Fiction - Bad Day.

She reached up and took of the helmet. The man standing before her glared at her with a look of outrage. "How dare you challenge my orders!" he roared. Thyra dropped the helped. The man's expression turned to puzzlement. "You are not my wife," he said in a tone of disgust.

"No, I am not," she answered. She dropped the helmet out of her right hand as her left reached around behind her back to the pistol secured there. "And you are about to have a very bad day, Maxwell Colliers, unless you can answer this question," Thyra continued. Maxwell's haughty expression of offended pride returned.

"You, woman, do not have the capacity to know what you are saying," he said, "Leave my office."

"Where is Zanzibar?" Thyra demanded. Maxwell scoffed and made a shooing gesture.

"You've wasted enough of my time with your games," he said, "Go back to the security officer's suite. Eliot Zanzibar is of no concern to you. Continue and you'll be sent off world on your next assignment." Thyra drew her pistol as Maxwell leaned to the side and moved to push the silent panic button under his desk.

"Eliot Zanzibar is the chemist who can reverse this plague," Thyra retorted, "You had him kidnapped. Release him and you'll live." Maxwell pushed the button. Thyra fired her pistol. It wasn't the elegant, high energy weapons that were issued to the Xenogen security agents. It was actually rather primative with its gunpowder propelled projectile. It did its job magnificently, however, as it punched through the wood verneer of the desktop and the electronics of the call button. As a result, the button was rendered useless and Maxwell had a bullet lodge itself in his hand.

Maxwell screamed. "The fuck is wrong with you?" Maxwell shouted. Thyra readied to fire the next round.

"Zanzibar," Thyra demanded.

Maxwell knew that his screaming and the gunshot wasn't going to be heard by anyone else. His office suite took up an entire floor and everything was automated for convenience. Thus, he was alone with this woman and her dangerously crude weapon. He gripped his left wrist as hard as he could to slow the flow of blood. With great effort, he resisted the urge to continue screaming. His face was pale and a fine sheen of sweat arose, but he managed to speak in something that resembled a calm tone, "Zanzibar is on his way to Anchorport. His lab has been removed," Maxwell said, "I expect he will be reaching his destination in the hour. His work was unauthorized. He has been reassigned."

Thyra fired off a second shot. It slammed into Maxwell's left shoulder, hitting him hard enough that he rocked back in his chair. "You're lying to me, Colliers. Now where is Eliot?" Thyra demanded. Maxwell looked at Thyra's face. Her complexion betrayed her sub-Saharan heritage but he could see something of a European lineage in her ice blue eyes. Thyra's expression was something like that of an avenging goddess, filled with wrath but also curiously serene. For a moment, he wondered if he should offer her a position within the Enyo program. Even though she was on Xenogen property, she managed to make her way through at least five levels of security to reach his office. It meant she had a terrible talent for doing very bad things.

Thyra's third shot hit him in his right shoulder. He screamed. The queer distance from the pain that came with shock was ripped away from him at the insult of the third shot. He felt as though someone had plunged a red hot poker into his left hand and shoulders. His ears rang with the noise of the gunfire. "I have already killed your wife," Thyra said, "Which you should have figured out by the fact that I am in her uniform. I have killed three of your security agents on the level immediately below us. I expect that they are running around looking for someone else at the moment, though, because of the image scrambler I used on your cameras when I hacked the system through her uplink." Thyra raised her right arm, turning it so that he could see that the touch pad had been forced open with wires plugged into it. It was an inelegant mess but Maxwell couldn't really focus on that.

His pain was too great for that. The dull realization that the angry black woman standing before him might actually kill him somehow made its way through the pain. Maxwell tried to reject it but when Thyra walked up closer and moved her pistol so that it was pointed squarely between his eyes, he couldn't. "Where is my brother?" Thyra demanded, "Answer me and you'll die quick. Don't and I'm just going to hurt you, really badly. And then I'll let you bleed out while I rifle through your console."

"You can't do that," Maxwell said, smiling despite his pain, "It's keyed to my bio markers. You can't get into the system with out me."

Thyra squeezed the trigger. As the top of Maxwell's head blew off, she said, "I don't need you alive for that, fucker."

Pretty as a Picture!

In the course of my evening today, I made an apple pie. It wasn't something I did from scratch. My pie crusts are functionally cardboard still. And I didn't can the apples for the filling (but getting them off the shelf did free up some space in my pantry so that counts for something, right?) The boys noticed I was up to something when I started getting out the can of pie filling, the wax paper, and thawing out the pie crusts.

They mistakenly thought I was making cookies when I cut the hearts out of the top crust. But, when it was all put together, they realized exactly what I had made. I dusted some apple pie spices over the crust and then drizzled it with some clover honey before I popped it in the oven. It was finished right as Beloved got home from work.

We didn't have any this evening. I suspect it may be eaten tomorrow. But, Beloved may sneak a piece before he heads to bed tonight. Anything is possible. If he has started on the thing tonight, this means that I am free to eat a slice for breakfast instead of a bowl of instant oatmeal, right?

The pie crusts were from Aldi's (The box says their brand is Ginger Evans.). They had been sitting in the fridge for about two weeks. That's a little bit long, but they didn't give me any trouble when I unrolled them and started working with them. The pie filling was also from Aldi's. It was their usual stock pie filling (I believe it is branded as Sweet Harvest). I am looking forward to when they have their apple-cranberry pie filling again. It is a seasonal item that goes magnificently in oatmeal.

Reworking EVERYTHING!

I'm about to do a major overhaul on this blog. I will be changing the look and some of the format. Please bear with me. It is part of a process to making things easier and more effective. Presently I am rather scattered all over the place. I want to correct that. Please note, a name change will be coming along in the near future, but the content will remain the same. I will also be posting more pictures and such soon as well.

Writer's block? Use Generators!

I think I have a new way to laugh my way out of writer's block.

Random transportation disaster generator (best one thus far: hamster powered hovercraft crashes in rural indiana. terrorism 'not ruled out.'

Random story generator. Isn't this the plot of a movie that happened recently?The story is about a traveler who is haunted by a ghost. It starts in a village in Europe. The story climaxes with someone getting lost. Archaeology versus respecting native cultures plays a major role in this story.


http://fantasynamegenerators.com/backstory-descriptions.php#.WAVnLPkrLIU This thing sounds like what some gamers I used to LARP with used to come up with their character's backstory. Hmm...

I had something more I wanted to say but I forgot. Ah well. Cheap laughs all around, though.

Stupid humor.

So, there was this horrific airliner crash on the border between two countries. Emergency crews show up and the scene is just ugly. There's fire everywhere. People are screaming. There's the stench of burning flesh. And the threat that more jet fuel is going to go kaboom. As this crash happened right on the border, the crews are faced with an urgent question.

Where do the bury the survivors?

I got this joke from my late grandfather when I was in my single digits. It took me a second to figure out what the punchline was. In my defense, however, I was seven.

Indigenous People's Day.

I spend my day trying to figure out my new small sewing machine. I picked it up at Aldi's last weekend. It is the Easy At Home Mini Sewing machine. Upon inspection, it is surprisingly robust for its petite size. It seems to work well with most of the generic bobbins I have kicking around here. It also looks like it will take generic standard sized sewing machine needles.

I wasn't impressed with the needle threader. But it is a style of needle threader that I generally dislike. Unfortunately, it is the only one that will fit through the eye of the needle. My vision is such, now, that even with my glasses threading that is hard.

I took the boys out to the park this afternoon. Snuggle Bug picked flowers and gave them to Gregg the pizza guy over at Pizza Pauls (the pizza shop that is right next to the park). I brought my spinning with me. As the boys played on the swings and then played freeze tag with the other kids their age that were present, I did some spinning on my petite turkish spindle. I charmed people with my work and explained how it worked to the curious. I will say, spinning on a suspended spindle is a lot easier to carry with me when I am out and about. I even was spinning as I stopped in the hardware store to see if they had full spectrum light bulbs. (I think I will need to take a trip up to the city to get some. It is my hope that if I set up some lighting with full spectrum light bulbs, perhaps I will have a reduction in the severity of my depression symptoms over the next several months.

I did not do much for activism today. I wanted to do something for the oppressed peoples, especially the oppressed indigenous peoples, but my day got sucked up with domestic tasks and all that went into keeping the boys out of trouble today. Beloved and I, over the weekend, did our best to explain why Columbus Day was not something we celebrated or acknowledged in our house because Christopher Columbus did some awful things to the people that he met when he came to the Americas.

