endlessland

NaNoWriMo is over!

Final wordcount for November 2009: 77,121 words.

Number of essays written for school in November: 5.

Amount of caffeine consumed: Unmeasurable.

Level of sanity: Hovering around batshit fucking crazy.

Victory song: Dragostea Din Tea.

Words left to write: Approximately 13,000.

Bedtime: NOW.

(WARNING! Because I know there are some under aged people reading this blog who probably don't want to know the petty details of my sex life, this is my only word of caution! Read if ye dare, and I hold no responsibility for mental scarring if you ignore it! >:/ )

( Safety cut! )

I've been feeling strangely depressed lately.

I thought it was due to the insomnia I was having a week ago, but when the insomnia went away, the depression stayed with a vengeance. It came with apathy -- a lack of desire to do any of the things that normally made me happy, which means I've basically wiggled my way into an emotional dead end.

I thought, Maybe it's the household. Certainly Sister isn't causing any problems; rather, we're back to the same-old-same-old with my parents. If I show affection to my father, my mother gets jealous, vindictive, and childish. If I try to show affection to my mother, even isolated from her tantrums, she slaps me in the face by using it as an opportunity to remind me of something that 'needs' doing -- usually something inane regarding her cat. I've taken to leaving the house more than usual, which has put a huge strain on my schoolwork, since I have to be sitting down with quiet and an internet connection to do it.

Then I thought, Maybe it's because I'm not eating well. Going out with the Serious Crew usually means that bad or fatty foods are my first or easiest or cheapest option, which has, if nothing else, resulted in just enough weight gain to annoy me. The second I get a better sports bra, I'm going to be out there on the roads -- I'm tired of being tired, of being a sedentary geek child who can't run a mile without stopping. My current level of fitness, if I went into the Navy now, would result in failing the medical tests. Ergo, get back out there, Storyteller.

(Today, right now, my father is running another marathon. My 61 year old father, my hero and my heart, is trying to qualify for Boston, which means he has to run over forty kilometers in four hours. I honestly believe he can do it.)

I thought, Maybe I'm just nervous about NaNoWriMo coming up.

I thought, Maybe it's because three people have been killed in the area over the last week.

I thought, Maybe...

And then I stopped myself. I thought, "Well, maybe you're just depressed. Do you need a reason? Do you need something to blame it on? Maybe you're just not happy with yourself. In that case, what are you going to do about it?"

I don't know. I have no idea. I used to think that at a certain point, I would be forevermore happy with the person I was, and that I would talk about depression as a thing that happened to me a long time ago, instead of something that leaped out on me unexpectedly from dark alleyways. The people around me seem to be happy with the person I am -- I haven't heard otherwise, at least, and most of them I trust to tell me if there was something grating in my personality.

I've always thought in a "they're more important than me" model, at least in accordance with people I like to have around me. I'm a hypocrite, I know -- close friends know that I view humans in general, especially the rampant trend of young, inexperienced mothers having lots of babies for no reason, as a cancer that is eventually going to destroy the only livable world we know of. I know how my thought process started: when I was young, and my family or peers would happily suggest something fun to do, inevitably I didn't want to do it, and their excitement would give way to moodiness because I couldn't elucidate my reasoning. I learned to say yes to the things they suggested, because I wanted to make them happy. Now, I understand people a lot better, and that situation happens rarely because I'm able to express myself adequately, but the conditioning still remains. I feel like my friends' opinions matter more than mine -- that I can't suggest something to do or raise my opinion, because no one will think it's valid. I know it isn't true, but I can't help always having that fear in the back of my mind, reminding me that the people I see as friends don't see me as a friend... that they patronize me and pity me behind my back. I know it isn't true, but I can't help that mindless paranoia. This is the reason that I don't speak up when I'm angry, or when I want to spend time alone with someone away from the group -- my mind tells me that they don't want to hear my concerns, or that they'd rather spend time with the group or their significant other, and that I'm worth less than the rest. It isn't self hatred -- I don't see myself as less worthy. I don't hate who I am, or what I look like, because I know I'm a work in progress. The problem lies in my perception of other people.

I uncovered this realization while thinking about why I was depressed, and I noticed that this was a part of it. I've been feeling lonely despite being surrounded by wonderful people, because of this skewed perception of how my friends think. I used to be able to work with 'lonely' -- I thrived in it. But now, after being a member of an elite group like the Serious Crew, after being one of only a few members of a private, self-sustaining religion, I can't go back to that solitary lifestyle that I used to thrive under. Yet, I still hold the same paranoia that sustained my anxiety and depression, at least in part, since I was a small child. Back then, it was obvious that my perception was correct -- some parents forced their children to invite me to parties and to invite me to their houses, some children 'befriended' me so that they could build my trust then break it (a phenomenon that is apparently hilarious to young children), and some honestly thought they were my friends while condemning me to eternal suffering because I wasn't holy enough. I was never good enough for people until high school, but by that time, when I had changed my self perception to include self-hatred, when I started wearing contacts to be 'pretty' so that I would, in my skewed view, collect this strange phenomena known as "friends", it was too late. I already 'knew' that the way to get friends and social acceptance was to put everyone I met on a pedestal, refuse no request, and if all else failed, beat a tactical retreat and resign myself to hermitage.

Being a part of the Serious Crew has helped heal a lot of these self imposed chains. People go out of their way to cheer me up, bring me Playboy when I'm bedridden, and remind me frequently that I'm a valued individual. This is why it perplexes me that this neurosis still upsets my thought patterns and has the ability to send me into a paranoid next-door universe, where friends are in fact philanthropic individuals who see it as their duty to take me under their wing, pityingly, and let me have a few good moments in their presence before flying off.

When I was young, I went through a phase where I wanted pity. I would have done anything to get it. This was the point where I was still confusing friendly affection for romantic desire, and still had no idea how to conduct myself socially. I don't want pity anymore, or the affection that comes from the need to help something weaker. I don't really talk about my mental hospital days anymore, and I'm cagey about mentioning any stories about the days where I cut myself for attention. I'm not that person anymore. I inked that promise indelibly into my shoulders. But a part of the person I was still remains, even in the tiniest oil skim on the surface of my mind, and it surfaces occasionally in larger bubbles that disrupt the normal flow of my life.

Zeppelinphan wrote a very interesting post about fiction and happy endings, which, of course, got me thinking.

