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16 November 2020 @ 03:59 pm
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25 January 2017 @ 09:41 am
I've been trapped at home for 3 days because of a groin injury. Yeah.

It happened on Saturday while I was trying to clean a shelf. I stepped back onto a folding chair (like these, from Ikea: http://www.ikea.com/PIAimages/0239249_PE378635_S5.JPG) and then IT FOLDED AND MY OTHER LEG WASN'T ON IT YET AND IT WENT BETWEEN AND... It could have been so much worse, but luckily I only bruised the bone part right next to where all the openings are.

I was practically screaming when I got to the ER before I took a painkiller because the swelling, ow, oh, the swelling, ouch. Now, I just hobble around the house like Gollum. I can't work at all this week.

The point is, I've had the most amazing 3 days of sleep. I usually sleep more than my friends. I think that's more because I've had a poorer quality of sleep for a number of the past 6 years. I wake up every morning feeling more and more... strangely... like myself. Like some original part of me that was lost in the hustle of life came back, happily nourished by a week of unintentional, surprise, pressure-free vacation.

I watch my sister sometimes, 6 years younger, always running around doing stuff and I think, "How does she do it? How does she stay so creative every day and so fun and social? I feel like I've lost it." And I haven't, of course, but I am now a dimmer version of me. The career change I started working on, soon ran into the major hiccup that was me-- I could imagine OTHER people doing interesting things, but couldn't see myself doing them. I've been stuck for months.

Then this fall happened, which was totally miserable, but this ensuing week of paid leave has happened. I get all the time I've been needing for so long to just sleep and think and sleep and think and let my body recuperate from years of the fucking rat race.

I went on Facebook - no guilt.

Read a novel - first time in years. (And it happened to be the best book I've ever read: Every Day by David Levithan. READ IT. You will remember this one forever.)

Slept endlessly with no alarms - I never get to do that.

Got fed, or others brought me stuff on my bed - This never happens.

Thought only about three mandatory things per day - Eating, bathroom breaks, and showers.

And lay there to think. Think think think. So much information, not enough time to make decisions. I'd been doing all kinds of new things for a full year, but didn't have a conclusion. So I thought about what I did, reviewed it, assessed it, asked what I liked I didn't liked, then passed out when I got tired.

Watched Netflix and ate healthy.

I'm obviously no expert on this, but I must preach it: Rest. Enjoy. Particularly the fruits of your own labour. Don't go to bed anxious about tomorrow (I'm so guilty of this). Take your time with big decisions. Don't let other people's agendas run your entire life. Sleep in every once in a while, or often. Whatever you need.
Current Mood: happyhappy
17 September 2016 @ 03:23 pm
I saw him in a dream last night, and he had forgiven me.

In fact, you said hello to me first. There was a tattoo on your left arm. It suits your dark skin.

You said hello with that big smile that I've always missed, and thought that I would never see ever again. We walked a few steps, shoulder to shoulder. You asked me, "How are you?" with no grief and no regret. After I answered, because the guilt was still in my heart, I said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." You smiled and dismissed it. "It's okay," you said. "It's in the past now."

And I don't remember saying it in words, but "It's so good to see you," oozed out of my heart and into my skeleton and out of my cheekbones and into a smile, always on the edge of big laughter, of happiness and joy and closure.

You smiled a lot, a smile I thought I'd never see ever again, one brighter than the sun, brilliant like the sparkle of the water on that warm sunny day when you looked at me, with the blue sky behind the edges of your dark hair, and laughed, just happy, just the two of us on the dock by the river.

We spent a few glorious hours together, and you were happy with my in-relationship status and I was happy with your no-relationship status, with your dog. I was happy that you were alone and happy, no burdens, no fears. You even made jokes, some a little crass, mostly spontaneous and unplanned, and you had met up with all your old friends, and you weren't angry with me nor frustrated with me nor aware of your sorrows, because they were resolved and you had found you again, the one that I've always missed, the person that I've always missed. Then my future came to pick me up, and he was a little nervous, a bit suspicious, but I was calm saying goodbye to you, since I knew that I could leave you alone now, and you'd be all right.

When I woke up today, I was happy.

Still, I realized that I dreamed about you because another person I had hurt smiled and waved at me yesterday, and it morphed into a dream memory of you, because you are the one that I can't forget, the one with the smile that I've always missed. I hope that I can see you in the next lifetime, and you'll be who you were before that tragedy, before your eyes became permanently inked with sadness, before I became guilty and afraid, and destroyed everything we had left.


