The Vile Language: Day 13

I didn’t post while I was up in the mountains. I could have. I absolutely could have broken away and spent the forty-five minutes to add some scattered notes and that probably would have been the wiser option. But old vacation habits died quite hard. I didn’t think about anything but the very moment I was in. I worried ever so slightly about driving or more rightly, being transported to the mountains and if the elevation or any little thing at all whatsoever would have triggered.

I’m hopeful about going back to write about the excellent nature of what did transpire. Not only to fill out the deck, but to explore what is true: Which was the fact that I had an excellent and relaxing vacation – five days par exemplum when it comes to the idea of not being owned by my anxieties. Of properly enjoying a peaceful, mostly spontaneous, stretch of time not owned by my job or some man in some far distant land or of this exhaustive mess of things I have to haul about and care for in my house.  I was travelling light. It was marvelous.

This morning, waking up to see the view in the skylight at the Airbnb of a giant side of a mountain, we got up, got packed, cleaned the house up of all our water bottles, and bottles of booze, and with a warmed up car, drove home in the most glorious, sunny morning you can imagine down and around the side of the mountain.  I felt like I was showing my friends the absolute best of what Colorado can be.  A winter that is sight, but not pain.  No slick roads to contend with, just little gingerbread houses and Red Dead Redemptive scenery.  I was quite proud.

Then, our final meal together: tacos, the best version of them, then a shot to my sister and her boyfriend’s home where they could finally meet some of the most important people in my life.  Then, a ride home and a hard crack as we hit the wall of recalling all the work I was trying to do and the person I was trying to be before I left.  How I wanted to snap right back to work.  Trying to do that by being here and doing this.

But what I’m attracted to in my arrival home is adulthood. It’s enduring one’s own distracted, concerned mind and accepting that there are things that must be done.  Meeting the timelines of my own reality.  Bucking up, buckling down, not crying for someone else to find a way.   Monday – let’s do our damndest to keep this in mind.

Maybe along the way I was hopeful that I would have received some message from the RP’er. Some final moment where he might have reached out and written some kind and final farewell as I endeavored to do two years ago. When I felt the extreme burden of moral clarity and I acted upon it in a moment of absolutely murky logistics. At this point, the google-fu has made it equally morally clear that occurred in a window that is now entirely closed.

So back to the drawing board.  More to say, more to say. Best to stop mid-sentence, leave them all hungry for more.

It Gets Lonely On the Other Side, Honey


Things about today: maybe, maybe, 1% chance of going to Nova Scotia in July.  Mostly for the prospect of seeing my friends wearing all wearing Kate Bush red dresses at the same time.  Why? Because it’s funny.  Have not screwed up the diet, blissfully unaware if I’ve lost pounds, would be surprised if I’ve gained.  Doing it without a number to bash my head against.

+558 story words

Subsume: Day Two Hundred Fifty-Three



Ever still, there is the worst feeling which ebbs and flows at my temples and will go away when it goes away, not one moment sooner.  Do you ever wish…never mind, strike that from the record, nobody ever wishes.  Never ever.

In other news, I have bought a ticket to go tour the Vatican.  Which, I suppose means they’ll have to let me in unless one of those puffed and reckless Vatican guards sees fit to pike me off the property.  I hope to not give any cause, but I would like to see those fellows in action.  They seem like such human anachronisms, sort of like how we go to the Renaissance Faire, only they do it every day because it’s their job and they have to be threatening (insofar as anyone’s going to be making trouble at the Vatican of all places) and I…

I’m mainly afraid that I’m going to have to fight a terrible urge to yell FUCK! everywhere I go to avoid getting thumped by a man who is dressed like he is one tower of the Kremlin.  (And now, having looked up to verify what the uniform looks like, I realize they’re the Swiss Guard which I think I knew at one point and they’re not so very Wizard of Oz-ish or candy cane-esque as my imagination held, but they’re still a bit silly as far as military forces seem to go, garb-wise.  Not that I’m saying anything worthy of piking.  Don’t hurt me.)