My opinion on this is complicated. Well written fiction, for me (I'm not saying this is or should be the standard for anyone) is judged thusly:

• At the least, it should make me think, and at the most, it should completely rearrange my personal paradigm and way of looking at the world -- in a nutshell, it has to change me in some form.
• It should make me feel good. And I don't mean in the everything-has-a-happy-ending-and-all-the-loose-ends-are-tied-up sort of way; if, after finishing the book, I feel depressed about the state of the world, or if I feel hatred towards myself or the people in the story, for instance, then I believe the author has done a bad job. It's easy to write discouraging material (it seems to be instinctual) but it is very, very difficult to write uplifting material that touches many people irregardless of their social status, gender, religion, etc. Fiction shouldn't make you think, "Wow, the world really sucks and there's nothing I can do about it." Fiction should make you think, "Wow, this place sucks sometimes, but despite its 'sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it's still a beautiful world'."
• I have to like it. And again, this isn't just in a warm-and-fuzzy-book-enjoyment sort of way, this involves me being actively enthralled by the characters, the setting, and the plot, enough to make me feel a range of empathy for the fictional creations. If I'm constantly angry at the characters, or irritated by the setting, again, I consider the author to have failed in some light.

Zeppelinphan's post made me think about one of my all-time favorite novels by one of my all-time favorite authors: In The City of Shy Hunters by Tom Spanbauer. This is one of the more discouraging books I own, detailing a bisexual man's journey through New York during the big AIDS scare of the 80's. People die -- they die of AIDS, slowly, or they die of drug overdoses, or they kill themselves, or they kill each other. Two of the most heart-wrenching scenes are also the most beautiful. In one, the drag queen Rose ties up a priest and implies that he's either going to shoot him or set him on fire. In the other, as a riot engulfs the city, the main character steals a horse, snatches up his barely-alive and completely crazy friend, and gallops into the sunset. The reason these scenes are so beautiful in the most horrible way, is the absolute conviction and power in the writing style. So while Will is dying of god knows what, and Fiona is dying of ten different things, and Rose and Rudy and everyone else is dead, the white stallion is carrying them out of the carnage, and they are triumphant. It's wonderful. It's a happy ending, although it barely meets the criteria... and where it doesn't meet the criteria, it completely warps it.

So why is it a happy ending? Despite all the brutality and the scenes that just make you want to weep, why is it still a good book, by my standards?

Because it makes you feel good.

Will goes through the entire book looking for one thing, and what he finds is the most awful result possible -- and yet his is a story of triumph and beauty. The thing is, though, that fiction is an escape. Millions of people can spend thousands of years studying literature, but fiction is a medium that is designed to enthrall and entertain. It should remind you of the real world, in some small way, but it shouldn't rely on real world standards and physical laws and means of growth. So Will's personality, with the gravest fool's dignity and ability to retain sanity while strung out and naked in a sewer with his friend's corpse, is a vehicle by which the escapism of fiction runs its course. The unreal atmosphere -- performing a Hippodrome Stand on a galloping white stallion in the middle of a New York city riot composed of dying gays and lesbians, for instance -- is the very stuff fiction needs to be good. If, that is, it is written by a competent author. The best authors can make LSD hallucinations feel real, tangible, believable. Words on a page, in the hands of a skilled wielder, can be the most powerful impetus for change, both on a personal and a group level. Bestsellers, book club reads, stories that are popular not because the author's name is on them but because they're actually spectacular, are so beloved because they manage to touch many people of astonishingly different backgrounds using the same scene, the same characters, and the same words, for the same reasons. Sharing a literary obsession is one of the most powerful bonding experiences I've ever witnessed, and is equally one of the most powerful bonding experiences I've ever felt.

I believe humanity has been hard-wired for stories since we came down from the trees, so to speak, and that really, any story will do. But the good stories, the very best stories, are the ones that capture us completely in their webs, and leave us smiling, however sadly, at the end.

It's Banned Books Week! Go buy a controversial book, or read a banned favorite again. I'm doing my part by reading Lolita again (oh yes how surprising) and am also planning on buying a frequently banned book today -- most likely Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower, which has been challenged for years because of homosexuality, teenage sexuality, drugs, suicide, and for being "inappropriate for the age group."

Books I own that have been banned or challenged at some point in history:

• Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
• Ulysses by James Joyce
• Chaucer's Canterbury Tales
• Leaves Of Grass by Walt Whitman
• Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe
• Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell
• The Well of Loneliness by Radcliffe Hall
• Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
• Alice In Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
• Catch 22 by Joseph Heller
• Flowers For Algernon by Daniel Keyes
• Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
• Hamlet by William Shakespeare
• Dubliners by James Joyce
• King Lear by William Shakespeare
• Macbeth by William Shakespeare
• The Satanic Bible by Anton LaVey
• The Necronomicon by H.P. Lovecraft
• All of Tom Spanbauer's novels
• Maurice by E.M. Forster
• Orlando by Virginia Woolf
• The Sleeping Beauty series by Anne Rice
• The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde
• Juliette by the Marquis de Sade
• Dante's Divine Comedy
• The Gates of Janus by Ian Brady

Other things I wanted to address!


NANOWRIMO:
Sign-ups open tomorrow... who's with me? I hope to get a couple members of the Serious Crew on board with me, but since most of them either have full time jobs or full time school, the prospect is unlikely. I'm betting if I koosh Xethavosh enough, though, he might give it a shot. Maybe Pupperr, because she's a pretty prolific writer anyway -- and CharlieWilcox, who has never done NaNoWriMo officially but writes novels in a month for fun. Sister, would you be interested? It's made of sheer insanity and awesome, which should pique your omg-radar.

For those who aren't participating, I expect you to egg on those who are. :P


SURPRISES:
Anyone going to Serious Coffee on Saturday is going to get a bit of a shock -- except for Zeppelinphan and Sister, who have already seen the crazy things I do to myself and take them completely in stride.


ART PART ONE:
Everyone needs to get on my case about posting that huge backlog of sketches when I have some free time. Holy shit.


ART PART TWO:
The Christmas Artisans Exhibit is coming up fast! I won't have any paintings in it this year, but I MAY have some super awesome knitted things. I'll post updates on when and where all this will be going on -- as far as I know so far, the show will be open from October 24th to December 23rd. The big "if" basically depends on me being able to pay the registration fee, and actually getting into the show... it looks as though they're limiting it to thirty participants this year, so I'm going to have to act fast.

I seriously find the weirdest things when I'm cleaning my desk. (Cleaning is a relative term, seeing that it ends up being about as messy as before, but at least I know where everything is afterward.) This snippet was written on a piece of blue paper. I vaguely remember writing it while very drunk, at something like 2am.

