wander_free

Been a shitty week. No doubt encouraged by the travesty in Maine, people were bold enough this week to come right out and comment on my appearance and supposed orientation. Most people can't be arsed to actually ask me if I'm gay, they just assume and proceed to treat me as such. Jackasses.

Then Thursday, the shooting at Fort Hood and a couple worried hours until I got work from my friend that he was all right. Then today, at the end of my patience and tired, I made a six year old cry. It worked out in the end, but it's never a good feeling when big eyes feel with tears and you hold a hyper-ventilating child as they cry like their hearts are broken.

Then, as a perfect cap of the day and week, during recess as I was looking through leaves with one of the kids (a fey little thing, I wonder about her) I was told that 'adults don't laugh like that'. Sorry, I'm an adult and I'll laugh any way I goddamn want. Just because you have lost the ability to enjoy life and the scattered moments of peace to be found among all the shit that is the world right now, doesn't we all have. You can bite my gay, laughing ass.

Most people will agree that the fall of 2001 was eventful, a season that most of us remember with horror and grief. Aside from that particular day, there is another day that lingers in my memory and often springs out of the ether to grab my heart yet again with remembered fear.

I did my student teaching in 2001, with fourth grade in the first half of of the semester and switching to first just before Halloween. In early October, a fourth grader came into the room where one of the fourth grade teachers was going over some paperwork. Cute kid, shy and silent for the most part, but one of the best readers in the class and smart with it. He said he had something to tell the teacher, something bad. I think she can be forgiven for assuming he was going to tattle on a classmate.

"Jay is going to bring a gun to school tomorrow," this silent little boy whispered. "He's going to shoot you. He says you were mean to him and he didn't like it."

The teacher, a hard as nails veteran of the public education system who probably has forgotten more about being a teacher than many of us will ever know in the first place, went pale and lightheaded, but she struggled to conceal the sudden spike of fear. Columbine was still a fresh memory then and everyone was raw from the events of September.

Holding it together with nerves of steel, because I've never met a veteran teacher who couldn't stare down a cyclone if she or he needed to, she got the details from this boy and sent him back out to recess, then hurried down the hall to the office, where she immediately informed the principal.

The next day, the principal was waiting for the kid at the edge of school property and as soon as his sneakers hit the grass, the principal confiscated his backpack and searched it, pulling out a box of bullets and a revolver, fully loaded.

Yesterday, I subbed in a fourth grade class and though the districts are nothing alike, the schools are not similar in any way and the subject wasn't even the same, that memory came back clear and strong when one of the kids made a comment. I don't remember the date of the original event, I just know it was early-mid October, so it's entirely possible yesterday was the anniversary.

Over the years, threats of violence have almost become passe. I once stared down a kid over a knife, I have dodged thrown books and desks, had fists shaken in my face and one kid threatened me with a stapler. But yesterday, remembering the soul-sickening terror and the look in that teacher's eyes when she realized how close she and the rest of the school had come to being another statistic, another 'school shooting' in a long line of shootings, it was all new and bright and shiny with tears.

Yesterday evening, I was walking with friends and one of them made a joking comment about 'going postal' about bringing a gun and just spraying bullets around a room. I don't even remember the lead-up to the comment, just the comment itself and the gut-churning fear that had sat in my stomach since telling the kids my story.

"That's not funny," I snapped. "I've been there, done that. It's not funny."

"I didn't mean it that way," he said, not even trying to apologize for the words.

"I had to relive it today," I continued. "I've had a kid bring a gun to school and it's not a joking manner."

"Fine," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, a sadly ironic move. "Going postal, then."

"Still not funny," I continued. "guns and shooting and killing and all the rest. it's not funny. Don't make that joke any more."

He finally subsided, but I doubt my words made any difference. He'll continue to make the jokes and make half-arsed apologies because he doesn't understand and doesn't want to. It's funny to him because he's never had to face his own mortality in the shaking hands of a kid and he can't see why someone who has might look dimly on the effort to lighten the atmosphere.

It's funny, I suppose, until it happens to you.

Once upon a time, I had two very good friends, the sort of friends to whom I could say anything and who I trusted above nearly everyone. As these things go, we grew up, grew apart, had our shares of fights and arguments and somewhere along the way, we ended up on different sides of the river. We're still friends, but the sort of friends who share an evening walking around the city park, but not secrets, not feelings and not worries.

