Countdown to Edinburgh: 17 weeks

Countdown to Lump's Departure...12 days. Otherwise known as too bloody long.

I have recieved a new toy, a life-project, a morale booster, and a challenge from Matt all rolled into one package. The package is in the form of a shiny new Epiphone [>] acoustic guitar, which now lives on a stand at the foot of my bed.

The challenge was delivered in the most agressive tone he's ever used to me and was something along the lines of: I dare you, get better than me, I challenge you to out-play me in two years...I bet you can't do it... Which is horribly cute, because he's teaching meand he immediately followed that statement with a kiss and tacit acknowledgement that he wouldn't have challenged me if he didn't believe I really could overtake him. I don't want to overtake him, but that's only because I don't want it to be a comparison between us. I greatly look forward being able to jam with him. Being able to jam, period actually.

So I have two (fairly) new good friends who are also my teachers in one way or another, and both of them are telling me that in a couple of years I'm gonna be kicking their respective arses, and they revel in that fact. These guys are just natural born teachers, to take such pleasure in the thought of being out-performed by a bunch of whippersnappers. As a method it sure beats the crap out of "well...I'll TRY to teach you...but I'm afraid I'll be so limited by your natural incompetance that you won't ever get very far..."

DAMN my fingertips hurt now.

Countdown to Edinburgh: 18 weeks

I forgot to comment on Lughnasah.

A lot of things came together, some of them I didn't even know neededto come together. The festivals can have a habit of doing that. In retrospect, especially the past few cross-quarter days. Beltaine springs to mind...

As soon as the sun set, the beginning of the festival, I knew I should be out in La Mesa with Matt. I didn't know why, I didn't have a feeling of anything being wrong, just that I should be with him for the sabbat.

We were actually marking the day at our apartment, which was the first time we've done that, and it was a really nice idea, I just couldn't settle into it, at the time I thought that maybe being there was wrong, but it was most definitely the not being with Matt, rather than the being around the people who werethere that was causing my unease. So after I'd said a couple of blessings I changed into a skirt and headed out, buying sunflowers on the way. When I got there it turned out that he'd had an argument with Lump, and in the ensuing conversation I learned some more about Matt, and the way he thinks, things that he was worried would put me off…yes I'm being nebulous. Deal with it.

What it comes down to is this: we found yet another thing we agree on, it wasn't something that lack of agreement had really bothered me on, but it still adds another level of connection, another level of comfort. For both of us.

I was meant to be there that Lughnasah, it cemented things for both of us. Especially when added to coming to peace with a few decisions I've made, both recently and in the past. On some levels it bothers me that a high day or a holy day can really have that much effect on my life, but mostly it makes me feel more rooted in my developing faith.

I have been added to the roll at blog sisters [>], I suppose the means I'm oficially a member of the online international villiage, about time considering I've had a presence [>] for over two years now. Go check it out, lots of good debates going on there. Sorry guys, only women get to start threads, but everyone's free to add comments.

Wow. There's just some things I never thought I'd find cute. Unusual? Yes. Sexy? Very possibly. Cute? Hrrmmmm...

I guess I must be in love.

He told me last night (and this morning) that I keep amazing him. That's the second person I've heard that from recently, and it's even better hearing it from him, because he's been amazing me since the day we met.

Countdown to Edinburgh: 19 weeks.

What does it say about me that I feel more like a genuinely grown up fully functioning person now that I own a complete set of pots and pans? Well, ok, not a comprehensiveset, but more than a lone skillet and a crepe pan (of all the things to buy before I even own a toaster). All hail the stainless steel and black silicon wonder of snazzy cooking equipment.

Many things have been on my mind recently, unfortunately most of them just go with the whole independent existance thingy. Stuff like what I want to do with my life, and when, and how...is my car going to die in the forseeable future (define "forseeable" first)...what will I do if it does die (besides panic of course)...will I be able to afford a computer this year (probably not)...why is my belly-button fluff green when I don't WEAR green???

Regarding the previous entry: culmination of many pressures, worries, tensions, and unresolved questions in my life, plus hormones, plus it hadn't happened for a long time so I guess I had it coming. Natural mood cycles and whatnot. Even at the absolute pit of it I wasn't anywhere near as bad as I've been in the past. The main difference is that the unhappiness feels false now, whereas before it was happiness that felt like a lie.

Good God Higgins, I think she's got it!

I've got that taste in my mouth again.

Tears and cigarette smoke, too much coffee and not enough sleep.

This is so pathetic. I can barely do my JOBproperly with all this bullshit. It's gone beyond reason and I'm just upset with the unfairness of this miscommunication, and the fact that I know there isn't any solution to the unfairness other than leaving, which I can't do. It's like all my energy is being sucked in just by keeping on my feet and remembering to breath, not blubbering at my desk is an optional bonus. I'm left with nothing to spare to be genial, let alone supportive to any of my friends, I'm left with very little of ME remaining.

Yet again I am being penalized because I stand out, sure I step on some toes, everyone does, but I know that I don't step on them to any extent that can justify this utter rage from someone I barely know and barely ever see.

So what can I do? Stop being me? I tried that before, unacceptable option.

The last time I was caught in this kind of situation I only had to hold out for a couple of weeks. This is a lot longer than that. But I also have much more support than I did then. It seems that I'm to be taught not to run from a bad situation to a haven that has been offered, but to walk calmly away and build my own damn haven. If I build it myself no one can take it from me.

Countdown to Edinburgh: 20 weeks.

Heh heh heh. Innertubing down river rapids...

Much more fun than skidding down on your knees. *ouchie*

Very odd weekend, lots of fun, and a couple of really important realizations mixed in. I found another pattern and I'm working on it.

Have you noticed that everyone needs to hear a slightly different thing when they're upset?

For some, they just need to be told that everything will work out ok. That doesn't do me much good, because I knowthings will work out, I'm an optimist after all. It makes it worse to be told that when I'm unhappy because it merely emphasizes what's going on in my head: you fucking idiot, what the hell are you crying for? There's NOTHING WRONG…are you such a pathetic little freak that you can't even let yourself be happy any more?

Even though I know it's counterproductive, I still fight it, even though I know it's a part of me, and that it will go away: I 'm still learning to ride it out. Knowing that it willgo away makes me want it to be gone, right now, no loitering, no excuses. If it's going to go anyway, why does it need to happen at all?