1. Ignore the hangover.
Fuck the hangover.
Be the hangover.
Wait, not such a good idea.

2. What Would Eris Do?

3a. Shower.

3b. Shave.

4. Breakfast.

5. Essay of Win

6. Irn Bru

7. ???

8. Profit!

Anyway, I wasn't able to retrieve the post that Blogger ate, so I'm going to try to rewrite it from my rather faulty memory. Either that, or I'll just save the ideas for future blog posts. My next post is likely to be about that most crazy of crazy ideas... NANOWRIMO! Aw yeah, baby, it's almost November!

It was disgustingly hot today. Seriously, September. Let's make with the autumn winds and freezing rain already.


Between being sick, dealing with more-of-the-same from AP Lit, and general crazy shit, I haven't had time to think about making blog posts. I'm still trying to decide whether having a blog is even worth it, because anything worth posting is invariably something I don't feel comfortable sharing, so this journal has become a series of useless news posts that don't really have any relevance. At least the training AP Lit is giving me means that I may be able to start writing professional sounding reviews on here soon.

Until then, let us continue.


READING:

• Anathem by Neal Stephenson. I don't usually buy books sight unseen, but the few chapters of his other work Cryptonomicon were so succinct, brilliant, and hilarious that I'm going to trust him. So far, so good. It's about a guy in a semi-fantasy setting who lives in a cloistered sanctuary for mathematicians, scientists, and philosophers. Sounds like my dream locale!
• The Book of Eris by (I think) Reverend Verethaine the Goth. More Discordian loveliness -- how surprising.
• The Fabric of the Cosmos by Brain Greene, which is, of course, about space and science.

BOOKS I ENJOYED RECENTLY:

• Variable Star, by Robert Heinlein and Spider Robinson. So good, so funny, so full of awesome. I expected to hate the hell out of this one -- I mean, Robert Heinlein starts it and anyone finishes it, and it's going to be crap, right? Wrong. Because Spider Robinson wins at life. (For the record, his book Very Bad Deaths was also very good.)
• The Principia Discordia. No explanation needed.

WRITING:
I guess it's just something about the multiple ways I can play with a dreadlock-bedecked intellectual and the Prince of Darkness, but this project still hasn't made me bored. There's so many aspects to their relationship, both in and out of bed, that makes it completely irresistible -- control play, Stockholm Syndrome, psychosis, daimonic non-logic parallels, the ethics of having a barely pubescent girl running around with the Devil and his Boy...!


ART:
I got nothin'. Nothing after that, ahem, much less than PG-13 sketch most of you have already seen, that is!


HEALTH:
I really hate being sick. Blek. Thank all things unholy, I am back on my feet with a vengeance.


BRAIN:
I'm making my mind up about various things -- some of which are relatively new, and some of which have been tossed around for the better part of a year. One of those things will be resolved soon, likely before the new year is upon us, and as for the rest of it... well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see.


SCHOOL:
Yadda yadda blah blah I am a student and I am complaining, one point assignments can suck my dick, yadda yadda.


EXCITING THINGS:
...are staying secret for the time being. I know, I bet you're all just dying of curiosity. *sarcasm*


NOT SO EXCITING THINGS:
I don't know, maybe I'm just naturally hard to shock, or maybe I'm jaded -- several years on the deepest slum-pits of the internet can do that to you -- but I just don't find that I can enjoy a lot of books or material that is supposed to turn people on or shock them. I watched a staggeringly graphic documentary on snuff the other day while eating a meal, and it didn't effect me. Which, while it sets me up for a great career as an autopsy technician, still doesn't seem particularly psychologically healthy. I guess I've built up a seriously intense resistance to the lewdest pornography and the most disgusting crime photos through brain-breaking eye reps, or something. Whatever it is, my old shrinks would probably have some choice words for it.

Then again, I have the same problem with throwing novels at the wall if they don't meet my excruciating standards for good plot and excellent use of the English language, so maybe it just boils down to me being excessively picky. (For the record, I see Joyce's irreverent mis-use of the language as being just as relevant as Tolkien's pedanic exactitude. It's a matter of whether they could switch places. It's one thing to abuse language for literary purposes, and quite another to abuse language because you don't know any better.)


MISCELLANEOUS:
I love my job. Finished everything the boss told you to do? Can't clean the store any further because it's spotless? Bored out of your mind? Read that $400 book on an early 1900's study of the canals of Mars, or polish silver worth more than your left kidney. Never a dull moment.


TOMORROW:
Going in to write a test and possibly pick up my Math 11 course. Oh god. Hold me. Also, due to my severe loathing of modern technology, the fact that I may be getting a new phone is not making me ecstatic (since I'll have to learn to use the damn thing all over again) -- but at least it'll save me about $10 a month. Which is a lot when you have one weekend job.

Zeppelinphan and CharlieWilcox, if you see this, go away. :P

I thought I'd make a post while slowly getting ready to surprise said crazies at the airport. Today at 11:15 (I think -- I hope!) they return safely from San Francisco, and I will be there to greet them with an epic WELCOME HOME sign!

So, a few quick things.


READING:
A book of lesbian short stories from all eras of history. Judging from the introduction, it's going to be good stuff that isn't 100% erotica for once. Erotica is nice (when done right, which is rarely), but sometimes you just get tired of it, y'know?

WRITING:
The story about the Devil and the Boy -- which, incidentally, needs a title -- has utterly taken over my brain. Half of my dreams are about it, for goodness sake! It's taken a remarkably disturbing turn, which is awesome, because I didn't even have to do any mental calisthenics to provide a creepy plot twist. Barely sanctioned pedophilia, my arch-nemesis... we meet again.

ART:
I drew something that could probably be constituted as "smut", especially if you compare it to what I considered to be pornographic drawings when I was younger. (I.e., two half naked girls making bedroom eyes at each other. Not. Exactly. Porn.) Of course, it's about the recent story, but the great part is that it not only looks good, I managed to draw dreadlocks that don't look like radioactive caterpillars. Huzzah!

You guys will have to speak up if you want to see this one, in person or scanned or whatever, because it's currently in a hiding place and will stay in a hiding place lest innocent eyes should stumble across it. I mean, there isn't anything you wouldn't see in the average "movie theater sex scene" (which is very little), but it's obvious what they're doing.

HANDICRAFTS ON THE GO:

• A triangle shawl, for the show.
• A hat, maybe for the show.
• A lacy (!) stole made out of variegated sock wool (!!) that has the most beautiful colours I've ever seen, but goes against everything I ever learned about knitting -- probably for the show.
• A simple cotton cloth, for this charity that sends knitted dishcloths to African midwives. I know, it's a weird niche... don't ask me, I'm just making them.

