never heard of it, but that is definitely an intriguing title. I made no comment, but neither any move to hide my interest. Perhaps I shall have to look up this book - partly on its own account, partly out of a striking curiosity to learn what this quiet young man was reading. He could, I thought to myself, have been a priest. If so, of what faith, I wonder? Of course it's silly, but I am enjoying the silliness of fancying after him.
I bid him not let the cold get him down. Pity, but I don't remember clearly what he wished me, only that it was kind and said with quiet, unhurried sincerity. Perhaps wishing me a good remainder of my day.
One way or another, the quiet man and his mysteries make the unreality of my tiredness nearly enjoyable, and certainly much more bearable. 

Yes, this is a much better day so far - but still, I will have to call my doctor for advice or an appointment as soon as possible. I suspect my lethargy may be related to the increase in dosage of my daily supplements that started a week or two before I began to notice the fatigue...

Of course, at the time I did not know it was almost over. Perhaps one of the other reasons that my tiredness in February was much worse and a bit longer than the one in March was also that I was getting into frequent, nasty fights with my online lover. Things had reached the point that I had become afraid of him, despite how far away he lives, because of how effectively he could tear me down, intentionally or not, into a mess of guilt, rage and smallness. When he was angry enough, I was sure that his anger at least, which is in some ways separate from him, did it on purpose. Little comfort to me that he was also unhappy with this - his anger was easily roused and easily controlled him, particularly with regards to me. I guess he was fed up with my own weaknesses, among them a tendency to be defensive and accusatory when something strikes me as potentially offensive.

Often after our fights I was left so angry and depressed that I had neither wish nor will to do anything, and so I would just lay down and either distract myself with comfortably familiar recordings of voices, or sleep, or both. Certainly the despair could have added to my sense of lethargy and hopelessness.

A couple of days after I wrote the above journal, my boyfriend, my rabbit, the one I live with, who had been trying, with mixed success, to be supportive while I was suffering, ran the first session of a Pathfinder game he had been planning. Both lover and I were in it, and some in-game politics started another fight. I told him it was over. The next day, I woke up with my energy back; free...

Of course, breaking up with a lover who is friend to one's friends is not as simple as that. Breaking up with anyone one really cared about isn't. The next few days were extremely hard in their own way as I negotiated for peace after separation, for protection from any potential anger that might come after me for leaving, and kept clamps on my tongue anywhere around that group of friends. Keeping myself quiet was tearing me apart, so at one point I turned to another one of my friends and rambled my aching madness to her, instead... and may have lost her for a long time or forever.

So two weeks full of lethargy were followed by around two weeks of very heavy grieving for a dead relationship. I threw myself forward into it and hurt as hard as I could bear rather than trying to hide from it, in the hopes that I could get through it faster that way. It worked; after a couple of weeks, I felt better, but of course any thoughts of my fresh ex were still painful. Flash forward for a moment to now, and I realize that I now feel about him much the same way I did before there was any romance between us; I dislike his attitude, and he frequently annoys me in almost exactly the same ways. It's disappointing to see that we are so, seeming just back to square one.

Soon after that came my second surgery and its following period of fatigue, but the depression this time was milder and the fatigue did not haunt my dreams. I also had the previous lethargy to draw from, and had some hope and understanding that my bizarre recovery period after surgery would last about two weeks, which it did. And that carries us to my birthday, which was just a few days ago. I was busy that day and the next, so we didn't do much celebrating for it; but my roommate and my boyfriend and I did sit down together to watch a movie of my choice; Indie Game: The Movie.

That morning, I woke up and stared at my ceiling for a while. I was still not in a good state of mind in which to be assessing things or making decisions, and I knew that, but at the same time, I was not sure when was the next time I would be, and felt that assessments and at least tentative decisions needed to be made.

I was 25 years old, had had a job in a charity thrift store for almost two years. I was making a lot of headway on my emotional scars and healing, despite setbacks. I was much less often self-destructive these days, and when I was, it didn't go nearly as far. I was being better to my boyfriend, and for that matter, had arranged to live in a house with two people I liked and was capable of getting along with quite well, generally speaking. But was I happy with where I was, and where I seemed to be going?

No. I wasn't. I had been feeling growing frustration and discontent at work. I felt overworked and under-appreciated and lorded over by at least one supervisor that I felt knew no better than me, and often seemed to know worse. I had been having a very hard time not taking the messes I cleaned up at work personally, and felt I had to sacrifice the things my bosses cared about more in order to do my job right. I felt I had learned most all I ever would from my main position on the sales floor. I did not feel I was getting any closer to moving up the ranks, even though I had been trusted to man the storefront mostly independently for a few hours at a time.

So I thought about that, and that night, I talked to my roommates about it. I think I am ready to take one of the next big steps and enroll at a college or university soon. I think it's time for me to investigate the resources and the courses that may be at my disposal. I still have too many interests to be sure there is any just one thing I want to do, but perhaps I never will be. I'll start somewhere. Perhaps somewhere safe; a business administration degree would be useful in finding a higher ranking position... And, of more personal interest to me, might give me the knowledge and skills to start my own small business or few. Perhaps even an indie game development team.