It seems horribly calculated that I know exactly what goes on in my head when I have a crying jag, or anxiety attack, or whatever you want to call it, and yet I can't talk myself down. It makes me feel as though I'm putting it on. If I really wanted to I could just damn well stop blubbering. But of course, its' exactly that mentality that makes them worse.

So how would you take it if I walk up to you perfectly calmly and said "it would probably help if you knew this: I get these anxiety attacks sometimes, I might shake, I'll almost certainly cry, and I won't really be able to tell you what's going on…the best thing you can do is hold me really tight and tell me it's ok to be upset, tell me to relax, tell me to let it out, tell me you understand, but don't tell me there's nothing to worry about, because that's part of the problem…"?

Is it just my paranoia that tells me most people would respond to that by thinking I'm angling for sympathy? I know a couple of people have responded to something similar by telling me I’m fucking crazy and why don't I just snap out of it?

I'm still learning to ride it out.

Hold on tight.

Just. Ride. It. Out.

Yesterday was both my Dad's and Mikey's birthday. I called my Dad before going to work in the morning, and got the voicemail, so I left a message and reminded him that Matt and I were going to take him (and Mum) up to the mountains and feed them buffalo burger and apple pie the next time they were in California. That took care of the 61-year-old…now for the 19-year-old…

After work I made a cake (from a box) and went over to Matt's place, with an obnoxious helium balloon and a present, to throw said cake at Mikey and sing him happy birthday. He didn't deserve it. But he deserved even less to be ignored on his birthday.

On Monday night Matt had found yet more food missing, he exercised great self-restraint and talkedto Mikey about it, as yelling at him would only make him switch off his ears (and brain) even faster. When I heard about the incident Matt was hopeful that something had actually sunk in... Until he came home from work last night and found yet more food gone...and we had cake and presents and had to sing to him like he was the star of the show. It wasn't fake, we both wanted him to have a happy birthday, but even more than that we both want him to grow the fuck up,for everyone's sake. My refrigerator is chock-full of food that doesn't belong to me, there are probably a couple of things that are mine that I've left uneaten because I'm not sure if they're mine or not. Just how difficult is it to not eat something? Just don't open your mouth. Don't open the sodding refrigerator if that makes it easier.

It's really hard to watch how stressed this is making Matt, he's banging his head against a brick wall, and he can't bring himself to send Mike home early, because he knows "home" isn't there any more. Especially if Mike's sent home early for bad behavior, his Mom will kick him out ASAP, because her boyfriend presented her with a "him or me" choice and she chose the one she didn't give birth to. So Matt is putting up with him breaking the rules and continually stealing food (food that Matt can't really afford to replace) in the hopes of being able to convince the Mom that there's been some improvement so that Mikey will have a place to stay back in PA for a month or so. Of course, if he gets the month grace period he'll spend it sleeping in the basement, eating all the food and sampling the grandfather's old booze stash that he discovered down there, and when the time is up he won't have any more of a plan than he does now. He'll storm and rave and rail against the unfairness of it all...and he'll be right, but he won't be righteous.

Because it really isn't fair, but it's not going to change, and he is doing absolutely nothing to improve his situation. He won't be able to change things much at home, but he would be able to change them enough to give himself a start if he just got his head out of his ass.

I'm half tempted to drive over there right after karate and corner Mikey on my own, and see if I can wallop (verbally) some sense into him, but I know it won't do any good. He'll switch off his ears, and give me a dopey grin and a shrug because he doesn't get just how thoroughly he's screwing himself over. He may never get it. Nor does he realize how much I really do understand, because I've beenthere and pulled myself through. He doesn't seem to see anyone as a real person, we're just two dimensional game constructs that make a lot of noise at him: I'm the nice lady who made him a cake, I'm the nice lady who understands his depression, I'm the nice lady who keeps trying to talk like his mom, but he can ignore that because I've got the accent, so he can just listen to that and look blankly at me.

This boy thinks I'm an ally, he'll tell me he's eaten some of Matt's food with a "naughty little me" chuckle, and I'm supposed to giggle along or something. This boy doesn't understand that someone can be your ally, and want the best for you, and still tell you off for being an idiot. He doesn't understand that we can genuinely want him to have a happy birthday, give him cake and a gift certificate and a half-tacky Hawaiian shirt with palm trees on it…and still be mad at him.

I guess thats it, he just doesn’t understand, he doesn't take the time to think about anything,so of course he doesn't understand.

There isn't going to be a resolution, some people just can't be helped, they've got to come to it in their own time or not at all.

I just hope it doesn't turn out to be not at all.

Mondays suck, but Tuesdays seem to drag on forever.

I've run an acrylamide gel, failed to locate the DNA pellet in a centrifuge tube because the plastic is cloudy and thus hard to see through...set up the finished gel to transfer overnight...done the dishes...kicked my heels...

Time to go home?

Not for an hour or more.

All the anger management stuff in blogland is extremely interesting to me. Mostly because it has frequently boiled down to people saying either that anger is "good" or "bad". This seems to me to miss the really important point: anger is so what are we going to do about it?

The thing is, we don't really have a choice about feeling anger or not, it's there, so why fuss about being a bad person for feeling anger? For feeling anything for that matter? There are no truly negative emotions, but there are most certainly negative behaviors. What is important is not what you feel, but what you do about it. Even hate can be positive as long as you recognize that it is hate, and as such is probably a slightly irrational emotion, and then direct the energy into a positive thing. Even if the positive thing is merely avoiding the person you hate so that you don't end up fighting with them.

There are emotions that have more of a tendency than others to lead to negative behaviors, and anger is one of them, but without anger, or fear, or contentedness (or the lack thereof) many of us would have trouble telling when something is wrong, or if they're being hurt. If I find I am inexplicably angry at something or someone I will try to figure out WHY I'm so angry: is it the specific situation, or is it that it reminds me of something else that angered or hurt me in the past? Usually it's a combination, and I can work from there.

There are a lot of people who will beat themselves up for having this or that emotion, saying it's not right to feel that way, that they're weak for having such feelings…but they're emotions. Ya know? From the subconscious? The Id? NOT DIRECTLY CONTROLLABLE BY THE CONCIOUS MIND.