It was inevitable, I assume. Just by the nature of things there was going to be a time when we ceased to connect. These last twelve years, we have led very different lives. I moved away, they got married; I explored previously hidden and often hated parts of myself; they stayed near family and what was familiar.

I found out things about myself, things that - once I accepted them - were anathema to them and to keep their friendship, I hid them, until I finally realized that I was hurting myself for people who would never understand. This last year has been rough on our friendship. I finally hit that wall, that place that says if you go any further, you will break yourself and well, call me selfish, I don't want to break myself, don't want to deny these things, things that are very much a part of me and my self-image of myself.

This last year I've been pulling back. Less open, less social, less willing to open myself to them. At first, I was angry, both at myself and at them and I'm afraid I took it out on all of us. Finally, though, I moved past it and they are simply friends, not confidants and not anyone whose opinion can hurt me.

My friends are pregnant. Okay, since I have always hated that phrase, she is pregnant, lol. They sent me an email, complete with the snide 'we didn't want to tell you in person so you don't have to pretend to be happy for us' that pretty much sums up our friendship right there. Just a few months ago I would have been livid, at the tone, at the way they told me, at the smug assurance that I will be angry at them. A year or so ago, I would have been hurt and angry because being pregnant would have been the death knell for our friendship.

Today, though, I quite honestly and sincerely told them congratulations.

I'm such a selfish bitch.

A couple years ago, my (male) friend S and I got into over it pregnancy and children because I reacted badly when another (female) friend had a baby. I acted badly towards her and I have long since apologized to my friend and I've tried to make up for it. Anyways, S emailed me saying that if he and J ever had children that it wouldn't change our friendship, that we would still be able to do everything, just with the little bit in tow.

Angry, hurting because of various personal issues, and bitter because once again someone was ignoring my experience as a single woman in a world of married and childed people, I told him that as soon as children enter the picture, the world revolves around said children and any non-childed person becomes nothing more than an also-ran, an afterthought, the person who was supposed to be willing to sublimate her own wants to the needs of the child.

Wanna go to the movies? Only if it's something the little bit can see.

Wanna go out to eat? Only if they have a kiddie menu.

Wanna go to the Ren Faire? I'm bringing the munchkin, if she gets too hot/tired/cranky, we'll have to leave early.

When I got the email this morning, my first thought was congratulations and my second, at least I've already pulled away and don't have to wait for them to do it in expectation of a baby.

I'm a selfish bitch because I was relieved. I don't have to pretend or worry or try any longer. They have their life and after the little bit is born, I won't be a part of it any longer, except as a periphery and probably not much then since my dislike of babies is well known.

I'm such a selfish bitch and part of me says I should feel bad about it, but mostly, I'm relieved. It's over and with very little pain and fuss for me. We will just...drift away. I'll make the little bit a baby blanket, send a gift card to J when she gives birth, all that stuff, but nothing onerous, nothing personal, nothing to commemorate the friendship that once burned so brightly.

Okay, not I'm just depressing myself and I kinda want to stay in selfish bitch mode for a while longer.

I have this thing about hotel rooms. If there are two beds - 99% of hotel rooms I've ever stayed in have been two-bedders - I inevitably choose the one nearest the windows and/or door and if I have to choose the inner bed, I get fidgety and nervous until whoever I am rooming with gives over the outer bed just to make me settle down. Even the one time when I ended up alone in a two-bed hotel room, I slept on the outer bed.

The handful of times I have ended up in non-chain hotel type rooms, I have always slept closest to the door, even if it meant sleeping on the couch instead of the bed. The two times I ended up in a two-story type condo rooms in high school, I chose the fold out bed over the upstairs bed because nothing hit panic buttons like those loft bedroom. It should be noted, though, that sleeping on the second floor of a hotel/motel or apartment building doesn't bother me, only second floors of rooms/condos/houses.

My younger brother is the opposite. He always chooses the inner bed, the one closest to the bathroom and often in the corner of the room. This worked out great when we went on family vacations and had a room to ourselves (with our folks next door, natch). We didn't have to fight over the beds since we both had 'our' bed.