I also have a plan for Florence, day 1 – to get there, checked in at the Hotel, get a shuttle to the City Center, then take this pair of tours which I think will keep me in contact with English-speaking folk, which isn’t necessary, really, but I think since I’ll be on my own, more or less, has a sort of comforting element I can’t deny.

Ugh, ugh, time is running out.   I have spent the night after our post-work event legitimately finishing my resume.  Tomorrow night I should be able to put together the cover letter and email it off to her as requested before next Monday’s interview.  I wanted to let my boss know before she went on vacation, but now, I don’t think I have time to meet with the potential new new boss at her office anytime before she leaves and I can’t jump the gun.  It would be awful.  Even though right now, going to events with people who I have come to know and in some cases really cherish and not saying…I know this is a broken record if you’ve been following me for the past week or more, but it’s been emotionally turbulent.  Writing the resume did sort of help re-affirm that I would probably hire me.   And that I can do this job that I’ve been offered.   I gotta focus on that and not the unassailable awful that questions me.

I didn’t play Sims 4 tonight …though maybe I will for an hour just to run some sandpaper over these sharp edges.

Don’t Bet It All On Red

I am back at home.  In some ways, I feel like I’m right back here on Thursday night.  Strange sense of deja vu is pervading these proceedings.

Today was travel day which means that no matter what happened before I got all packed up, the main thing sitting on my mind is the shuttle and flight and that rush to get out of Midway and back to Denver and not miss the shuttle back to my car and home.  Kind of turned my brain off for about four hours and I feel so detached, I’m going to have to get into some patterns quickly to keep myself from drifting into post-convention malaise.  Thank fuck I have tomorrow off.  I think I would cry wildly, throw a fit, writhe on the floor like Abigail Williams and possibly call in dead.  It’s not that I feel overly tired or beyond myself or emotionally drained, I just need a little time to myself.  Conventions are lovely, but the main purpose behind them is to convene.  To get everyone into a room in prom dresses to dance to Lady Gaga and drink themed drinks and forget collectively about our real lives and our personal responsibilities.   Now, I just need a little me and the keyboard time.  I need a little quiet, my own bed, my own brain, my own situation.

I feel a huge kinship with my friends and everyone who attended, but I also felt some distance just because I haven’t been even one toe deep into fandom for months and months.  I need to alter that and hopefully the timing is right to do that.  Fandom is an amazing aspect of my life – one that could probably be even better if I gave it half of the time and attention it gave me.

So, at any rate, there were panels and getting diet cokes in Oak Brook. home of McDonalds, apparently and going the wrong way on a one way in downtown Chicago and the GIANT bridal expo in juxtaposition with 150 women who mostly were either married, or wouldn’t be caught dead at a bridal shower who had no compunction about having loud, intense talks about comic books canon or the technicalities of maneuvers in erotic literature in hotel lobbies.  Not to mention last night’s (was it last night?) Indian wedding at the hotel or the two 1950’s era high school reunions going on.  There were mighty forces colliding in one Doubletree hotel whose whole cog/hub layout never failed to leave me in complete confusion.  It just was the way it always is and the way I love it.

So, yeah, I got myself back home without major incident.  Had a much cheaper shuttle ride back and came with a lady who was flying to Sacramento and had a stop in Denver who was very sweet.  I haven’t eaten enough/properly this whole weekend.  It’s come in waves and spurts of badness and then nothing.

Tomorrow will bring pleasure in one way or another.  I’m just glad to be home.