Also, I've joined the local knitting group that meets every Wednesday night at Beacon Yarns, which comprises a lovely group of talented women.

EXCITING THINGS:
I turn nineteen in exactly two months. Holy shit, guys. Holy shit.

STUPID THINGS:
SIDES is giving me six different excuses for why my due dates aren't posted for my Advanced Placement course, and when the course actually ends. First I heard June, then July, and now fucking January. If everything is due in January, I am fucked. Most literally. I thought I quit one job so that I could work a little faster, but now it looks like I preternaturally foresaw that I would quit my job so that I could freak the hell out and get an entire University level course finished (not to mention the fact that I'm probably insanely behind already) in four or so months. AUGH!

I really need to have a more consistent update schedule -- especially now that I'm down to one job instead of two. I keep thinking, "Nah, I won't blog about that, it's not interesting enough" or "Nah, all the people who read my blog already know about that" or "Nah, that's too private, I can't share that."

In the interests of my quest to be more interesting and share-y, I will begin with a story.

So, I was watching questionable videos the other day. (Not a word.) But, as often happens, I got bored. Zeppelinphan and I found a great way of dispelling boredom a few weeks ago: go onto your average You-Tube variety porn site, type something random into the search bar, and voila, instant lulz. For the life of me, I can't remember what I typed, but what I ended up watching was the blooper reel from a porno that wasn't on the website. The premise was, the director went up to one of his gay actors and said, "We're making a movie where you have sex with a guy," to which the gay actor replied something to the effect of 'same shit different day sounds fun let's film'. Next, the director went to one of his famous (and, it must be noted, straight) actors and said, "We're making a movie where a guy has sex with you. Double your rate." The straight guy was like, "Uhhh wait what?" and eventually agreed for sheer shits and giggles.

Anyway, to make a long story short, the bloopers were several kinds of hilarious, but mainly because of one scene. The two guys are doing their thing, and all of a sudden Straight Man starts chuckling... then chortling... then laughing hysterically. Gay Man is like, "Dude, what's so funny? Seriously, what? Is it something I'm doing?" Straight Man, at this, starts laughing even harder -- which, given the reason, makes it even worse. All of a sudden Gay Man realizes the problem and is ultimately awarded Best Line Of The Week:

"Man, talk about the worst possible time to find out you have a ticklish prostate."

Somebody else had to yell "CUT!" because the director was laughing too hard to say it.


****************

READING:

• Lesbian Erotica, a Mammoth Books collection. More about this later.
• The Principia Discordia, still. So full of awesome.
• The Earth Path by Starhawk. I know, I know. It's actually one of her better works by far.

WRITING:
I'm pretty sure that I've decided on my NaNoWriMo project for this year. That story about the Devil and the Boy (both of whom have names now, shocking) is growing more appealing on a vast number of levels, and not the least because I get to write really psychologically brain-breaking coitus. I mean, come on. Where else am I going to get to write about insanity, metaphysical politics, supernatural mindfucks, and and the Devil getting topped by a young, dreadlocked ex-Catholic? Nowhere, that's where.


ART:
My paintings are back from the show! Two are going to a new home in October, and one to zeppelinphan whenever she wishes to purchase it. No terrible rush, dear. I know San Fran has diminished your bank account. So, I have one painting left that I'm not willing to sell -- i.e., my best piece to date -- and one other piece I think is rather good but not something I want to keep especially. If anyone is interested in buying one of my paintings at a greatly discounted price, now is the time to speak up.


TEXTILES:
I have learned how to make quick, easy, fun, $2-cost-to-me-with-$8-profit hats, through knitting. Also, shawls are suddenly everyone's favorite thing. If they don't sell in the next show (which in all honestly will not make me a terribly great amount of money, after show fees), I'll still have a couple of gorgeous shawls to switch around. Or give as Christmas gifts. Or whatever. God, I love Homespun yarn.


BLOGGING SCHEDULE:
I'm planning out a few posts, but none have really come to literary fruition. So, dear readers, would anyone be more or less interested in...

• A review of the various erotic novels and short story collections I own?
• Discussion about queer sexuality, mostly where it applies to me?
• Discussion about my bizarre, internet-warped form of spirituality?
• An art post, including photos of the paintings from the show?
• Something I haven't mentioned that would make a quick and dirty blog post? (Emphasis on the dirty. Or, y'know, just something fun.)

SCHOOL:
The course is still up in the air. I have no due dates! Half the reason I signed up for the course was because of the due dates, and now I have no idea whether I'm going too fast or too slow or what. It needs to be paced correctly, or else I'll finish too early and screw myself over for the final exam, or I'll finish late and be even more screwed. AUGH, LIT.

On the upside, I basically get to make my own textbooks, so there is a 15-volume stack of the 1939 Cambridge History of English Literature sitting on my floor, awaiting perusal and drool.


WORK:
I have discovered few stranger feelings than the my-boss-called-and-said-I-didn't-need-to-work-today feeling. On one hand, you're like, "Yay! No work! I can relax or study or go shopping or whatever!" And then on the other you're like, "Fuck, now I'm out a hypothetical $45."

Also, I have learned that I am not built for two jobs, schoolwork, and epic crafting preparation. Whew. Am... SO tired. I've had a record number of nights without insomnia simply because of sheer exhaustion, which is both good and bad. (Obviously, it wasn't terribly healthy on my part, even if I got a lot of sleep and a lot of stuff done.) I can blame this on the fact that I never learned a work ethic as a kid, or the fact that I was constantly ill for something like twelve years, or how it's so easy for me to be constantly mentally exhausted but not realize it until my body catches up with it, or whatever. Point is, I'm probably going to be one of those students who separates work and school months -- which, in the long run, is probably not the best thing, but I'm not sure how much of a choice I'll have in the matter unless my physiology does an about-face.


EXCITING THINGS:
I've been hanging out with Muse and Xethavosh a lot more often lately! Yay for geeky video gaming friends. I love the Serious Crew to death, but sometimes I can only take so much gossip and stories about work before I snap and start muttering about hit points and Bethesda physics engines.


Speaking of which, Team Fortress 2 calls. Good night, my loves!

I don't know why my blog has been so empty lately. I'm not completely strapped for time -- if I have the wherewithal to play "I've Never" with friends (and fruit cocktail instead of booze) for three hours, I have time to make blog posts. On the same note, it's not like I have a lack of things to talk about.

