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Had That Kind of Therapy.  (sometimes I wonder about how the...severity?  intensity? of therapy is reflected in my therapist's offer of a hug).  My face is still stiff with salt and my mind just goes around on this fucking carousel of self-loathing, self-pity and self-doubt.  I'm unemployed, I should be accomplishing all the things before Delight's baby arrives, I should be teaching myself to code, I should be panic cleaning for the house concert on Saturday.  I should get up and go pick up the farm share.  

But I'm tired, and I hate putting the dog in her crate, and it's bright outside, and I can't get out of the bed.  Maybe therapy, farmshare pickup, getting a dog license and going to Manners 101 with Eagerness, then bowling with Light is enough.  Maybe I can just watch bad netflix and cross-stitch.  More precisely, maybe there's a world in which I can do that thing and not self-judge.  It's not this world at the moment, but maybe there is one.

Dropped the ball on the song meme.  My favorite 70s song seemed like it was going to be easy, Ode to Billie Joe by Bobbie Gentry, but when it turned out it was actually released in 1967, I drew a blank.   And since I'm having so much trouble even posting to lj, that was enough to make me abandon the project altogether.   But, once more into the breach, etc.  I remembered it wasn't just music my parents played, but that a bunch of goth and punk things were happening in the late 70s/early 80s.

13. One of your favorite 70s songs - Jumping Someone Else's Train by the Cure.
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There's something about hot weather that makes me extra-aware of my size.  (that something might be sweat).  I feel myself  balloon, every bus seat another recrimination about the width of my hips, every pair of bike shorts under a skirt a pointed comment about my thighs, every electrical bill a sign of my weakness (because running acs is weak, and if I wasn't fat, I wouldn't be uncomfortable, and I could just sit in my 80 degree house and be fine with it.) 

I don't even dream of making friends with my body, though I'm still trying to negotiate some sort of truce.  Why are my rules for myself os much different than my rules for everyone else?  For that matter, why do I think of them as inflexible rules for me and preach kindness and self-compassion for everyone else?
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 12.   A song from your pre-teen years.

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper.
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Haven't posted much lately outside of song memes, which allow me to check off the “participate in social media” box, but doesn’t feel especially interactive.  And I want to be someone still posting here, I want to be reflecting on my life in the particular way I do on livejournal (even though it’s thru dreamwidth now). 


We got a dog.  A medium-sized brown dog with a pit bull head, a shiba inu tail and a mutt body.  I’ll call her Eagerness.  (for a poly problem lols, it’s hard to find a name tag with space for three phone numbers)   The cats are understandably pissed, Skitterypoof seems to have written off the first floor of the condo entirely.  She curls up on the couch beside us, she runs in the morning with Abundance, we’re trying the crating thing.   She’s eighteen monthsish old, so still has enough puppy to make me perpetually anxious, but I’m hoping I’ll eventually chill.


Being unemployed is becoming more real, and easier and harder.   I’ve conquered the local libraries’ byzantine e- and audio-book systems and have been devouring fiction of all sorts.   I’m finished with the antibiotics that kicked my ass which were prescribed to treat the sinus infection that was kicking my ass (and the inevitable yeast infection treated as well)


I’ve made a gigantic vat of tomato sauce, which I turned some of into lasagna.  I’ve made pasta with chickpeas and hominy, something I affectionately call tortilla mess (though the internet claims it’s healthy mexican casserole) and waffles.    I’ve made chocolate chocolate cake (a chocolate cake, with chocolate buttercream frosting, covered in chocolate ganache and topped with chocolate shards).   Light had a birthday, Peter Mulvey’s coming to my house to give a concert, I’m getting NC tattooed on my wrist on Friday (and then attending a family gathering with my first un-hideable tattoo on Sunday).  I’ve organized my to-read list within an inch of its spreadsheety life,  I’ve seen movies in the theater, I’ve mostly kept up with the dishes, I’ve gone to the gym more frequently, and I’m feeling better rested and much, much friendlier.  


