So not his oblivious fault

votania said that she hated to see what he put me through.

Fortunately for the health of my friendship with him, that's not entirely correct.

If he knew what were going on in my pointy little head, things would be much different. The thing is, though, he somehow has missed out on the subtlety that when I tell him, "I miss you", this is an understatement that means, "garnetdagger has been making will saves so that we don't cry ourselves to sleep at night if we don't get to talk to you at least twice a week and don't get to see you in person at least once a month."

I missed CTY like that, OK? It's not my thing to miss anyone so badly. I missed Shawn horribly when he visited his father for the summer, but most of that was the fact that I knew he was in deadly danger, and he was my responsibility and I couldn't do shit about it. I'd miss the Little Fayoumis like that if he went to spend the weekend at Grandma's house without us (for the same reason I missed Shawn: because not only do I love him, I know he'd be in danger, and I wouldn't be there if something happened). I missed the Lady E., and I miss my Pretty, but not like that.

When I'm away from Darkside, and he's away from me? I get morose, and miss him, and invent inane excuses to call him, and sulk if he has to go, and call back again as soon as politely possible. (Usually, this means one call a day, two tops, unless there's a reason for calling more, like he has to do something right now but try back later. I avoid calling him on days when I know he's going to be busy.) He seems to get more grumpy.

In short, I miss him. He will be told what that means, since he seems to have not picked it up on his own...

Heaven or void

Kanji embroidered on a jeanjacket. Saturday Night Live was a lot funnier back in the day when it was the Ghostbusters guys. Today's comedies in the theatre? Nothing I wouldn't take my mother to, heh.

The cat didn't have anything to say. Laughing over the plight of the poor frozen BIS students. Beautiful sky, dry leaves, pigeons flying and perching, perhaps roosting. Why am I always looking up at the sky for these?

I wonder, still, about that little blue box on the bookshelf. He hustled me on, fiercely instructing me to not pry further; my eyebrows still asked. Drawing him out gently, sharing my stories, begging his advice. This thing means a lot to me; would you hear it, love?

Woohoo!

I got larger font size! Go, Components style person!!

BDSM, normality: A better forum than a chat log (public on purpose)

A chat log accidentally posted publicly rather than privately started a very short discussion on BDSM, and the 'what is "normal", anyway?' worries associated therewith sometimes.

*Note*: The BDSM mentioned in this journal follows the rules "Safe, Sane, and Consensual."


( Nothing heavy, but those who don't care to read can skip )

Oscar

Last night at work, votania cheered up a lady who was having a grumpy day by telling her the tale of Oscar the Iguana and That Idiot Shawn.

Shawn was going to his dad's house for the summer, and was bringing his pet iguana Oscar (a very new pet) and didn't want Oscar to be riding down with the luggage, because hello, iguana, cold-blooded, need good climate control.

So he stuck Oscar in an empty duffel bag and decided to carry him on the plane. Like, in his lap or something.

So he went through Security with Oscar in the duffel bag, and told them, you know, to not put it through the X-Ray machine, as he was an iguana, see? The security checkpoint people being much less vigilant in those days, unlike the guards from the youth of Miles who would have disintegrated the iguana on the spot and then sifted through its remains for bombs, bugs, and the like, let Shawn, and the iguana, pass through.

Shawn got on the plane and got settled down, and then the plane was boarded by some people who did not look like they had much of a sense of humor, and they told Shawn that no, his iguana did not belong on the airplane with the passengers. In vain, Shawn argued that the iguana would be very good and would stay inside his bag. The officials said no, that he would have to check Oscar or leave him behind.

Shawn's mother, who fortunately hadn't departed the airport, was called into the negotiations, and wound up taking Oscar home with her for the summer.

Silly question -- LJ code street value

So, what is the street value of an LJ code? I'd imagine it to be less than $5, as that's what a shortest-span paid account is, but some people might pay a buddy a little more to avoid the hassle of getting an official LJ paid account (dealing with The Man and all that shit).

So. What's an LJ code worth these days?

(No, this isn't a funky fundraising project. Just curiousity.)

Hairballs

Guess what kind of nifty little present we have started to find on the kitchen floor?

Yep. eris_raven has hairballs. The neat, tidy kind that remind me of owl pellets.

So someone got a bath last night, and then got combed. She protested the proceedings, claiming, "Me-OWL!" at the top of her tiny feline lungs, which claim was intended to prove that she had every right to hawk up pellets on the kitchen floor, and also her feathers would be disarranged with a water bath and subseqent combing.

Her ridiculous claims were ignored, of course.

Random adverts for charity:

shadesong and vidicon are both doing the Blogathon today. Basic idea: 24 hours of blogging-round-the-clock, every half hour an update. Why? Charity. People sponsor this, like biking for charity, or whatever. 'Song is doing this for RAINN, and vidicon's doing it for a cancer research thing.

shadesong is her usual merry self, and vidicon has to be read to be believed. He just interviewed his kidney stone and his coffee maker.

