"give up your shovel and dig with a spoon"

To sum up: That was lovely.

Pro-tip for future: that feeling wasn't improperly feeding yourself and/or being around too many people and/or getting a crick in your neck because you weren't willing to stop trying to get as much touching from Bespoke as possible. That was a migraine. next step: learning to figure that out before it's too late for the medicine to work very well.

On the one hand, I'm pretty sure no one but Light actually understands my deep-seated affection for 1776. On the other hand, I have a wicked sweet friend group who is totally willing to come over to my house, eat ice cream and watch the movie with me. I can't guarantee they'll all come back, once might be enough, but they liked our ice cream and our pets, and the house was clean enough for even me.

Some people came early, a couple people hung around for dinner. It was lovely and I'm sort of content and smug. And sort of emotionally sore, truth be told. I've somehow managed to translate that delicious next-day soreness I get from pushing myself a little too hard at the gym into an entirely non-physical sensation.

I do find myself accidentally saying things that make it sound like I'm bringing a self-pity gun to a knife fight. And maybe it's leftover misery poker skills (though misery poker was usually more fun when I determinedly lost), maybe it's that I try so hard (with limited success) to not talk about the mastectomy or Asshat, that when something slips out, it carries all the weight of the seventeen things I didn't say and drops like a lead balloon, which sinks the conversation.

I think I find the situations with my parents and my inlaws genuinely funny. Most the time, they're both fodder for a fucked-up sitcom, and I kind of imagine that's what it is, a story about how to fuck your kid up (no real person actually says "I wish you were more loveable"), a story about how to make your daughter-in-law uncomfortable. (Where does she even find a card that has the word daughter in quotes?) but it doesn't come out that way, and I don't know any of these people well enough/know the right way to ask how it sounded.

I dug myself deep in a hole trying to explain someone else's argument about Prometheus (seriously, I still have feelings about that movie). I think it was because there are still some things I haven't learned how to talk about, and one of those includes people's perceptions of their own oppressions, which I'm not qualified to judge (of course) but I'm also indignant when someone says "mine is the One That Matters".

"give up your shovel and dig with a spoon"

To sum up: That was lovely.

Pro-tip for future: that feeling wasn't improperly feeding yourself and/or being around too many people and/or getting a crick in your neck because you weren't willing to stop trying to get as much touching from Bespoke as possible. That was a migraine. next step: learning to figure that out before it's too late for the medicine to work very well.

On the one hand, I'm pretty sure no one but Light actually understands my deep-seated affection for 1776. On the other hand, I have a wicked sweet friend group who is totally willing to come over to my house, eat ice cream and watch the movie with me. I can't guarantee they'll all come back, once might be enough, but they liked our ice cream and our pets, and the house was clean enough for even me.

Some people came early, a couple people hung around for dinner. It was lovely and I'm sort of content and smug. And sort of emotionally sore, truth be told. I've somehow managed to translate that delicious next-day soreness I get from pushing myself a little too hard at the gym into an entirely non-physical sensation.

I do find myself accidentally saying things that make it sound like I'm bringing a self-pity gun to a knife fight. And maybe it's leftover misery poker skills (though misery poker was usually more fun when I determinedly lost), maybe it's that I try so hard (with limited success) to not talk about the mastectomy or Asshat, that when something slips out, it carries all the weight of the seventeen things I didn't say and drops like a lead balloon, which sinks the conversation.

I think I find the situations with my parents and my inlaws genuinely funny. Most the time, they're both fodder for a fucked-up sitcom, and I kind of imagine that's what it is, a story about how to fuck your kid up (no real person actually says "I wish you were more loveable"), a story about how to make your daughter-in-law uncomfortable. (Where does she even find a card that has the word daughter in quotes?) but it doesn't come out that way, and I don't know any of these people well enough/know the right way to ask how it sounded.

I dug myself deep in a hole trying to explain someone else's argument about Prometheus (seriously, I still have feelings about that movie). I think it was because there are still some things I haven't learned how to talk about, and one of those includes people's perceptions of their own oppressions, which I'm not qualified to judge (of course) but I'm also indignant when someone says "mine is the One That Matters".