Cuddle Bear was having a hard time trying to understand it. Beloved was doing his best to explain that it was stuff to horrible for him to describe right now because Cuddle Bear wasn't old enough to understand, and, quite frankly, we didn't want him to have nightmares of invaders bursting into our home, killing us, and enslaving him. So, we just said Christopher Columbus was a man who did very bad things and we don't celebrate him. I'm pretty sure that there are going to be a number of discussions and angry conversations with the kids at school.

Who knows how the teachers are going to take it. We even had a discussion, briefly, with the boys why we don't support zoos. (Animal cruelty is not something we condone in even the remotest sense.)

Another day.

I got a little bit of spinning done today. I'm using the rainbow color way fiber that my mother in law gave me for Yule last year. I am working on the little Turkish spindle I have. I am considering spinning the rest on my kick wheel. I'm not decided yet. I feel a bit like I need to do a bunch of spinning before the weather gets cold. I don't know why, but that's been there at the back of my mind over the last several days.

I am almost finished with the scarf that I am knitting for charity. I was going to start one using the last of the ball of eyelash yarn. Then I decided that I hate that yarn and I shoved it back into the recesses of the yarn hoard. I am presently stalled on the ducky scarf. I anticipate, however, getting more work done on it over the next little while. Because I am running out of other projects to use to procrastinate on. I don't think I'm going to do another illusion scarf any time soon. This thing is frustrating me because I keep worrying that I am counting my rows incorrectly. I kinda wanted this to be an enjoyable project but it is not proving to be so.

I had something else that I wanted to share here but I just can't recall what. I suppose that is just how the day goes sometimes.

Fiction: The Meeting.

She walked into the parking garage to the accompaniment of thunder. Some of the people there had a primeval warning of danger as she passed. Maybe it was the way the woman moved. There was something feline about how her body passed through the space. Even with her heavy boots, she was quiet. Her long coat wasn't too out of place, though she looked like she had walked out of some kind of bad science fiction. Her hair was cut in an androgynous short cut and hidden beneath a wide brimmed black leather hat. It could have been a cowboy hat, but it was sufficiently battered that it wasn't clear what sort of hat it was.

The long coat was unbuttoned. Beneath it, there was the suggestion of some sort of vest but the dim lighting of the garage didn't help the viewer to distinguish details until they were far too close for comfort. There was a bit of a bulge on the left side and the coat didn't lie quite right, suggesting something long was there. The jeans she wore were black. That was the predominant color about her appearance except for her skin. That was an eerie white that was almost the color of milk. Her lips were painted black. Her eyes were a dark brown that may as well have been black in the dim light of that place.

A late model car sat idling in space J-33. Beside it, a twitch skinny man stood waiting. His hair was ragged and mouse brown. His clothes looked like they were stolen from a poor man's corpse just before the box went into the incinerator. He looked around himself with a combination of timidness and anxiety that annoyed the female figure approaching him. She stepped into the garish pool of light spewed by the faulty florescent light above. The man jumped a little and dropped his e-cigarette. When his foot came down on the narrow tube, breaking it, he flinched at the sound.

"Bradley," she said, "Do you have it?" Bradley winced at the coldness of her tone. He pulled a battered envelope out of his pocket and held it out to her. Her black leather driving gloves were immaculate and somehow managed to gleam slightly in the light despite their matte texture. When she took hold of the yellow stained white #10 envelope, Bradley jerked his hand back as though he had burned his fingers. The woman looked down at the envelope. As he started to move towards his driver side door, the back of her left hand struck him square on the center of his chest. "No," she said, "You're not leaving yet."

"I brought it to you," Bradley whined, "I did what you told me. I'm done." Her hand moved back to the envelope. Bradley didn't go to his car, though he really really wanted to. This woman managed to kill his brutally violent pusher with out breaking a sweat. Bradley watched it all from behind a dumpster. He still had nightmares of how she butchered Howie. Howie tried to fight back, but that just made her angry. And her anger was terrifying.

She opened the envelope and looked within. The forged documents inside looked a bit worn, but that added to their authenticity. The small sum of money was exactly the amount she needed. There was, however, one thing missing. "Bradley," she started in a mild tone when the sound of a vehicle approaching caught her ear. She slipped the envelope into her pocket.

The muscle car purred like some kind of exotic metal monster. She looked over. Sitting behind the wheel was the tall, scarred Italian that she worked with. As she turned to walk towards the black 65 Mustang, Bradley edged closer to his car. She called back to him, "Bring the ring here tomorrow night at this time. If you don't have it, if you don't show up, I'm going to find you." Bradley felt like he was going to vomit out of fear. The woman turned her head and looked over her shoulder. "Don't fuck up," she said before the car rolled to a stop. She opened the door and the sound of deep South blues came out.

The man in the car said, "Watch the leather. I just got it detailed." The woman shifted something under her coat and pulled a sword from beneath it. Bradley shivered as he remembered how she cut Howie to pieces with it. She got into the car and set the sword between her feet. As the door shut and the car rolled away, Howie silently thanked god that she didn't know what he had in his pocket. The diamond ring suddenly felt a lot heavier.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Because I wanted to reminisce about LARPing.

Standing Rock in the News.

Sara Jaffe writing on the website Bill Moyers and Co. gives a very succinct explanation why the matters occurring at Standing Rock are so important. She explains the perspective of the indigenous peoples and gives a glimpse into some of what they are facing in this situation. Her article Standing Firm at Standing Rock: Why the Struggle at Standing Rock is  Bigger than One Pipeline is eye opening if you're not even passingly familiar with what the indigenous peoples have dealt with in the USA.

Now, some would be upset with me for using a source that is not traditionally considered unbiased. I just have to ask one question. Can you find me a source that is traditionally considered unbiased that is reporting this? I've been looking and finding stuff out about what his happening at Standing Rock is difficult. If you look at what is presented on Facebook, you find tumult. Over the last week or so, there is this dichotomy of material. One group presents that the people at Standing Rock are possibly violent and a group of degenerates. Another group presents that the people at Standing Rock are desperately engaged in an attempt to halt more environmental devastation and a continued rejection of their status as a sovereign people.

Given what I know about the history surrounding the way the native people have been treated here in Nova Terra, I am more inclined to believe the second group than the former. When there are reports of private security firms setting dogs on the people at Standing Rock, I am not one to reject it. You see, there are videos being posted of the dogs attacking and videos of the people after the attacks have happened. They are being suppressed. Because it is inconvenient to say that this group of people are having their human rights casually disregarded. Who is it inconvenient to? The people who are trying to make this pipeline happen. The people who want to perpetuate the racial bias against and the subjugation of the indigenous people of the USA.

Why is there so little in the major media outlets about what is happening at Standing Rock? Because it presents as much of a threat to the welfare of the status quo as the growing awareness of insitutionalized violence against people who don't fit the WASP profile. There is an illusion being sold to us that what is happening at Standing Rock is not a major thing. It is being played down and outright ignored.

Things, however, can change. Standing Rock can be the tip of the proverbial spear that forces the nation (and other nations around the world) to honor their treaties with the indigenous peoples. It can be the beginning of the change that effects true racial justice within the USA. But for that to happen, all of the rest of us need to stand up and demand it. We can't just sit off to the side and tolerate the rank injustices happening while we drink pumpkin spice lattes and try to figure out the bitchiest way to describe the millenials.


If you want info about what's happening at Standing Rock or how you can help, follow these links:

News from the Standing Rock Souix Tribe (Official)

Advice from Greenpeace (I'm not a fan of Greenpeace. I actually rather loathe them, but they are a recognizable organization that many others support. My reasons for not supporting Greenpeace is their refusal to treat world heritage sites with respect. They are also questionable with respect to their use of violence. I can not find enough information to make up my mind if they qualify as eco-terrorists. My sharing this link is not an endorsement of them.)

Not fair.

How is it I have the energy to do stuff yesterday and I don't today? Is it really the fact that the day is cloudy? I don't know.

I just feel tired and sad. I feel like I'm making so many mistakes. I try to keep in mind that depression lies to me. That my anxiety lies to me.

But it is really hard to shut up the thing constantly hammering in your mind.

A question.

So, I'm looking around on Facebook and I see people posting these memes about how a person who has committed a crime previously are essentially worthless people. I see memes posted about how if you have ever been charged with something (including things as paltry as parking tickets or jaywalking apparently) that you deserve what ever violence is meted out to you by law enforcement (or people who present as some kind of law enforcement lite - ie private security firms with weapons). I see people talking about how violence on the part of protestors negate their complaint and 'never solves anything'. I see people posting stuff about how if a person has been accused of a crime, not even charged, that if it falls into a certain category they should be executed.