I think part of it boils down to simple laziness -- I could substitute the word "tiredness" here, but it wouldn't ring quite as true -- and part of it to a strange form of personal greed, of not wanting to share pieces of myself with others. I've been treating secrets like currency, lately. I don't know how I feel about it.

Anyway, let's get down to business.


READING:

• Just finished Daimonic Reality for the third time, and started The Philosophers' Secret Fire last night -- the sequel to the former. Daimonic Reality is one of my favorite books, a treatise on the paranormal and Jungian philosophy. Finding out that the author had another, similar work was like finding out that someone just made a sugar-free ice cream product without aspartame.
• The Illuminatus! trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson and Robert Shea. It continues to be, on the third reading, just as brain-damaging and fucked up as the last two times. And, speaking of Discordian literature...
• The Principia Discordia; Or How I Found The Goddess And What I Did To Her When I Found Her. It's pretty much required reading for anyone who thinks the Discordians should win several awards for awesome. I've never met another Discordian in the flesh, but those that I've "met" online have been a group of the funniest, most eccentric individuals I have ever laid eyes on. (Relatedly, something I forgot to mention, is that I had a few of my 'mindfuck' suggestions published in a Discordian newsletter sort of deal. Exciting stuff!)

WRITING:
Not a word. The new short story idea bombed, and the others are waffling frantically between "useful plots" and "insipid daydreams."

ART:
I have retroactively sold my first two paintings! One to the sweet Wiccan clerk at the Arts Center, and one to zeppelinphan. Once the paintings are out of the show, I'll be selling all but one at greatly reduced prices, if anyone was interested in one but couldn't afford the art show rates...!

SCHOOLWORK:
I dropped one of my two jobs so that I can go crazy on this. I will have substantially less money for a while, but I hope to finish two of the courses in the meantime, which will make things a lot easier in the long run. Additionally, my manager at the job I'm leaving said unequivocally that I was welcome back in the future should I need work -- especially around Christmas when they need to hire a lot of help. In the foreseeable future, I'll be (hopefully) working at least one day a week at the antique store, finishing the Comparative Civilizations course (finally), and starting the (shudder) Math 11 course along with my APELit -- that's short for Advanced Placement English Literature, or Ape-Shit Crazy Lit, whichever strikes your fancy.

JOB:
For the record, it was very difficult for me to turn in my two weeks notice at Job #1. I've made friends there, and I couldn't ask for a better pair of managers. I've been treated with excessive kindness and respect, and learned more than I ever imagined about the working world. When the opportunity emerges for me to return, I most likely will make every attempt to go back.

EXCITING THINGS:
It was H.P. Lovecraft's birthday on August 20th! (Depending on when this post is finished, that's either today or yesterday.) Thanks for reminding me, Muse! I shall reread my short story collections and hug Superthulhu in commemoration. Note to self: acquire more Lovecraft plush dolls when funds allow.

NOT-SO-EXCITING THINGS:
My sleep schedule has gone from a reasonable 1am-to-10am sleep cycle (barring some work days, where it ended up being a 1am-to-8:30am sleep cycle) to a potentially disastrous 3am-to-noon-except-when-it's-3am-to-8:30am barely-there sort of cycle. I hate missing half the day. It doesn't matter if I get ten hours of sleep -- if I wake up after 11am, my brain is toast.

COLLECTING:
My skull family is now not so much a nuclear group as an extended reunion with all the cousins in attendance. Nineteen! Ahh! I'm turning into the COF version of a crazy cat lady!

THOUGHT OF THE DAY:
We have been raised, trained almost, to expect poverty and disgrace from our world -- and yet there are places so beautiful that to see them, even in real life, even with both feet touching the ground, we wouldn't believe our eyes. Places created by nature and men alike, and some places only made beautiful by some strange combination of the two. I believe that if our existence is due to some deity's introduction, it is a vain deity -- if it exists, perhaps we are here only to marvel at the things it created. What better audience could an artist want than an audience created by one's own hands?

There is one thing we forget more often than the presence beauty. Yes, the world is full of sadness and horror -- but sadness, in itself, can sometimes be just as beautiful.

Guys.

Guys.

If I ever, under some strange and unnatural series of circumstances, end up with a fetus of some variety that contains my DNA...

I want THIS cake for the baby shower.

Not even kidding.

Bryi staggers out into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.

Bryi: "Morning."
Mother: "Did you sleep well?"
Bryi: "Actually, yeah. And despite working ten and a half hours then drinking like a pirate -- which probably amounted to a good quart of rum -- I've only got a small headache."

Bryi takes one ibuprofen to clear the cobwebs.

Bryi: "Now, I heard this thing once, that eating salty food is supposed to help both drunkenness and hangovers. Which didn't make sense to me at the time, because I also heard that hangovers are caused by dehydration of some kind, but apparently the salt absorbs the alcohol or something."
Mother: "I haven't heard that one. Of course, everyone knows of the 'hair of the dog' one."
Bryi: "Yeah, the Russians have a word for that."
Mother: ???
Bryi: "No, really!"

Bryi goes to room, pulls out handwritten sheaf of papers, flips a couple of pages.

Bryi: "Pohmelyatsya; the act of sobering up by drinking more, or drinking to ease the pain of hangover."
Mother: "Only the Russians."
Bryi: "I wouldn't expect the inventors of vodka to be any less."

Father walks in, takes a sip of tea with a perplexed look.

Mother: "If they made a word for it, it has to work."

Mother opens cupboard, turns around, proffers a bottle.

Mother: "Here, have some Captain Morgan!"
Bryi: "THIS IS NOT A RUSSIAN HOUSEHOLD!"

Father chokes on tea and walks out again, muttering something about the virulence of Galician bloodlines.

• Post ten of any pictures currently on your hard drive that you think are self-expressive.
• No captions. It must be like we're speaking with images and we have to interpret your visual language just like we have to interpret your words.
• They must ALREADY be on your hard drive - no googling or flickr! They have to have been saved to your folders sometime in the past. They must be something you've saved there because it resonated with you for some reason.
• You do NOT have to answer any questions about any of your pictures if you don't want to. You can make them as mysterious as you like. Or you can explain them away as much as you like.

This happens to be International Blog Against Racism Week. Seeing as I was talking to a coworker yesterday about how much racism bothers me, it's appropriate timing. You can follow the event over here at the IBARW community.


Have you ever...
Called someone a Jew as a mock insult?
Joked about African genitalia, or Asian genitalia?
Referenced a person as a nigger, a sand nigger, a jap, a gook, a slanteye, an injun, a chink, or a gipp?
Thought racist jokes or slurs were funny "in the right context"?