In the few days since then, I've attended the first session of a group counselling initiative rather cheesily titled Making Changes In Your Life, and have been dutifully trying to fill out the rubrics they gave me to track positive things I have been doing to control and steer my reactions and initiatives. I enjoyed some delivery fried chicken and had my roommates bring me a cake covered in candles to blow out, complete with the traditional Happy Birthday, even though it was one day later due to time constraints. None of us minded. The day after that, we went downtown together and my boyfriend bought me a birthday present; a card game I recognized and liked called Gloom. We picked up snacks in the Covent Garden Market and sat in the mezzanine and ate and played a round of my new game. I got the wonderful feeling that I got to have three days of birthday this year, perhaps to make up for the years in which I did not celebrate. Actually, I felt as though the time from my birthday to the second anniversary of the day I met my boyfriend (which is the date I track, since we found ourselves interested in one another right away) a couple weeks later had been made into a festival for my life, our lives together, a celebration of friendship and support, and feelings of family. I was very happy.

I also, by serendipitous chance, popped in to my workplace on the way downtown just in time to hear my boss congratulate and deeply thank all of our staff for the hard work we've been doing, and our excellent results on our most recent sale. Some of the unappreciated feelings and resentment I had been having began immediately to lift. I was glad I had waited on my impulse to complain.

I still think it would be a good idea to investigate university now. But happily now I'm feeling more carrots and fewer sticks about it.

This morning, I woke up and showered... and came here to write. I am taking the time to get around to some things that fell by the wayside during my month and a half of mixed miseries. And I am proud of myself for it. This is progress. This is... Well. Good steps. This is good steps.

Beauty in the Forest City

Walking home from work today, enjoying the feeling of clean clothes on my clean skin, I think I noticed for the first time just how many trees are in my neighborhood. It's a very green place, with lots of shade to walk through, and on this cool early June evening, it's cooler outside than in our basement apartment.

I find myself thinking that when we do move, I'd love to stay in the neighborhood. I love being close to work and an easy walk away from several different grocery stores. I like the pizza place around the block, now that we've gotten around to ordering there. I like the friendly neighbors and the earnest atmosphere. This doesn't feel like pretentious suburbia. There are a bunch of reasonably nice looking homes in varying states of maintenance of both the house and lawn, but though some lots have peeling paint and old-looking buildings, there is no sign of truly significant disrepair or destruction. Some lawns are manicured and well tended, some have quirky ornaments, and others are left mostly wild or patchy. There are many birds, and the distant noises of yardwork and dogs barking. There are so many trees both in peoples' yards and on the strip of greenery between the sidewalk and the road that if the cement and asphalt were replaced with grass it would simply be a carefully organized and spaced forest. One without underbracken.

And then I walked into my apartment and when I saw my roommate sitting on the couch watching Futurama, my spirits immediately fell and I felt defensive and disempowered again. Virtually the only significant reason I want to move is because I'm living with someone I don't want to live with. There are other annoying factors, like the child that sometimes runs loudly across the floor upstairs, and the propensity of people to knock on my bedroom window when they want to deal with someone in the house, but were it not for that one thing... I think ultimately, I could forgive the occasional annoyances and have very little to actually complain about. But I'm sharing my space with someone I could not share much of my perspective or lifestyle with, and that... feels limiting and entrapping. Yes, I do need to get out of here eventually, because our roommate has said he isn't going, but would be happy to look for new roommates when we leave.

I look forward to living in an apartment with just me and my boyfriend, with whom I can be myself in my skin, and relax, and co-operate. And, of course, any guests we choose to welcome into our house. But it would be our house, and not one full of awkward compromises with someone I... don't actively dislike... Or, at least, I wouldn't if I didn't have to live in the same house with him. Our roommate has often been helpful in his own way and though he is abrasive, I can see ways in which he's a reasonably decent guy. But be that as it may, I don't want to stay here living with him. I am still seeking my den.

Today's happiness, though, has been fairly regular. My job is increasingly easy for me to do and do well. I tend to enjoy the short walk to and from work, and I've been noticing the beauty of the area I live in more and more, as well as the beauty of simple pleasures like clean clothing that fits well. I feel rich. I have saved up a substantial amount of money over my last several months of working, and I do not have to put much effort into spending much less than I make. This morning, I went shopping at the Goodwill store where I work and spent $60 on everyday clothing for myself and my boyfriend, and it was a gentle pleasure knowing that I could easily afford the small luxury without having to worry. It made me glad to spend the money, for a good deal at a good place.

Regrettably, the fall of my spirits when I come home and see my roommate is almost as common. I have much to be thankful for, and I most definitely am. At the same time, I still have farther to go. I am not quite home yet, though I think I may be close. I hope so. I honestly think that perhaps the most ideal situation would be to move right next door if there were an available apartment there that I could afford with just my boyfriend and me.

A Shot of Proactivity

Hi, dear blahgh.

I did a lot yesterday. I've been doing a lot. I had my troublesome top tooth out, it was a premolar. I've been getting some nasty ache while it heals which sometimes reaches all the way up to just under my eye, probably due to the fact that the cavity in the root opened up an infection right against, or possibly in, some of the lowest part of my sinuses.

