"You are alternately thrilled and desperate"

Feast or famine.

I keep opening up the "post an entry" screen, and closing it after writing a sentence or two. And then, like a flood one day, my fingers fill up and I can't figure out which things not to say to keep from going on too long.

I had a very smitten day yesterday. I didn't even understand exactly why I was all stuttery/shy around the gentleman at Artisan's Asylum until after the fact, walking home. (I misstepped what I consider to be horribly in the volunteer interview, but have decided I'll recover with my blinding competence post Burning Man) And then an amazing redbird show, and I would happily do filthy things with any member of the band, but am also pretty comfortable gazing adoringly at them for the course of a show. And it was enjoyable uncomplicated adoration, which was a refreshing change from all the complex feelings I'm having about various people. Not bad feelings, exactly, just this endless shifting of expectations, and my self-defeating attempts to live expectation free, and just take whatever the hell people are willing to give me without asking for more and how to balance that with not feeling like a sullen teenager waiting for people to notice that I'm not calling them.

I'm very anxious these days, a thing completely not helped by within the span of twelve hours, accidentally shattering a particularly inky pen while going to bed and promptly waking up the next morning and losing my keys, making us extremely late for work, and then finding them in an embarrassing thought-i'd-looked-there place.

I went to an Arisia meeting. It was startling emotionally uneventful, I had a crafty thing to do with my hands, and the most noteworthy part was this odd-to-me desire to continue plunging into this thing, learning the shape of it. Hell, for a brief, dizzying moment, smofcon looked like a good idea, like a place I could find conversations about how to make safe spaces in traditionally under-socialized groups. I'm sitting on that for a while, to see what happens.

I want to find an internet space that I feel comfortable inhabiting. It seems like a really obvious statement, and something spoken about so often that there's almost nothing thoughtful left to say. Different people ascribe different moods, motivations, atmsopheres to different places, and some of it is audience-driven (who is reading, who is commenting, who is the message being crafted for) and some of it is author driven, and for all that I never say "I see this", opting only to say something if I feel like I can create meaningful content, some days I desperately want to be seen and each unanswered invitation is a little more proof of how unlovable I must really be, if a message I explicitly craft to garner response, to create a community for myself can't elicit anything.

But! I have many cats and a dog, and plans to go to Martha's Vineyard, and plans to see Delight, and a bus to catch.

"You are alternately thrilled and desperate"

Feast or famine.

I keep opening up the "post an entry" screen, and closing it after writing a sentence or two. And then, like a flood one day, my fingers fill up and I can't figure out which things not to say to keep from going on too long.

I had a very smitten day yesterday. I didn't even understand exactly why I was all stuttery/shy around the gentleman at Artisan's Asylum until after the fact, walking home. (I misstepped what I consider to be horribly in the volunteer interview, but have decided I'll recover with my blinding competence post Burning Man) And then an amazing redbird show, and I would happily do filthy things with any member of the band, but am also pretty comfortable gazing adoringly at them for the course of a show. And it was enjoyable uncomplicated adoration, which was a refreshing change from all the complex feelings I'm having about various people. Not bad feelings, exactly, just this endless shifting of expectations, and my self-defeating attempts to live expectation free, and just take whatever the hell people are willing to give me without asking for more and how to balance that with not feeling like a sullen teenager waiting for people to notice that I'm not calling them.

I'm very anxious these days, a thing completely not helped by within the span of twelve hours, accidentally shattering a particularly inky pen while going to bed and promptly waking up the next morning and losing my keys, making us extremely late for work, and then finding them in an embarrassing thought-i'd-looked-there place.

I went to an Arisia meeting. It was startling emotionally uneventful, I had a crafty thing to do with my hands, and the most noteworthy part was this odd-to-me desire to continue plunging into this thing, learning the shape of it. Hell, for a brief, dizzying moment, smofcon looked like a good idea, like a place I could find conversations about how to make safe spaces in traditionally under-socialized groups. I'm sitting on that for a while, to see what happens.

I want to find an internet space that I feel comfortable inhabiting. It seems like a really obvious statement, and something spoken about so often that there's almost nothing thoughtful left to say. Different people ascribe different moods, motivations, atmsopheres to different places, and some of it is audience-driven (who is reading, who is commenting, who is the message being crafted for) and some of it is author driven, and for all that I never say "I see this", opting only to say something if I feel like I can create meaningful content, some days I desperately want to be seen and each unanswered invitation is a little more proof of how unlovable I must really be, if a message I explicitly craft to garner response, to create a community for myself can't elicit anything.

But! I have many cats and a dog, and plans to go to Martha's Vineyard, and plans to see Delight, and a bus to catch.