Racism isn't just thinking of other human beings as inferior.

I know people who think that I'm overly serious about the issue. I know people who would laugh this post off, saying that it's okay for them to make racist jokes because they have African/Jewish/Asian/Romany friends, or that it's okay for them to make slurs because they "aren't racist". I know people who think that mocking Caucasian people isn't racist behavior -- but racism includes all races.

I honestly admit that I was disappointed with the responses this post received, on my alternate blog, back on June 1st. A couple people got the message of the post -- that stereotyping in any form is a cruel virus. The others either saw humor where there wasn't any to be had, or expressed (perhaps sarcastic) disappointment that my seriousness made it hard for them to joke about the matter.

Racism, and behavior related to it -- especially including the ignorant and thoughtless jokes recited by people every day -- is still prevalent in what we believe is an evolved society. I have come to expect shallowness from humans, especially my own generation, and in my own quiet way I strive to change that. I very much encourage everyone to take this post seriously, because, well, it's a serious issue. If you believe as I much as I do that racism is disgusting, make a little blog post about it this week. Racism won't end unless everyone stands up and says "no more."

I woke up with this little fish of a storyswimming in my fingers. If anyone is made especially curious by it, or wants to read more, I'll see if my subconscious will oblige. In the meantime, enjoy some prose.

*************

When I came back, I discovered that she had written the entire text of To The Lighthouse on the walls, first in charcoal, then in ink, then, at the end, in blood. She was curled, quietly mad, on the floor of her bedroom, just underneath the final words: yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision.

The blood had come not from her arms, but rather, her face, and so before I deposited her broken body into the waiting arms of the sanitarium, I carved into my own face the lines she had etched on hers. I kept her rust-stained copy of the book on my bedside until I heard of her suicide, then locked it away with all the jewels my mother had left me. It was precious as well as dangerous -- I vowed I would not allow myself to read the words within.

In truth, I did not need to open its pages. The words were scrawled so deeply into the walls that no amount of cleansing would remove them. The same day I placed the book in the vault, I boarded up her wing of the house in a fervor of oak slabs and the longest nails I could find.

Exactly one year passed before the first maid saw an apparition. After that, I had abysmal luck keeping hired hands -- they were frightened off in one form or another, or, as in one memorable case, driven as mad as my Isabelle. I had begun to despair that I would have to abandon the manse my great grandmother had been born in, and in a great display of stubbornness, began to take care of the entire domestic sprawl myself. I was not a man accustomed to housework, most especially the feminine arts, but after six months I considered myself to have the place well in hand. I studiously avoided Isabelle's wing, however, and so dust accumulated unchecked, and the mice from that area twitched their whiskers clear to the other end of the house. For all those six months, I was alone but for the silk-whisper footsteps of ghosts.

When Harrison arrived, that strange, wonderful young journalist with his cat and his notebook and his fascination for haunted houses, I considered it a miraculous meeting; on par, certainly, with the day I first set eyes on Isabelle. It was bittersweet -- he tossed his ringlets behind his ear with the same graceful, distracted motion as her -- but then, bittersweet, too, were my memories.

When I opened the door, squinting into the sunlight and still wearing the startled look of a hermit who has forgotten the sound of his own front bell, his first words to me were: "I would like to speak to you, if you'll permit me, sir, on the subject of the supernatural."

Ye gods, I am not being very consistent about my update schedule these days, am I? I don't really have any epic blog topics to write, and life hasn't been especially exciting lately, so my online presence has been very quiet.

Anyway, let's have an update post.


READING:
* The Devil In The White City by Erik Larson. (Absolutely stunning thesis on the Chicago World's Fair and the serial killer almost no one knows about, H.H. Holmes. My favorite serial killer, seriously. Guy was fucked up.)
* The Well of Loneliness by Radcliffe Hall. (Classic lesbian literature that sparked the most famous obscenity trial in British history. What can I say.)
* The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde.
I'm hoping to start Flowers For Algernon soon. Mmm, brain surgery.

WRITING:
That project about the Devil and the Boy is still creeping around my brain, innocently posing as a short story. I've got the most brilliant scenes for it, but no brain time to write them. I want to finish this one so badly, simply because of how much fun I get to have with it. Goethe and Milton had the right idea: the Devil is a most entertaining character to write about. It's such a wonderfully flexible concept. As an added bonus, I can insert Lovecraftian themes of inconceivable, maddening visions without even a moment's guilt. Huzzah!

ART:
I have done nothing but a very simple sketch of the Devil that I am not 100% ecstatic about. His design needs major work, and the internet has not helped me at all. The Boy is giving me just as much moxie on his design -- dreads, how I hate them. They either look like tube sausages or caterpillars with overly optimistic afros.

TEXTILES:
Two knitting projects on the go. One is a hat, the other is a sort of plush figurine. They both involve cephalopods in the vaguest way possible.

SCHOOLWORK:
I am still eagerly anticipating the day that SIDES will fix my Lit course so I can, y'know, actually start working on it. Seeing as I'm on a rather fixed schedule with it, the tests being on specific days and all, I'd like to get underway before the course itself forces me to fall behind.

JOBS:
Nothing of particular note to report. Money is good. Boss #2 makes me snort liquids out my nose on a regular basis. Same old.

BRAIN:
Still under the realm of "things one should not speak of on the internet." Honestly, at this point, it's a non-issue. I could tell people, but it wouldn't matter because I would either get a "wow, fascinating, I really don't care" response, or a stupid platitude because there's nothing else to say or the connection isn't made, so it's not worth my time. I suppose some things are better off kept private in the long run, even in a group so tolerant as the Serious Crew. Perhaps especially.

EXCITING THINGS/STUPID THINGS:
This gets combined into two on account of;
a) I won't be home on my day(s) off and therefore probably won't get much relaxing done this week, but;
b) I do get to go out of town with zeppelinphan and Sister, and I get to ride on the train again, and I'll have lots of time to work on my knitting projects. So, I guess it works out about even. I am also apparently drinking a can of Irn Bru, which is supposed to be better than any cola that ever existed in the history of carbonated drinks (according to Sister and most of the Serious Crew), so that's another point on the Exciting Things side.

THINGS TO DO:
Pack for trip, charge iPod, charge camera, buy peacock fabric, finish knitting projects, write that damn short story, finish reading The Devil In The White City and all those other classic literature volumes littering various corners of my room, acquire hard copy of journal archives before it gets too big for comfort.