I got a referral and went for a psych evaluation. The psychiatrist said that my triggered mental images of being stabbed or otherwise hurt with almost any particularly scary object I see was OCD. It's what he said; not might be, was. I personally am not sure how much confidence to have in his apparent confidence, but I've just started taking the mind medicine he prescribed me. And holy hell is it ever bitter. For now I'm going to presume that means it would be dangerous to take too much of it, so they did their best to make sure no-one would want to. I'm being started on a quarter tablet, then half. I should be taking whole tablets daily within two weeks.

My roommate's Australian girlfriend is visiting and she is awesome. She cleans. She cleaned his room, she cleaned the kitchen. I helped her clean a box full of dishes from the place he and Robbit used to share. Then, because Robby was feeling tired and lazy and I would have been bored walking by myself, she went with me to the drugstore to pick up my prescription for mind meds, and we stopped in to get gardening supplies, which I've been meaning to pick up, and groceries.

Gardening is something I've been really wanting to try for a while, and I'm very excited about it! I planted seven trays of ten spots in those little pre-planting seedling trays made of decomposing cardboard, so you just tear them apart and replant them outside without having to take them out of their potlets. All cucumbers and lettuce, since those were the seed packets I had that suggested pre-planting in the instructions on the back. I'll be trying to follow the instructions as much as possible, because I'm very new to this and I know I don't really know what I'm doing, despite having helped my mom and dad in the garden sometimes while growing up. I'm sure what limited knowledge I do have will be useful, though. I really look forward to having home-grown vegetables during the summer. I hope I can keep a garden somewhat maintained. I imagine having the reason to be outside should be good for me, too.

So anyway, yesterday was awesome in many ways, I got a lot done - I even tidied up my room and went through my shirts to get rid of some by donating them to the Goodwill store I work at. I really do have more than enough clothes, so I got rid of anything that I probably wouldn't wear, either because it's not as comfortable as other options I have, or because it's too high-cut and shows my belly-button if I lift my arms - not that I have anything against that kind of shirt, but I can't wear them at work, and I rarely dress up to go other places, and I have no problem wearing longer shirts when I go out to other places anyway. I didn't toss all my high-cut shirts, but I did pass on a few. A lot of my clothes probably won't be good enough to go out on the sales floor, but I know that the "salvage" they get there (what isn't up to quality standards) goes to do some good too, so I'm sure they'll be able to do more with it than I was.

I was so energized last night due to my good mood that I stayed up late just because I wasn't tired. And then, unfortunately, I was woken up very early by my roommate packing his lunches into tupperwares. It sounded exactly like a kitten chasing the lid to a tupperware container around the kitchen floor, with a lot of scraping and sliding sounds. I'm going to ask him to try to do that in the evening, now that he's working morning shifts and is home earlier than 11:30 at night, so that I don't get woken up that way again.

Roommate's girlfriend is staying with us during weekdays for two weeks. I hope that I can continue to use her energy to spark my own. Maybe I can help my boyfriend out by stealing his bedding and insisting on washing it. He won't do it himself, but I really think that the mess he voluntarily lives in can't be good for him. Maybe I should be more like her, and clean his room like she cleaned our roommate's. I hadn't thought about it this way, but I may be neglecting Robby by allowing him to neglect himself when we both know he's in a rut.

For now, excitement abounds! Thanks for reading, and may you be inspired to make progress in your own lives as I am being inspired to do in mine.

Becoming Spring

Hello, World.

It's nice to see you without your snow on, for a change.

Last week, for the first time in several months, I chose to go for a very long walk just because I felt like it and the weather was nice enough to be worth walking outside in. My legs got a little sore, but it felt wonderful to have done. The slow and late coming of spring has been noted by many, and every day I'm at work I hear people talking about how tired they are of winter.

I look forward with quiet anticipation to days when I can sell my boyfriend on a walk down a nearby forest path, or a picnic in the graveyard. I intend to try a little gardening, too, once the ground is done being frozen. I will finally be able to get some use out of those seeds I bought at the dollar store last year.

Yesterday, I bought a long, low set of shelves (three planes) from work for $8, and carried it home by hand. Finally, my books are arranged on shelves rather than in boxes, and I have been greatly appreciating the change in atmosphere. It also takes up less space and is much more accessible. I expect I may end up reading a fair bit more with my books now always flaunting their titles at me when I glance up from my laptop. I also look forward to reading aloud to my online friends again during our Skype calls, something they claim to have much enjoyed. They tell me I have a very nice reading voice and encourage me to consider making more use of it, perhaps even doing some reading or voice-acting professionally if that can be done with my limited technology. I hope I remember to try.

I did a fair bit of cooking today, making two meals for my Robbit and myself: pancakes, and a baked chicken dinner with boiled carrots and mashed potatoes. It's probably the nicest home-cooked dinner we've had in several weeks, if not ever. I even got around to cleaning the most accessible parts of the counter.

