Seperis (seperis) wrote,
Seperis
seperis

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lots of territory being covered here

It's like I can't stop *talking*. To my journal. My goodness. Also, I'm waiting for a download, and since I live in the internet stone age still, I can't hit update and load this OR get on AIM until it's done. Grrr. Want broadband more than sex at this point.

All About Sisabet

sisabet released a new QaF video. I think now is a good time to open debate on whether we should name a holiday after her.

Annnytime y'all are ready.

Useless Autobiographical Moment

In less important news, I'm staring vaguely at this weird habit I picked up around the time I went through my pseudo-pagan phase, circa 1987-1989.

I'm telling you, The Mists of Avalon was a trip and a half when you get it at the ripe old age of eleven.



Hematite.

Again, huge phase of checking out every, and I mean *every* book on the history of witchcraft, paganism, the Picts, the Celts, and ancient Britian religious philosophy in the Austin Public Library, via the interlibrary loan project in Texas, which allowed me access to every single library in the state. And when I found a title that wasn't in that library? I'd do a state search for it until it showed up. During three-four summers, I spent two days a week volunteering at my mom's job in the morning and the afternoon at the library in the small town local to her office. Our family had two library cards, allowing us eight books total each time. After a few weeks, if I'm right, they jumped my card to allowing eight when I returned everything in a two day period that I borrowed, because, let's face it, I was a distrubingly introverted kid and it was summer. Literally, I had nothing else to do. It was that, talk to myself, and start my first Epic Novel, and dear God, you wnat the story on that one, email me privately. It has a shelf in my closet of binders ALL to itself. It has a GENEALOGY, a family history, and more bad sex than you can shake a stick at.

I lived near *cows*. When people used to say admiringly to my mother, "my, your daughter is such a reader! I can't get my little Timmy/Bobby/Holly/Tiffani to sit down for a second!", I'd roll my eyes and wonder if the choice was this or watching cows chew cud, there'd really be that much of a competition.

Okay, so I was also a sarcastic introverted and weird kid.

Anyway, during this period, I picked up a very strange and long-standing interest in metals, stones, and minerals, and what they were used for. Somewhere in the vastness of teh storage shed is a massive collection of books solely dedicated to teh entire history of their uses in ancient ritual, what their meanings were, etc. And I picked up an reallyl strange thing for hematite.

I still dont' get it. Well, a part of me does, but it's kind of like explaining my thing for chocolate covered cherries. I know I like them, I know I can't actually pass a box without buying them, but the exact reasoning is kind of sketchy.

Interestingly, my family's crackdown on this little interest (books, not cherries) took a while to kick in, possibly because my parents weren't entirely certain they could throw stones at my reading the unabridged version of the Salem Witch Trials and the Spanish Inquisition when they were dragging John Saul into the house--let's face it, literary snobbishness was an actual defense. I think it was during my checkouts on Elizabeth Bathory (I think I'd just hit my vampire stage) and Mom finding my request sheet that they decided that just maybe, they should check my reading material.

Now, the librarian had sent a form a long time ago for my parents to fill out, stating I could get whatever I wanted--partially because my parents trusted my ability to pick out readable material, but also because I picked up their reading material as well, a la Stephen King, and because when I wasn't studying the depths of non-fiction, I was the best in the family at finding new horror authors. Again, John Saul was not my fault and I would have steered them clear of him at all costs. That was totally my father. And then there was the stash of Gor novels hidden in the storage shed that I stumbled across and read back to back, which they really couldn't defend on any level except to say, it was a literary phase! Everyone read them! And you read all of them in there already? Hmm.

Yep. Stones, glass houses.

So they took a unique approach to the Issue of Daughter Getting Strange Before (and After) Hitting Puberty. Instead of forbidding, which would have probably been about as useful as telling me not to breathe (I'd managed to circumvent the "Flowers in the Attic" embargo to get the entire series only a few months before creatively, which might have led to this choice of approaches), they required me to turn over everything I read after I read it so they could read it, too.