HUMOR:
Boss #2 and I were checking out people of various genders that walked past the store window today. At one point he remarked, "God, what would your mother think if you brought that one home?" To which I replied, "Seeing as my first boyfriend once sewed his own lips shut, and my first girlfriend had pink hair, I think she learned to accept whatever I dragged through the door."

MISC:
The layer of dust on my tarot shelf is appalling. I should put them in the closet with the others if I'm not going to use them -- which, given how little time I have for other hobbies, is likely. Ah well, more shelves for books...!

My muscles and my brain are alerting me that it's past my bedtime. Until the next post (whensoever that may be), this is your friendly neighborhood Bryi wishing you a great weekend.

After almost a two-week hiatus, the Storyteller has returned.

Reasons for my absence on the internet? Batshit insanity. And I'm not just saying that. It was the most epic, baffling, extraordinary case of schedule planning fail I have ever heard of.

While working two jobs and attempting to finish five studio-quality paintings in approximately one month, I also attended four lengthy and often medically-related appointments, one parade (somewhat miraculously, I must admit, after the events mentioned in my cancellation e-mail), and completely rehauled my SIDES courses. Even worse, the only two days I worked or am about to work eight hour shifts were a) a day I really, really needed for painting progress, and b) a day I really, really need to complete the entrance assignment for my new course. Go figure.

Other events worth mentioning that occurred during the hiatus:

• Began knitting a hat;
• Completed (!) five paintings (!!!) for Artisans 2009 (more info about that later);
• Learned how to make authentic quill pens from a member of the Pacific Association for Recreating the Middle Ages;
• Learned that, after actually managing to sneak up on a crow and pull a tail feather that crow feathers make utterly lousy quills;
• Read excessive amounts of Lovecraft;
• Blew up over one hundred balloons in six hours (109 of those were before 10:30am, and the first order involved me arriving at the Dollar Store an hour and a half before we opened just to get the order ready);
• Did stuff to my hair (aka, this is a "you'll see it when you see it" situation);
• Acquired yet another Lovecraft-related plush toy;
• Acquired a vintage World War II gas mask manufactured in Canada;
• Acquired a new bookshelf (thank Zombie Jesus, hail Eris, and may Cthulhu eat my soul if I don't get those books off my floor really soon);
• Acquired far too many books (wow how surprising);
• Did not get enough sleep.

***************

The Gay Pride Parade was all the more awesome because I honestly didn't think I'd be able to see it this year. I wore only a bikini top and booty shorts, and danced behind the last float with a mobile mosh pit of lesbians. Also, I had my picture taken with the individual who belts tunes from the last float every year -- I don't know if she's just a great singer who supports gay rights, or a flamboyant lesbian, or a post-op drag queen, but whatever she is, she's amazing.

Frolicking with Boss #2 in general (after he surprise-tickled me to alert me of his presence) and the time the two of us snuck behind the massage tent to take a picture of the awesome old bearded cross dresser was far too entertaining. I wish Gay Pride events happened more often. I am consoled by the fact that next year, I can legally go to all the drag shows and after-parties.


***************


ART SHOW INFORMATION:

The show technically begins on Friday the 10th at 6pm, but that night is only open to the artisans themselves. From July 11th to August 26th, from 10am to 4pm every day, the public is both welcomed and encouraged to attend, enjoy, and purchase, if the desire arises.

I have on display five original pieces, priced from $95 to $145 (mostly judging on size, the largest being 16x20 inches). All of the pieces are acrylic on canvas; they include hardware for hanging, pre-installed by myself. The fact that I have pieces in the show shouldn't be your only reason to show up, however -- I have seen a good selection of the other pieces, and they are spectacular: paintings, carvings, glass work, textiles, jewelry, and more.

If you want to visit while I'm in attendance, I am the artist-in-residence on these days:

JULY 12TH, 12:30 to 4
AUGUST 2ND, 12:30 to 4
AUGUST 23RD, 12:30 to 4


*******************

A news blurb, for those who like to be caught up to the minutiae.

READING:
* Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson. (I picked this one up solely because the title sounded like 'Necronomicon', but I am rabidly enjoying it. Seriously. It's like an unselfconscious nod to Ulysses that is actually coherent and doesn't involve several degrees to find the humorous references.)
* Heart Of Darkness by Joseph Conrad.
* One Lovecraft collection or another. I lost track.
* The End of the Story, a Clark Ashton Smith collection.
* 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea by Jules Verne.

WRITING:
I have been veritably ambushed by two new short stories. After I bullshit my way through the new activation assignment for EngLit, I'll see about writing them up -- as well as finishing that one from a couple months back. (This will involve reviewing my knowledge of Jacobean English, so I've been understandably stymied about its completion.)

For the curious, Short Number One is a convoluted nod to both Sarah Monette's Khloïdanikos concept and Lovecraft's general tone and mythos. Short Number Two is the narrative of an individual the Devil sets out to corrupt -- via, um, less than PG-13 means. Don't necessarily think that means the story is full of sex... because it's full of other blasphemies, and not all of them are pretty. It's still a pretty light and rewarding tale, for all that.

ART:
I have nothing.

Oh, well, since you mention it, my attention has been a little focused on those five paintings for the show -- but no, I can't see any reason why you'd think I haven't sketched at all recently...!

SCHOOL:
I've really mentioned all the necessary pieces of this section.

JOBS:
Doing very well at both. Exciting things may be happening at one, but I don't want to say too much about that until it actually happens. You know the sort of thing. To the three people I have mentioned it to, two of whom read this blog, I know you what I mean more than most.

BRAIN:
Unbalanced in both pleasant and unpleasant ways. Balanced in both pleasant and unpleasant ways. Can you tell I've been a little crazy, lately? More than usual, I mean.

THINGS TO DO:
Clean room, organize books, make an art post, do schoolwork, drink more water, take over the world look sexy while performing ridiculous acts.

HUMOR:
I find it very amusing that several spell-checks want me to correct "Cthulhu" to "Catholic". Almost as entertaining as the time MS Word wanted me to change "Tolkien" to "Volkswagen."

MUSIC:
If one does not listen to "Staying Alive" for a year after being raised on the Bee Gees, one cannot help doing the Chair Dance while singing along in a falsetto that startles the shit out of sleeping cats.

EXCITING THINGS:
It rained most of today. It's July. This winter child is very, very content.