Started reading Nana by Ai Yazawa again after somehow encountering a mention of the story somewhere. I never quite got to the part where Ai Yazawa paused with the story. When I first read the story, I swear it must have been 10 years ago. Their lives seemed so "grown-up" then, when I was in high school. Now, I look at the lives of the young people she describes, and I realize that those stories could have been based on me, or my friends. I'm lucky that I don't struggle with romance, now, but I did once, and Ai Yazawa's narration gives language to wishes and memories I tried hard to run away from. Young memories are somehow not recorded the same way as older memories. They seem to be burned, not remembered, in overwhelmingly perfect clarity.
Current Mood: peacefulpeaceful
31 August 2016 @ 09:23 am
Hello lovely people!

I've been living in the hole of paperwork paperwork paperwork lately and I actually did not realize that months passed and the much awaited new Harry Potter story had come out. OMG. F-list, have you read the play? Has the fandom come alive?

Too bad I don't live in London, otherwise I'd go straight to see the play.
Current Location: at work
Current Mood: curiouscurious
04 June 2016 @ 12:54 am
I don't know if this is just a feature of getting old or whatever, but I've been thinking a lot about storage lately. In a deeper way. I have never been a collector, and I love organizing and throwing out my shit, and I always will, but I've recently reconsidered the benefits of "clutter" and "messy."

Bits and pieces of life get immortalized in "messy." In those piles or boxes that you never really discarded, or that suitcase full of travel stuff that was never unpacked after you came back because you just... forgot.

It used to be on floppy disks. Then the writing moved to black USBs. THE black USB. Several iterations of it. Then to a nice, lovely, teal-covered Toshiba laptop I named Athrun, and then to a 100GB "Porsche" external hard drive that was lost, and now just a folder named "Literary scraps" on my MacBook Pro, which was copied from another folder called "Writing" on my Surface Pro a year ago.

What's surprising isn't the writing. I knew about that. It's what happened when I logged into my fluffy_golden_camel@hotmail.com inbox today, just because. And after deleting 10 pages worth (each 20-30 emails) of adverts and newsletters that I didn't want to sign up for, it's FINDING

- a bunch of undeleted LJ comments,
- lovely conversations with people I don't remember who I met through reviews at FF.net and Fictionpress,
- a folder named Val for fireflys_locket,
- a bunch of "pls beta my fic" emails from pratz, who I forgot to visit while I was in DC last weekend (!!! I'm sorry!!)
- and the most adorable emails from my younger sister when she was like, in Grade 4.

I think this matters because there's a story I've been telling myself over the past 10 years. I don't know how this story started, but it came to define all my decisions over these 10 years. And the story is something like this, a small but important piece:

- Mom and Dad couldn't stop fighting
- I didn't get what I needed in order to grow up happy
- I will cut myself off from Mom and Dad's toxic behavior forever
- The life I live now is great because I did this

And there are parts of this which is true. I think I can (without being pegged as overly ignorant!) somewhat understand schizophrenia. It's kind of like trying to live with two realities at once. When you're in close contact with someone or something, your mind is able to filter out the bad stuff you don't like. But when you leave them, and your mind is free, suddenly it remembers the bad things, and if you will it enough, you can choose to never remember the good.

I think I was vulnerable as a kid. Or every kid is. And when such personal, intensely bad things happen at such a young time, when your expectations about people are still being formed by emotional ties and your logic is either developed by clear guided explanations-- or not developed at all by anyone except observation of sometimes crazy, sometimes normal behavior-- that's what you end up as. Have you read about how terrorists condition child soldiers? They bring them up with violence, random and punishing.

I'm struggling right now. Trying to remember everything. And re-build a picture, and develop a way to feel about it, that's mature and compassionate. The problem is, I destroyed so much stuff. Mostly because I didn't want to keep it. I still have this habit of destroying what I make, because I go through moments of derision and dismissal for myself, and I guess that was learned, too.

So those floppy disks. I don't think I'm going to find them. But if I keep searching, I'll be grateful to find another collection of clutter to sort through.

Edit: Might do a bit of a fic dump over here in the next while!!!! Some interesting stuff!!!

Edit 2 & 3 td;lrCollapse )
Current Mood: alive
Current Music: Fun - Coldplay (feat. Tove Lo)
14 May 2016 @ 12:33 pm
Got around to watching Beyonce's 'Lemonade' today. It's definitely a bit of a slow, simmering story, not one that picks you up and carries you through the plot.

But... wow.

I was never a fan of Beyonce's music after she left Destiny's Child, but her poetic and emotional visualization is out of this world. When I write my short memoir drabbles expressing frustrations or joys with life I only dream of being able to write, or eventually film, content that has a hit-you-in-the-face kind of emotional intensity.