State of the Lunatic:

Clothed. Black slacks, black tank top. Silver star ring on left ring finger, silver and faux amber ring on right ring finger. (Both rings linking me to votania, come to think of it, though the one on the left hand was from the Circle of Chaos.) Eternal necklace on, and not coming off any time soon. Necklace I've been wearing a lot in the past few days, the little crystal heart pendant with the blue roses engraved in the back, is going to be going on again as soon as I can find a cord for it that won't give my neck a rash like the chain did. (Metal allergies. Nasty ones.)

That little necklace symbolizes being true to myself, especially in matters of love. I bought it for that reason, and had the one person who never allowed me to betray myself put it on me.

I've been wearing the black hemp and rose quartz bracelet nonstop. Reminds me of that first necklace of power I made back before CTY '95. It's the same size rose quartz beads.

Beat-up comfortable socks, and the black rubber sandals. Tired Loony. Long dark brown hair being brushed, and brushed, to try to make it detangle itself on its own. Candle burning, merry and powerful. The blue tall jar I found filters the yellow candellight to what looks pure white. I like.

Heading out sometime. Plasma.

Trust, Darkside

My experiences with That Idiot Shawn have given me a keen sense of who may and may not be trusted, especially with my heart, mind, and stability.


Someone who doesn't give a shit about my emotions, no matter why I'm feeling them, is not to be trusted. If someone were to say, as Shawn effectively did, "I'm sorry you have to feel that way. It's your fault you're sad. You should stop feeling that way because no one's going to feel sorry for you," then they are not welcome around me. It may well be that way; it may well be that I was lighting up incense in the no-smoking zone around a buried bomb, but that doesn't excuse him for crawling around with lit matches trying to locate the fuse. Though it was my fault for telling him that there was a bomb there to start with, I suppose, even though I saw him smoking and warned him not to.

Someone who acknowledges that I feel the way I do, and if it's good, yay, and if it's not good, sucks, and says that if it's not good, then something needs to be done to make it better (and who kicks my ass if I'm just sulking), is more on their way to earning my trust. Even if there's nothing that can be done to make it better short of moving the universe, and I'm feeling horrendous about it, a hug-it-all-better and a "I'm sorry you feel so lousy, and I hope you feel better soon, because you being sad makes me worry and I care about you," do wonders. If Darkside should see me waving lit incense around in a buried bomb zone, he points out the appropriate sign, sometimes forcefully, and lugs along a fire extinguisher, his own flak jacket, and an extra one for me.



I came to be a friend of Darkside when I was losing my very shaky grasp on my mental health. Instead of squeezing my wrists until I had to let go of it, and then blaming me for not having a high enough tolerance for pain, as Shawn did, Darkside grabbed it, wrapped both of my hands around it, and left his hands over mine until he was sure that I could maintain my hold of it. Then he stuck around and re-positioned my hands when it looked like it was slipping again, and gave me pointers that he'd learned the hard way himself, on how to keep it and not let it slip away like that so often.

Once I could drag my focus away from my grasp of my own mental health, once I no longer had to hold onto it so tightly my fingers were going numb, I was able to look up and see what he had in his own hands, and how his hands were shaking from time to time. And, very gently at first, I helped steady him.

We're not both in college anymore, as he's graduated. His schedule sucks. In classic introverted Army brat fashion, he'd never had a friendship that didn't fade with distance, and doesn't know how to handle it. I am Anomaly. I am Joanie. I am still his friend.

And every now and then, my hands shake on my sanity. Weird things happen inside me, and I reach out to him as one of two people I trust to help me figure out how to make things right inside me, who won't make me drop myself on purpose or by unknowing accident.

More with the mind/bomb analogy

...From time to time it's necessary to excavate those old buried bombs in the mind.

Shawn crawled around with a lit match looking for the fuse. I don't know whether he planned to defuse them, or just light them off for fun, but doing it that way was really stupid. And he did it on his timetable, too.

Darkside packs along a flashlight; my dear Boy Scout. And it's a great big bonky flashlight (Just for you, shywickedpixie...) and I can actually see things with it. And he holds it where I need light, and points out stuff I may have missed, and hands me the shovel so I can excavate, following the fuse to the bomb itself. In case I've forgotten, he hands me my body armor, and he's already wearing his.

Sometimes we can defuse it without detonating it. But, if we have to detonate it, he's brought the full bomb kit, including sandbags and fire extinguisher. And in the ear-ringing aftermath, he helps me to my feet and we dust each other off and make sure no one did really get too hurt, and then we patch up all the scrapes. Sometimes he has to clean and stitch a gash, and I feel really lousy about not having ducked fast enough, and really bad about having had the bomb there in the first place.


Figures that a good analogy for my mind is a minefield. But he helps me flag the ones we haven't taken care of yet.

phone.

almost an hour. He gamed and we chatted for the first part. After that, I asked his advice on a few matters, and then we had a Serious Talk.

Am feeling... secure and stable and very, very quiet.

Birthdays

Got something Secret for votania for her upcoming birthday. I know it'll be here by then, and she's been wanting it.

*giggle*

New references for the two of us:

"bed of coals" referring to my legendary unwillingness to ask for help on things, especially emotional ones.