At the same time, however, I see the same people posting things about how we should reject the demands of others to limit our self expression. I see them posting stuff about how they would tool someone up for looking at their significant other in a fashion that they disapprove of (as in the poster, not their partner). I see them posting things about how they have the right to reform the government by force and they need to stockpile munitions in the event of that necessity. I see them posting things about how we need to get all the details about the violence that is done before passing any sort of judgement when the perpetrators are doing so under color of law. I see them posting things about how much they admire the civil rights activists from the 60s and that the activists of today are nothing like those people.

It makes me sick.

Do you support seeing the just application of the law of the land? If someone is accused of something, are they innocent until proven guilty? Is law enforcement to be held accountable for when they break the law themselves? Do people have the rights that are secured for them by the Constitution of the United States as citizens of the nation or not?

If you answered yes to all of the above, why in the name of anything holy or decent do you say that these people who are being killed by the police deserve it? We are protected against unreasonable force and unreasonable search and seizure. We are protected in our rights to free expression and to peaceably assemble and demand redress from the government for our grievances. There's a long list of other things here that we're protected on the basis of judicial precedent even.

Let us not forget the international laws that are supposed to protect us on the basis of simple human rights.

We are a nation of laws. We are not ruled by pedagogy and popularity contests. We are not ruled by a dynasty of monarchs, dictators, or similar figures. Our opinions and feelings on things come second to the rule of law. And when the rule of law is wrong, we are supposed to come together and make changes to it as a people, via a representative system.

Even then, our individual preferences are second to the needs of the people. Or at least, that is how it is supposed to work.

And yet, we have black and other minorities being gunned down in the street by law enforcement (and law enforcement wannabes) because the people with their finger on the trigger are scared. We have families that have lived in this nation for generations being harassed and told to 'go home' by others because they don't fit the white-christian-productive citizen trope. We have a towns and cities with water that is undrinkable because of rampant pollution and government failure to ensure the safety of this most vital of resources.

I am the one who is said that they're wrong because I look at all of this and say it is not right. I'm sorry, but being poor is not a crime. Being black, latino, gay, or of any other stripe of minority is not a crime. Being disabled is not a crime. Not understanding what law enforcement is saying to you is not a crime. My list of things that are not crimes could get very, very long. I think, however, you get the picture.

Stop punishing people for not fitting your stereotype. Stop saying that their problems don't matter because it doesn't disturb your comfortable bubble. Stop saying that these people some how deserve the on going, systematic atrocities being done to them by people who are supposed to be upholding the rule of law. Having a badge and a gun doesn't automatically make you a hero or judge, jury, and executioner.

I am not going to hold up the law enforcement officers as automatic heroes because they're law enforcement. Yes, they do incredibly hard work for the community. Yes, they function under a considerable amount of strain and are called on to make decisions that can cause life or death for others in the community. Because they are in that position, they should beheld to a higher standard. If you are in law enforcement, your rules of engagement should be no less demanding than those for the military. Indeed, I would argue that they should be more so because you are dealing with civilian lives at all times. Even the 'bad guy with a gun' is a civilian. Last time I checked, civilians rated higher than enemies on the list of people to keep alive since armed conflict began, especially when they are the civilians in YOUR OWN NATION.

So, to boil this all down to that single question:

If you are going to claim that you are a 'patriot' and a 'real American', why are you refusing to demand that all of these people have their Constitutional rights protected? Why are you silent and complacent with all of these egregious abuses happening all around?

The 'no true Scotsman' argument isn't going to fly here, folks. Just to let you know.

Update (or something).

Today, I finished the scarf that I was knitting for Cuddle Bear. It's the orange-navy blue colorway from Red Heart (I think they call it Team Spirit). This one is slightly longer than the other one that I made for Snuggle Bug. But, now the school color scarves for the boys are finished. I picked up two t-shirts for them earlier this week with blue tie-dye and the words 'Livonia Bulldogs' on it in orange. It was $15 dollars for the two shirts through Dollar General, easily half the price of getting the same shirts from the sports booster's flyer.

I also made a cap for the neighbor's 4 month old baby. He's like my boys, a big head for his age. She's got him wearing stuff for an 8 month old baby and has really been struggling to find him hats. So, I pulled out some of my baby yarn for the charity hats and made him one. I remember how frustrating it was to put the boys in hats when they were little. It was cute to watch her light up when I handed it to her this afternoon.

I spent my day going through the huge pile of papers on and around the desk. In the course of it all, I discovered that I have a stack of magazines about two inches thick that I need to put away. (They're my crochet magazines where I have gotten pattern ideas out of over the summer.) I also took care of paying the bills. I felt anxious doing it, but when I got done, I felt like a weight was taken off my shoulders.

The blue shawl that I am knitting for my niece Alexis is approximately half done. Not bad for working on it only a little bit over the last several months. I will confess, most of the work I had done before she asked me to make her something. I did pick up an additional ball of that colorway (Caron's Simply Soft Paints in Ocean). I presently have three balls of this colorway that I haven't been knitting off of. I am only going to need one to finish this shawl out. Then I am going to take the other two and make something for myself out of it. Because the colors in this are just too lovely to pass up.

I have made some inroads into my effort to get some spinning done over the last week. I still have a shopping bag full of the raspberry colored wool. I am trying to decide if I want to put it on a distaff again or not. I am leaning towards the distaff but trying to figure out how I am going to tie it on. Because what I did last time didn't work out that well, which was why I took it off the distaff. I have also spun about ten yards on the rainbow colored wool-alpaca-tencel blend on my little Turkish spindle. I am seriously thinking that I am going to spin the rest of the bat on one of my cobbled together Turkish spindles. It will have a different weight for it, but I will be able to make a larger ball on it. I don't think I can make the ball on this little spindle too much larger.

Also, I picked up an astronomy book yesterday. It dates to 1968 but that doesn't bother me. It will still help me get reacquainted with the night sky, with the help of Sky and Telescope magazine. I think all I will really need aside from this is a way to set myself up with good observing conditions (predominantly comfortable that will allow me to use my rinkydink Newtonian desk telescope). I kinda hope that I can get this figured out before the nights get too much longer, this way when observing time happens sort of early in the evening, I can take the boys out and show them stuff like Orion's nebula.

I also have been bashing away at CreateSpace in an attempt to resolve issues with getting book II of my series to market. You can read more about it on my other blog.

Fiction: Fairy Tale

The ground rose steadily to the north. As the path moved from the open ground under the cover of the bare, late autumn trees, the hiker shifted the pack on their shoulders. Leaves crunched beneath their feet upon the packed gravel. The sun slowly sank in the west, bringing rich colors and a chill to the evening. A sense of urgency pushed them to press onward.

Clouds were gathering and the air held the threat of cold rain. Still, the hiker did not pause to build a shelter. They merely flipped the hood of their coat up over their head and moved faster. When the first fat drops of water fell from the sky, the traveler was growing near the summit of the hill. Rain had turned into a steady pelting of icy cold water, mixing into something like sleet. A clearing was on the north side of the hill, just a few hundred yards below where the trees were regularly smited with with the wrath of the sky.

As the traveler moved into the clearing, they pulled a glowstick from in their right pocket. As they snapped the thing and shook it, there was a moment of worry that the chill of the evening was going to render the chemicals useless. The lurid green light that came almost immediately after they stopped shaking the sealed plastic tube should have reassured the one holding it. Instead, they remained agitated. The pack on their back felt heavy. The exhaustion from their quick march up the hill was catching up with them.

A fear pressed them onward. As they came to the end of the path, they found the standing stones. It was nothing like the fabled henge off in an English field. It was barely a ring, to be honest. Jagged stones of granite stood up like they had been cast to the ground by some giant. By the light of day, they seemed some queer combination of orange and pink with dark veins of feldspar through them. In the queer half light of the glowstick, they looked to be the color of the hiker's flesh, if not more lurid- in short, like the flesh of the zombies from the cheap paperback that was buried in the bottom of the heavy pack.

They stopped at the edge of the circle. Carefully, the swung the pack off their shoulder and set it on the ground outside of the circle. Holding the glowstick in their teeth, they opened the pack and began to dig through its contents. With a shaky hand, they pulled out a leather sack that bulged awkwardly but in an organic fashion. Soon a second sack was found. It was longer than the first and seemed heavier. The items in the sack clattered slightly as the hiker was setting them down.

The hiker's face paled at the noise. They looked from the bags they had carried up the hill to the ring they were beside with a fearful expression. With a swallow, they pushed the lump of terror back down their throat before pulling out a canteen and a crushed loaf of bread. The glowstick faded as they dropped the flap over the opening of the sack. They took the glowstick out of their teeth and held it awkwardly in their right hand, shaking it in a quick desperate motion.