When I am told, or when I hear my girlfriends say they heard, or my guy friends say, "I just don't get you [girls], because you're so emotional, and you don't make sense," or see tons and tons of memes joking about the same thing, I used to feel powerless. I feel like a lot of women have been there. When I get upset, I explode, and I'll suddenly have an outpouring of feelings that are tied to tons and tons of reasons I've collected over a period of time, and I need to use my feelings to explain the reasons, not the reasons to explain the feelings.

The first video in Beyonce's Lemonade is titled "Intuition." And that's exactly it. Half the time, I feel that something's wrong before I can remember what actual THINGS happened to make it wrong. I appreciate the power of Lemonade because it tells the story, feelings first, with power and strength, and a maximal visual theme for everything from deep, vengeful anger to harmony and forgiveness.

It's definitely not for everyone, and this kind of art doesn't really have a time and place where it can be consumed readily. I had to really sit down and put a snack next to me, ready to camp out for the next hour to watch this film.
Current Mood: relaxedrelaxed
Current Music: Rihanna - Kiss it better
11 May 2016 @ 09:49 pm
ihavenoideawhyiamsuddenlysosad about this fact, but feel like I need to just say it. Like saying, "I love you." I just need to say it.

I've never really been able to admit this. So I hover back, every few years, trying to look for the feeling that making an LJ post (and reading the comments, and joking back, and meeting friends) used to give me.

Livejournal used to be my LIFELINE. This community of friends that I suddenly decided to abandon one day used to be the only way I could ever FEEL something. I could always count on a few words of comfort over a disappointing episode of anime or some advice about how to express my darkest and brightest emotions better.

This was a place where I went because it was badass. Cause no one I knew could navigate the internet as well as I could. Because Harry Potter fanfiction was at its prime and people were pretentious about it, and I tried to get into a Harry Potter Sorting LJ and I couldn't. Because we took a lot of fantasy seriously.

I liked how I wasn't "allowed" to spend time on LJ, but I could get around things and do it anyway. I wasn't actually allowed to ever go anywhere, or post fanfiction, or write. My parents' fighting was supposed to be a secret. This was MY secret life, you know? I had no afterschool friends, no sleepovers, no part time job, no school clubs. I had to be home. All the time. In case my parents needed me to clean or to watch the sisters.

And this place, where I found all of you guys, even though most of you are gone, was where I found my first role models. Where I learned how to be honest with myself. Where I developed a voice.

Because at home, my dad was hitting my mom and they were screaming and chasing each other. Every week. I was numb at home, but I came alive on this journal.

I think there's a part of me that will always choose to remember all the happy memories I made on here, rather than the bad ones I don't want to remember, which I seem to have forgotten completely. At least, I don't remember details. Just a blurry misery.

Blogging and writing isn't what it once was, to me. It's all changed, completely. I don't live in an abusive household anymore, my mom has grown up, my dad hasn't changed, and my sisters are strong and independent and we all know how to be assertive. But when the days are lonely, sometimes, I still want to come back and live in this dream. I guess I feel like I want to thank someone. Only I don't know who to thank, cause this was never a single person, it was a moment in time, one that flickered briefly, and then disappeared.
Current Location: Place of Closure
Current Mood: loved/melancholy
06 May 2016 @ 10:27 pm
I feel like it's only fair to make a formal announcement otherwise I will try to pretend that nothing happened and go back to being the mousey administrator I was starting to become.


Over the past two years I think I went through the quarter-life crisis. I hear that some people think it's a construct that exists because modern civilization has made it very easy for people to crave validation. But, actually, I don't care whether the academic research thinks it's real or not, because I felt it. And it was miserable.

I connected with some friends who were feeling the same way, so we would get together and lament our lives together (when I finally reached the point where I could talk about it.) It didn't really do anything except make me realize that I was going to have to make a choice-- resign myself to this shitty feeling until something good happened, or start making something good happen without being so fucking passive-aggressive.

I think my quarter life crisis was brought on by a couple of things:

1. personally failing at romantic relationships and watching all my friends fail

2. feeling forced to live up to impossible standards while witnessing parents' selfishness (this seems inevitable; happens to everyone)

3. never really transitioning out of the high school awkwardness in a positive way; (I "quit" LJ and fandom because I thought it didn't look cool when I made new rich friends who drove BMWs. Sorry. It's the truth. Now I know it's stupid. They weren't always nice.)

4. suddenly burdened with adult responsibilities while being at the very fucking bottomest of the bottom of the food chain

er... what was I talking about again?
I lost my train of thought.

