A Synthesis of Hyacinths and Biscuits

This journal is sort of locked; All the random musings about my writing, fandoms, literature, and the very strange worlds inside my head are open to all to read. Almost all of my actual creative efforts (fanfiction being the exception) are friends-locked however, because I really am that paranoid. Of course, if you want to read my crazy stories, poems, plays, etc, feel free to fill out the Friends Application. Nice bit of alliteration there. Or you can just comment.




PS. I haven't made any friend cuts or anything. I was just really bored today and decided to make this.
PSS. Here's my other journal, nyyyy, where I rant about all the small minutae in my rather insignificant life. And here is the Big Ass Index of Doom, which has links to everything I've posted in this journal.

What the hell happened to the Jetblue hub at JFK? It's been all glitz-ified. THERE ARE TVS EVERYWHERE. It's both annoying and distracting. I hate having to look at ads coming at me from all sides.
There are also full-service bars every 200 feet. And massage booths. Temptations are lying in wait for me.
Have I mentioned before that I hate that airports look like malls now?
But I hate a lot of things at the moment. I've been living on about 4 hours of sleep a night for the last week, and had to wake up at 5am this morning for my flight.
Oh yeah, I'm going to Vermont, btw. My deal with the Bread and Puppet Circus starts on Sunday. I wish I had a bit more time to, I dunno, hang out and catch up on sleep. But oh well.
SWEET JESUS. There's an alarm blaring for some idiotic reason next to me.
Airports make me despise humanity. Just a little.
FOR FUCK'S SAKE, THERE IT GOES AGAIN.

Look at this bullshit.



That shit better not stain.

On a happier note, I realized that the bastard zombie was my neighbor that's been threatening to trap my roommate's kitty and give her to the humane society if she shat in his yard again. Asshole.

Here's what I got:
A bike (borrowed from a roommate who's MIA this morning)
A backpack with plenty of food (borrowed from some other roommates) (I'll pay them back when the zombie-pocalypse is over)
3 metal waterbottles, that could also probably be used as weapons
Extra clothes
Some shit-kicking boots
Sleeping bag
Mini mess kit

Now for weapons. Should I take the hammer or the machete? Can't take the scythe, appropriate as that might be. I just don't have the upper arm strength.

And then the real question. Where the fuck do I go now? Go find Cheshire, I guess. When zombies strike, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have with me than my favorite dyke with twelve-inch biceps and self defense training.

List of things I don't want to deal with on a Saturday morning:
1. Waking up early, because my roommate's cat loves how crinkly my tarpaulin floor is.
2. Going back to sleep, and then sweating my brains out because the sun is up, and I'm still under three sleeping bags.
3. MOTHEREFFING ZOMBIES KNOCKING ON MY MOTHEREFFING GEODESIC YURTDOME. I told Daniel he needed to fix the damn fence in the backyard. Luckily for me, I still had the hammer I used to nail all the stakes down, stored conveniently under my bed.

So now I am sweaty, still snotty from that cold, and covered in gore. Not a good morning.
Shit, I hope Cheshire is ok.

Just a reminder:
JUNE 13TH IS BLOG LIKE IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD!
Festivities start in an hour by my watch. Hopefully there's some apocalypses going on east of here.

After finally getting rid of the last of the hives from my poison oak attack of DOOM, I enjoyed about a week of health before coming down with a nasty head cold. I've gone through about 6 cotton handkerchiefs in the last three days. I sneezed at least twelve times today.
H8. It's been a rough summer so far. Let's hope it improves.
In the meantime, I have an evaluation conference today, and then I'm finished with my work for this quarter. And then it's just ONE MORE YEAR until graduation.

One more thing: ( YURT! Or rather, geodesic yurtdome. )

And another. From www.change.org: Petition for fully-funded medicaid waivers for kids with developmental disablities. Courtesy of phinnia. Read the petition, sign it if you agree with it, then repost. Simple, yes?

I'll be off dirtying another 6 handkerchiefs if anybody needs me.

Title: The Scar
Length: 6971
Summary: The impressions that people and places leave on your skin.