The glowstick went dark the moment the tip of an end crossed over the perimeter of the circle. Alone in the darkness, caught in a rainstorm that was closer to hail than sleet, the hiker gave an unconscious whimper of fear. Within the circle, a light seemed to rise. It was like a faint mist, a trick of the eye against the dark. Slowly, the light grew brighter. The hiker tore their eyes away from the light and cast the loaf of bread into the circle. The cord of the canteen tangled on their wrist as it swung away from them.

The canteen abruptly stopped midswing, as though someone had taken hold of it. The hiker looked over. A man stood across the grassy demarcation of the circle's edge. The canteen had swung half into the circle and the man had taken hold of it. He looked at the hiker and then down at the two bags laying at their feet. "You return what is ours?" the man asked.

The hiker nodded, awkwardly attempting to untangle their wrist from the canteen's strap. The man pulled on the canteen, dragging the tangled wrist closer to the edge of the circle. "And the price?" he said. A chill washed down the hiker's spine that had nothing to do with the weather.

"I have nothing to give, my Lord," the hiker wailed, "I have given you all that I have."

The man in the circle tipped his head slightly to the left and regarded his unwitting prisoner. The traveler stooped and picked up the sacks at their feet. They held them out to the man, unable to still the anxious tremors that made the things within give a quiet noise, as though dry, fragile things were jostled together. "Take them," the hiker said. Hysteria had entered into their voice. The man before the frightened traveler smiled.

The tips of the fingers of the hand holding the bags had crossed over the grassy line marking the end of the path. When the man in the circle closed their own large hand over the wrist attached to that hand, the possessor's eyes went wide. A scream echoed in the dark as all light vanished and the hiker lurched forward.

Three days later, a search party found the pack and the glowstick laying at the trailhead. Within the ring of stones, a notable number of mushrooms were present. One of the members of the party from out of town commented on this. The head of the search team, an older man, said that it was due to the previous rain. They then went back down the trail, fanning the search to go through the cold wood.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Wrote this whilst listening to:

Trollabundin from Eivor

I can feel it humming  from The Flashbulb

Realization.

Tomorrow I see my psychiatric nurse at the clinic. It just now struck me that I am tending towards a mixed episode. I am finding myself spoiling for a fight right now. I have a bad feeling that I may go into this session looking for a fight. I really don't want to do that. Because I'm worried that she is going to fuck with my file.

The whole business with the clinic has me feeling very unsafe. Which only adds to this urge to get into a fight.

Insects.

We're reaching that point in the year where insects start coming inside. Perhaps it is just me, but this seems rather early for that to be happening. I am trying not to start worrying about winter. At the same time, I find myself questioning how cold this winter will be and how much precipitation we are going to get.

Honestly, I deeply hope that we get enough that the water table comes back up to where it is supposed to be. Some people would be upset with the rain we're having tonight. I am glad for it. We really need it.

What have I done?

I feel guilty for spending my day shuffling papers and looking at stuff on the internet. I feel like I should have been sorting, folding, and putting away these piles of laundry. I feel like I should have been 'working' rather than 'goofing off.' Self care is so hard for me to do. Because the self care that requires me to respect my limitations is the hardest thing for me. And it is what I have been needing to do the most of late.

I still have sore feet. I spent a lot of time over the last week on them and my shoes are not so great. As a result, they hurt. My knees are uncomfortable, but the weather is shifting and I have arthritis so that is no big surprise. And all of that standing probably didn't do my knees any favors.

I did a bunch of 'official business' stuff today. I filled out the contract and mailed out the down payment and trial period rental fees for Cuddle-Bear's trumpet. I made a few phone calls to take care of some scheduling problems. I did some stuff budgeting. I got some of the massive pile of papers taken care of.

I cleaned out the freezer burned food from the freezer. I think I have taken care of everything that was in the refrigerator that needed to go. I even made sure I ate something healthy for lunch. I also put some of the clean kitchen stuff away. I still have quite a bit more to take care of, and a few loads to wash yet.

My brain still says that I haven't done enough. I have a document file sitting open that I have done nothing more than glance at a few times today. I'm tired, even though I slept all night. I'm crampy and uncomfortable due to my menses but I managed not to destroy clothing, so I guess it isn't all that bad. I wish that I didn't feel like everything I do is insufficient. I wish that I didn't feel like I am a failure because I'm not doing something like a business on the side or out working while the kids are at school. I wish I actually felt something like hope, or at least not so damn convinced that everything I do is worthless because I am the one doing it and (according to my illness) I am easily replaceable.

I'm tired of being sick like this. I looked at some old blog entries, back before the bipolar diagnosis happened. I feel like that person is in me and I'm just being lazy, which I why I am not as productive, active, or social.

I hate this.

Blood in the Water.

If you have been following the news, maybe you have heard or seen something about the business going on in North Dakota. There is a company that wants to build an oil pipeline through tribal lands and under at least one major river. The pipeline is touted by supporters as a safe way to transport light, sweet crude oil from ...

No. I had this plan to write up a post that gave details about this thing and explain both sides. Honestly, however, it wasn't what I wanted to say here.

People assume that this business about the pipeline is an isolated incident. There are a rather large group of people who are saying horrible things about the native peoples who are coming together to resist this. The insults range from 'buffalo jockey' to even more offensive things that I will not sully my blog with. The argument that this pipeline is a non-issue is equally offensive.

This is not just about the pipeline.

This is about cultural genocide that has been ongoing for generations. The native peoples of North America lost approximately 90% of their pre-colonial era population due to this business. They have been denied the right to live upon their lands, corralled into reservations that are too small to sustain them and kept in a state that could be described as ghettos, if anyone was bold enough to look at it directly. There was generations of children forcibly removed from their homes and 'reeducated' in schools where they were punished for speaking their native languages, engaging in their native cultural practices, and forced to take up the culture of their oppressors under the threat of physical, psychological, and legal punishment. And the people who put these poor kidnapped children through this barbarism have been upheld as taking care of the 'white man's burden' as though they were somehow helping these people.

This is about how the concept of 'manifest destiny' and how Christians have more rights to the land then the people who lived there for countless generations before do. This is as much of a battle as Wounded Knee and Little Bighorn. This is not just a case of private citizens having their rights plowed under. It is far more egregious than that. It is a continued effort to take the native peoples and marginalize them until they functionally are erased from the map. Who needs small pox blankets for germ warfare when you can poison their water supply with impunity?

Some people have said that violence against the people at Standing Rock is the answer. Unfortunately, they perpetuate the idea that the villains are the native peoples and their supporters. They are the victims here. Not the company that can afford to have a bit of spray paint washed off their bulldozers. Not the local law enforcement who confiscated the drinking water for the encampment under false pretenses with out any recrimination for doing so.

The native peoples are sovereign nations. They have been abused. They have been maligned and denigrated. And they are not going to remain silent anymore. All of you hoity toity people who want to claim that you are believers in Christ's lesson, you better put your money where your mouth is. Step up and help these people. Christ taught that you were to care for the people who were under subjugation and love them as if they were your Lord. Start walking your faith. Maybe you can make some inroads on paying off the blood debt you owe them for your part in their oppression.

For my part, as an Earth-loving heathen, I'm going to pray. As I am sure many of you will. I am also going to be writing letters to my government representatives. I'm going to be making a point of disseminating information for how to resist this kind of garbage that the people at Standing Rock have been suffering. And I am going to do what little I can for the betterment of the people where I am.

Because, like the people at Standing Rock, this land is in my bones. The water is in my blood. It is sacred. I will not be quiet as the sacred is profaned. I will not stand idle as people who are my kin in spirit and through various aspects of my multi-cultural lineage are abused.

And, as one of the men at Standing Rock noted, the last time the native people's came together like this, they stood against their oppressors. They won that battle handily. The battle may not be fought with rifles and arrows. But, they will win this one as well. I assure you. The very land favors them. And their kinsmen come from all points.

Fiction: Storming the Gates of Hell

He hit the ground and the world went dark. Eerie silence filled his ears. A curious sense of lightness filled him and he couldn't feel his body. He was fairly sure that he was dead. He found himself standing on a road.

A pile of weapons laid in the road. It was a staggering array. Ever the warrior, he knew the tools of his trade from most every era. He also knew that his most effective tool was himself. Thus, he left the guns, bombs, knives, and spears lay on the ground on that blood red path.

He walked down the road and saw a fork in it. One went to a path that angled upwards. The other moved over uneven ground, ever farther downward at an increasingly steep rate. He could hear cries of anguish at a distance from that downhill path. Offended wasn't exactly the right word, but he couldn't define his wrath at the people who had come from the rough world in deeper agony in death.

Thus, he turned his face towards the left hand path. The road was difficult. He was darkly amused by the perversity of this fact after all the years of his father telling him that the road to Hell was broad, smooth, and well trodden. He came around an outcropping of tumbled stone to find himself facing a massive wall.