We’ll see what happens next.  It’s going to be an adventure.


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 11. A song you never get tired of

Thea Gilmore's Start As We Mean to Go On

Runners up:  Tom Waits' Gun Street Girl and Joy Kills Sorrow's cover of Such Great Heights.
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 10.  A song that makes you sad.

This one feels like a shameful confession.

Tell Me If You Want to Go Home by Kiera Knightly (from the movie Begin Again, which I haven't even seen)

Runners up:   Here It Is by Leonard Cohen and Ghosts by Laura Marling

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9. A song that makes you happy.

Once upon a time, Light and I kickstartered Peter Mulvey at a level that allowed us to pick a song for him to cover.    We asked him to cover Odds Are by Barenaked Ladies.  It's the best thing ever.

Honorable mentions:   a cover of Stronger by Rebecca Loebe and Feet to the Sky by Lulu and the Lampshades.

Day 8

May. 31st, 2017 12:11 pm
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8.  A song about drugs or alcohol.

Presented without comment.

Another Drinkin' Song by Mighty Mighty Bosstones.

Honorable mentions:  Mr. Brownstone by Guns'n'Roses and Numb by Alanis Morrisette

Day 7

May. 29th, 2017 10:47 am
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 7. A song to drive to

Stumped on this one, so I'm going back to Northampton days, when I
 used to drive across the state to see Light.  Dragula by Rob Zombie.  But when I'm not listening to audiobooks while driving, it's usually something lightly embarassing like Jessie J or Pink.

Day 6.

May. 26th, 2017 11:58 am
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A song that makes you want to dance

ooo...dancing is tricky.  I'll happily wiggle to just about anything that's playing in the kitchen while I'm cleaning/cooking, though lately I've been listening to audiobooks more than music.  But I feel like I lost dancing, like I put it away in a box labeled sobriety and dropped the box into the ocean.   I have a handful of strong clubbing memories from my early twenties, that one Dead Can Dance song, that Sisters of Mercy song, but I don't think they make me want to dance anymore.

Swallow Baby by Ruby is the song I always claim would have been the song I stripped too. I think that'll have to do.

The List ).

day 5

May. 23rd, 2017 11:24 am
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5. A song that needs to be played LOUD. 

Well, almost anything I want to sing/shout along to.

Zerospace - Kidneythieves, in no small part because it reminds me of goth clubbing days.  
Honorable mentions: Car Radio - twenty one pilots and No Shortcuts - HeatherMaloney

Day 3

May. 21st, 2017 05:01 pm
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Two, because they're easy
3.  A song that reminds you of summer.
Two Cure songs, both rife with memories from college years.  Love Cats and Just Like Heaven
4.  A song that reminds you of someone you'd rather forget about
Asshat - Stuck Between Stations by The Hold Steady.  Haven't listened to this song since 2009.
I'm never quite sure if I want to forget (about) Lesson.  I'd definitely like to never think of him again, which is maybe the same thing?  He gets Your Ex Lover is Dead by Stars.  Possibly a little heavyhanded on the alanis morrisette irony to pick a song for this with the lyrics "I'm not sorry I met you / I'm not sorry it's over / I'm not sorry there's nothing to say".


day 2

May. 20th, 2017 05:42 pm
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2. A song you like with a number in the title

7 Stones by Lindsay Mac

honorable mention:
 84,000 Different Delusions by Shawn Colvin and 100 Games of Solitaire by Concrete Blonde

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Snagging this one beause I think it's adorable and because I appreciate the opportunity to go digging around in my music collection.  (let's see how many of them end up being Kris Delmhorst and Peter Mulvey songs)

1.A song you like with a colour in the title

Yellow Brick Road by Kris Delmhorst

Honorable mentions: 
Beautiful Red Dress by Laurie Anderson and Black Feather Wings by Monique Ortiz

The list )
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Finished listening to None of the Above by I.W. Gregorio a couple days ago. The book is about an intersex 18yo girl who has just discovered she's intersex.  She's a high school senior, a competitive runner, and just got voted Homecoming Queen when this all comes out.  (the incident that sends her to an obgyn is attempting to have sex for the first time with her awful boyfriend).