That's another thing. "control yourself woman, don't let your emotions run you" When we talk about "controlling ourselves" we can't possibly control what we feel to the extent that seems required; it's actually controlling how we act on emotions that's important, and through controlling our actions we will end up with some small level of control over our emotions. I've found over and over again that it serves me better to question an unwelcome emotion and figure out what's causing it than to immediately attempt to quash it. Quashing it will only result in it popping back up in a less controllable manner later on. I am learning to listen to my emotions, because they are there for a reason. They are my early warning system that things might not be going as I think they are, my instincts.

We need only look at the many interesting neurobiological case studies where people have lost their ability to experience emotion, either through strokes or injury, to see that we were not designed to function without emotions. People with no emotional responses whatsoever, do not learn from their mistakes, because there is no negative feeling associated with things going wrong. They can lose their shirt gambling, then go out and to it again, because it didn't bother them the last time they were broke, even if they will state that they don't want to lose their money. It's exactly like someone who cannot feel physical pain, they will end up damaging themselves in the extreme because it doesn't hurt.

Pain. Happiness. Lust. Fear. Love. Anger. All of these are hardwired into our brains, you cannot separate emotions from logical thought, they are processed by the same thing, our brains. Our minds are made up of the combination of analytical information processing and emotional response, that is not something we have a choice about.

Interesting debates on the legitimacy of anger going on, linked through the ovaltine decoder ring [>], if I get a chance I'll put up my thoughts.

I couldn't link to the exact post, permanent links and archives and such seem to be messing up. It's in the July 9th postings somewhere...

Eight terminations on Wednesday. We get tissue samples shipped to us automatically. Eight little slivers of chicken breast floating in pink lemonade gone flat and syrupy, masquerading as something scientific like cell growth media. Eight little pancreases in a row. All we get to see of the lives that won't happen now, lives that maybe never would have been anyway. They might have miscarried, been stillborn. Been left to drown in the bathtub while mommy entertained.

Eight women recuperating on the 4th of July. Independence Day. Independence of thought, word, and action. Independence. Not something you can have with a child, not really. Well, you can, but baby can't. Baby needs changed. Baby needs burped. Baby needs fed. Baby barely has the motor control to suck on her own big toe. Design flaw there I suspect: making us all start out so utterly helpless, dependant on an unknown being for almost everything short of breathing.

Eight lives irrevocably altered by this procedure (ever the medical euphemisms, typical doctors)

I wonder if the fathers knew. If they agonized with their lovers, held her hand, paid for the taxi...made them do it?

What if it was me? Would it feel like murder? Even though I know it's just a ball of cells; a highly organized growth; a semi benign tumor: my beliefs make it difficult to forget that everything has a spirit, makes it harder to think of them as tissue samples. How many tissue samples have the potential for independent life? Independence. There's that word again. Independence to write a sonata; paint a landscape; paint your toenails cherry red white and blue, get a tattoo. (Nice little rhyme that)

Eight tissue samples standing on the wall… and if one tissue sample should accidentally fall…there'll be a biological hazard spill kit on hand to clean it up.

Free flow free flowSPLAT. Got distracted, my boy walked in.

*sigh* No babies here please. It would go the way of the tissue sample; and I can't be sure I wouldn't hate myself for it. I'll serve medical science for now by processing other people's split condoms and missed pills. Tissue sample. Tiny scrap of flesh in a tube. Not a person. Trouble is: none of us really knows when that transition occurs, though I'd like to think I've progressed past the stage of being merely a benign growth. Lord and Lady let it not be a progression to being a malignant one.

Brain overload has been dealt with.

Yet again I was falling foul of the beastie that tells me I'm tainted/damaged. Yeah, yeah, I know, its' a pile of poop, but it's a hard thing to shake when you've been told it for over 5 years by the words and actions of various different "friends".

9 hours solid of sleep helped too.

Now it's time for a workout! I'm testing for the next level in karate next week!

Wow.

I have a lot to think about.

I have nothing to worry about.

That's why I have a lot to think about.

Sometimes it scares me how much more grown up than me he is, even when he's using me as a free weight for leg presses. Not quitewhat I meant when I said we should work out together...

*sigh*

Suddenly it's all ok, I am loved. And it makes me want to cry.

Roll on tomorrow.
Roll on posh dinner cruise.
Roll on getting to be all dressed up and stylish together.
Roll on the weekend.
Roll on showing him off to my family.
Roll on yet more wonderful time together just beingtogether.

Message recieved from mother unit in Edinburgh in response to my statement that I absolutely want to be in Europe for Christmas. Or else:

"Ok got the message. Glad that someone is decisive in this family. We'll have a European Christmas. Dad is on the phone now and says he fancies the south of France with Aunt Julia and the Bontouxs. Look forward to having you at home. Bye for now ducks, love from Dad and lurve from Ma"

Oh. My. God.

I thought I was being an unholy whinging bitch when I emailed her back...and it turns out I was being *ahem*DECISIVE. I really must try this more often...Mum...I've decided...you're going to buy me a new car, and it's got to be an Audi...
Or maybe not.

But it is nice to be listened to, she probably recognised the signs of a daughter on the verge of a nervous tantrum.

I feel really homesick; at least I think that's what it is. My Mum is pushing for their visit this year to be at Christmas, rather than in the fall, with me going back to Edinburgh for Christmas as we have been discussing. I've been in the US for 9 1/2 months now, already the longest period of time I've ever been away from Edinburgh. Planning to be back there around Christmas meant it didn't really bother me, but if I don't get to go back then I probably won't be able to until Christmas 2003, it's when I can take the most time off in a block.

It's not just getting to be home, when we see each other at Christmas we don't get the chance to talk like we would at other times, everyone's busy with it being CHRISTMAS. I'd asked them to come out sometime in fall so that they could see the family here, and I could take them around San Diego a little, we could actually spend the ubiquitous quality time with each other and then be together again at Christmas anyway. There was also supposed to be a family do comprising my Dad's side of the family then, which would be the first time that side's done Christmas together, I don't know when that got dropped out of the running.

I just got an email from Mum which she signed off saying that it would, of course, be the "right" thing to do to see Granny at Christmas, and to let her know what I think. What I think is that I've told both my parents about four times that it's really important to me to get to be back in Edinburgh around Christmas, and if they come out in Fall then we get to see each other twice instead of only once, with the whole Christmas chaos making it harder to talk and catch up.