An iron gate stood across the road. It did not stand open, as his father insisted it would when he came to it. He didn't care. He walked up to the gate and a figure emerged from the gatehouse. A human like form walked towards him. They towered over him, easily eight feet tall, if not nine. "Your place is not here, puny creature," the gatekeeper said.

The man looked up at the gatekeeper. He made a point of adjusting his footing to a more solid stance. "Move me," the man answered. The gatekeeper reached for him. The man grasped the gatekeeper's wrist and, with a grunt, threw the gatekeeper to the ground. The gatekeeper's eyes flickered with some emotion. The man didn't care if it was anger, humor, or annoyance. The gatekeeper rose to their feet and reached for the man again.

Again, the man grappled the gatekeeper and threw them down. The gatekeeper's mouth opened wide, revealing needle-like teeth as it made a sound that could be a laugh, if rending metal was laughter. The gatekeeper moved to knock the man off his feet and the man took hold of their arm. The man twisted it back into a hard lock, forcing the gatekeeper down to their knees.

The gatekeeper gave a cry that made the man's eyes water and his head feel like it was filled with a thousand angry wasps. Still, the man twisted the lock harder. The gatekeeper's cry grew louder, making the man's teeth ache. The man put the full force of his strength into twisting the gatekeeper's arm out of its socket. As he did so, figures came to the gate and watched.

The gatekeeper swore in some language the man did not know, one that was perhaps long forgotten or perhaps yet to be born. And then the gatekeeper's voice turned into a hoarse, raw scream of agony. The gatekeeper's shoulder deformed as the arm popped out of the socket and continued to move in unnatural ways. The gatekeeper wrenched itself away from him, wailing. As it did so, a noise like cords snapping came.

It was now that the man lifted his right foot. He put his boot hard on the gatekeeper's side and pushed. The gatekeeper's screams of pain did not manage to cover the awful, wet tearing noise as the arm separated from its shoulder. The gatekeeper crawled away from the man with a look of terror. Most men fell before them effortlessly. But this man not only withstood the gatekeeper's assaults but thrown them aside. And now, he had managed something not accomplished in over a millennia.

Somewhere within the damned halls of the citadel, Grendel shuddered. The wound of his right side began to weep fresh gore as pain wracked him. His mother looked over at the injury in horror. Another had come. Another had bested one of their number. She silently hoped that the gory icicle that had torn her life from her breast was not reforged, unsure where she may be banished to if she was slain again in this cold place.

The man standing at the gate raised the gatekeeper's bloody arm over his head. "Release the nonbelievers, the innocent, and unbaptized," he bellowed to the throng looking at him, "I will leave you in peace. Fail and I will release them." At his cries, many of the shades looked between themselves in confusion and awe. A disturbance came at the back of the crowd.

Grendel and his mother walked at the heels of their liege lord. The throng parted. Some moved away with reverence for the one who passed among them. Others did so with dread. Still, they stepped aside and according the man with slender build, dark hair, and fey beauty the honors due to him as ruler of that realm. When he came to the gate, he looked at the man who had come.

It was as though looking in a mirror. The warrior who upheld the arm he tore off of the gatekeeper aloft as a trophy and a warning looked identical to the one who ruled the cold halls. The prince of the domain turned. He said quietly, "Open the gate. Let him pass."

As the great iron gate opened, the arm burst into flame and became a torch. The victims of technical damnation timidly stepped towards their liberation. As they did so, Lucifer walked into Hell, bearing the illumination that was stolen away from them so long ago and the prince who had preceded him faded away like a shadow before that light.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Musical inspiration from Au4: Just Hang on Beautiful One (off of the album And Down Goes the Sky)

Yep, there is a homage to Beowulf. It's all I can come up with right now. Long, tiring day.

Flash Fiction: untitled

"Oh ye of so little faith," the voice said with a tone of disappointment.

She closed her eyes and struggled to breathe. Her head throbbed and had a measure of dizziness. She was fairly sure that the blow had given her a mild concussion. Waves of nausea came and went as the fighter worked to gather her strength. Her body hurt so much that it seemed to be nothing but a mass of pain.

Laying on the concrete, the fighter was tempted to just let herself sink into unconsciousness. Her opponent drew back a foot to kick her again. Acting on instinct, she rolled away as the foot came towards her head. She pushed up onto her hands and knees. The man before her moved to punch her in the head again.

She twisted, grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling him off his feet with the sudden force of her motion. As he hit the ground, she wrapped her legs around his chest. Her fists fell on his head with enough force to make the big man cry out in pain. He tried to knock her off of him but she continued to hold on and strike at his face. Somehow, he managed to maneuver himself so that she was pressed down to the ground beneath him.

His large hands gripped her around the throat. Her right hand struck his throat. As she closed her fist, her nails bit into his flesh and her fingers wrapped partially around his coratid artery. His eyes went wide a heartbeat before she pulled with all the strength she could muster. He almost screamed as she ripped his throat open. He collapsed as she pushed him aside, his hands flailing to stem the spray of bright red blood.

She made her way to her feet. Though she swayed, she began to walk towards the ladder out of the pit. Above her, stunned silence reigned. The voice that spoke to her on the edge of unconsciousness seemed to echo in the silence. "Stand," it said, though no one else could hear it. She stumbled and the world swam before her. Still, she pushed herself forward. She reached the ladder and gripped it hard with her blood slicked hand. People above her moved away from the ladder as the master of ceremonies walked to it.

He looked down at her. He was the image of genteel sophistication. His dove grey suit was spotless. An ice blue eye peered down at her, its mate lost in some conflict that the man never spoke of. His expression was one of approval. "Bring her up," he said to no one in particular before turning and walking away. Her knees were growing weak as her vision began to go grey. A person began climbing down. She watched them. Hands slipped under her arms and bore her up as the extent of her injuries caught up with her.

"You're the first one to survive," the person supporting her said as another lowered a backboard.

"I don't die," she said as unconsciousness claimed her.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I don't feel pleased with this. But whatever, I wrote something.

Monday, just one more grueling day.

On the kids's side of things, today was just tiring. They were somewhat fussy about their meals, but they don't exactly enjoy fresh veggies. Cuddle Bear decided that the only way he was going to eat raw carrots was if they were dipped in barbecue sauce. I decided I didn't care and gave him some. Snuggle Bug ate all of my grapes. I'm a bit disappointed, but at least he decided he was going to eat something healthy.

Tomorrow, I suspect they are going to be cranky about cereal for breakfast again. I just don't know how to make donuts. If I did, I would make them for the kids. It seems to be their absolute favorite thing to eat for breakfast. I am considering buying a baking tray that looks like it makes min-bunt cakes and whipping up a bunch of them and calling it good enough.

We have loads of laundry that need put away. I look at it and feel bad about it all. Which then turns into my desperately trying to ignore them until the end of the day where I can't avoid them any more. It is a vicious cycle that eventually turns to piles of clean vs dirty laundry about the apartment. It's about as pleasant as my mood roller coaster.

My mood is still down. I'm still super anxious about everything. I'm on the hunt for a new psychiatrist and probably a new therapist. The combination of 'just think happy thoughts' and 'it's not as bad as you're saying it is.' attitudes I'm getting from the clinic has me feeling even worse. I am trying to get over this fear that a new psychiatrist would decide that I am too much of a problem client and try to shuffle me out the door on a boatload more medications rather than help me.

I have not been having good days regarding self image, unsurprisingly. I realized this evening, however, I need to start wearing my new heels if I am going to have them broken in enough so that I'm not walking around on blistered feet at K&R's wedding. I'm still quietly going "OH GODS WHAT DO I WEAR!?!" never mind the fact that Beloved helped me narrow things down to two possible options.

I am really getting tired of this social phobia telling me that whatever I pick is going to be the wrong thing.

Burning out.

Today was a long and exhausting day. I spent 90% of it cleaning and directing the kids in cleaning. After all of this work, the toys are now sorted out. The books are all organized on their shelves. The toybox is full and sitting in its proper location. The extra blankets are stowed in the kids' chests. We got a lot of stuff done. Looking around the room, though, it doesn't feel like we did. Thinks were relatively picked up this morning.

I tripped over a few toys as I was walking across the room and saw a bin full of just random stuff. I got angry. Then I started cleaning. The kids were confused when I dumped out the toybox. They were even more confused when I insisted that they couldn't just throw anything in there. It was a painful process to sort all of their toys. They didn't like it. I didn't like it. But it was something that hadn't been done in over two years. When things started to shape up as how they were going to get put away, it got easier.

