Happy birthday to shadowwolf13!
Still intermittent voice and esophageal snot goblins. I would like this to not go to bronchitis, please.
Have shifted because Elayna needs a hand on a project due Thursday. That I found out about yesterday. So I'll be visiting Wyrding Studios Saturday-Monday instead.
I ask again
That if you've got something to say to me, you say it to my face.
Also, to those special cases who are still chewing the cud of crap that happened and shitty things that they did to me five, six years ago, I request that you please go get a life and stop obsessing over mine. Yes, I track IPs on those comments. I know who you are. Get over it. Get a hobby. Knitting's really hot right now.
And the fact that you chose a post on happiness to pick on is very telling. You've never actually experienced it, have you?
Honestly, though, to people other than the six-year club (as I feel they're too far gone to have a rational conversation): if you've got something to say to me, say it to my face. I would be happy to have an actual discussion regarding whatever problem you have. Dude, I've got brain damage, so sometimes that leads to me being unintentionally ambiguous, and the thing you're so het up about may be nothing but me typing the wrong word. I have had a few people ask for clarification or raise issues recently, and I thank them for it and expect that talking to me about it was fairly painless.
Look. I am surrounded by amazing people, and amazing things happen to me. Hell, last week I got a package in the mail from spoothbrush. In it? The exact earrings I described in my Persephone poem, which I wrote with ioianthe's mask in mind, which helped inspire a series of Wyrding Studios pendants. I am in this fantastic pool of people, and the ripples... I keep coming back to the word "amazing". I am amazed.
And the thing is this: I paid for this joy in advance. Years of pain and madness and suffering and people like said five-and-six-year-club. I fought for this. I fought like a motherfucker, metaphorical flaming sword in hand, because I am a priestess and a warrior-bitch and a goddamn phoenix. And I won.
And it is not a zero-sum game. Me winning does not equal you losing, unless you choose to make it so. But that's your choice. Not mine. So don't put it on me. There is room enough here for all of us, and it's your choice to take the easy route and cover yourself in the muck and stew and stagnate.
I chose joy.
And I am going to revel in it. And I'm going to post about it, and if that gets up your nose, accept that that is your emotion to deal with. And deal with it. Because posting about it isn't to rub it in your face. It is to keep a record for myself. Part of having damage to the short-to-long-term memory buffer is that anything that's happening right now is all that is. If I am happy, I have always been happy, and trauma is just a smudge on the skyline. If I'm fibro-flaring? Baby, I am in the pit of despair, and my conscious mind does not remember yesterday's small miracles. So I keep a record. And when I am in danger of forgetting how magical my world is, I have this, and I can warm myself at its fire.
I have almost died a few times. And I live with the knowledge that, thanks to the epilepsy, I could drop dead at any given moment. My awareness of my own mortality has at times been crippling. But I'm past that. You can't really live every day as if it were your last. DisneyWorld is expensive! But think about what you want to be doing on your last day. Think about how you want to feel. Do you want to spend your last day on earth dancing, or being a dick?
I'd rather dance.
Quote via Jonathan Carroll
"Even if I had amazing recall, and I don't, recollection is often just self-fashioning. Some of it is reflexive, designed to bury truths that cannot be swallowed, but other 'memories' are just redemption myths writ small. Personal narrative is not simply opening up a vein and letting the blood flow toward anyone willing to stare. The historical self is created to keep dissonance at bay and render the subject palatable in the present."
David Carr, THE NIGHT OF THE GUN
(This is pretty much what Places You Haunt is, for me. And "The Angel of Fremont Street".)
Interstitial Arts Salon
The first Boston-area Interstitial Arts Salon will be Saturday, November 22. More details later. But get that on your calendar!
Join the Impact
Protest Propositions 8, 2, and the rest of the sorry lot this Saturday. Anyone from my neck of the woods going to the Boston one? If so, can I hitch a ride?
* Hee! Yes. This goes for me, too.
* Lost photographs of Hiroshima.
* Dear Bostonians: anyone hiring?
* haikujaguar on social networking.
* "Lostronaut", by Jonathan Lethem.
Link Soup: Daily Science Edition
* The rest of the genome.
* Cassini finds mysterious new aura on Saturn.
* Incredible deep-sea discoveries announced!
Adam won an ARC of Christopher Moore's new book, Fool. It is about Lear's fool. Lear is my favorite Shakespearean tragedy.
I am not allowed to read this book until I finish "Ondine". Which is no longer called that, but I don't yet know what the title will be. Anyway. I shall be in the word mines all day.