Home is not a place, it's people, but sometimes I get homesick just for the place. The city has already changed a great deal since the first time I came out to San Diego in 1999, it will never be how I remember it, that's just what happens with cities, but is it really that terrible to want to know I'll get to see it after two years, rather than after three?

Random Thought For The Day
I miss my black sheep mugs: it's only a set of plain and ordinary white stoneware mugs, each one with a sheep painted on it in monochrome, cute, fluffy white, innocent little sheep, with flowers next to them. Except for the sixth sheep, who is entirely black and spikey, with a cheesy demonic grin. He was MY mug.

I guess I'm having a somewhat domestic streak, and feeling the need to have all my belongings around me, unfortunately some of it still lives in Edinburgh. Perhaps this has been brought on by the realization of just how long it might be before I can actually afford to rent a place that is entirely my own, and is larger than your average broom cupboard that is.

If anyone reads this, and actually cares, please keep your fingers crossed for a certain Matthew M to get a certain position as a Navy Technical Instructor, he most certainly deserves the promotion, and it would mean he'd be able to get that nifty offroading bumper for his Xterra...

I read this article [>] yesterday, and it is still resonating with me, so I'm linking to it, and to the blog it came from.

Depression is something that doesn't just go away, but we learn to live with, around and through it.

~Ash, the depressive {but coping} faerie

Well, if I was glad we were limited to the weekends before, I now know I was justified in my reasoning: it would be way too easy to fall into living in each other's pockets, and neither of us needs/wants that to happen. Having seen him both Monday and Tuesday evenings, yesterday I felt like there was something missing. I got the impression he was feeling something similar too, though maybe not in the pathetic "I need a hug" way I was. I spent Monday night and much of Tuesday sorting through some of my own ghosts. It left me feeling scattered, and very grateful for his presence that evening, even though I spent a large portion of it talking to his Mom on the phone, trying to glean additional information, make sure she understands that Matt and I can't work magic on this one, while simultaneously reassuring her that all is not lost…

The past week and a bit has tired me out more than I thought it would, all in all the brother situation seems to be a LOT better that it could have been from what we'd been told, but the revelation that we hadn't been told everything at first threw both of us into a panic for a while. Neither of us can take responsibility for this young man's life, we don't have the time, energy or training to do it, all we can do is share our stories and hope that he sees his own way forward. I'm glad that my own experiences with depression can potentially serve to help another work his way out of the hole, but if he can't or won't do it himself there is nothing I can do to fix that. If there's one thing I have learned from the past few years it is that the only person I can look to for happiness and success in life is me, and that she's actually pretty good at getting me there.

A friend said to me last night "this will either make or break your relationship"and I agree, I've been continually pleasantly surprised by all our interactions, and how we've dealt with these new developments, both separately and together. I'm optimistic, but not counting my chickens. So far I've been maintaining an attitude of hopeful caution, and it's working pretty well for me. I don't know where this will all lead, I hope the path is long, and remains so scenic, but I do know that wherever it leads, I will be ok, and chances are I'll be more than ok. That girl in the mirror seems to be figuring out the dance steps pretty well as she goes.

WOOHOO!!

I get to go see the breeders [>]

Long live the LoFi semi-punks! Yeah, yeah, LoFi's a UK term for music, but it just fits.

Have been saved from black mood by entertaining and intellectual conversation with a fellow blogger.

Have been told that is's sexy when one says "vituperative"

Have also somehow reverted back to Bridget Jones style of writing.

I must be having an "English" day...

I need medication.

Good strong medication.

No, not for that, just a little muscle relaxant to convince the knots in my shoulders that it's not really a good thing to spend the day impersonating bad tempered bricks.

After a week of pointless b******t, what better than to give some exercise to the uninhibited side?

Inviting myself to stay over at Matt's, laughing like a maniac while barely escaping thwacking my head off the roof of his Xterra during an offroading trip (he likes to try to turn his passengers into giant human milkshakes by the end of the day) running through every random accent I can possibly think of in an (almost successful) attempt to make the Brothers Morrison die laughing...curling up by the fire ring on the beach until 1am...inviting myself for a second night, spending a good few hours flaked out on the floor reading/conversing.

Sometimes it's good to take a holiday from the ridiculousness of it all and escape intoreality.

Blah.

Yet again outside tensions took over the dynamic in our apartment. Here's hoping I get better at remembering to keep objective, and not let it get to me.

Still, considering the past couple of months, only getting affected once out of three is pretty good going for me, the incredable "it must be me" girl.

I may be a bug under glass, but it doesn't do me much good to continually worry about the eye above me, much better to get on with it and only worry about the eye when it become attached to a bug-squishing device.

It's generally not a good idea to bring up sensitive subjects at lunch, when people have to go back to work and be productive. I suppose it all needed to be said, eventually, but did you really think it WOULDN'T affect me? Am I over-emotional or numb from ignorance? I doubt I'm both. Just because I stopped crying to you about my past doesn't mean I no longer weep.

I guess maybe you hadn't noticed the slight distance I purposely put between the two of us, I'd be surprised if you didn't agree that it was needed.

I am glad you chose to bring up your side of things in person this time, it's very important to me to hear it first from the horses mouth when someone has a problem with me or my behavior; just don't assume you've seen the whole of my picture. Some things cannotbe displayed until they are nearly completely processed and settled. I learned that one from you, and it was a valuable lesson. You say I need to learn what MY part in all of this has been, I agree wholeheartedly and I already have some of it: my tendency to look to others to mend my problems. I'm trying my damndest not to do that any more, so it stays internal until I feel sure of something. People are sounding boards, nothing more, and I need to figure things out for myself and by myself, and that's just what I have been attempting to do.

So tell me when I hurt your feelings, but think really hard before you make a comment on my coping mechanisms or general mental health. Even if it just means waiting till the end of the day when I can have some down time after the conversation, that can make all the difference. Otherwise it leaves me feeling as though in your mind I really don't have any true emotions at all, I'm just a construct of behaviors in a noisy foreign packaging.

Having read Who Me?'s [>] post for yesterday, I feel the urge to add my own first memory, well two of them actually.

My first definite memory is from the summer when I was three years old, of the 3 month family hiatus in Davis, NorCal, which is the source of my terminally confused accent, after a summer in California I never shook the slight American accent that has been the source of many people's disbelief of my Scottish upbringing. Little snippets of being put down for a nap in the middle of the day, and my parents trying to make me submit to this childish indignity by telling me it was really a "siesta" which is something all sensible grown-ups do at that time of year. Hearing the older members of the family splashing about in the pool outside my window and thinking that sounded suspiciously un-siesta-like to me...