I'm glad that I saved those stupid McDonald's halloween buckets. I used four of them. Two to hold dinosaurs and random animals. One to hold knock off transformer toys (which were in happy meals originally) and one to hold all of the action figures they've got. We have three gallon sized bins full of toy cars and an additional fleet stowed neatly beneath a shelf and a table, mostly. I have recycled a large box that held pullups to hold large dinosaur toys and large action figures. I also recycled a slightly smaller box to hold stuffed animals.

The big innovation was taking the box that Cuddle Bear's toy weed wacker came in and turning it into a shelf on the wall. Instead of holding the weed wacker, it is full of small stuffed animals. The whole affair is light enough that it can stay up with three anchor points. The other innovation came from taking a box that the electric grill came in and cutting it up to make a 'tool box' out of it. Between the two tool boxes they had to begin with and this third one, they have 90% of their toy hand tools put away underneath their toy workbench. Sitting on top of it is the rubber work belt that came with it (with tools in their respective places) and a handful of others with it.

I have folded up the extra blankets that the kids kept shoving around on their beds and put them in the base of their chests from Grandpa M. When they went to bed, they didn't notice the blankets missing. Maybe we can manage to get to the beginning of cool weather before they come back out. I don't know. It did make for them to have an easier time making their beds. (This is a new thing. The kids mess up the sheets on their beds and, in the past, we fixed them. Now they are taking responsibility for it. The results thus far have been mixed. Hopefully putting the blankets away, this will make for more positive results.)

Their brand-name Transformers toys are sitting on top of their bookcase. The extra large ones are in back against the wall. The smaller ones are towards the front, where they are easier to access. Snuggle Bug broke Cuddle Bear's new one this afternoon, so I took away his more complicated version of Bumblebee. We'll see if he bears this in mind when he is sharing with his brother. If he breaks his brother's brand new transformer again, I believe that I will have to put them up for a bit. As it stands, we are missing one somewhere. In all of our cleaning, we have not found it. I suspect it is under the couch, which we did not touch today.

I didn't get the kitchen clean. I ran out of energy for that. I didn't get any laundry put away. And I have a pile of mail that I really need to go through but I am apprehensive about it all. I look back over the day today and I realize that in some respects today's big business of going through the toys was a form of procrastination. Because why procrastinate in a small way when you can go huge, right? Thus, tomorrow morning, I think I will do a 'bad mommy' thing and let the kids watch cartoons as I go through the mail, balance the checkbook, pay bills, and make official phone calls.

I'm super anxious about looking for a new psychiatrist. I'm afraid that they're going to look at my file from where I have been getting services and take the abject nonsense that these people have written as gospel and ignore what I have to say about it all. Money anxiety is taking a backseat to this.

Fuck Bipolar

I haven't been well. My silence over the last little while may have lead some of you who know me intimately to suspect this. I am ... angry. This is on top of the lingering depression problem. It has not been too the extent that I believe it is necessary for me to go into the hospital. It has, however, been enough that it makes getting my household duties done difficult. It has made getting out of the apartment and being in the community difficult. All the little things that my therapist says I should be going out and doing right now, I am really struggling to do it.

I have had this happen before. I mentioned it to my psych nurse way back in Spring. I think I posted something about how well that went. My kids were on spring break. She thought that putting me on another SSRI was a great idea. I went from depressed to suicidal in the span of about 3 days and then I was in the hospital for about a week while they fixed my medications. At that time, one of the psychiatrists that was treating me asked me how long I had been on the combination of Seroquel and Geodon. I explained I had been taking it for about 7 years. Cue him being offended and all around not happy. He was particularly not happy with the fact that my dosage was so high.

Next thing I know, I was taken off of a LOT of medication. I felt a bit better. A little time goes by and the mild sense of dysphoria grew more intense. I say something to my psych nurse. She tells me that my moods are not really fluctuating, it was just life happening. She tells me that my problem is the stress that comes from being with the kids when they are on break is causing my depressive symptoms. After a few months of this nonsense, she says 'well, let's increase your seroquel.' I voiced my concerns about this because upping my dosage of antipsychotics really didn't do anything to stabilize my mood, unless you counted mild zombification as stabilized.

At which point, she says that I'm being overly anxious and triples my prescription for Ativan. This all happens Monday this week. I start taking the 300mg Seroquel and problems become apparent. My coordination is off hard core. I was stumbling like I was intoxicated. When I got out of bed, I nearly brained myself on the door jamb which is a few feet away from the foot of the bed. It was awful. I couldn't walk across the room with out tripping (and this was with out kids toys in the way). I was exhausted and I had a massive headache. But, the part that really disturbed me is my vision changed. My close range vision is blurry now. My moderate distant range vision is what my close range vision was before (I have a mild astigmatism in my left eye so things are a bit fuzzy). And, things have a bit of a halo about them.

Cue a panicked call to my pharmacist who says that is all an indication that I am on too much and I should call my dr stat. Call the psych nurse and I don't get an answer back until the end of the day, despite the fact that all three of the messages I left clearly conveyed my distress over the situation. She says that we're going to press on with the increase in the antipsychotic, stating it will be a 50mg increase before a 100mg increase. (Originally, I was on 200 mg of Seroquel. Which I got put on when it became apparent that the Geodon was losing effectiveness as a mood stabilizer. And I was put on that when the Seroquel in the past was losing effectiveness as a mood stabilizer. And before that, I was on both meds ... and the drama and bullshit just goes back to when I began dealing with these people.)

So, Beloved and I discussed it. I was upset and afraid. We decided that I was going to go back to the 200mg dosage. The mind fog lifted to a significant extent, the coordination issues cleared up, but the vision issues remained. I tried again today to get ahold of my psych nurse. No one called me back from her office. So, I called my general practitioner. I gave the nurse I spoke to a quick rundown of the situation so I will be going in on Monday to figure out what the fuck we're going to do.

In the mean time, I'm going to feel like shit, be frustrated because I can't see properly, and want to crawl into a hole and hide from everything.

Fuck this bipolar business with a rusty chainsaw.

August. Woo.

The dry weather has been pretty hard on my plants. but, you can see that I did get a little bit out of my garden. On the left is a chocolate mint, in the center is an orange mint, and on the right is a sweet mint. And at the extreme right is Billy (aka Snuggle Bug) showing off his new trucks.

We have begun the process of acquiring school supplies. I am graciously sharing two of the super cute pencil erasers that I found out at the store. Going by the school's lists, we're all set for the first day. The boys each have new backpacks. because the bottom seams were looking worn. I discovered that I had a stock pile of supplies left over from last year when I was cleaning. So, I brought them over for Gin's girls to have.

I'm WAAAAY behind on my knitting stuff for the holidays. I am, however, pretty much set on what we're doing for the wedding present to Katie and Roger. I'm partially finished with the gift I am making for J&J's wedding anniversary. And, in the midst of all of this, I'm left struggling to think of something that would be a good present for Beloved.

Why emotionally blackmail someone over stuff?

I confess, I have a few guilty pleasures in my blog reading. There is a mommy blogger who tends to have recipes that are usually pretty awesome and I find some humor in her chattering about life at large. While I do my best to avoid the mommy brigade, there are a few that I read because their writing style entertains me and I usually find them a point of light on a dark day. So, I was disappointed when I saw her triumphant post about how she finally managed to get her spouse to throw away his childhood baseball card collection after harassing him over it for 19 years.

I get that she wants her house to have as little waste as possible. I get that she wants to have as few nicknacks to clean up as possible. I even can appreciate the frustration of someone in your family collecting things that you don't understand the appeal for and get irritated upon the sight of them. All of these sentiments I can empathize with and appreciate. At some point in time, I have had them myself or been the object of this sort of feeling.

Those feelings don't give me free reign to pick at my spouse over the hobbies he has. They don't give me the right to tell him 'you're a grown up now, get rid of this childish stuff.' That is simply beyond the pale. I don't dictate who my husband is (aka how 'childish' or 'adult' he is) and I don't get to tell him that his hobbies are bad if they're not harming anyone or causing us problems in our ability to take care of our children, home, responsibilities, or marriage. A few binders full of cards is not a problem.

I'm sorry, but if you are going to take the position that the equivalent of a photo album is enough of a problem in your household that you have to harass your spouse about getting rid of them for an extended length of time, you've got a big problem and it isn't that photo album. Telling someone that they're immature or that they're childish because of what they enjoy is harmful to them. You are telling them that there is something WRONG with them because they're doing something that makes them happy and YOU are uncomfortable with it because it doesn't meet YOUR expectations of what and adult is supposed to be like. You are the problem here.