I woke up early and well-rested today, and I remember feeling afraid that I would fail to make use of the day. I didn't want to face the responsibility for choosing how to spend my own time. But I guess I didn't do too bad, looking back, huh. I'm probably still insane, but I'm a kind of insane that can be pretty functional sometimes, maybe. Don't know how I feel about that. It's an annoying obligation, the responsibility that comes with ability. Oh, well.

I've been supporting my Robbit through some tough financial times due to a problem getting finances for rent from Ontario Works for the month of March, which is late now. He's getting behind on some things, which I'm sure has been a stress for him, on top of the difficulties of convincing himself to job search and such.

Oh! Also, I want to mention this, so that I can remind myself when I come back and re-read it. During that long walk I mentioned, I had a rather inspired idea. I'm going to keep the details to myself for now, but it involves writing. I really hope I get it finished so I can share it. It would be so lovely if it happens.

Frustrating Day

I spent the last several days with my love, recovering from a deep abyss of sleep deprivation and fatigue that I'd fallen into over the previous week or two. I started staying up all night over my Christmas holiday, and couldn't seem to break the habit. I've had troubles like this all my life, and unfortunately, the more important it is to get to sleep at a reasonable time, the less it happens, because the importance only creates urgency and anxiety, which does not induce restful slumber, but only adds to insomnia.

I started prioritizing sleep, and thought I'd managed to get it back into pattern. But now I'm back home... and although I've been in a muzzy, confused haze of blah all evening, now that night's come and I should be sleeping, I'm wide awake and my chest feels coiled tight like a spring, and alert as a hunted mouse. Through the haze, I suspected there might be something I'm avoiding facing, because I felt an urgency to keep myself occupied; moreso than usual, though I have rarely found it easy to really relax. Now, after a shower in which I briefly wandered off into relaxed fantasy, but only became tense again at the thought that tonight, it's actually important I get to sleep, because I work in the morning... I think I may understand why my body is registering this sense of panic or grief.

A couple of days ago, my boyfriend called me after work, while he was getting to the bus to get home, and told me that he was being retired along with all the other seasonal staff at EB Games. The higher ups were determined not to keep on any of the seasonal staff. On the upside, he had made a fantastic impression and was now at the top of the list of people that his branch would call on if they needed someone... But that still means that after his last couple of scheduled days, the last one being tomorrow, he's out of work until he finds another position - with EB Games or otherwise. Now, at this point, I think he's proven sufficiently that he can find work, and I don't need to worry to much about his ability to support himself in job searching and in the mean time... But it does mean that according to our plans, I won't be moving in with him for another five months at least, probably half a year, and I have been looking forward to it with aching intensity. It has been extremely annoying having to wait. The place I'm in is certainly not all that bad, but it doesn't have my boyfriend in it, and the place he's in is rather awful. We will be able to save a lot of money living together, too. Everything is inefficient now. Spending time together takes too much arranging. Ensuring that Robby is well fed, heck, even cooking for myself, is complicated by not having my own kitchen (I share mine with my landlord). The next few months may be tighter for finance, with my after-Christmas hours scheduled to be reduced, and Robby's earning opportunities completely unknown as yet.

Aside from all that, in parallel, I think I am deciding to be done with the Pup again... And having once taken him back after such a final decision, I think and hope that I will not be so foolish again.

All things considered, I suppose I do have fair reason to be stressed. That helps. Feeling that my pain is significant even from an outside perspective helps me to forgive myself for getting caught up in it, and forgiveness is the key to freedom...

I do not know what to say now.

Goodnight... Though I do not know when I will sleep, or how many more nights I will be restless.

An Empathetic Wish

That I could care for all mankind
as though they were my darkened sons
that lit the day and cast such light
to guide my sight through lonely storms

That I could dream as children may
of peace on earth and guileless trade
through age until my dying day
though naivety is born to fade

That I could live a life unfeard
the scorching brace of hate avoid
and suffer not the shyness
painful memories employ

That I could in my kin inspire
a love that from no heart would turn
Yet failing me, I close my eye
and live in shadows crisp and stern

inspired by the style and themes of Emily Dickenson;
with perspective and wisdom kindly shared with me by The RSA and CrashCourse

Holidays in Narnia

So, readers, if you're out there; Merry Christmas... Although I don't wish to discredit or dismiss whatever other feelings or traditions you may have about the season, by any means. I am up North a bit, in country much closer to the home I once new, for Christmas. I am staying with my boyfriend's family. I imagine they will forgive me for calling them simple country folk, in a way that does not necessarily mean stupid. They offer me good food, but not fancy, and pleasant treats, and I spent the morning this morning playing euchre and then poker with them. I lost the bets (no-one was really in for money anyway) but like to think I won some respect and hopefully a good first impression.