The other memory is of a song, and this is music pure and simple with nothing accompanying it, because this song was sung to me before I was born. My mother would curl up around herself and sing Summertime by Gershwin to her "bump". So I can't remember a time when I have not heard that song, it always speaks to me, and it explains my addiction to swing music in general, and Ira and George in particular.

I'm not entirely sure what this feeling is, but I think they call it closure.

The moment I realised I was hanging around for an apology that will neverbe forthcoming, I knew it was time to close that door.

I finally reached the point where I could determine between willful denial of the past and ridding myself of unneccesary weight, all it needed was a couple of hours tending to a fire.

It seems an oddly random time, though it actually makes a lot of sense to me, if you can't figure it out for yourself: you know where I live, and if you don't know where I live then you probably don't get to find out.

Funny, I didn't expect my bed to suddenly be firmer once it was hoisted onto a frame. I kept thinking I was sleeping in a hotel, only with my sheets. It finally felt like mybed this morning. I suppose I should have put my cards back under my pillow after construction but that might have led to some confusion on saturday night.

Dead horse.

Stick.

It can be fun.

Honest.

FRIDAY!!

Go faster damned slow clock. Don't even think about that whole going backwards thing, I know you've done it before...

Fitting rooms are bad for one's mental health. Being forced to examine myself and the fit of various items of underwear and/or sleepwear in great detail, aided only by poor quality fluorescent lights almost always leads to my body ceasing to look like a body, merely a random collection of unaesthetic curves and bumps.

If you stare at anything, eventually it loses an element of cohesive reality, who needs abstract art when everythingcan look like a piece of modern sculpture if you gaze at it long enough?

Yes, yes, I did attempt to buy a new bra yesterday, how did you guess?

The argument over the average wind-speed velocity of an unburdened swallow (african, not european) gets just a tadout of hand:

I'll bite your legs off! [>]

*snort*

Ovaltine Decoder Ring...

Go check out the new random blog I found.

You know it's not good when an Afghan Whigs line strikes a strong chord with a past relationship:

"And please allow me to present you with a clue: if I inflict the pain, then baby only I can comfort you..."

If you're wondering what that's all about, I've been thinking a lot about my past behaviour patterns, and I realised that though it is essential in a relationship to be able to depend on your partner when you need it, or to call them at 3am when you've had a bad dream and need a reality check, this cannot be the foundation of a healthy relationship, because it essentialy builds on weaknesses and insecurities.

It's hard to put a finger on why I'm so happy now, but a lot of it seems to come down to the fact that our relationship is based on conversation, friendship and mutual interests, besides remarkably similar life outlooks. On enriching an already pretty decent life, not on being the only thing that can bring happiness to an otherwise dark and dank existance.

I don't know what it was that made the other kind seem acceptable, beyond the fact that at first it genuinely did help...I just hope I never get back to that place again.

I got to "meet" his mom last night, I spoke to her for 1/2 an hour or so, mostly about the little brother, who I'm to be strict with too apparantly. A little about me too, I told her a few of my experiences that have parallels with what's going on with Mikey.

It truly sounds like he's a good kid, he's just really unhappy and mad at the world, and because he's young he's not come across the realization that yes, life is hard, but you won't do anyone any good by being bitter about it, you've just got to get on with it. So I guess our task (should we choose to accept it) is to give him a kick in the ass, but overall a positive outlook. Hrm. Kick him in the butt while smiling and singing cheerful tunes?

Who knows, it might just work...

I surprise myself sometimes. I don't usually think of myself as the kind of person who'll come round and do your dishes for you, maybe it requires the proper inspiration. Like having a boyfriend who essentially works 12-14 hours every work day (except friday, only 8 hours...practically a day off), then spends the weekends with me, making time for housework rather hard to find.

Poor sleepy bunny. Poor sleepy bunny who considered his place a "dump" when there was still more than 70% of the carpet visible. Good thing he can't see my bedroom back in Edinburgh, it's debatable whether it actually still has a floor under there.

And yes, feel free to "check for glow" I think I'm practically a neon sign right now.

GARBAAAAGE!!!!!

Muah hah hah.

All hail my countrywoman Shirley Manson.

Wow, it's the weekend again already.

There've been a couple of "important" conversations between me and you know who this week, usually the important ones are the horrible ones, but these have served to show that we really are on the same page. Which is still amazing to me, to have come at life from such different starting points, and in such different ways, and somehow end up in the same place. Geographically and emotionally. Life may suck when it's in "teaching" mode, but right now es la dolce vita.

For some reason I'm coming out with random phrases in random foreign languages today too.

Blah, I have blogger's block.

Utterly fabulous (dahlink) long weekend, War was great, I should write a nice in-character description of it, but as I mentioned b4, I've got a touch of the blogger's block. Or I'm just not in the right mindset to ramble in that way.

Matt got a new toy (read: SWORD) and according to people who know their stuff, he got a good deal on it too...but not a good enough deal to make it worth using the thing for trailblazing, even if it does have an extremely nice balance to it.

Meanwhile, the week is already almost over, and I get to go see GARBAGE tomorrow! Which (almost) makes up for it being drill weekend and a seriously reduced dosage of Matt time. Not that I should complain, I got extra last weekend!

I am actually getting used to relaxing about being relaxed. Consistently having a good time together, and consistently finding him to be a genuinely nice person, not to mention intelligent and fun to be around…it makes it kind of hard to be nervous. Which is a good thing. A very good thing indeed.

Now I'm oficially an employee I'm started to get really excited about War. *happy pseudo renaissence dance*

I also had a flash of inspiration for the cooking heat-source problem: I own an oval galvanised tub that came wrapped around a tequila party set, and the tub is sitting on our balcony doing nothing, when it could be sitting in a shallow pit in Potrero containing hot coals, which is a much more meaningful existance for a galvanised metal tub.

Panic over, I guess. It's considerably harder to turn off than on.

Anyway, the summary for today is that I'm going to sign the paperwork to be rehired on Thursday, and Vincenzo managed to arrange for me to be paid the back pay directly by the Whittier, which means I'll get it on or by the 1st of June.