Because you don't get to tell your spouse WHO THEY ARE. Full stop. You are attempting to dictate elements of their personality and psyche on the basis of arbitrary bullshit and your level of discomfort with the way they fit into your arbitrary bullshit generator. If your uncomfortable with your spouse's hobby but it isn't doing you any harm beyond making you mildly uncomfortable with how you perceive their maturity level, you need to fix your issue. A pack of cards does not dictate the maturity level of the person possessing them. Additionally, a pack of cards does not dictate a damn thing about the state of your home other than the fact that you or someone in your home owns a pack of fucking cards.

The world is full of ugly, horrific things. If your spouse finds joy in little things and it is not causing problems in their ability to meet their responsibilities, provide emotional support, or otherwise be a partner in your relationship, then you need to suck it up and deal with the fact that they are going to find joy in things that are not going to appeal to you. You don't get to dictate what is 'grown up' and attempting to do so is going to cause emotional damage to your spouse and undermine their sense of self esteem.

I'll rephrase that into something a little more concise.

Your bullshit behavior over a pack of cards is emotional abuse. You are telling them that they're not good enough as who they are. You don't get to do that. You are not the gatekeeper of what is an acceptable adult. You are not the gatekeeper of who is an acceptable person.

The only person you get to make those kinds of decisions for are yourself.

And if you can't handle someone getting some happiness out of a pack of cards that has some warm, fuzzy emotional memories attached to them, then you need to acquire some emotional and psychological fortitude because this kind of crap is what dooms long term relationships.

So, yeah, after 19 years you managed to brow beat your husband into getting rid of his momentos from his happier childhood days. Good job. Next, are you going to start telling your kids to throw away their favorite belongings because you've decided they're too old to do what makes THEM happy too?

Long day is Long.

This heat and humidity is making me miserable. I am tired because it is hard to sleep from it. I did a ton of laundry but I feel like I accomplished nothing. Which is perverse because I managed to keep the kids out of the really high heat, entertained, and engaged in educational activity with out spending a whole lot of money. (That's a hard thing to do it seems judging from what I see lots of other folks posting about their summer.)

I narrowly dodged the migraine that was threatening this afternoon. Beloved was awesome and he watched the kids while I took a cool shower. Between that, a dose of aleve, and a hefty amount of coffee, I just had a bad headache for a few hours. I wish it was that easy to avoid migraines other times. I didn't do any walking outside today really because it was so horribly hot. (My friends from the tropics, the desert, and pretty much anywhere else that has temperatures of 90+, I recognize I am a lightweight compared to y'all.)

My mood has been going back and forth between cranky and upset. I think part of the problem is just the physical discomfort of all this heat. I am pretty sure that I would also be a bit less upset with things if I wasn't premenstrual. I am still having some difficulty sleeping and not having intrusive thoughts pertaining to the murders that happened last week. It has brought up a mess of unresolved stuff pertaining to things like when my uncle was murdered as well.

It's just been rough.

Did some crafting.

Today was tiring. I went out to my sister in law's bridal shower. It was ok. I had a nice time cuddling a little baby and chatting with two other young mothers. I was pleased to see that my present was well received. It was a bride's emergency kit with pretty much everything needed in case of a wardrobe malfunction. I also gave her a fancy white lace parasol. And a sampler.

I have spent my evening looking at mindless things on the internet. I did a little playing around with jewelry supplies and made the necklace I'm holding above. It is a gold filigree cage holding two pearls and a raw bit of garnet on a gold chain. I'm hoping that I won't have problems with having a bad reaction to the necklace or the pendant. It is gold plated onto copper. I have some issues with plated metals.

The sampler above was the highlight, in my opinion. For some reason, everyone was surprised by the lace parasol that I found for her. (The pic was from when I finished the thing.) It was really quick to work up. I am presently working on another embroidered item. I have a little surprise that I'm making for my mother-in-law. Because the mother of the bride should have something special as well.

As Seen on Facebook

ok i am going to make some people angry. i will be honest, i don't give a damn if it does right now either.

people should not be gunned down by law enforcement if they are not actively shooting or putting people in a state where their life and limb are in danger. stuff can be replaced, so property damage is something i give functionally no fucks about in this case. why? because you can not replace a person. when someone is dead, they're a corpse.

i know there are people who are pro-law enforcement. that's cool. law enforcement serves an important role in our society and, when functioning properly helps everyone. there are a lot of good cops out there who, i suspect, are mad as hell about the stuff that the bad cops do. i'm pretty sure that there are people who would be happy to take the ones who make the rest of them look bad out behind the woodshed for a long conversation via morse code and a bit of applied force.

my problem is not with the good cops. my problem is with the society that says that this crap of people dying in police custody is acceptable. my problem is with the society that says if you have any sort of arrest record, you deserve brutality because you must clearly be guilty and deserve all forms of systemic oppression because you were arrested at one point for something. my problem is with the society that says that if you were, gods forbid, ever imprisoned for something that you are worth less than everyone else because you must continue to pay for your crimes long after the courts say you're done. my problem is with the society that turns a blind eye to systemic oppression for minorities and are quick to label the people who are not of the 'chosen' socioeconomic and cultural markers as deserving of essentially all forms of abuse that can be heaped on them by people who are from that chosen group and their agents (including but not limited to governmental agencies that are treated as serving said chosen group).

i have an enormous problem with the fact that people in this country have forgotten about habeus corpus. i have an enormous problem with the fact that people in this country have forgotten about the presumption of innocent until proven guilty. just because you have a gun, you are not judge and jury. and you are sure as hell not executioner. the sheer number of times that these rogue elements within the agencies that are charged with keeping law and order get away with gross violations of the rights of the people they are supposed to be serving is repulsive.

the people who are saying 'stop killing us' and 'our lives matter' are not doing it to make your life inconvenient. they're not doing it to be dramatic. and they're sure as hell not doing it for funsies. they're doing it because their blood is in the streets and it has been shed by the people who are supposed to be protecting them. when law enforcement edges towards failing to not only obey the laws set upon them by their own nation but the rules of war, there is a big fucking problem.

last i checked, the rules of war said you don't get to murder people you have taken into custody. (take a second and review article 3. then ask yourself, just how well have people been doing on following that bit of late?http://hrlibrary.umn.edu/instree/y3gctpw.htm ) maybe i am a wild person with mad ideas. i know there are people who manage NOT to act in this sort of horrific fashion. maybe we should do something about these motherfuckers who are failing to recognize the most basic of human rights as covered here.

anyone who seems to think that the arrest history of the dead justifies their killing, drop me off your friends list. anyone who seems to think that the color or socioeconomic status of the dead justifies their killing, drop me off your friends list. anyone who seems to think that we should accept these people in positions of power failing to uphold the FUCKING GENEVA CONVENTION with respect to MOTHERFUCKING CIVILIANS, drop me off your friends list and go fuck yourself with a sideways cactus.

Flies?

I don't know why, but there has been an increase in the number of flies around today. I'm not sure what is going on with that. I am a bit annoyed with them, but what can you do?

I feel badly that I have done no writing today. I am feeling upset with myself on several levels. I think that the predominant problem today was the fact that I forgot my morning medications in the rush to get Beloved off to work and then get to my appointment. I then spent the rest of the day toodling around town getting things done with the boys in tow. It was a very warm day today and the heat had me a bit crabby as well.

Moodwise, I am on the lower end of normal-ish. My psych provider commented on how I am doing so much better than I was a few months ago. I suppose that is a good thing. I have been out and about. I have been doing things and being somewhat social. I presume this would indicate that I am making progress in a healthier direction. If nothing else, all the walks to the park (which averages 2 per day and a total distance of a mile) must be doing me some good. This heat has had me less than thrilled about eating much, thus my appetite has been a bit lower. Not dangerously so, though.

I'd post a picture but I feel unpresentable. My hair is somewhat mussed from driving around with car windows down. I look as overheated as I feel. It just is not something I feel looks any good. I have been having low body confidence for a few days now. Realizing that there is a fair amount of grey in my locks has me feeling upset (which is funny because as a child I desperately wanted to have grey hair like my great grandmother). I feel like I look old and shabby.

I'm trying hard to remember that many feel that my grey hair makes me look dignified. I honestly can't say I feel that way today. And I can't manage to shake the bodyshaming nonsense about how I should magically reacquire my pre-pregnancy body after I have birthed my children. It is a little thing that keeps worrying at the back of my mind. I am not having much progress in getting that out of my head. Which has me saddened and frustrated.

It's the 4th of July. Meh.

The last several days have been busy. I am honestly looking forward to when summer school starts. I have been just worn out by the business of keeping up with the kids and all the stuff that goes into keeping them out of mischief over the last week and a half. I haven't a photo to share today. I honestly don't feel particularly photogenic right now.