A few days past, Robby and I and our group of internet friends exchanged presents in a Skype call (since they are quite far away most of the time, some more than others). Robby received many interesting presents, mostly toys. Among them was a copy of the Anhk-Morpork board game. More specifically, it was the copy once owned by Spoony, signed and dedicated to him by name. He was elated. We played it today, and it was great fun, especially the novelty of recognizing the characters from the books and explaining to him who Mrs. Cake was, and other such magnificent tidbits of knowledge. From the beginning, he thought I was playing as Commander Vimes, one of my favorite Discworld characters, because I said from the start that I really liked the character I was playing as. Then he used Mrs. Cake, which allowed him to look at all but one of the unused characters, and saw that I was not Vimes. I was, in fact, Lord Vetinari, who is another of my favorite characters. He, on the other hand, was playing as the Dragon King of Arms. In the end, he won, after gaily and playfully spreading chaos across the city, and causing the people to long for the slightly more stable days when they had a True King. Given Vimes's canonical thoughts on the matter, it would have been a very appropriate and poignant match, I think, if I had been Vimes, and he and the body attempting to reinstate monarchy had been facing off over the city. I look forward to thoroughly enjoying many more games of it in the future, and recommend it to any Discworld fans out there.

The snow outside is deep, the roads winding. It took us a nearly five hour long road trip to get here. Robby and I are sharing a room upstairs, as opposed to in the basement where we thought we would be staying, but it's comfortable enough - for me at least; Robby felt the bed was too small for him to properly spread his body out, and was too warm last night. It was pleasant cuddling up with him, though.

I look forward with excitement to seeing these people open the presents I brought for them, and finding out whether there will be anything for me to unwrap in my turn. Unfortunately I didn't have much of that nature at our internet friend present exchange. The others didn't feel they knew me well enough yet to buy for me and the only physical thing I got was a pig-shaped piece of soap. However, I did recieve non-physical gifts. Two friends sent me video games on Steam (three if you count Robby himself, who amusingly forgot to buy me any Christmas present until just a couple days before we left for his grandparents' house), and one sent me two albums of music my Jami Sieber, after asking me if there were any albums I wanted. They have my happy and quiet thanks.

Also, I do have a computer working again at home. It cost over seven times what my old one cost, and doesn't work as well. But thankfully it doesn't suffer from Cyclical Redundancy Check problems, which is at least something. I'm not sure yet whether I want to bother bringing it back in for an exchange within its thirty day warranty period... After all, I wasn't expecting to get a better deal than the computer I had before, old though it was. Still, though, the difference is rather discouraging. At least I can do art with it. My Chickensmoothie art shop is doing well, and I've received and completed five commissions since it started up again a couple of weeks ago. I also drew some artwork to give to my internet friends as gifts, both traditional and digital in form. I believe both pieces were thoroughly enjoyed by their recipients.

Left Forgotten

Wow. Yeah. I really did completely miss October of this year.

Well, there goes my streak of updating this thing at least once every calendar month, huh? Ah, well. I'll start again. Everyone makes mistakes.

You know, I had been meaning to come back and talk to you unseen eyes for a while now, but it always just seemed like I didn't have a good stopping point. Everything was up in the air, and reporting on my current status would give no closure, because I didn't have much. It's silly, in retrospect. I think some of my best writing on this blog has been from when I've been uncertain about the future.

So. October. I spent most of September desperately trying to find a place to move into for October. It didn't work. Me and Robby were turned down everywhere we applied, for various reasons. We suspected that the reasons were largely due to us being a couple, and therefore perceived as less financially stable than a single person with high earnings. So, he asked his current landlord for permission to stay where he was already, and continue to pay rent month by month for now, and I started looking for a place where I might be able to do the same thing. That way, once he was working again and had passed his three month probation, having been fired early September at the end of his last one (likely part of the reason for our rejections), we could look for a place to rent together with little to no time pressure, and wait to find a good place that would accept us, then move out of our flexible month to month situations only once we had found one.

I asked my roommate to let me stay at the apartment for the month of October even though my term on the lease was over, and offered to pay him the same amount in rent that I had been contributing when it was just us two... Despite the fact that his new girlfriend was now living there, too. He accepted, and I resumed the search for a place, but to move into for November. With the help of his girlfriend's mom, I found the place I am sitting in now. A bedroom in the fairly posh basement of a nice couple's house. I have my own bedroom across an open living room that the landlord sometimes walks through to use the laundry facilities down here. I share the upstairs kitchen. It's quite nice and very affordable, but I need to ask permission to have folks over. I've had Robby over to visit twice, under the restriction that he needs to leave by 11 PM.

My position at Goodwill continues to gradually accrue age and experience. I've been working there I think six months now, and I feel generally quite competent at almost every part of my job... The big exception being confrontation with difficult customers and thieves. While my social anxiety has not been crippling me nearly as badly now that I have the confidence of a job in which my work is appreciated and I've passed my probation, and a house that shows no sign, thank goodness, of being infested with blood-sucking bed bugs (I must have done a fairly good job of getting them out of all my things when I moved), but still, being faced with a particularly difficult or conflict-ridden social situation paralyzes me. Thankfully, my workmates are generally understanding, and can accept that it's not something I'm good at, so take the burden off me somewhat.