Breathing would probably be a good idea at this point.

I'm trying to convince myself that going to photography would actually help, because it's getting bloody ridiculous to keep missing it like this.

I want to go home. Even being a grown up you're not supposed to have to deal with this kind of shit. On what planet does being a responsible employer involve putting me in the position where I am forced to borrow money?

My permanent appointment at the Whittier should be fully processed today. Yay right? Wrong.

They can't just tack this past SEVEN WEEKSof work on to this paycheck, it has to be processed as an award. Which takes six weeks. Now...how many times did I say to Vincenzo that I needed to be sure of getting a FULL paycheck at the end of May? But it's ok, because I can borrow money from him...

I am getting so damn spoiled, I just keep having great weekends.

Ouch Ouch Ouch.

But mommy I was wearing sunblock...not that you'd ever know it by the huge red and white striped pattern across my shoulderblades. Bullfrog has served me so well, and never made me break out, so maybe this bottle has just expired, or I didn't put enough on, or the carseat rubbed it off or...I'm destined to be paranoid and sunburned all my life. (reference to Skunk Anansie album title btw)

But it was a great day, it's always nice to encounter a random group of strangers who are all personable and just plain happy there's new folks around. The offroading community seems to tend towards the inclusive, rather than the exclusive.

Back to work I go. Here's hoping for a nice impressive yield on this purification. so I can bugger off early on Friday to go to WAR!!!!

Quiche. Always a good bet, well, ok, usually a good bet, and he liked it. (yay) And I have leftovers for my dinner tonight. (double-yay)

OFH.

I promised to cook. AND I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT TO MAKE!!

*sigh* I hadn't even realised that I was worried about it, but he likes my poetry!!!

He even said that with one of them "it was like you'd climbed inside my head for that moment, because it was exactly how I felt"

It never ceases to amaze me that these things I write can actually speak to another.

Note To Self

It's a test girl, a challenge. See that big chalk ring on the ground? That means you're being awarded points for style and efficiency, not paranoia and self-pity.

It's official: I'm really really bad at Wednesdays.

Hrm. I think this will describe it best, I wrote it in my hardcopy journal/scribblings book a couple days ago:

This is all very new to me. I'm not used to someone who makes no demands. I'm not used to someone who doesn't pry or probe for the gory details. It might be easier if he asked more questions, but then he wouldn't be him.

Get used to it girl, this whole trust thing: it doesn't always have to end up broken. Stop waiting for the sting, or you'll end up making it for yourself.

~R.

If I can be to just one person what my new "family" have been to me...then it's all been worth it. If I can help someone build their own happiness, then I am happy too.

*sigh*

I suppose I should be happy that I've made progress. It doesn't feel like progress to "only" break down every once in a while. Nor does every few days really feel like every once in a while, but it IS better than constant mindless panic.

It really is. Honest Guv.

I'm impatient, I want to be happy all the time, and I want it NOW. But no-one gets to have that, not really. And the strange thing is that even as I weep, I know deep down that I am happy in this life now.

~Asher-Rose the pensive (but optimistic) faerie

For the record: I love my friends.

Sitting here talking to Bob, Colin the sleepy one, Kyrwyn, Radiskull, and getting an email from Matt talking about a book I loaned him that he's actually reading and enjoying makes me realise how many cool people I know now, and how lucky I am to know even one of them.

Yeah yeah, sickly gooey saccerine sentiments.

Tough. I'm feeling very blessed, I might as well tell the people who make me blessed.

~R.

This Important Life Skill [>] made my day...

Yummy. Alseep before midnight. My bed rocks. No, I don't mean that, it doens't actually rock, unless there's a quake (or the people downstairs REALLY turn up their bass) I meant my bed is the best.

Plus I got up early enough to go through a set on each ofthe machines in our complex's gym. They're very arm-centric though. Pity there isn't room for the full set of machines.

Meh. I ache all over, I can't figure out if it's from karate or I'm coming down with one of the many colds I've been studiously avoiding for the past month. Yes, I did say karate. I'm learning to kick ass properly, bring me your irritating co-workers and I'll happily practice on them. ;-p

Feeling much better internally though today. Thanks for kicking my ass/giving me a leg up out of the pit.

~Ash the sleepy faerie

Oh, and I know why I've been afraid to tell: the last person I told entirely missed the point. That got fixed today. Hooray for people who get it.

I've figured out one bit: It bothers me that they're more worried now than they were when I was 16. Stable door after the horse has bolted anyone?

None of us could have known. That being true (which it is) how am I going to protect any child of mine from the same fate?

I'm not entirely sure why it feels so odd to be questioned by my family about the guy I'm seeing. Mum and Dad never did that when I was younger, the whole background check "is he a suitable young man?" conversation never really happened with Kenny. Maybe it's because this time there really isn't anything to keep from them, but I feel that they're going to hang up the phone and try to figure out what it is I'm leaving out, what's wrong with this one. She can't possibly have actually found a nice respectful young man, and still like him...can she? I don't want to tell them all about it, because it's mine, and I know it's ok, it's allowed, and it's most likely a really good thing, I don't want it to be analyzed to death. There's nothing really to analyze. Is that what scares me? Is it easier for me to deal when there's something wrong, something to hide from my parents, some obstacle of propriety or common sense to ignore/overcome? At what point did wrong become more comfortable, when did conflict start to feel like home? Am I still so strongly affected by the type of relationships everyone around me had when I was a teenager?

It bothers me to think what my last couple of years must have looked like to my extended family, and I know that they are so incredibly impressed with the changes I've made and how far I've got since June, but still it rankles that they got to see any of what came before. I feel like I must have been some kind of surreal soap opera to them. "What's she doing in Atlanta?" "Why did she end up there...?" "She's living with WHO?" Now I feel ashamed of the choices I made, even though I know why I made them at the time, I'm ashamed of how low I got, how cheap I sold myself. I am ashamed of being so weak for so long. I guess this will pass too, just like the anger and resentment. It doesn't bother me so much when the questions are coming from my parents, when my Mum gets so excited because he's only a year older than me, because they know the whole story now, but my other family don't and I don't see any reason to change that, it would only give them pain.

Gods, if I get this tangled up inside myself just from the idea that I'm seeing someone, that he's lovely, and that it's allowed...should I really be inflicting myself on anyone in the capacity of a girlfriend? It's not fair to let my past hurt an innocent bystander. I don't want to let it in to this, I want to keep just one area of my life free, but it's the area that logically is the most affected.