And they--didn't read as fast as I did.

Not nearly as fast, as they had lives, while I could actually afford to spend eight hours in a chair reading non-stop and half the night doing the same.

So, my source was cut down quite a bit, and that's around the time Mom joined the Baptist Church in town (I think), and that amuses me on a variety of levels. There was also the weirdness of my *parents* reading what I picked out--for some reason, sharing Stephen King and the many kinds of fictional horror was dandy, but sharing the incestuous adventures of Queen Isabel of France and the history of Vlad the Impaler and this huge speculative work on Druidic ritual--well, not so cool.

The second line of defense was even *better*. Ever so randomly, my mother would introduce the subjects of some of the books into conversation.

"So Jenny honey, how did you feel about Cathy having sex with her brother?"

*winces*

"Elizbeth Bathory was only a few years older than you when she first started torturing her maids. What do you think motivated her?"

*winces more*

Yeah, dinner conversation at my house could be a minefield.

But getting beyond that.

Hematite. It's this weird--thing. Where I see it and get it, and it hits me at the Nature Shop and it hits me with these rings that for some reason, I always buy when I see them, once a year regularly. I'm sure at the beginning, I had a reason, and if I go through the God knows how many books I have stored away, I could find the reason it appealed to me as a kid, but I've completely forgotten now the *why*. Just that since then, I have to have a piece of it somewhere. One piece has been in my jewelry box since I was eighteen--I mean, this one piece that, like Pound Puppy and my high school ring, has gone across the ocean and back again, my dorm, and every house and apartment I've lived in.

It's been---what is that, sixteen-seventeen years? Close to it, anyway, and it's an idiosyncrasy I don't get and really don't have a problem with, but this year, I picked up a ring by habit and bought it, put it on and thought, okay, I'm a twenty-seven year old adult, so why exactly do I feel the need to buy this?

*mulls* Part of me really wants to know, but it's held pretty much in check by the rest, which is going, I like the mystery. I really do.

Yep, totally useless autobiographical moment there.



News Briefs from Jennland

I lost my check card. If it's stolen, I pity teh person who has it. There's enough on there for gum. Maybe. Very cheap gum.

Stupid leather jacket.

And....

Update on the Hermit Crab Situation

No, this isn't a new STD. Much lower maintenance. The four still live, despite our best efforts in taking care of them. Like plants, I've noted the less time I spend around something, hte more likely it is that it will survive. Take this mint that's currently taking over the front yard. I ignored it and boom, there it goes. Then there's that ivy I watered daily that died slowly and painfully before my eyes.

You see a pattern? Ask me one day about the ex-boyfriend's cactus I killed. Yes, I killed a *cactus*. I'm pretty sure that was instrumental in our breakup. That and the gay. But that cactus had to be the turning point.

Apparently, insomnia is becoming a bad habit. I'm not just hyper--there's this huge restlessness that wants me out and about and doing things. Anything.

Still fiddling with Once and Again. Somehow, I managed to do that thing I hate and combined two different themes, therefore frustrating me with it's weirdness.

Webpage

I haven't acutally done anything, but I did add during the redo a section of fic quotes. It's pretty identical to the one I had in my diaryland diary a while back. I need to add more--I could swear I did another set in LJ at some point, but I have no idea where it is. And frankly, I'm scared to look. I really post too much.

Random

This disgustingly good mood continues apace, vaguely surreal and not a little scary. Part of it has to be the fact that I no longer have future major dental surgery to contemplate. Part of it is writer's block broke in a big way. Part of it is that work is actually better with the number system.

Of course, that Guy At Work thing I thought was resolved in my passive aggressive way didn't resolve until Saturday and I'm not entirely sure if it is *now*. The thing is, I'm very aware I'm overreacting. But. Here's the thing.



I'm a girl.