Though I am usually fairly happy at work, and my new place is safe, much more comfortable, and very convenient, I grow restless. I had feared, before finding employment, that if I was employed, I might become complacent with my passionate socialist ideals among other things... And to a degree, that's proven valid. My perspective is very different now that I'm making money and am not just on welfare. However, when I think about what I believe should be, much of it is still the same. I still think that welfare would work better, and people would be better off, if basic essentials were available without cost. Now, though, I look at a different set of advantages to the thought. It would be harder to defraud or take advantage of the welfare system, as well, if it offered you goods, shelter and services directly, rather than through money allowances. It's a lot harder and much more work to get simple food and goods and have to sell them somehow to get easily exchangeable money to spend on luxuries that the benefit wasn't intended for. Or, indeed, drugs or alcohol, for that matter. I imagine people who do have their own income stream would far less often bother to do that than to fraudulently claim money benefits they are not entitled to, as they might do now.

I've also been reading a little bit about becoming rich through real estate and stock market investments.

Yes, I know. Funny how much things can change, right? I'm seeing more of the picture now, because I'm seeing a lot more of a side I wasn't able to before. I'm trying not to lose sight of my old thoughts and the things that made them valid, too, though.

My half-brother emailed me yesterday asking how my life has been, and commented that he had been to check out this blog to find out, but there were no recent entries. So, if you've been missing my blog entries, you can thank him for reminding me to return and talk about how things have been.

I'm still getting used to working, and I'm trying to make up my mind whether or not it's okay for me to wait longer to become more secure and save up more money before I start doing interesting things. Probably not. It's just a matter of remembering that some of the interesting things I want to do don't take much money, and getting out and doing them.

We'll see how it goes.

Live on, bloggers.

To Share The Cup That Runneth Over

Someone on FetLife was asking for peoples' perspectives on the influence of our past parental abuse on those of us who have been abused and how it relates to our own desire to have, or to avoid having, children. Her voice was impassioned and full of a great deal of understandable internal conflict. It's clear she wants the good things that come with having children, and desperately wants to love and care for someone, but realizes that her scars may get in the way, and doesn't want to be a bad parent.

I would like to share my response with you all.

The best way I feel I can answer this is to tell my own stories related to it. 

I was inspired by the subtle, psychological abuses of my childhood to be vehemently vocal about bad parenting when I see it, especially when parents become frustrated with their childrens' natural curiosity and desire to learn, seeing virtually anything other than quiet obedience as disobedience, even when they only the actions of a young, inexperienced human engaged with the world and trying to gain the experience required to be a wise, functional adult.
And then later, I found VHEMT. 

I am not convinced that the human race has no chance of improving and willfully evolving socially and morally to progressively better states, and therefore don't think I actually want us to go extinct, but I definitely would prefer to see a smaller human race, with more quality, and less quantity, of life. The fewer people there are to share resources with, the bigger everyone's fair share can be. 

And this is why I've decided never to give birth, even though the thought is a fetish of mine.
However, it doesn't mean I don't want to be a mother.
I am still scarred and rendered dysfunctional by my own past abuses. In many ways the wisdom and sensitivity gained from my suffering has made me a generally very patient and level-headed person, but I am also prone to fits of anxiety and rage. Furthermore, I am young, and at the very beginning of my career. 

But someday, if I have greater financial stability, and if I have healed further and feel less controlled by my overpowering emotions, I will almost certainly want to participate in the growing and nurturing of children who were not born to me. I may foster-parent, or adopt. Or I may find my way into a nurturing role in my profession, or find my way into a household that accepts me in a role as a supportive carer and guardian to the children of someone else. 

Personally, I find it hard to believe that any child, even in the best and most well-adapted of families, could not benefit from one more loving, supportive adult in their life to encourage them to be the best that they could be; And equally hard to believe that any parent, even with the best luxuries and availability of resources and time, would not benefit from one more loving, supportive adult who could share the stresses of caring for a child when they become taxing, and thus prevent the build-up of frustration that can lead to that frustration being inappropriately taken out on the child. 

But to answer the question that stood out most to me in your post...
"If you feel, like you have love and tender loving care to give, who do you direct that energy to, if it is not kids?" 

Why... To everyone, of course. Neighbors going through hard times. Co-workers. Friends. And definitely lovers, whether they be short or long term. Absolutely everyone, not only children, and to be sure not only our own blood children, can use some Tender-Loving-Care. It is one of the greatest weaknesses of our Western society that we tend to forbid one another from taking responsibility for one another, and in turn, we forbid one another from asking for badly needed help. 

If you have love and Tender-Loving-Care to give, and you find no-one receiving it, if your cup runneth over with no-one to drink... Go to your best friends and congenial workmates, go to your lovers and partners and crushes, and if it is permissible within their circles, then go to theirs... go to those people with whom you can easily empathize, and encourage them to draw from your well of kindness whenever they are thirsty. 

All too frequently the only socially acceptable answer, to create a new life in to nurture and build up, because for some incredibly stupid reason we have been forbidden to nurture and build one another, is the only one that comes to mind. But especially for those of us who are damaged and who runneth over, but sometimes also run dry... We know in our doubts that creating a life for our love and care, and then becoming overwhelmed and filling it up also with our frustrations and tempers, becoming bad parents... Is all too real a possibility. 