K'wyn, thank you for kicking my ass last night, you're right, I never should let myself use those words. What has happened to me doesn't make me a bad person, no matter how tainted I feel. Past mistakes are in the past, and past events over which I had no control are just that: events over which I had no control. Who I am now is what matters. Maybe if I keep repeating that it'll finally sink in.

It's ok to be scared when things start going right, I just have to make sure my fear of making a mistake doesn't become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

~Ash...the pensive faerie

Ut-oh.

The BNP (Brittish National Party), otherwise known as neo Nazi union-jack waving lunatics, have taken two local government seats in the recent elections back home. What is it with people electing uber-right wingers? Does no-one pay any attention to HISTORY

OK, so I've established that I'm pretty good at crisis management. With a little help from my friends. Now the scary part: can I do the "normal" uneventful thing? Without arbitrarily manufacturing more crises for myself just to make it *ahem* easier?

Only time will tell.

~R.

Cell phones are good.

*waves* hey Bob, you're linked from my site now, if you don't like it...um...I guess I'll have to remove the link.

*thwacks herself in the forehead*

That was an attempt at a public apology and admission of stupidity.

Warning: this girl is a fruitcake.
Addendum Warning: this Fae is all too human sometimes.

And what's all that about you ask?

Well...*settles herself perched over back of chair and unfurls wings for full range of expression*

It seems that this little Fae has been mis-handling the new mission, commonly known as "go forth and date people". Has she been flashing the passers by? Setting fire to those who randomly don't email her back after conversing for a while? Wearing that red top just to taunt the poor bunnies? Nope, apparently she fell foul to the most evil of behaviors: trying to be a nice person

*looks down at her lap for a while, trying to find exactly the right words* If I had said, at any point, "look, don't get any ideas buster, 'cause I'm kinda spoken for" how would it have been taken? The plan was for me to go check out a karate class and hang out with one of the instructors afterwards, my dating status didn't really seem an important factor, and I realize that was a mistake on my part, but I really had no idea that my turning up was taken as a grand gesture of potential romance and other such warm fuzzies. I did realize during the course of the evening that it was something I should mention, but couldn't see how to do so tactfully, the situation was made more urgent by a request from K'wyn for company, not the kind of request for company one can turn down.

When I left to go to the beach for a vigil with K'wyn I was worried that I had handled things badly.

I am so sorry to have caused anyone any kind of distress. But I keep coming back to this: if you believe I'm capable of being that bitchy and untruthful, why do you have any interest in me at all?

~Ash, the misguided accidental dragon-chewing faerie.

Rosie's theme song for the day, to remind her to be more careful:

Bigmouth Strikes Again
Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking
when I said I'd like to
smash every tooth in your head

Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking
when I said by rights you should be
bludgeoned in your bed

And now I know how Joan of Arc felt
now I know how Joan of Arc felt
as the flames rose to her Roman nose
and her Walkman started to melt

Bigmouth, bigmouth
bigmouth strikes again
and I've got no right to take my place
with the human race

And now I know how Joan of Arc felt
now I know of Joan of Arc felt
as the flames rose to her Roman nose
and her hearing aid started to melt

Bigmouth, bigmouth
bigmouth strikes again
and I've got no right to take my place
with the human race

Happy May Day.

Merry Beltaine.

Watch out for communist rioters and naked pagans.

Oooooooooh...it's Beltaine tomorrow and I have people to celebrate with. Or at least people who know what the hell I'm talking about when I say it's Beltaine.

Mayday always was my favourite holiday.

I'm afraid I went a tad unglued this past week. Apologies to those caught in the crossfire, especially those it frightened/worried.

Suffice it to say I'd been ignoring a couple of important things that were weighing on my mind by not admitting they were valid things to worry about. *sigh* you'd think I'd have learned not to do that by now. Of course it didn't help that it came right at the peak of PMT.

Today is bright and sunny and I didn't get enough sleep last night but I don't care, I feel human again and that's a nice difference. Well, maybe half-human, but in the good way. *wink*

~Ash the nutso garb-sewing photo-taking faerie.

MARCKY!! I've been wanting to call for a couple of weeks, but always thought of it when it was way past your Brittish Summer Time Bedtime. Old friends rock. Especially old friends with gossip.

I just had a wonderful realization, my class is three hours long, and informal, so I can bloody well show up at 6.45 and it's still fine. That gives me time to swim first.

Me sleepy. Damn warm sunny weather and yummy Boudin [>] pea and ham soup in a sourdough bread bowl. But I gotta keep awake till after photography tonight. I'm sure those lovely chemical smells will perk me right up!

;-P

Wow, everybody's having roomate, or potential-roomate problems. I'd say it must be something in the water, but that doesn't explain my sister's loud and obnoxious bathroom-hogging DSL cable-stealing flatmate in Berlin.

There are odd things in the air, though I suppose that's pretty natural for my environment. It's passed over before, it'll probably pass over again. That doesn't change the fact that it feels so completely uneccesary.

I have roses on my workbench. The P.I. of the next door lab grows roses for a hobby, he told me he has 75 different rosebushes. He comes in to work every week with a cart loaded up with buckets and vases full of gorgeous roses, which he proceeds to hand out around the labs and the hospital. So I have two lilac, one pink, one yellow and one sunset colour rose in an erlinmeyer flask on my desk.

It's so lovely that he not only makes a hobby out of growing them, but that part of it is distributing them to everyone he can, spreading the joy.

Gragh @ being back at work. I want three day weekends.

The creative B&W photography class started on Tuesday, it seems to be exactly what I had hoped for, darkroom tricks and techniques, working on fibre paper(yay), with the added bonus of a small class size and a very enthusiastic instructor. We are to focus on one or two negs for the duration of the class, but can work on other stuff while taking advantage of the 24/7 access to the darkroom. (again I say: yay)

I've yet to pick a neg to work with, but I'll enlist the teacher's help for that. I have a couple of ideas.

You gave me one of the more unusual compliments I've ever had, telling me that it was lovely to hear someone pronounce "whom" so nicely.

Blessed Be, Doris Hurford. I'll never know if you believed in heaven, but I hope you're there now.

~Your Niece.

