wander_free

*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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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. )

I had to go to the store today. I did not want to (I cannot tell you how much I did not want to) but needs must. Needless to day, first day of a three day weekend, first weekend after school starting, promise of afternoon/late evening storms, the store was a madhouse and I went through it as quickly as possible.

Oddly, though, I am not here to rant, but to share an interesting conversation I had and one of the major differences I've noticed between parents and those of us who have furry children.

( Cut because I start rambling.... )

Ah, summer vacation. Prime reading time. (And crafting and writing and sleeping...)

I haven't kept an exhaustive list of what I've read, I could never get into the habit of writing down what I read and when. The ones that spring to mind however, include: ( What have you been reading? )

Current Mood: awake

I don't even know what his name was.

Mom has all sorts of stray cats. She feeds them, they breed, she feeds them more. It's actually kind of entertaining to walk up to the door and have dozens of little fuzzy butts scatter like autumn leaves in a strong breeze.

Tonight when I came over to bring her a plant, she pointed out one of the most recent, a puny, scrawny little thing that was so thin and weak that it couldn't even flinch when I reached to touch it. Either through injury or birth defect, it only had one eye and that eye wasn't good.

It laid in my hands like a limp noodle and didn't even have the energy to stick it's claws in my clothing when I cuddled it. It just...laid there. Mom wanted me to take him home and feed it until it got a bit stronger. I quipped 'this is what I get for an ivy? A sick kitten? Next time, plastic stems!'

We worked with him a bit, trying to get him to drink some formula Dad uses when he has to bottle feed the cows, but he was having none of it. I was actually hopeful at one point. He got out of the box, wandered around a bit and grabbed a squat in the corner. Thanks, Mom.

But I knew it was a lost cause. Just before she left, Mom was holding it and he was curled in her hands, totally boneless. Even my youngest munchkins, who think being held is a quality of life issue, don't get that relaxed. That wasn't happy relaxed, that was dying relaxed. I knew it was hopeless and said so. 'he's not going to make it.' Mom gave me a look like I had just stabbed her and I had to leave the room.

My oldest cat is slowly declining, I can actually see her failing and this last week has been particularly bad. This pitiful little scrap was more than I could handle and selfishly, I did not want to deal with it.

Despite that, I can no more say no to my mom than I can to my cats. I found a box, filled it with soft fabric, a bowl of water, some kitten food and watched him curl up and drift off to sleep, never to wake up again.

Mom left just before 10. A bit before midnight I went to check on him, to discover that sometime in those two hours he had died.

In tears, I found my shovel, dug a hole at the base of the garden and buried him, putting a rock over the grave.

I didn't even know his name.

Current Mood: sad

Trying to remember 'summer songs' got me to thinking. In school, I was a band fag. (People called us this and we were perverse enough to pick it up and start using it ourselves.) In high school, this meant marching band, without a doubt one of my favorite 'high school' experiences. Not a fan of football whatever the level - that's a whole 'nother rant - but I enjoyed marching band. The band director liked 'oldies' so we played some great stuff and heck, who doesn't like uncomfortable wool uniforms, hats with feathers and the chance, as a hormonal teenager, to make stupid, risque jokes about hookers, dinkles, boners and chicken dicks**?

This is supposed to be about songs, though, not our bad jokes. :) We were teenagers, what do you expect?

( We are an American Band )

This is something I saw over on Shakesville, but decided to post here instead since my answer involves some rather long-winded musings and only a few songs. :)

( What songs remind you of summer? )

I'm as sane as anyone you know. Notice, dear reader, I said anyone YOU know. Sanity is not spoken of in my family. Some families don't talk about great-uncle A's drinking problem or comment on how often Aunt M needs a friendly 'loan' or whether or not great-grandmother really did you-know-what with you-know-who before the wedding. We don't talk about sanity, mostly because it would be a very short conversation.

Each of us has our little quirks, our little foibles, our habits that never deviate and are never questioned. Some of us have more quirks than others and we all have one or two quirks in common. The most noticeable is that at some point in our family line, a pack rat got it on with a magpie.

( don't worry we aren't contagious )

Current Mood: amused

Yesterday when I put gas in the truck, it was $3.69. Tonight, my regular station was $3.79 and the Exxon station on the other side of town was $3.89.

Truthfully, the gas prices don't bother me that much. In the long run, the higher prices make more sense when compared to how much I pay for other things. I pay $7-$15-$25 for a book (paper-trade-hard), $2-$4-$8 for yarn (thread-worsted-bulky), etc etc.