Okay, so obvious thing. The problem is, very little scares me, because I'm at heart a coward and high-risk only turns me on in theory. Every party I've ever attended, every time I've ever gotten even a little drunk, I did it with a lot of friends and some seriously ironclad agreements of what we would and would not do. We were *safe* girls. I'm serious, we are the children of afterschool specials.

But this is--different. Not because he's doing anything weird other than sending an awful lot of emails, but because I don't like the pattern it's setting. He pushed hard when we met--that's not a turn-off, I like confidence. He pushed hard later, again, not a turn-off, I'm okay with persistence. He didn't stop pushing when I said stop. That's a turn-off.

He's this mix of apologetic and not listening, and I'm not sure I could send more signals without lighting up a sky. I was blunt and that didn't work, and I was even more blunt and that didn't work, and I admire persistence and would actually think it was kind of sweet if it wasn't hitting all the wrong places. Because it is. And I can't figure out *why*.

I've done my share of chasing, and I've been chased, and I know the difference between being persistent and then being more than that. There's a good chance I'm being unfair--it's not like I have some trauma in my past that makes me hypersensitive to this sort of thing. It's--instinct. Right or wrong, I can't fight that one. I can't even rationalize it, and I tried. And I've never had a physical, instinctive recoil like this before, which means either I'm less sane than I thought or something's off about his behavior. I honestly don't know. A massive part of me feels guilty for how hard I'm being now. And that's not nearly enough to stop me from continuing. I'll be a bitch, I'll be cruel, I'll do anything to make him leave me alone, it's *that* strong.



I'm still awake and getting more hyper by the second. I need something to do. Dammit.

Recs

Maps and Legends, by that inestimably wonderous pair Rachel Anton & Laura Blaurosen, is updated with an entire new section. We looove them. Okay, I'm getting freaked by myself talking in the first person plural. So let's move on.

jaymalea sent me this one, and I recognized the name from my time in X-Men movieverse. I am in adoration of running across authors I know like this, when they're this good. *grins*

All in the Timing, a Five Things challenge fic. by Rei Kinneas. Oh MAN, this was interesting. No spoilers, just read and mull. Love love love.
I can't see that I recced this, and I don't know WHY. Crap. Did I and forget?

silviakundera, blessings to you, wrote The Law of Diminishing Returns. No spoilers. Stunningly stylistic, vivid, GOOD. Wow.

And because she rocks....

Here and here are The Continuing Adventures of Brian, Justin, and Justin's boyfriend.

Snipped bit from it. Don't drink *anything* beforehand.

*****

The kid made decent eggs, terrible coffee, and he said, "It's different this time. Justin and I, we're real."

"Just so you know, this is my impressed face. It may look as if I'm contemplating whether or not you have the IQ of a gerbil, but make no mistake. I'm riveted."</i>

*****

Isn't she utterly *fantastic*?

Hernias are totally in my future.

Fandom Is *Really* Damn Small

Jaymalea sending me to Rei was beyond cool, because it's almost at the point where no matter what fandom I happen to run across, *someone* I know and like is, has, or is planning to write in it. This is good and bad, because I'm also running across authors I remember loathing so much that if I were the type (and had a working printer), I'd print the stories out specifically to take them outside and *burn* them ritually.

Okay, maybe I'm a *little* melodramatic, but still.

It's vaguely surreal.

I'm also thinking that Michael, Lana Lang, and Jean Grey should get a support group together, called "Why Am I the Evil Bitch All the Time?" The parallels are becoming eerie. Not that I object to character destruction when I'm in the mood to read it. It's just funny as hell. Clark could make brief appearances as a guest speaker from those charming days post-Insurrection and Suspect, when we all were--tetchy with him. Justin and Lex and Scott and Tom Paris from Voyager could relate how many times they get beat up in fanfic and who had the most concussions and who got tortured the most.

I'm utterly charmed. I really am.

Okay, download done and I need to inflict these kind of Deep Thoughts on Beth now, before she reads this and realizes she should hide, because I am so very wired.
Tags: jenn's life, recs: queer as folk, work
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