Everything that happens for a little while is awful.  She tells a couple people in confidence,  the secret doesn't get kept, she gets dumped, bullied (both cyber and not), she gets suspended from the track team, etc.  She spends a lot of time trying to keep things from her dad, because years ago her mother died of cervical cancer and he's never really recovered.

The part that really struck me is that while I'm cisgender, some of the places where I've seen a little bit of my menopause story reflected back at me is in trans and (now) intersex narratives.   In this book in particular, the protagonist undergoes a gonadectomy and then "forgets" to take her estrogen supplements, and essentially hits menopause and her experience of hot flashes sparked that sick feeling under my breastbone that empathy sometimes creates.  I don't want to co-opt anything, that's not my intent.  Part of my discomfort with the stories I do hear about mastectomies and oopherectomies is because those are Cancer Stories and I did not/do not have cancer, I just had fear and statistics motivating my surgeries.  And I'll straight up admit that I don't feel like I know enough to talk about what it must be like to transition or to be intersex.

But there was some thread here, something that has popped up a couple times in a couple different places, something I want to tease out.

I didn't love the book.  I'm not even sure I liked it.  She's kind of a twit and surrounded by mostly incompetent adults and it's possible that true love saves her.   But it did get a fishhook into my brain somewhere.

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 Yesterday, after a couple different "you don't know so-and-so" comments at Intention's house, I exclaimed "I'm basically a shut-in".  

I see my partners, the cohabiting and the not, I see Intention and their family, I see Hips and Hands, and everyone else I'm pretty much forgotten how to be friends/be social/return emails in a timely fashion/leave the house  (or at least that is how it feels).  Then shame and exhaustion incline me to continue not taking action and the next thing I know I haven't talked to someone for months, and I'm too scared they think I'm a shitty person to reach out. And I hope that I've wandered through the part of my life where I make friends because I know I can serve some need they have and that will cause them to attach to me (it's a little less mercantile than that) but I'm not sure I've wandered into the next part either.  
Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf now that I'm going to be a lady of leisure.  Maybe I have exactly the right amount of social in my life already. Maybe it's time to figure out how volunteer meaningfully without getting into a service relationship with an organization. Maybe what I really want is more people to talk to on the internet. Maybe it's time to learn to be still more often. Maybe it's time to cultivate some truly epic pinterest boards. (maybe it's time to learn to only use one space after a period.)

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 The mood, it has not been ideal.   The thought "you're ruining everything" keeps popping up in my head and it's almost impossible to shout down.  And there's some sort of weird synergy going on, because normally that thought makes me cry, but Abudance and Light and I all went to Guardians of the Galaxy today, and I was crying about the movie at the end, and all of a sudden, in super-stark clarity my brain provided the "you're ruining everything."  So not only do I cry when I think it, when I cry I think it.

Clear as mud.

Need to make oatcakes for the Beltaine ritual tomorrow.  Need to wash dishes, make a grocery list, cook food, brush cats, read books, journal, cross-stitch, figure out how to integrate all the stuff I brought home from the office into the house.  Need to sort out the month, need to find the appointment reminder that tells me when my appointment with my psychopharm is tomorrow.  

Need to calm down.

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In my personal journal, sometimes I just type "just keep starting" a handful of times to remind myself to spring back from the "failure" of not writing daily.   

Work is weird, I have eight more days of work and I suspect they're just going to get weirder.  My boss has asked me to write a document detailing all the things I do which is pretty much feels impossible.  I do a lot of complicated things without support, there is no one in the Center who knows how to do most of my job, including my boss and it's hard to write instructions without knowing how much excel/beast-specific software experience someone has (if the answer to both is none, my instructions will just be pages of maniacal laughter).