He told me one time that he always went with the inner bed because it would provide more protection/warning in case someone broke into the room. I always choose the outer bed for the exact same and yet opposite reason. If there is trouble, I am closer to the exit. Not to mention, the inner bed always triggers my 'trapped!' response and I can barely even sit on the bed, much less sleep on it.

Younger brother worries about outer threats and I worry about inner threats, which is a fair description of us, lol. It must be genetic. He's a lot like our mother and I'm a lot like our dad.

The first fantasy novel I ever read - I mean, the first high fantasy novel, not children's fantasy or romantic fantasy, but true fantasy novel - was Melanie Rawn's Dragon Prince trilogy, though it's a tie as to whether Dragon Prince or Terry Goodkind's Wizard's First Rule was truly the first. I bought them the same day and I honestly don't remember which was read first.

I generally see Dragon Prince as the first because ten years later, I still read Dragon Prince and the sequel trilogy Dragon Star while Goodkind has slowly but surely moved to the bottom of my bookshelf, where I keep other dusty books that once were favorites and now are only kept because I love the memories seeing the books bring back.

I've pretty much read through the fantasy section at the local bookstore. Everything from Douglas Addams, JRR Tolkien, JK Rowling, Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaimen, Anne Bishop, Jacqueline Carey, Robert Jordan etc etc, have found houseroom on my bookshelf while others have quickly been sent on to people who will enjoy them. You name the author or book and I have most likely at least dipped into it enough to know whether or not it's the sort of fantasy I enjoy.

In fact, a while ago I was browsing at a used bookstore and a fellow wanderer offered to help me find a new author. This gentlemen was under the mistaken assumption that as a woman I did not know my fantasy. He was quickly disabused of this notion after every suggestion was quickly shot down with 'read it. didn't like it. okay but not great. got 'em all' etc etc. (I'm not kidding, his entire attitude was condescending and amused, until I had the temerity to actually start comparing various authors, which is when he made a weak excuse and went away.)

But, back to Rawn.

I'm a dragon nut, which is pretty much the reason I picked up Dragon Prince with the gorgeous Michael Whelan cover because for dragon nuts Whelan is our van Gogh, Monet and da Vinci all rolled into one. Visionary, impressionist and realist, all in one.

That was...over ten years ago, lol. Would have been the summer of 97, a month or so after I graduated from high school and shortly before I went to college. In college, I found Robert Jordan and Harry Potter and eventually Gaimen's Sandman and Discworld. Strange to think it all started with one book about dragons, the book I still compare nearly every fantasy novel to, for better or worse. More than any other fantasy novel - more than Tolkien, more than Carey, more than Eddings - Rawn set the bar for what I look for in fantasy novels. The characterizations, the humor, the sense that it's a world that is loved and enjoyed, rather than tolerated.

(The less that is said about the books she has done since her dragon books, the better. I enjoy The Ruins of Ambrai but it's a world that is rather hateful and unwelcoming. I don't spend a lot of time there despite the complex characters and setting.)

I know I had a point when I started this post, but I've lost it. :) I made the mistake of going away and doing other things, lol. Ah, well. :)

I'll be 31 in a week or so - somehow 31 is worse than 30...go figure. Anyways, today my mom asked what I wanted for my birthday and after digging my old Converse sneakers from the closet and wearing them all morning in the field with Dad, the answer was obvious.

There is only one store in town that carries Converse and after a quick run to the grocery store - where I had a mild panic attack - we headed for the shoe store and since there was only 30 minutes before closing, I walked straight to the sneakers.

The clerk followed me over and asked if I needed anything and when I said I wanted the Converse sneakers, she pointed out they had 'lady' converse in all sorts of colors. I said no, I wanted the black ones and...

I guess I should be used to it. Most people, when they see me, think something along the same lines as this woman but whether she realizes it or not, unlike most people she actually broadcasts enough of her emotions to be picked up, even through the shields I have. Admittedly I was already shaky from the panic attack in the store, but she was still more than enough to make me feel about an inch tall.

Ironically, today I was dressed more or less as a girl in sandals with thick soles, loose capris and a long tunic. Wasn't enough for her, however. There I was, with my short hair and androgynous vibe (if she's strong enough to emote like that, she's strong enough to pick it up from others, whether she realizes it or not) and choosing black men's sneakers over women's in the "pretty colors".