I am behind on my writing work. I don't want to place unreasonable demands on myself but I want to have this manuscript off to the publishers in short order. I feel a great deal of pressure to do a ton of things right now and like I haven't the means to accomplish pretty much anything. I am also feeling somewhat burned out. This is not much fun. I will, however, persevere and do my best.

Aside from that, I'm so tired of the jingoism that is running rampant right now. I once felt that sort of thing. And then I realized just how much people are getting screwed over in this nation. Now I am jaded and tend to view that sort of thing as a level of immaturity. I am also sick of the bubbly 'happy 4th of July!' that I have encountered everywhere.

How can it be a happy day when we have people dying for bullshit reasons in and in the name of this country? How can it be a happy day when people are disenfranchised at functionally all levels of government and social strata? It is hard for me to have warm fuzzies about it all when there is so much that is wrong.


Also, unrelated to anything, I'm fed up with these wee tiny bugs flitting about the apartment after the sun goes down. And I feel mildly depressed with how grey my hair looks and the fact that I look all of my 37 years. I think that I have over exerted myself a bit on several levels and it is catching up with me.

And I feel like I can't go and sleep because there is so much that must be done.

Long day but progress, maybe?

I don't feel up to a pic right now. Today was a long day. I spent a significant portion of my day trying to keep the kids entertained as I struggled to gather my wits. I did not sleep well last night. I kept having dreams of my computer crashing, my back up copies of my books being corrupted, and all of my notes getting destroyed. I think watching that video about how long storage stuff is supposed to last got to me. Add to this how I have been struggling to do much writing at all and it made for a bad night.

I have piles of papers everywhere. I have no less than three knitting projects going on right now. I have two spinning projects that are frustrating me to the point where I am contemplating burning the fiber so I don't have to look at it. My home is a bit of a mess at the moment. I know some of this is a natural function of the kids being on break. Some of this is also due to the fact that I spend more time trying to keep the kids out of fights and engaged in activities than I do on cleaning right now. I feel guilty about it. I have this little voice at the back of my head telling me that I should have a clean house right now, dinner on the table every night, and all of the clean laundry put away. (We're living out of laundry bags right now.)

I think I may be heading towards a downward shift in mood. I'm not sure. I feel over extended and like there is no hope of relief ahead of me. I don't know what my problem is right now. Once, I handled this stuff better. Why am I such a ball of anxiety now? Is this really the bipolar?

Yay, it's the Solstice!

I'm a bit overheated right now. It is 80+ in the apartment right now. It has been a good day. Beloved took the day off to spend some time with me while the kids were at school. I am a bit tired, as can probably be seen in the pic. I hope that I will sleep better than I did last night. The heat and humidity made it difficult to fall asleep last night. Still, I can say with full confidence that I had a great day today. There were some minor irritations but it didn't detract from the joy that I had in some alone time with Beloved or my amusement with the kids trying to direct traffic for the tow truck that was helping the folks across the way with their car. (It looked like the tie-rod went and the entire passenger side front steering assembly just fell off of their vehicle as they were attempting to turn into their drive way. Fortunately, no one was harmed and there was no other damage.) I also got a chuckle out of Beloved talking at a squirrel that just played creeper in the tree and stared at us for about a half hour.

All in all, today was a good day. And I have made good progress on yule gifts as well.

Father's Day = typical Sunday

Beloved does not like it when people make a big fuss over him. He utterly loathes it. Thus, his day today was like pretty much any other Sunday. The exception was that the boys had art for him from school and he got stuff for his birding hobby. (So far, it seems that the acrylic baffle is working really well to keep the squirrels out of the big feeder.) My day today was like most other Sundays as well.

I didn't do laundry today. Beloved and I agreed that the laundromat was most likely going to be insanely hot and probably would trigger a migraine. Mood wise, I am in my 'normal' range. I am a bit grumpy but that is because between my hormones not deciding how they were going to effect my mood today and generally being overly warm, I am not feeling comfortable right now. It didn't help matters much that I somehow managed to skin my right elbow on something. I have no idea what.

I'm just that much of a klutz. Tomorrow is going to be a fairly busy day. The boys have school until Wednesday. In between now and then, I want to get the edits that I finally finished writing down in the text of book 2 (which I am beginning to suspect didn't upload the correct version of the document when I sent it to the printer a few weeks ago) done on the manuscript. I also have a long list of files that I really need to copy and back up for safe keeping.

Beloved has tomorrow off from work. We may go out and have lunch, I don't know. I know, however, that tomorrow morning after I put the kids on the bus to school, I will need to run over to the laundromat to wash a few things. I'm trying to decide if I can afford it and what color I am going to go with, but over the last two weeks, I have gone from 'nope, not going to dye my hair some funky color' to 'you know, I'm 37. I should live a little.' Beloved has been amused with this gradual transition in attitude on the matter.

Meh.

Feeling less anxious and depressed today. I spent my day pretty much doing household stuff. I have the kitchen mostly clean now. I will most likely finish up that bit of work tomorrow. I was going to go out to spinning guild tomorrow but plans changed. I don't remember how to get to where the guild is meeting (somewhere aside from the usual location in Victor) so I will be home. If the weather is nice, I will take the kids to the park. I have finished the first of many Yule gifts. I have now started work on a scarf. I'm actually knitting two at the same time. One is in varigated yarn, so it is just plain, basic knitting that I don't have to think about. The other is an illusion scarf with two colors. So, that one will require some attention and thought.

Tired.

End of a long day. Went to the dentist and had two fillings done. Had lunch with Beloved, which I honestly thought he was going to be too busy for. It was a really nice time. Then spent the rest of my day running around after the kids. I feel worn out. My eldest is still awake, staring at me as I sit on the couch and wait for him to go to sleep. My mood is tending towards just worn out and cranky right now. And I started my menses, sort of. Last month, I just spotted some and then there was nothing more. I don't know if this month is going to be the same. I would really appreciate it if my body made up its mind as to what the hell it was doing right now.

Long day is Long.

I suppose my big accomplishments today were folding laundry, watering plants, and keeping the kids from burninating the world. I'm tired and uncomfortable. My stomach hasn't been feeling too great today. I'm not entirely sure why.

A part of me says that this business of daily pics and a note of what the day was like is foolishness. But, the various blogs and sites out there say that if I keep a mood diary, it will make it easier to track my bipolar. Right now, I'm not a ball of anxiety. I am just... numb and cranky.

My thoughts on Orlando.

It is a very ... meaty post. I tried to give a little bit of a crash course in philosophy in my post. It is at best, the beginning of a discussion on what is happening and how to handle it. At worst, I will have managed to single handedly offend a laundry list of people through the use of my philosophy and religion minor's being applied in my writing.

Here's the link: Atrocity, Evil, and the Gods.

So tired, so worn out.

Today has been a typical, quiet Monday. I have been doing what I can to avoid the news about the atrocities that happened over the weekend. As a result, I have been pretty much off of the computer. I repotted my root bound miniature roses. I repotted my mint plants in the hopes of salvaging them after them being forgotten for about a week or so (as best I can tell). I also put the geranium cuttings in the ground. They have roots now and one is budding out blossoms. I put up the plastic fencing along the second flower bed out front.

I spent my afternoon editing. It was difficult because I am having a hard time focusing. I went to start work on dinner and discovered that I had veggies that had gone bad. So I threw them out. I think I am going to have to just clean out the whole fridge. I walked a bit today. I suppose it was about a quarter of a mile or so that I have gone.

Did stuff, now beer.

Just got home. Spent all day out helping out with some family stuff. I'm exhausted. My nerves are fried. Somewhere around 2:30, my last fuck flew away. I was polite and pleasant. I did this by being quiet and focusing on entertaining small children with my crochet. I have demonstrated that I am competent with a knife and good at making food look appealing on a plate. With a chef's knife and an ice cream scoop to work with, I managed to make an attractive centerpiece for the fruit plate and hollow out the honeydew melon to hold the melon pieces I had.

If I am in this position again, I will be bringing my melon baller. It would have been a lot easier than what I did this morning. Now, I have a lukewarm bottle of Not Your Father's Root Beer sitting nearby and I'm enjoying peace and quiet for the first time all day.

I am tired of adulting. Screw this shit. I'm drinking my beer and looking at stupid cat memes or something. My mood is low, my anxiety is high, and I want a distraction from feeling rotten and used. Scumbag brain can shut the fuck up anytime now.

Fuck Anxiety.

Me, right now. Super anxious, but medicated. (All hail the gods of pharmacology and praise their blessings. I have taken the sacrament of Ativan and it is good.)

Beloved says this is pretty clearly a mixed episode day. I've been somewhere between wanting to curl up in a ball somewhere and cry and wanting to punch a wall, throw things, and scream in rage. I hate my brain right now.