"And the mountain will always sit still"
Feb. 21st, 2025 02:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omnia_mutanturI keep thinking about posting and talking myself out of it and I've got 47 theories but none of them entirely hold up to examination. Something about wanting to be perceived/not perceived, I suspect. But I'm still here, I'm still reading, I'm still thinking all sort of things about my life that feel overly dramatic every time I try to write about them where anyone else can see them.
I got more added to my left-arm sleeve, Abundance and Nonsense and I all drove down to Baltimore and I added some wishing rocks and a snail shell to the top of it. I'm not sure if I'm going to run out of space or meaningful symbols first, but I do enjoy the spell I'm slowly building myself of all the symbols. I decided to wait for spring or fall to do anything to the top of my hands, hoping to find the sweet spot where I won't be touching the ocean or wearing gloves. My current theory is I'll get fireweed on both hands, and on the left it will be a continuation of the sleeve and the mirror on the other hand will be its own thing. But I'm also looking at trying for a continuous piece from bicep to wrist, so maybe I'll hold off on the right hand.
I always want people to tell me about their tattoos, or ask questions about mine, but that feels true of like 60% of every topic ever, I want to hear about breakfasts, pets, that thing from twelve years ago they've never stopped thinking about. I get so story-hungry and don't know how to find new people to tell me stories. I've think I've heard most the stories the people I know well have to tell, and now I'm just living in the story with them so there's nothing to narrate. Gossip, sometimes, of course, but even long distant events and people I'll never meet satisfy the urge. But also I just want to sit quietly somewhere with someone and play my solo journaling games and not worry if I'm supposed to be talking or something else because they also want the quiet doing-things energy.
I keep reading articles that are emphasizing the importance of care work, child care and housework and casseroles, and those are exactly the things I want to be doing for the resistance, and I haven't quite put my finger on how my mostly-feral probably-autistic introvert self finds the places where that kind of care is needed. Still looking, of course, still volunteering at a farm and a library and looking for other places to volunteer, still trying to figure out where to go with all this sadness-rage-despair stew of emotions.
Still playing games, reading books, crafting and cooking things, though none of those things in the quantity I'd like, or maybe it's just that I'm not getting the desired satisfaction from these things because I'm in an unsatisfiable state of mind, but I don't think there's a way to know which one it is. Someday the weather will be such that I can return to the woods, and maybe that will help, or it won't.
I got more added to my left-arm sleeve, Abundance and Nonsense and I all drove down to Baltimore and I added some wishing rocks and a snail shell to the top of it. I'm not sure if I'm going to run out of space or meaningful symbols first, but I do enjoy the spell I'm slowly building myself of all the symbols. I decided to wait for spring or fall to do anything to the top of my hands, hoping to find the sweet spot where I won't be touching the ocean or wearing gloves. My current theory is I'll get fireweed on both hands, and on the left it will be a continuation of the sleeve and the mirror on the other hand will be its own thing. But I'm also looking at trying for a continuous piece from bicep to wrist, so maybe I'll hold off on the right hand.
I always want people to tell me about their tattoos, or ask questions about mine, but that feels true of like 60% of every topic ever, I want to hear about breakfasts, pets, that thing from twelve years ago they've never stopped thinking about. I get so story-hungry and don't know how to find new people to tell me stories. I've think I've heard most the stories the people I know well have to tell, and now I'm just living in the story with them so there's nothing to narrate. Gossip, sometimes, of course, but even long distant events and people I'll never meet satisfy the urge. But also I just want to sit quietly somewhere with someone and play my solo journaling games and not worry if I'm supposed to be talking or something else because they also want the quiet doing-things energy.
I keep reading articles that are emphasizing the importance of care work, child care and housework and casseroles, and those are exactly the things I want to be doing for the resistance, and I haven't quite put my finger on how my mostly-feral probably-autistic introvert self finds the places where that kind of care is needed. Still looking, of course, still volunteering at a farm and a library and looking for other places to volunteer, still trying to figure out where to go with all this sadness-rage-despair stew of emotions.
Still playing games, reading books, crafting and cooking things, though none of those things in the quantity I'd like, or maybe it's just that I'm not getting the desired satisfaction from these things because I'm in an unsatisfiable state of mind, but I don't think there's a way to know which one it is. Someday the weather will be such that I can return to the woods, and maybe that will help, or it won't.