People suck.

Something similar happened earlier in the week. I was scheduled to sub wed/thurs/fri but because the new principal of this particular school is a douche and couldn't pick up a phone to call me, I ended up driving 20 miles only to discover they 'didn't need me' after all. I was pissed, obviously, but there was something more going on and it took me a while to figure it out. In fact, if the shoe clerk hadn't been the same sort, I probably never would have figured it out because the principal is much weaker and I didn't pick it up quite as clearly from her.

While deciding to have an aide cover the teacher's class instead of sub was understandable if teeth-grinding, there was something else about her that bothered me and after the clerk today I figured it out. The principal is another who decided that, based on my appearance, I was not acceptable. I feel sorry for the kids at that school if she stays long. They won't be able to come to her for help and she will not support them if they ever complain about being bulled for being 'different'.

People suck twice.

I went walking in my sleep twice last night. I didn't leave the house, but it was definitely more than just a sleepy trip to the bathroom. The first time I ended up in the kitchen trying to figure out how to open a box. Who knows, it was just a box of potato flakes, what I thought I was going to do with them. The second time I actually remember the impetus. I was 'dreaming' that instead of a pillow, I was holding a bag (pillow case) full of art supplies. Bottles of paint, a canvas, even an easel. I got up and put it - carefully - onto my desk chair. Then this morning I couldn't figure out where my pillow was, lol. Who knows what was going through my mind last night.

I've almost forgotten how much fun the internet can be. :)

Every since I moved back home (three years in November) I've been using dial-up provided by a local company. It was slow, but not so slow that it was impossible to use and 'unlimited' so they never quibbled when I would spend hours online just reading fanfic and doodling around.

Well, back in January, the provider decided that 'unlimited' meant 'less than 3 hours per day' and 'slow' became 'molasses in january'. I had time to read my blogs, read LJ, read email, maybe do a bit of googling if I was quick about it and that was about it. The connection was getting slower and slower, until about a week ago it got down to less than 10, which was barely enough to open my google homepage, much less some of the graphic/text heavy blogs and email.

Needless to say, I was getting frustrated with it all, the speed, the slowness of the connection and the attitude of the internet provider, who acted like I was deliberately going out of my way to tie up their modem and make it difficult for other people to access the internet.

I was hesitant to get satellite because the price I was paying for internet and the landline needed for it compared to satellite? OUCH.

Finally though, it got to be too much and I took the plunge. :) It's like a whole new world. I had forgotten how much fun it is when webpages open within seconds instead of minutes, how much fun it is to simply stroll around the internet, confident that some pdf file or graphic heavy site isn't going to freeze my browser, how nice it is to simply goof off on google or walk around wikipedia without worrying about how long I've been online.

It's like discovering the internet for the very first time.

And the price? So worth it.

*This is inspired partly by a recent discussion on a feminist blog and partly by the book I am currently reading. It's long and ranty and centers mostly around books.*

( I like to read )

There are worse ways to spend the evening and I would have welcomed any of them. An evening listening to Volgon poetry. An evening counting the number of kinks in the entrails left over by an epic battle between good and evil. An evening staring at the wall, watching paint dry. I would have welcomed all that and more to avoid an evening listening to a jesus-freak and a racist pat themselves on the back because they are Christians and therefore 'above' such things. 'Such things' being the standard vague disclaimer used by bigots, racists and other narrow-minded assholes.

I don't even want to go into details because that would give some validation to their viewpoints, but I find myself writing an entry anyways in a futile attempt to forget what they said and the slimy way they made me feel.

Current Mood: angry

I had an interesting conversation with my Dad today, one of the long, rambly ones that serve absolutely no purpose but to allow us to connect for a few moments, our peculiar way of saying 'i love you' without having to come right out and get sappy about it.

I am not out in the real world. Online, I am more or less safe. In real life, I could loose my job and my friends, as well as endanger my mom's job and be in physical danger myself. Such is the world we live in. Online, I'm open about being queer, in real life I'm the crazy cat lady who says her cats are better than kids and laughs that she has never found anyone crazy enough to live with her.

My friends accept my eccentricities and occasional rants, my mom and aunts hint around it occasionally and my dad (I think) is simply relieved that he has never had to fight some guy for his little girl's affection. I'm 30 years old and he still gets 'that look' whenever I mention a male friend. Dads are funny that way.

