Rainy Day, Work

I fell asleep listening to the rain falling, and I woke up to the same sound. Since I was late out the door to work, I took the car, and I was glad I'd done so, because I was walking at work again. By halfway through the shift, I was in definite pain. Evidently I am overenthusiastic at the task; most "walkers" are seen in the areas every ten minutes or so.

Break was interesting, because it was trystan_laryssa, dustraven, othercat, tomb_of_osiris, and the Hot Celt Phone Goon.

There was fun with computers, especially the bit where Figment's Scruffy Carpool Friend had a power blip after which the computer woke up in the closest state I've ever seen to a computer in that awkward and delicate state of coming to realize that something may have been done that permission had not been given to be done. Most people go through this with edgy conversation, or perhaps some yelling, recriminations, and throwing of last night's booze bottles. The computer took the position of stubbornly refusing to boot until someone addressed the problem of the codes for certain software not matching valid ones.

It was very amusing, how it happened. I was taking a few moments to BS with the IT guys, maybe schmooze a little (it doesn't hurt to be flattering and hot when you're a girl and they're IT guys, even if it is at work) and the Scruffy Carpool Friend started waggling his hand frantically from one of the areas I was watching.

"I think that's for you," the more ginger IT guy said.

I got myself over there by using my usual trick of instantaneous teleportation (people who first see me in casual mode are inevitably startled to see that someone of my bulk can move so swiftly and silently when there is need) and discovered that it was an unfamiliar computer error, one beyond my limited authority on these systems to fix.

"No, that's for you," I said back at the IT guy. Ahh, witty banter.

He called his compadre, the Dave Matthews Band Fan Geek (the same one who'd called me Mrs. [Lunatic] when setting up my user profile on one of the monitor computers) over, and he did some arcane things with the computer while I settled the Scruffy Carpool Friend in an unused booth. By the time he was all set up, the original computer was good to go again. I made a note of it, and mentioned it in my nightly e-mail of computer issues as yet another thing that the IT department should be praised for.

(Incidentally, I'm not sure what the computer problems e-mail situation was before I started doing it, but Pink Shirt Guy was surprised and impressed by my level of attention to detail. His first reaction: "Azure, what IS all this?" "All what?" "All ... THIS!" Evidently my writing out the full name of the error that came up on a good twenty computers once, then copying it and pasting it for the rest of the twenty instances was unprecedented. After he'd had a chance to read over it more in depth, he was impressed, after he'd gotten over the surprise. Today, the IT department shot back an enthusiastic-sounding e-mail full of how they'd fixed pretty much everything I mentioned. I felt flattered. I'd used some of my business writing class skills and closed off the e-mail mentioning that we really do like it when they fix stuff. I referred to their quick fix of that stuff in today's e-mail. Allllways let IT know how much you appreciate them ... and be competent with your computer, not helpless. Helpless with computers is not sexy.)

Trendy Chick Super came up to me when I was sharpening pencils and wanted to know if it was really true that I'd cleaned all the interviewing areas. I actually hadn't, I'd just cleaned the ones that I'd been overseeing, and then Area 9 as a bonus. Evidently I get a hell of a lot done in a short time. Heh. Go, me? She said that I was in danger of becoming the official Booth Out E-Mail Person (because no one else likes doing it).

Descent

Today at work, the ache of the uncompleted bond itched me from the time I came in until Figment left, and a little after even then. I tried to avoid the pull, and therefore probably spent less time overseeing the area that Figment was sitting in than I did the rest of the areas. Every now and then I'd go collapse in a chair over in the little haven of quiet around him and just de-stress as much as I could before getting up and running off to do something else. I'm not sure if it's that he doesn't notice the potential bond floating, waiting for us to let our guard down for it to connect (and it'll connect hard and fast and dirty and probably physically) or that he's too polite to mention it, because he can see that I'm fighting to appear as if I'm ignoring it.

If the mirror has started telling lies, they're very interesting ones, because it tells me that my hair's as long and glossy and curly as my pre-adolescent and adolescent self dreamed it should be, my eyes are as dark and alluring, my lips are as full and promising, and I've finally achieved that constant little smile that makes my mouth not frown all the time (as if we were brother and sister by blood instead of just soul, ralmathon and I have the same thing going on with our face).

In the shower after work, I brushed my hair free of the tangles of the day and bound it up, like my magic, lest it fly out and get things tangled and snarled beyond easy repair. I closed my eyes and ignored the swirling sigils of creation and destruction as I plaited the last few inches into safety. Perhaps one of them was my own death I saw, and my own rebirth.

I brushed my silver medallion with the last little bits of the strawberry toothpaste and my own toothbrush. Other jewelry, I brush with a scrub toothbrush. This, the living silver that's been threaded through and through with the bond energy, I brush with my own toothbrush, because it's as much a part of my body as a geek's primary computer is part of theirs, as a magician's tools are part of theirs, as a prosthetic limb becomes.

Once out of the shower, I bound the plait of heavy hair twice and squeezed the water gently from it. I lit the three-layer berry-scented candle that's come to represent my constant search to find the self that I must be true to, and the ongoing process of coming to recognize those truths and those uncovered soul-roots. I dug through my incense drawer, and the package on top was the Dragon's Blood. The scent of magic will carry me into my dreams, and I'll go to sleep with the medallion nestled snug against my throat (cord adjusted back to choker-length after the medallion had to hide at full extension of the cord because there were clients in at work) and the feel of my bondmate's shoulder warm and illusory against my left cheekbone, right where we fit best.

Freefall

Water was in the air outside when I walked out with my bag of trash, and clouds obscured the moon. I tiptoed into the dumpster enclosure and saw that the large sturdy couch frame in the dumpster was still there. There was a shopping cart and rubbish in the recycle area, but nothing with the subtle sparkle just under or over the frequency of sight about it that says that this is something I should look at. I tossed the bag in the dumpster and stole back towards the apartment, listening to the noise of cars swishing past on the damp street and feeling the air about me, stepping over trimmed tree branches.

Clouds floated aside to reveal the still-full moon. Soon, child, she told me. Soon.

Nifty Link

http://www.cummfybanana.com/cars/cars_homepage.htm -- ddelightful cars I wouldn't mind driving. Work-safe.

A timeless story: Inanna in the Underworld (updated)

http://www.valkeerie.me.uk/mr/inanna/index.htm

Link viaataniell93.

Landing

Sis called. I asked about my familiar. As I'd predicted, she's letting Clover's husband pet her and all. I knew it when I saw him recently, that they'd do that, and I told her so then. Good little Miss Raven is getting used to their household.

And now, back to sleep.

Dusting Off

The alarm clock separates the early afternoon into nine-minute slices of time. I battle with it as I dress and prepare for work. It takes a continual litany of mixed and alternating prayer and cursing to shove me into my work clothes and have me complete all my necessary morning tasks before departing.

Sleep was uncertain, because I'd forgotten I'd left the rock that I hold on the floor, so it sat there, cooling to stone temperature half the night. I clutched only the lightsaber, and the surges and eddies of night-energy linked and grounded both through the bond, instead of just linked, which made both my morning and his tumultuous. It's not polite to ground through the link.

When I did remember the stone, it was cold rock in my hand long before it finally warmed up to liquid magic.

Breakfast is crap-in-a-can, and the holographic etching around the pop-top reminds me, yet again, that it's in the little things. I make sure that my bag of random notes and my bag of shinies is in my work-carryall.