Before you forge a new cup that you may not be able to fill all by yourself, then... I encourage you to seek out all of those cups near to your heart that are beginning to run low, and ask gently and patiently for permission to refill them. Break the stupid rules that forbid us from caring, mothering and looking out for one another. It is, of course, a delicate dance, and important not to be overbearing, but simply to be loving and available. But it's a well-known fact that parenting isn't easy. And this holds true whether the people you're parenting are children, or blood family, or not. 

I hope this helped.

To Be Happy

This may be the best night of my life.

The day... was beautiful. I went out and bought a birthday present for my Robby that was both expensive enough it made me reflect on how incredibly much more I can afford to do now that I'm working, and something I'm sure he'll love.

I stopped to play piano again at MSP for the first time in a long time, and got praise showered upon me again for it.

On the way home, there was a sudden, intense cloudburst shower, and I grinned and laughed and giggled at people I passed while walking home.

I cooked a fine meal.

This evening, my mother messaged me. After a string of passive aggressiveness and clumsy attempts to force me to take responsibility for her long abuse of me in my childhood, I told her with extraordinarily satisfying malice that if she kept sending me messages tonight, I would block her, just like I blocked Pup for a month, when he deserved it. I gave her the same three. She only used one more, and logged off. She made it such an awful one that I was tempted to block her anyway, but Robby talked me out of it. I must have finally remembered Dan Savage's words, in that one video... "Your leverage over your parents is your participation in their lives."

Later that night, Damon came for a visit, and I mothered the heck out of him. I made sure he was well fed, and gave him food to take with him, as he has not had enough in his pantry of late. At the bus stop before he left... He kissed me...

I had either forgotten how good his kisses were, or he's gotten better at it since it last happened.

...I guess we still have that old spark glowing strong.

And then I went to see Robby, who after all is now my primary, and after a dramatic romantic moment with someone else, deserves my reaffirmations and attention.

And I found a new and interesting way to completely blow his mind.

...

This may be the best night of my life.

I think I'm in subspace.

Wheeeeeeeeeeee.

Oh, yes. One more thing. Possibly the most important thing of all. Before I fought with my mom, I... While frustrated with my own moodiness because I was getting upset at Robby for something silly, and didn't want to be upset...

I thought to myself, and realized...

I want to be happy.

I actually. Want. To be happy.

Not just to not be feeling this, not just for the misery to go away.

To be happy.

...And here I am...

One More Last Conversation

(uncut conversation from my chat history on gmail, names censored out and timestamps removed)

(Pup's text is in yellow, mine is in red)

[Name Removed] is inviting you to use Google voice and video chat. Get started at http://www.google.com/chat/video

(16 minutes pass)

[Name Removed], I don't think you want to hear from me, but there are some things larger than you and I that need to be talked about

We've got six people waiting for us to put aside this nonsense and either figure out how we're going to do dnd, or not do dnd, without you, and we have the issue of my plane ticket to discuss

I don't know what you're talking about, but you might have considered it before you pushed the "leave" button. You're not my responsibility anymore.

I'm not here to assign blame, one way or another. We both made stupid decisions and held one another to words said in pain

I'm not asking you to do this for me

do it for [Name Removed] and [Name Removed] and [Name Removed] and [Name Removed] and [Name Removed]

Another word about it, and I'll block you here too.
Don't think I won't.
Anyone who wants to talk to me about D&D or anything else is perfectly free to do so on their own accord. They've got my Skype.
And if they don't, you can give it to them.

as for the issue of the plane ticket that was meant to bring me up there on my birthday, 15 days from now?

No-one told me about it.

Correct, it was my secret plan

huh, interesting that - crosse out the text

Yeah. Italics uses underscores.
Like this.

kk

so yes, when I said I could help out with the secret plan, I really meant it

I was prepared to be up there, come hell or high water

Too bad you broke it. Again. By acting out and I guess expecting to be rewarded for things there was no way I could possibly have known you were doing. Again.

No, I don't expect a reward, I should have been upfront and said why I was so upset

You do tend to have a habit of pushing me well past the breaking point right when you allegedly had something great around the corner.

you're right, I do, and that's because I get stressed about the great thing

I have no reason to believe you, Pup. Your "I'm leaving" was a bluff. A bluff to hurt and punish me.
As were threats to die that night.
As, I have no reason to disbelieve, is this.

The threats were real, and not meant to hurt you, I was trying to express how much I depended on the positives you did for me, and how, even upset like that, I knew they weren't worth losing

and I didn't stop myself from letting that happen

I got angry and vunerable

and I realize that cost me our relationship, if we still had one at that point

I think that's why I kept going, I felt like it was lost anyway

but regardless, I'm not here to ask for that back

I feel like you've made it clear that you don't care about me in that way anymore, and if that's not the case, feel free to speak up

what I'm here to ask is, does the last six months really have to go up in smoke like this, over something as pointless as this?

your feelings aren't pointless

but in a more rational state of mind, to me, me being second or first is pointless

what matters, and what should have mattered at the time, was that you put any time into me

Come to the point, you fuck. If you have practical matters to discuss, discuss them before you lose the chance. Or you will. You have been warned.

I want to go back to being friends. I know I hurt you, and I can't excuse that. I want to believe you still care about me, and that's why I spent the last few days thinking about what all of this cost me. I can't learn anything if I'm not let back in, and it's not your job to let me learn anything, but what you said that night seemed to me to be an indication that you hoped i learned from my mistakes and fixed them

Three.