Today, our conversation started with oil changes and mileage requirements and ended up talking about race and Barack Obama. Dad repeatedly said that Obama's race should never have been a factor in the election and that while we have come so far since he was a child, we haven't come far enough.

My brothers are right with me on the queer spectrum, my older brother gay and my younger brother bi but married to a woman. A couple months ago, a friend asked me how my folks would react if any of us ever 'came out'. I told her that my mom would be disappointed and would take a while to accept. She's Catholic and it wasn't too long ago that she sincerely believed homosexual was the same as pedophile. I said that Dad would have one of two reactions. He would either be indifferent since it didn't actually effect him (he's never said anything about grandchildren and I doubt it would come up at this late date) or pissed because we hadn't told him sooner. He's a control freak like me and thinks he should know all the piddling details.

After today, there seems to be a third reaction. He would accept it as merely another part of his children, the same way he accepts the (non-issue) of me being a girl or my younger brother living so far from home. He loves us and wants us to be happy.

It might sound like I'm reading too much into a simply conversation, but remember, my family does not say i love you.

I'm not large on arbitrary dates of importance. Unless there is monumental, noticeable change from day to day - grow an extra head, turn yellow, shrink a foot and a half - one day is much the same as any other day. Don't get me wrong, arbitrary measurement of time is useful in oh-so-many ways, but sometimes I wonder why people get so bent out of shape about it.

Anyways, another year gone, but tomorrow will feel much the same as today and next week will be a lot like last week and the only major changes will be the turning of the seasons, which is a much more logical way of keeping track of things, in you ask me, then days, months and years.

Then again, no one asked me. :)

About the only reason I keep track of bdays and the rest is because I like to give presents, but as a gift-giver, I apparently suck. I tend to give gifts at odd times, because it was something I saw that I thought someone would appreciate, but they almost always ask me 'what's this for?' which rather kills the joy of finding a rubiks cube that is shaped like Darth Maul's head or the perfect replica - in legos - of the Great Pyramid.

Ah, well, another year gone, another calendar stored away in the cabinet, replaced by a fresh set of pictures and squares, marking the relentless flow of time through our fingers while we worry about petty details and forget to appreciate the larger picture.

Believe it or not, I'm in a really good mood. This is me in a good mood, not a depressed one, though some people might have a hard time telling the difference. :)

Current Mood: amused

The hols always seem to bring out the silly in me. It is the silly season, after all. :)

Well, first off, I was reading an article posted on anti-theismabout a nativity scene in Amsterdam where Mary and Joseph were played by a gay couple who happened to be wearing black leather. I don't know if the black leather actually meant anything, but in my mind, the couple playing Mary and Joseph are now in bondage gear, complete with whips and feathers. :) It's a silly image and I've had fits of the giggles all night whenever I think about it.

My favorite part of the silly season is the lights. As far as I'm concerned, December is nothing more than month long festival of lights. This year, I decided I didn't want a tree - for kitteh related reasons - and ended up stringing pine garland and lights across my front window in a sorta-kinda tree sort of shape. I think it's very pretty but everyone one else is giving me the wonky-eye.

It never fails, my dad tells me, that when the temps get cold it is time to stick your hand in freezing water. I've been having trouble with the cold water in the toilet and bathtub for the last week or so. At first it was merely annoying, but after a while, I was having to fill the tank of the toilet by hand in order to flush it. I would annoy dad about it every afternoon, but he is stubborn about dealing with water on cold days. I don't really blame him, but I felt the need to share the annoyance.

Finally, we had a brief warm spot - brief hah, it got to 70 degrees and then down to 40 the next day - and Dad decided he had better do it quick before I started coming over to the house at 2 in the morning in order to use the bathroom.

Dad got under the house and sent me down to the pump house to turn off the water. Normally when we find ourselves in this situation - it's pretty common on a farm to be across the field from one another and having to communicate - we will yell or wave things. Well, since Dad was under the house and I was at the end of the lane, on the opposite side of the house, that wasn't exactly feasible, so thanks to modern technology...he called me on my cell phone.

I'm not sure why, that just tickles me, talking on the phone so I would know when the turn the water off, when to turn it on and off again, not to mention, when to turn it off quickly when it started leaking. ;)

Needless to say, cell phones are much more convenient than empty soup cans and a bit of string.