It's... it's so hard to put into words, and the closest I can get to is... Creativity is important. (omg so not eloquent) Like, what eventually helps me crawl my way out and through this bizarre and horrible combination of responsibilities, expectations, hopelessness, and mistakes is a desire to "win" at life at all costs and to have no fear of doing whatever it was going to take, no matter how much it hurts, to make myself strong and free of insecurity.

It's selfishness that's altruistic, because the goal is to be

1. self-sufficient, no longer reliant on other people's approval or resources

By the time I first met my boyfriend 3 years ago-- I had stopped hoping for a man to give me something. I had turned down a couple guys before him, including one who genuinely cared for me, but who I knew wasn't right, and it wasn't easy to turn away free love but I wanted to do right by him. I also figured that if I had to die alone, if I could die alone and happy, that was good enough. I'd rather be alone than be with someone who was toxic, or BE the source of that kind of toxic emotional dependency. In fact it was so extreme that at the beginning I didn't even care whether he texted me or not. I only went on our first date for the free dinner. (When he found out... lol.) But it was kind of amazing. Free of the insecurity that burdened me so much growing up with my family, and with my relationship before this, we talked about everything. It wasn't actually always a pretty sight. Like it was kind of ridiculous (so he tells me) when I kept bringing up the question of whether this relationship was about marriage/long-term commitment less than 6 months into the relationship. But I had my ultimatum set. If this wasn't going to be the real thing, then I was going to leave. I didn't want to invest any emotions into it. Surprisingly, because of this, we both feel most of these questions were resolved by the time we had our first year anniversary (also because he happened to want the same things).

I can count on him to tell me when I'm being fat and lazy and unaccountable.

Turns out I was complaining all the time. As someone who was just "doing what the job demanded" I was offering my labour, yeah. And I was getting paid for it, definitely. But there was a kind of side effect. Like production waste. I was complaining. Constantly, constantly complaining. And wasting money. Spending money to make myself feel pretty, to cheer myself up, but never really feeling any better because then I would need that job for this money so that I could cheer myself up...

Apparently being self-sufficient and honest isn't enough. It's also necessary to

2. consider how I could be a productive member of society and find something to offer

About a year ago I quit my previous job where I was constantly bitching about my boss because I was underpaid. I am now in another job that is equally lame. Maybe even more so. And I'm still here. But I've since discovered that my 12 year old self, who discovered LJ, was right.

Right now, I'm so fucking exhausted from all the extra stuff I've been doing outside of work. But I"m so happy. I'm learning video production right now and in the process of finishing up two projects. Take my ballet classes once a week. When I quit that job, I revisited everything I'd ever tried. Happily finished some old fanfic. Learning script writing. Graphic design. Found myself lurking on here a bit again.

Creativity is important. Passion IS important. And finding your own niche, that thing you're good at, just a little bit better, because it comes just a little quicker to your fingers, AND THEN CAPITALIZING ON IT, IS SO ESSENTIAL.

What I can see now, looking back at who I was a year ago, is that lack of passion creates insecurity and insecurity leads to loneliness. You end up spending all these days with people that you can only connect to on superficial levels, because none of you have created an opportunity to be honest with yourselves, firstly. I think I experienced that loneliness so deeply it scarred me a bit. It divided me in half. I was always on auto-pilot, and the rest of me was just... sleeping.

I guess some days I still panic. It might be easier just to settle. I know I shouldn't, but the thought creeps in. I'm trying to be confident about it all.

Edit: So, off topic, but. this was like, the first place I ever came to learn about the internet. Before the internet was a THING, like it is to kids now. When I was growing up the internet was still being built before our eyes. As a witness to that transition, I still feel like it was a super super profound and lucky life experience, lol
Current Location: home
Current Mood: geekygeeky
Current Music: Alina Baraz - Pretty Thoughts
18 January 2016 @ 01:09 am
I forgot how honest and beautiful words could be. Just on their own. Naked and anonymous and open and nonchalant. Hello LJ!
Current Mood: awakeawake
So... does anyone remember this fic?

The Death of Gods

Over the past year or so I have started completing and posting any old fanfiction that I still hold strong feelings for (or even if I didn't) but weren't completed 6+ years ago because I didn't know how to finish them at the time. There was this and then this, and now, finally, the C.C. x Lelouch post-series Alt fic that started promisingly, but didn't finish quite the way I wanted it to, has been completed.

I want to thank realms_of_life in particular for your review, which I saved and kept and read over and over in my attempt to solve for the real ending of this story. Also to lb_x for her ever direct and useful insights.

I kept the original working title, The Death of Gods, as a throwback.  If you loved the original, know that I do too, and both are simply different interpretations of a relationship that still fascinates me.

The Death of GodsCollapse )
Current Location: home
Current Mood: nostalgicnostalgic