OTHER:
The jar is still open, and will remain open despite my current inability/lack of time with which to create/post poetry. I still squeak with glee every time I see people dropping spare change in there, as seldom as that is, considering how infrequently any member of the Serious Crew (let alone the whole) has been in attendance. I doubt this lack-of-groups or lack-of-Serious-Crew will change in the near future, simply factoring the sheer busyness level going on in my life -- even now that the art show prep and most of the medical appointments are under my belt, I still have plenty of commitments on my hands with two jobs and a first-year-university-by-correspondence-English-Literature-course to undertake. So it goes. I've been content as a hermit, thus far. I hope this doesn't sound like an insult to my readers. Hermitage is my nature!


****************

Now, to choose between reading and room organization before I go to bed. Room organization is a priority, but after the month I've had, I think the more relaxing of the two will win out. C'est la vie.

Being unable to find her pajama pants, and equally unable to relax in anything with a belt, Bryi vanishes to the faint rustle of skirts and the pad of bare feet.

Today wasn't the best day for me.

I didn't sleep well, woke up before my alarm, had a rushed shower and not enough breakfast, worked most of the day in the antique store alone with very few sales, discovered that Sister had managed to flip my bike upside down despite it being locked up (although that was kind of amusing, I have to admit), and found out that there is a very high possibility that I will not be able to attend the Gay Pride Parade -- not necessarily in that order.

I was pretty much prepared to come home, putz around on the internet, eat dinner, paint a bit, and then conk out in a rather depressed state for the rest of the night.

That was until I found this, and spent the next sixty seconds in convulsive laughter.



Call me superficial, but... I-I think my night just got a whole lot better.

Laughter-As-Medicine: wurks pritty well, ackshully.

Finish rainbow canvas
Blueline eye onto rainbow canvas
Finish Through A Different Lense, touch up
Finish and touch up Cocksure
Finish and touch up Butterflies Are Free, Moths Are Liberated
Finish and touch up Nouveau Sky
Finish and touch up Chasing Havilah
Take photo for Artist Bio
Write Artist Bio
Go into Community Arts Centre BEFORE July 3rd for volunteer information and inventory tweaking
Sign all paintings
Take detailed photos of all paintings
Make inventory signs (include number and title)
Bring in paintings and inventory signs on July 6th
○ Sleep for a week Obviously not going to happen now that my University-edition English Literature course has officially begun, so let's just scratch this one.

DONE!

We could use an update post around here, because things are about to get pleasantly crazy.


READING:
* Heart Of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
* The Cloister And The Hearth by Charles Reade
* The Confessions Of Saint Augustine translated and edited by Albert Outler
* A History of God by Karen Armstrong (yes, still!)
Also switching between reading The Portable Nietzsche and The Portable Marx. Augh, brain is breaking.

WRITING:
Head-space is still being taken over by amorphous project along the lines of "steampunk alternate-history Vatican." The priests, they have kidnapped me.

Also, Burnt In Stone developed a tragic twist near the end that made me all kinds of sad when I stumbled on it two nights ago. In loose terms, staying in the Palace means long life, even immortality if you're lucky -- one of the characters who I expected most to stay, in fact, does not, and is implied to have lived an average life, dying of old age. Had to be one of my favorite people, too. Figures. The best novels always rip your heart out!

ART:
One new sketch, a personal one.

PAINTING PROGRESS:
Cocksure: 85% complete. Down to the nitty gritty details now.
Nouveau Sky: 45% complete. Skin pretty much done, hair needs shading, background not begun.
Touching-Knowing: Still at whatever percentage I graded it at last time. Ugh.
Paper Faces On Parade: 40% done. Background almost complete, foreground not begun.

JOBS:
I could have worked eight hours yesterday, but for some reason, half-awake, I thought it was Wednesday and that I had an appointment or chores or something that prevented me from coming in early -- half an hour later, during breakfast, I slapped myself in the face when I realized it was in fact Tuesday and I was free both days. It worked out well, I guess, because I got a lot of work done on the paintings and scheduled an appointment at SIDES, but still. I feel bad for turning Boss #1 down on false (albeit unknowingly false) pretenses.

SCHOOLWORK:
Speaking of SIDES, I will be starting Advanced Placement English Literature 12 very shortly. After finishing prep for the art show, AP Lit and the final dregs of Comp Civ will be occupying every waking hour not devoted to jobs, showering, eating, or minimum safe relaxation time. Hooyah.

EXCITING THINGS:
Phantom: A Novel of His Life by Susan Kay arrived in the mail today, in rather excellent condition for not having any padding whatsoever in shipping, which makes me very happy. If I can muster the energy, I'm going to go Brodart it at Job #2 before I go to Job #1.

Also, zeppelinphan is dragging me down to the City on Sunday to make me buy a nice dress for a friend's grad next year before I can change my mind.

Also also, I work eight hours on Canada Day, so I get time-and-a-half. Yay, money! Especially considering that I just made an order from Chapters, money will be well appreciated. (Hey, I wasn't going to pass up an offer for eight books for $40. Even if they're crap, I can still get credit for them at any number of used book stores.)

STUPID THINGS:
One of my contact lenses had a hissy fit yesterday, so I had to go through my entire shift wearing my very-nice-glasses with the not-so-nice-and-actually-rather-outdated-perscription.

HUMOR:
A few of you may recall when Muse told that story about the guy who got a bar code tattoo for personal reasons. The guy worked at Home Depot, so he scanned his tattoo one day out of curiosity, and found out that he was a six-inch claw hammer.

I was in the loading dock, doing inventory with Edna yesterday, when I pulled out one of the boxes and started fighting very hard not to laugh. The skid we were inventorying was mostly hardware -- and that particular box was marked as "six inch claw hammers." Now, when I put them on the shelf, I get to find out what claw hammers actually are...!

MISC:
I may have a super-secret surprise coming up that a couple people know about. I don't need to ask people to keep quiet about it, seeing as I haven't said much about it nor the fact that I want it to be a surprise if it does happen, so those who suspect what it is may be thinking of any one of three things.

TWITTER:
That is not poetic license in my last tweet: I actually did run around without a shirt on (accompanied in shirtlessness by zeppelinphan, Shanzie, and a non-Blogger friend, as well as several others who opted to keep their shirts on) in the forests and fields behind what used to be Greenglade School. Afterwards I drank lovely, if luke-warm, honey lager, then proceeded to go home and read The Call Of Cthulhu in bed before passing out for eight hours. Good times! I did have a out-at-night-with-teenagers induced panic attack at one point, in Tulista Park, but fifteen minutes hiding in a polymer tube on the playground fixed that.

Until next time,
Your friendly neighborhood endlessland.