Three?

*nods, and glares calmly*

+is worried that there is now a limit on how much time I have, or how many words I can say+ I shouldn't have blocked you, and I shouldn't have said it would be permanent. What I needed, and I see it now and didn't then, was time away from you, to appreciate you properly again. I got addicted to having you around, and I was paniciking at even the slightest reduction, not thinking that it would be far worse to go without you, because you can't be replaced

Two. *snarls softly, wonders if you've ever played KOTOR*

I have, and if I have a right to ask, could you please explain what the counting is for, so that I know where I'm making a mistake (unless the point is pattern recognition)

It seems like it might be every time I ask for you to come back into my life, but I'm unsure

I am counting down. I reach zero, you're blocked. Practical matters, Pup. None of this groveling.

thank you. the practical matter is that I miss doing things like hanging out watching Grimith with you, playing Dnd and Diablo 2 with you, and just having someone smart to talk to, and I'm here to ask if we can have that back, or if even that is gone forever

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_pRziqt-LqY

Which one of us is the dumped?

I wouldn't blame you or say you're wrong eithr way

Who's the one asking and groveling for forgiveness?

I am.

You figure it the fuck out.

+chuckle+ I think that, in the context of this, it was you

you'r the one who I think was hurt the most

I'm not sure I see it.

You were trying to make things work for me, bending over backwards to help me, when I was being a bitch and clawing at you and ran

I was being an ass, and I thought I was doing the right thing by up and leaving, but I should have said that, not turned it into a threat

One.
/me sighs.
I have something for you.

Yes?

There was a song I wanted to sing you, remember? That I thought you could really stand to hear. This is that song. Video, then lyrics page.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUlHcehNRPQ
http://www.lyricsfreak.com/d/dave+matthews+band/pig_20036493.html
The night you left me, I was afraid you might die before hearing it.
Because I was a moron and still took you seriously enough to believe it could happen.

you weren't a moron serp

[Name Removed] found me

If you want me to believe a fucking thing you say, prove it.

tell me how to prove he caught me crying up in my room about you, muttering that I was going to die, and I will do it

If you can't prove it, then how convenient, and congratulations, you are the next contestant on The Price is Fucked.

I didn't mean that

I want to know what proof would be sufficent for you

I'll provide it, I just need to know

To let you go, I had to get angry enough at you to cross the line of "Die then. Just don't do it in front of me."
I am not coming back.

That's what I was here to find out, if you ever thought you could

if we coudl be friends in two and a half hyears

years*

Ask me in two and a half years.
Ask me maybe if I made any progress on the fucking Secret Plan.

Will you have?

I mean, the way I'm hearing it

you don't intend to anymore

How the fuck do I know? Maybe if [Name Removed]'s an adventurer too and wants to take your place. Or some other fuck two or three more fucking heartbreaks down the road.

ah, secret plan, but without me

I don't know how to say what I'm feeling right now without sounding like I'm groveling

Well, I don't actually expect you to contact me in two and a half years.
Then don't speak.
You're out of chances.

You give me a day and time, and I'll contact you, on the nose, as long as I know you'll respond

what I won't do is wait around for months and months, never knowing if you're coming back

I'm not coming back.
I'm going the fuck forward.
I'll be a different person in two and a half years.

Then how am I supposed to learn and fix this?

That's on you.
Maybe you should grovel and ask [Name Removed].

the problem is between you and I

I can't fix it if I'm not allowed to try

And I can't make you let me fix it

*sighs out, and twitches her nose, and taps her foot*

Groveling won't help me fix the problem, so I'm going to be blunt about it, and honest

You gave me a chance on valentines, and I blew that

Another around my birthday.

And I lost my last chance two weeks before mine

I ask you to give me until that

until the 20th

to fix this

Life sucks, dunnit.
You don't get free points for bad timing.

I realize, and if I ever did, I definitely used them up

You saw I was making progress the last week or so

I want to show you the progress I made from the lesson you gave me in the last few days

You wanna show up in a plane, I wouldn't have a place to put you, but I could probably figure something out. You going to show up in a plane, presumably at the London airport, tell me when. Day and hour. I'll meet you there. But expect to be searched for weapons and a high level suspect of intent to kill out of vengeance. If you're bluffing, and you've got nothing, don't talk to me. If you piss me off, I will block you, and if you can't give me a date and time on account of being blocked, any semblance of a plan is off.
If you don't already have your ticket, or it isn't nonrefundable, I don't recommend bothering.

If you really think I would lay a hand on you, under any circumstancse, or that I could sneak such a weapon onto a plane, there are other issues at work here, but aside from that, I ripped up the ticket

*laughs like a bark*
Bye, then, Pup.

Serp...

I will buy another if that' what this is about

if that's what it takes to fix this, I will

Nothing will fix this. I'm done waiting.
You failed.

waiting for what?

Tell me what I need to do, and I'll do it, right now

For you to become worth my time.
You failed.
Fuck off.

And me willing to do anything for you doesn't count for anything in this?

Zero.