I'd forgotten when we moved offices and had to get rid of a lot of our old books and magazines that I salvaged an entire box of old dictionaries and nat geo maps for craft purposes, so it's been interesting to re-discover those. I have grand intentions to make a canopy for my canopy bed by stringing fake flower petals on wire, and the test strip looks a lot like I want it to, but now I'm tempted to make some sort of bunting out of old maps.

Went to a dog show with Hips, had an awesome time.   Went to Indie Bookstore Day and got 2 postcard coloring books and a Jenny Lawsonprint.   Therapy three times a week sometimes means three bouts of weeping (which is different than crying.  Crying I can talk through, weeping is mostly trying not to make those awkward high keening noises and gasping instead) which means my eyes always feel tired.  Listening to Bone Witch, reading The Immortals.   Possibly have to drive to Lowell for jury duty on Tuesday.
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Giving notice tomorrow,  if I don't lose my nerve.  giving three weeks.

selected and purchased two CSA from two differnet farms, one predominantly veggies and one exclusively fruit.  Hoping that my status as a lady of leisure will translate into me preparing strange veggies in interesting ways.  One of my projects is going to be to use every spice in my cabinet once.  If I manage to do this, I can start purchasing strange-to-me spices from the russian store.

Every morning, I sit with my growlight,  read the two news aggregators I subscribe to (Skimm and CNN's five things) and eat a cookie from the aforementioned russian store that I dip in my tea.  they are now known as news cookies in my household.

Didn't march, again.  Light's girlfriend marched and I know it's not a competition, but it made me feel even more like I was failing at something. 

I have a page in my bullet journal I'm titling "costume" and I'm keeping track of which eyeshadows and which perfumes I'm wearing.  Still trying to find something I like as much as I like Ava Luxe's Milk perfume, which Abundance hates.  Still haven't found one.   BPAL makes me smell like baby powder, play dough or  potpourri gone moldy.  Possets has a couple things I love, but the retour hasn't come around yet.  (nom nom nom, fires of hell).

I'm contemplating trying to get into/onto facebook again, pare down the list to the fourteen people I like in the world and try to stay in touch with those people.

So, you know.  Things. 
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 This post is brought to you by a combination of 

a) picking up the final framed cross stitch I spent this year making for Tank's little sister yesterday
b) seeing a picture posted to facebook of Mech's happy family
c) a text Mech hasn't answered
d) a lot of feelings which have lead to 
e) crying in my office

Since I'm not going to send this letter to my little brother, I'm going to post it here.  I'm a little ashamed, I'm a little concerned the parents in the audience are going to tell me the ways in which I'm wrong, but posting feels like getting to say a thing, even if it's not saying it to the person I want to say it to.  

Dear Mech,
I feel like you and Teach are doing a shitty thing to me and in turn a shitty thing to Tank.
I suspect you both have problems with how I do things that you've chosen not to tell me about, but even with that, I'm an awesome aunt.  I love Tank deeply, I provided awesome free childcare, I took him to awesome classes and would continue to do so if it was possible.  

However I'm fairly certain that remaining seriously attached to someone controlled by people who can't be trusted to treat me decently is not a good plan for me.  
I'm going to try to stop begging for the opportunity to see him.  If the choices you make for him involve not being able to accomodate me in his life, then I'll abide by that (it's not like I've got a choice). But I believe if you can plan preschool and play dates, you can plan for me to have a presence in his life.  If you don't want to plan for that, I'd prefer you tell me that rather than pretend it's impossible to do so.  

Maybe you're not sending secret messages by not responding to my emails, texts and phone calls.  But the unsecret one, of not being someone you make time to respond to, is pretty clear.
I suspect you believe I can't actually understand either of your feelings because I'm not a parent, and that being a parent exempts you from treating me like I matter, because it is only Tank and his baby sister that actually matter.   Neither of us will ever know that, you can't say I don't understand your feelings and I can't say I do. But I suspect that your parent-feelings don't actually preclude making space for me in Tank's life, it's not that kind of either-or unless you decide it is.
Don't teach your kids that people who love them will leave them mysteriously. 


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