Well, DUH.

I dreamed, once, that I was ... on a beach? ...but wherever I was, I had just been given a Name. Not mine: the name of someone. By the person whose Name it was.

I'd told them mine, you see, in the waking world.

So I was told their Name, in my dream.


I shared, of course, that I'd been told the Name, with them. The Word that it had been, in the dream, was in a language not spoken in the waking world. I remember the Sound. It would take a voice like a gong to sing that Word in the waking world, and it is a Word not lightly sung.

(I tried it just now, and my hands are vibrating from the force of it.)

I was asked to share, if I ever figured out what it was in a waking tongue...


Sometime later, I was given a Word, at one of those moments where the universe stops and spins. And I have treasured that Word, that English Word, carefully.


Well, DUH. It's the same.


So, at the next moment that such things may be shared, I shall share that with the person who it needs to be shared with. The dream, again. The other dreams. The Word.


Has it been said before that you don't truly own yourself until you have your Name?

Echoes

Just for giggles, I tried speaking aloud the line, "For none but my own True Love would know my Name..."

...and it gave me the shivers. The hair on my head stood on end.


This does not happen often. This happens at certain lines in certain books, where certain fated-to-be chance things occur. Like in Uhura's Song, where a powerful leap of intuition allows them to find the right haystack to search for a needle in. That unfailingly raises my hair. Even typing about it now, stands my hair on end.


The tears are coming to my eyes now, the slow few tears that go with the goosebumps.

A thought...

What day of the week is April 16, anyway?

A Wednesday.

Now if that doesn't just beat all.

What it sounds like...

I was raised on translations of the Russian fairy tales detailing the adventures of many tsar's sons Ivan. This moment sounds right out from one of those.

I walked in dreams, quested the lonely paths where many tread, but few remember, and fewer still understand, and I came back bearing the treasure that was my prize, the object of my quest.

Should I dream to be a Russian princess, the one daubed by soot, but rightfully clothed in silks, furs, and jewels?

It is remained only to bear the treasure, the key, to the captive prince, to set free the prisoner. And I carried both halves of the key with me for so long, little dreaming that when put together they would equal to this...

General Observation:

Whenever you start to feel like Killashandra Ree, woman, you are well and truly fucked-up.

And furthermore...

...No longer does the rose flap her ragged petals as banners in the wind under the fierce grey sky. The wind is gentler, sweeter, softer, in the dewy night, in the blue garden under the overarching banner of stars above.

GHAAAA.

sithjawa, AIM says that you are not available.

This post of his may be aimed at me.

Hmm. I'm having one of those floaty nights.

I think that I am loved.

...I do know one thing, though.

Endings.

Quote of the day:

"I think I'm actually squicked! I don't think I've ever *been* squicked!!" --elance

Day

I woke up first to the sounds of shammash and eris_raven bouncing around the house making noise. Thanks, guys. We really appreciated that.

Then I woke up again to votania announcing breakfast, and verily, that was Good.

After that, I checked my e-mail, and helped with the continuing process of furniture-moving. The little TV and the filing cabinet got moved from my room to her room, and this was a Good Thing. The books of mine from her room are on my floor along with the piles of papers I have yet to appropriately put in their binders after hole-punching.

From that scene of horror, I departed to give plasma. Ahh, giving plasma. The joy of sitting around a less-than-clean waiting room waiting, and then having the vampire machine extract nearly a liter of plasma while adding fun & happy replacement fluids, all while watching sometimes nonsensical movies on televisions with either too much noise, or not enough.

I tend to read through the procedure. Happy is my palmtop computer. Happy is my knowing of Rach and jenwrites! Today's book is still War of Honor. It's been draaaaaagging. silmarian is right.

Then I stopped by the dollar store before coming home, and got two pairs of shoelaces, one box of inferior chocolates to make sure they'd be as bad as I thought they would, and six plastic bead necklaces for Eris to play with.

Now? I think it resembles supper, but I'm not sure.

Thugz on tha Bus

I was on the bus coming back from giving plasma, and I, as usual, sat down in the general vicinity of the back. There were a couple kids back there, not one of them over thirteen, and I soon figured out that they waz Hardcore Thugz, because they were all dressed similarly, with plain dark pants and plain blue or white shirts, and they all had blue or white sweatbands on their heads, and they were goofing around just like any social club of kids that age.

They were being kid-silly, and I was grinning at some of the exchanges.

Then, at Northern, three of the men that this quartet was aspiring to be walked on the bus. You could tell by the way they looked, the way they walked, that they were the real deal. They were not messing around. They sat down in the back with the rest of us. Two of them were obviously brothers, by some form of brother-bond if not by genetics (and likely not that). The third was evidently just in from Cali.

One of the little punks, the littlest one, started messing with the hardest-core of the True Thugs. And the True Thug sat there, and looked at the little punk. And the little punk about wet himself.

The True Thug then proceeded to wave his hand at the little punk and reassure him that no, he would not mix it up with the little guy, because, after all, he was just a little guy. He then came out with some words regarding respect, and why it's best to show the same. The little punks listened, and I tried not to grin too obviously. Rites of passage.


Welcome to Phoenix.

Animations that probably shouldn't happen:

A Pokémon battle between Ash, with Pikachu, and Strongbad, with The Cheat.

The two creatures are released, and Pikachu unleashes with all sorts of electricity while The Cheat just stands there, looking at him, maybe back and forth between Pikachu and Strongbad. Pikachu goes into his Final Big Attack. The Cheat discovers something with a Big Red Shiny Button, and pushes it. Like, a remote or something.

A trapdoor opens up in the floor, and Pikachu falls through.

The Cheat wins, of course.

Jars

Wound up going out shopping with the family again. We hit the dollar store, which expedition saw me home with a nice new trash basket, a ceramic jar with suns and moons on it, some lip gloss, and a crystal dangly for my window. Lip gloss is becoming a necessity rather than a luxury. Evil Arizona.

I've decided that the sun/moon jar shall be my "swag jar". Therefore, I shall put random loose change and so forth into it, to have the money on hand to buy cool and frivolous stuff when I want it.

Ahh, poetry.

Gotta love it. (Not work-safe, text-only.)

Ahh, that always feels so good.

Shredded my old credit card the old-fashioned way, with scissors. New one arrived, which makes me much of the Happy.