What bothers me about gas prices is the fact that between yesterday afternoon and this evening, the price went up a dime and since the Exxon station is generally the first to go up, by tomorrow it will go up another dime. There have been several times when I have gone to work in the morning to see gas prices at x.xx and coming home that afternoon, discover them a nickel or dime higher. There is something really wrong when the prices go up that quickly and that regularly. If they would stabilize, it would be one thing. We will adapt - just the other week I was thinking how reasonable $3.50 was, since it had actually stayed about that price for a week - and get on with our lives.

Having prices change so rapidly just helps to feed the hysteria and worry that people are already living under.

I talked to a friend today who works at a manufacturing plant in a nearby town. It's a good job, it pays nearly twice the minimum wage, at least 38 hours every week and often 40+, insurance. (For those who work in offices or other white collar jobs, take my word for it. In small towns, manufacturing jobs are about the best available.) Or rather, it was a good job.

Hours are being reduced, shifts are being cut and their paychecks are showing it. She works one whole day next week, where this time last year she would have been working six days with an option for a seventh is there was enough product. She said she and her husband (who works at the same plant) are paying their basics and barely that. The house payment, the car payments, a loan and that is about all. Various other bills are falling behind and they have cut their 'extras' down to next to nothing, going so far as to cancel cable and one of their cell phones. They live out in the country and now drive only to get to work, making sure to run any errands while they are already in town, instead of making an extra trip.

I'm in a better position than my friend, mostly because I have fewer bills. I own my truck so no car payment. I own my house, so no mortgage or rent. I live out in the country, so my water comes from a well. Electricity, phone and internet are about it, aside from a few 'extras' like credit cards, magazines and the like. With the semester over in a week, I don't even have to drive very much and my side hobbies pay for themselves, as well as enough to cover gas and groceries as long as I don't go crazy and drive across Texas.

My friend and I were planning on going to San Antonio next weekend to see another friend, but the gas alone for the 400 mile round trip would be too much to handle at this point in time. Ditto with plans my friend had for a trip to Disney Land later in the summer.

I listen to the gas execs talk about profit and the politicians talk about the economy and I know they don't have a clue how this is effecting regular people. I'm not talking about extras like road trips, or at least, not just the extras. I'm talking about the regular stuff. The price of groceries and basic luxuries like new clothes, an evening out at the movies or a meal in a restaurant. Stuff that never really counted as a luxury until you realized you had to make the choice between bread and cake. (snerk.)

I have four cats. They are my friends, my companions and quite often, my entertainment. :)

They are having a bit of a week. The three younger ones have started playing 'chase me chase me' in the wee hours of the morning, waking me up when they chase each other across my chest and legs.

*scrabble scrabble, hiss, meow, scrabble, HEY!, scrabble scrabble THUNK!*

For those who can't translate 'cat', it is as follows: Race from the living room to the bedroom, to the back room, pounce, roll, race to the bedroom, run across the bed and wake up our human *HEY*, race around the bed and then under....where someone forgot to duck. THUNK!

This has happened every morning for the last week, less the thunk, which only happened once and I've noticed they have avoided going under the bed. Last night they also added tumping the stool over to their act.



Cats are curious about everything, especially doors that are closed most of the time and then open. It's an unexplored country in there, surprise and adventure just waiting for the intrepid traveler to discover. I went into the yarn closet yesterday evening. Several hours later I heard a rather pathetic yowling, remembered the yarn closet and went to investigate. Poor Luna was perched on top of one of the containers, looking like she had been abandoned to starve by her expedition. :) When I opened the closet today, she high-tailed it to another room.


For whatever reason, my cats think my dad is fascinating. Whenever he is over here, they follow him from window to window around the house, just staring. Today he was working underneath one of the windows, replacing the underpinning that got blown away in the last storm. The entire time he was there, my youngest, Peek a Boo, was perched on the windowsill watching him. He went out of sight around the corner a couple times and she would scrape at the screen and when he came back she would settle down again. He even poked the window a couple times to tease her, which is amazing since Dad doesn't like animals.


Finally, my munchkins have discovered fire. My older two know about candles and know to stay away from them. The little ones...not so much. They can't decide if it is something to play with or something to fear, so they will creep up, then jerk back when they feel the heat. It's kinda funny, but I'm keeping an eye on them because I don't want a repeat of Rowan's *kitty flambe*.

Current Mood: amused