With Her Lips Only

This honest wife, challenged at dusk
At the garden gate, under a moon perhaps,
In scent of honeysuckle, dared to deny
Love to an urgent lover: with her lips only,
Not with her heart. It was no assignation;
Taken aback, what could she say else?
For the children's sake, the lie was venial;
For the children's sake, she argued with her conscience.

Yet a mortal lie must follow before dawn:
Challenged as usual in her own bed,
She protests love to an urgent husband,
Not with her heart but with her lips only;
For the children's sake, she argues with her conscience,
For the children--turning suddenly cold towards them.

~Robert Graves

Better mood today. I guess I'm resigned to the whole volunteer thing now, life goes on.

I'm also a complete and utter cat when it comes to comfort. Good food and hugs, and maybe being scratched behind my ear. No that's not a metaphor, I really do mean being scratched behind my ear. Purrrrrrrr. Now where's my saucer of cream?

Welcome to the wonderful world of being a volunteer.

I am not a happy bunny, I can't figure out if I'm getting ill or just really stressed out.

At least my health benefits won't lapse until the end of May though.

Last night makes three people who have now accused me of being Bridget Jones, and it's not just because I'm a Brit. So I guess I'd better start writing like her...

Thursday
Weight: 1lb lighter than last week, will be back in a bikini in no time
Cigarettes: None, am wonderful, virtuous, clean living example of womanhood.
Units of Alcohol: Six. Rome wasn't built in a day you know...

Have begun to think that employers are completely incompetent when it comes to anything other than wandering about and arranging lunches, leaving it up to poor defenseless me to tackle the hideous task of fixing the computer problems of said employers. Possibly they assume that because I am under 40 (thank God) I must know everything about the superannuated calculators we have dotted about the place.

On a brighter note, my much dreaded fitness assessment went rather well. Apparently I have "Great abs" though this clearly refers to their strength and stamina, not their outward appearance. Personally I still feel they resemble a roughly stomach-shaped lump of tofu, definitely not for public consumption. The personal trainer lady was ridiculously slim and athletic, and is the same age as my dear old Mum, not entirely sure yet whether this makes me feel better, or stunningly inadequate.

Have discovered that red wine is almost as comforting as chocolate at times, and is considerably less fattening.

Thus ends the Bridget Jones section of my Blog, I'm not even going to try to put my love-life analysis into Jones-isms, that would just be way too scary.

Further proof [>] that I'm noir to the core, and I'm not just posting it because it shows I've got something in common with the great Greg Dulli.

James Ellroy and Greg Dulli...what a truly messed up combination. It' s not really a surprise that one of my favourite bands' lead singers was obsessed with noir crime novels, and wrote a whole album inspired by the Ellroy Los Angeles quartet of novels. It makes a hell of a lot of sense actually. I have to go home and listen through Black Love [>] all over again.

That man (Greg Dulli) just gets more and more impressive, writing an album inspired by a movie genre and a series of sadistically dark crime novels, catching the spirit of it all in a new media. That is art to me, taking something that speaks to you and making it your own in a way that enables it to speak to countless others who may have missed the original form.

Should I be insulted that Vincenzo didn't ask me if I'm interested in doing a PhD here? Even though I probably wouldn't want to do it, it's a big commitment and stuff, but he said we desperately need a couple of fellows, maybe a post-doc and someone to do a docterate here, and did I know anyone who'd be interested. I guess he already has me as STAFF, so if I switched over he'd have to replace my spot on the payroll. Hrm.

No, I don't want to do a PhD in this field, MS maybe, that's a definite possibility, but not a PhD. Perhaps I'll see the lay of the land and bring that up to him as a possibility.

Do I just not come across as grad-school material?

I went for a wander along the beach last night after dark. The air was mild, but the sand felt cool between my toes as I stumbled in the glare of passing headlights. I keep forgetting how calming the ocean is to me.

What a nice weekend I've had, starting with coffee on Friday night with Matt, proceeding to the Gaslamp, talking and talking and talking (and holding hands *blush*) then home for sleep, then a drive into the mountains. Off-road no less. Before you try to imagine my little car going off-road, it was in Matt's xterra. I can't tell you how nice it was to be out in the cold misty hills, it really felt like the highlands in some places, as long as I didn't look too closely at the flora.

Unfortunately I was greeted this morning by an email stating that my temp contract ends on the 15th of THIS MONTH and I'll most likely have to take a break in service. Vincenzo thinks we'll be able to extend my temp contract by 4-5 weeks to cover that hole, but it's still not a nice thing to wake up to.

Heigh ho, it was still a lovely weekend. *waves to Matt in Hawaii*

And yes, Matt is a new person, if you want to know more, you know where I live. If you don't know where I live then you probably don't know me well enough to ask anyway...

Prayers for Queenie, she's having knee surgery today. I'm still working on getting you that medal dear! *snicker*

The funny thing is, even with the spectacularly pouffy hair yesterday, and having to buy shorts today, I'm still in a great mood. It's sunny and balmy outside, I had a really fun coffee date (still working on actually using the "D" word solo) last night, and I keep looking up and realising that I'm here, that I made it to living independantly in San Diego, this time last year I didn't even dream this would be possible, and here I am, settled in and finding even more to love about this place all the time.

May I also state, for the record, that I HATE athletic shorts. The whole point of exercise is to escape my thighs, but it seems I have to confront them fully and in great detail (along with the rest of the seeing world) to get to the stage of being allowed to banish them.

Gah, correction to previous statement: I need a haircut from someone who doesn't think the best look for me is the pouffy pom-pom look. I know I have a lot of hair, but do we really need to emphasise that by drying it so it increases my head size by 3 inches??

Actually, it's a decent cut, I just do not understand the sudden obsession in hairdresser's with big, messy, RIDICULOUS hair.

Gah, I need a haircut.

Why does my hair insist on growing sideways instead of downwards? Though I shall never rival Agent Big Hair on volume, it certainly feels like it some days.

what time is it? [>]

Wow, I'm actually chocolatted out. Well, as much as I ever can be. I feel quite proud of myself that I limited myself to only having the chocolates I like from the Thornton's selection box Mum brought, rather than eating whatever was there even if I don't particularly like it. Evie ate almost all of my chocolate coins too, I told her to. Muah hah hah, inflicting my chocolate on my sister in a cunning plan to balance out our weights? I doubt it, that girl's got one killer metabolism.