Current Mood: amused

I'm a recent - within the last 3 years - convert to Terry Pratchett's Discworld series. For years, I struggled to 'get' British humor. It was too dry, too obscure, too subtle for me and I was not patient enough to develop a taste. Then someone handed me Mort and I was hooked. I'm slowly making my way through the entire series, picking and choosing in no particular order. Far and away, Vimes is my favorite character. I finished Night Watch about a month ago and tried to explain to friends and family why the barricade (you come in here and defend while we attack) scene had me simultaneously in tears and laughing with no success.

I finished The Fifth Elephant today and thoroughly enjoyed it. Anytime Vimes goes running about starkers, with Carrot and Angua carrying on their weird courtship and Sybil being Sybil is a good day, if you know what I mean.

I was reading this book while watching over some 8th graders. I got to the end, with the 'gotcha' scene with the Low King (Queen?) and just lost it. I had my head down on the desk trying not to laugh, nearly hyperventilating. The kids actually asked if I was okay and when I said it was the book...well, they had the same look on their face as Vimes when presented with the Igor and his noses.

Current Mood: amused

NaNo is eating my brain. The motto should be 'why use one word when five will get your word count up?'

Current Mood: crazy

I am an insomniac from way back. As a little bit, I would wake the house up on a regular basis with screaming nightmares, either my own or my mother's, until she learned to check under the bed before assuming the worst. Sometime during grade school, I figured out how to not sleep and thought it a good trade. I've gone for weeks at a time with only cat naps, I've gone sleepwalking a couple times, stymied only because I forget to grab my keys and every now and again, still wake up the house with screaming nightmares, which displeases my feline overlords.

Saying "I had a bad night" is my way of warning friends and family that I'm in a period of worse than usual sleeping patterns and to steer clear of my worse than usual mood. It's also the way I describe the times when my depression cycles to the low point.

I was speaking with a friend today and in reply to her comment about the state (undecorated) of my bedroom, I said 'I had a bad summer'. It varies from person to person, but when I am at the lowest ebb, I simply shut down and let things slide. I don't finish projects, I tend to let the clutter build up, I simply do not care about the things that normally interest me.

(The first sign that I am beginning the long ascent is when I start taking an interest in once again cleaning properly, starting new projects and finishing old ones.)

My friend is correct. Normally the first thing I do when moving into a new room (as I did at the beginning of the summer when I rearranged furniture) is tack up posters, paintings or other decorations. I am 'fluffing my nest' as it were. Even though I have been in this bedroom since the beginning of the summer, the only things on the walls are the things that happened to be on the walls when the room was the sewing room and then the book room: a quilted wall hanging, a quilt calendar and a tapestry over the window.

Of course, my friend said, 'I have a child' in response, as if a child were some sort of magical depression fixer or even some sort of sovereign remedy for low states of mind and mood. I can't truly be angry at my friend for the comment, though I am annoyed. My friend is one of those people with no darkness in her soul. As well explain a Wagner opera to a denizen of the deepest part of the ocean as explain depression to my friend.

In defense of her remark, she loves her child and she is one of those mothers who would unflinchingly do whatever it took, no matter the risk of life or limb, for her child. Even if she were prone to depression, she would ignore it for the sake of her child. She is has the peculiar myopia of the truly self-centered.

In my defense, even if I were inclined to have children, I would think twice before subjecting a child to my mood swings, not to mention subjecting them to the very real possibility of mood swings of their own. My family has a long history of mental instability.

Every now and again, I come up against an idea or a state of mind that is so totally opposite of my own, that it is actually a bit frightening. In many ways, my friend and I are a great deal alike. We like the same sort of books, movies, music and TV shows. We have a similar sense of humor and we have spent many an afternoon and evening talking about whatever crosses our minds, the more trivial the better.

And yet, on certain subjects, we stand across a great chasm. She can no more understand depression than I can fly across that chasm and experience life without the darkness in my own soul.

My little cousin is going as Darth Vader for Halloween. Now, I'm a StarWars nut from way back, which is amusing since the original movie is actually a year older than me. One of my earliest memories is hiding behind the couch to avoid Darth Vader when he comes striding onto Tantive IV at the beginning of A New Hope.