Remi:
    I don't even remember what started the fight, I just know how it finished. Brigham Grenier had my face grinding into the dirt, one arm pinned behind my back.  Dirt was getting in my mouth and nose, and there were kids standing around shouting at us.
    Brig and I lived a half-mile away from each other, had been born two weeks apart, and had shown up on the first day of kindergarten with the exact same Hulk Hogan lunchbox. We were best friends. Wrestling during recess was just something we did, nearly every day.  Whoever won got to be the Hulk during the next match. Now that we were in third grade, it was practically a tradition.
    But now his knee was poking into my back, and he was holding my arm down, and it made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. I tried to throw him off but couldn’t get the leverage. ( Without even thinking about it, I fished a pencil out of the pocket of my overalls. )

It's very, very strange to suddenly and unexpectedly be able to do something I've always wanted.

Like APPRENTICE WITH THE BREAD AND PUPPET THEATER COMPANY. WHICH HAS BEEN ON MY "TO DO BEFORE I DIE" LIST SINCE I WAS THIRTEEN.

Jesus on a cracker. I got the email today, while at my shitty bookstore job. This makes my life incredibly complicated, what with the yurt and the move and the money issues and the everything else, but who gives a shit?

NOT I.

So the poison oak rash is finally going away. It nearly killed me on the plane rides, but I managed not to tear all of my skin off.
Last week, it was all over my legs and started spreading up my thighs. And if that wasn't bad enough, I started getting hives in addition to the sores. I'm lucky enough to be really allergic to uroshiol toxin, apparently.
Let me tell you, I felt pretty sexy last week.

( Gross pictures behind the cut. )

It's gotten better since I started taking steroids. Now I just have to worry about my immune system crashing and having excessive energy, both of them common side effects.
IN OTHER NEWS, MY YURT ARRIVED IN THE MAIL. Pictures after I set it up. I can't wait.

~^~^~^~Things That Suck~^~^~^~
POISON OAK. Seriously. I look like I have the plague all over my legs.
Cheshire, when we go kayaking again, we are docking somewhere else on Harstine Island. And I'm wearing pants.
I'm going to take some Benadryl and wait to pass out.

Off to Vermont for the week! Hopefully, it'll be warmer than in Olympia. And maybe my yurt will have arrived by the time I get back.
I'm working on the mystery packages For those receiving them, or interested in receiving them, I won't be able to send them until I come back. And hey, if anyone wants some stuff, let me know. YOU CAN HAVE IT. SERIOUSLY. Today I parted with my entire Transmetropolitan collection (albeit only for the time being; I might go back for them), as well as my copy of The Iliad and some zines.
It's not particularly nice stuff, but it's free.

PS - I can't ship outside the US. Sorry. I don't have the money.

Okay, I have a proposal for y'all. I am going to move into my awesome yurt in a week or so, and need to get rid of a lot of stuff.
Who wants a care package?
I have books, clothing, DVDs, and weird little knickknacks of all sorts. None of it is necessarily in new condition. This is stuff I have collected over the last 5 years or so, mostly without rhyme or reason. I seem to have become a weird shit museum.
I could sell it all on Ebay or at a garage sale, but I thought people I like should get first crack at it.

This looks interesting.
Blog Like It Isn't You Day.
Hmm, but who would I blog as? My main characters tend to be under 16 and fairly irritating. Hmm. Maybe it's time to introduce my alter ego...

Still sad that this is the only other picture I've been able to find of me from that day. :(

Also: I have another wisdom tooth coming in. This time, it's emerging from THE SIDE OF MY GUMS. Ugh. I used to have nightmares about this kind of stuff.

I've been creating a website as a repository for all the fanfic I've written. There's only bits and pieces up now, but eventually I'll get around to putting all the stuff on there. It's here.
Rereading old fics is always a little humbling. Eep.
Speaking of writing, I wrote a new story. It took me all of April to finish it, and it's 8300 words. Oy vey. This is why I don't do Nanowrimo.
Anywho, I'm posting it here for posterity. For my next piece, I'm thinking I might do an article on teenage boarding schools. I know a few kids in Oly whose parents packed them off to places with "tough love" approaches to education - which often include things like solitary confinement and "personality development workshops." I'm not sure what the latter is, but the sound of it gives me the creeps.
After reading The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox, I'm wondering if this isn't a similar thing to shoving young women into mental institutions for things like sexual promiscuity and thinking for themselves.
Is your teen acting out, doing drugs, smoking, and being a shit? SEND THEM TO BOOTCAMP FOR THREE MONTHS! LET THEM BE SOMEONE ELSE'S PROBLEM! Until they come home with a bagful of neuroses and a healthy amount of PTSD. Or there are the schools that treat growing up like a 12 step program, complete with higher power bullshit.
Maybe I'll title this essay "I Was a Teenage Atheist."