Today he came over to show me is costume, complete with lightsaber. Of course, I had to pull out my lightsaber (Count Dooku's curved lightsaber. I also have Darth Maul's double bladed lightsaber) and we commenced to battling...which would have been great if that ivy hadn't been sitting on the counter.

So, to avoid more accidents, we took it outside, where we had a grand battle on the porch. Dad comes around the corner to see if little cousin was ready to head back to the house and starts laughing when he sees us.

"Some kids never grow up," he says.

Some people, sticks in the mud that they are, would have been offended by that, but I took it as a compliment. Some people have lofty dreams about responsibility and maturity and outgrowing childish pursuits. I hope I will always be able to laugh while playing lightsabers or whatever 'childish' pursuit I happen to be pursuing, no matter my chronological age. At 30, I am too young to be serious. :)

( Nano warm-up: Vampire musings )

Warm-ups are starting over on the NaNo comm, plot ideas are spinning, characters are taking shape and the dark cloud of cynicism is far in the future. Later I will wonder, what the fuck was I thinking? but right now it's all fun.

First warm-up, the highlighted bits are the prompts:


He swore on his mother’s grave, but he swore on just about anything. That was the best thing about being a class 5 trans-wizard. As long as he had some connection, no matter how fleeting, to an object, he could use it to cast curses and perform charms.

He saved his mother’s grave for his more powerful workings, though she also had a penchant for love charms, not the hardest of spells to work. She had been like that in live, a hopeless romantic fool and being dead had not changed anything.

The client waited impatiently, shifting from foot to foot in the mud, the muck clinging to his bare soles and oozing between his skinny toes. Malcolm, in a fit of childish glee, chanted slower, drawing out the already lengthy working. The client was a toad, an arrogant, smarmy, irritating toad. Malcolm had taken the job because he needed the money and while the client was getting his monies worth, so was Malcolm.

Eloise was my half-sister, but everyone thought she was my cousin. Why she had consented to marry this toad I will never know, but Eloise had always been a strange child, more inclined to play with dolls than with newt eyes and she had scandalized our father when she asked for a bicycle for her birthday instead of a cauldron and broom like any other witch-child would have asked for. The toad was a null, which further scandalized the family and led our great-aunt, the Crone of the family, to disown Eloise and whatever children she might have. This little working was to ensure any children they might have would not inherit the family ‘peculiarities’ as Eloise called them. How she could mock the family when she married a toad I will never understand. Eloise, like her mother, had the skill for personal delusion and obfuscation.

I must have said that last bit out loud and in English. Whoops.

“Better a toad than a leech. That time Leslie, Eloise’s mother, called me a leech was a total wake-up call. I realized I was wasting my life and needed to get out of the same old rut and try new things, see new horizons, meet people, get a life. I mean, how pathetic was I?”

Sweet fates ,how do I shut him up? He continues to talk as I gather my supplies. Ademe, fairy dust, where did my willow switch go? Maybe I can use it to shut him up.

“The day I met Eloise was the first day of the rest of my life. Cliché’d but true, oh so true. I did not know true life until the day my sweet Eloise kissed me, there in the muddy reeds by the old mill pond. Do you believe in love at first sight? I didn’t until I felt the sweet touch of my Eloise’s lips on my brow.”

Ah, there is the switch and here is a sturdy rock. Maybe I can stun him and throw him back into the pond. Eloise would never forgive me, probably never speak to me ever again, but at this moment that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.

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I'll be posting my NaNo story on a different journal, but the warm-ups will be here.

I did the math today. The fourth graders I had during my student teaching, in the fall of 2001, are now juniors in high school and my little first graders are in the eigth grade. That was a 'fun' time to be a student teacher, let me tell you. At one point in November 2001, the journal prompt for my first graders was 'autumn leaves remind me of...'. One of them wrote 'autumn leaves remind me of September 11' and drew a picture of the Twin Towers on fire. Another made the connection between 9-11 and Pearl Harbor.

I had first graders (and kinder and second graders) today and I realized that with the possible exception of some of the second graders, they had all been born AFTER that day in September. That's not earth shattering, thousands if not millions of children have been born in the last seven years, but every now and again it hits me a bit sideways.

( Okay, enough with the maudlin crap. )