Um, we’re about half done and I’m

How Not to Be A Jerk on the Internet

Here I am, on time, in charge, blogging like its my job ON VACATION!  There should be a certain medal of valor or personal achievement given for that.  Friends are back and we’re sorting out dinner.  I have a headache from laughing so hard which it’s been an experience long withheld for me.   We have just come back from…an experience.  I don’t even know if I can describe it well.   About 75 people in a room with some of the most agonizing fiction imaginable, most of it…sexual in nature with a fantastic narrator reading it as you writhe in pain.  Sort of like Manos but with text and fangirls.

Um, only 108 words.  I’m a little bit nasally clogged which is par for the course when you hang out in the proximity of so many weird people.  Well, not weird, just…you know, not known prior to this meeting.  Or, that’s not even true.  I know/have met/have seen a ton of these people in years past and it’s lovely that so many keep coming back.  I just don’t want to be long term sick.  That’s lame.  Hear that, system, kick in the white blood cells and get rid of this shit.

I just realized that getting back right now and working on this means that I haven’t written about last night’s Ghost Tour which was awesome.  We probably got back and in our beds and asleep by 3:00am.  It featured H.H. Holmes, serial killer and 21 of us sort of fitting into a bus made for sixteen and this great tour guide/driver comedy duo.  Seriously, if you go to Chicago and are looking for things to do that will get you around to the major sites and perhaps give you a little bit of a creepy creep?  Try Weird Chicago and go at night on the serial killer tour.  It was delightful, despite how crammed in we were.  Our tour guide just handled the group wonderfully and didn’t get overwhelmed or obnoxious at how overwhelming or obnoxious we were.  They both seemed rather invigorated by it and gave us a great tour of things that I never would have seen otherwise.

Downtown Chicago is amazing at 1:00am.  It feels just like an afternoon in a busy city, only it’s…dark.  I also knew, but didn’t know and was re-reminded about all the things Chicago brought to the world both good and bad.   Including H.H. Holmes and his murder castle which is somehow a post office and nobody seems to mind.  *I* would mind, but luckily, I was too exhausted to waste too much brain space on him or his nefarious deeds.

This is vacation, yo.  So I slept hard.  HARD.  I woke up and no one was in the room.  It was only about 9:15am but it felt like I had been transported to another universe where I was going to be forced to make my way only being provided a knapsack and 15 bronze pieces and perhaps a stick with which to kill things.  Somehow, I came back to life, accidentally overpaid for breakfast (WIN) and now…time passed, things happened.  Dinner.


Gimme a Title

Five hundred words. No Sleep. Lots of sugar and caffeine.  Not a good post to start with if you want to be impressed by my routine.  This is not a good post to start with at all.  Sorry!  I am in Chicago, feeling rather manic, noting that my loaded wordpress page isn’t loading my word count which is rather disconcerting.

Today was a crazy day, yesterday was too, but it’s all becoming a bit of a crazy blur.  I am seriously exhausted, but laughing and full of Cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory where they have cheesecake.  I love everything and everyone.  We’re getting ready to watch Supernatural soon.  This is going to be wonderful and then I think, if I remain upright, I will go on some kind of ghost tour.  Probably not unlike the one we did last year in Denver which I loved.  But 3 hours!  3 hours in a cold bus is going to be difficult, but you know, it was fantastic.  I would like some more fantastic.  I feel owed some fantastic.

Okay, okay, we’re needing words here.  Last night I got myself all packed and ready and then had two genius ideas – one, watch Dead Like Me until my eyes bled and two, eat caramel popcorn until I was nauseated.  Awesome! So that combination lead me to hit the hay somewhere after midnight and I tossed about and startled awake somewhere at three in the morning and sort of actually slept from 3:00am to 5:00am and I was meant to take a 6:00am shuttle which ended up being a 7:00am shuttle because I couldn’t get my shit together until 6:10am so I kicked it in the park and ride like the awesome girl I am until I caught the shuttle.

This didn’t leave me much time and usually I fly through security and get in and have plenty of time to absorb airportiness.  Not so much.  Actually felt the pressure of having to race for an airplane, rather Home Alone-esque for a random reference.  Um.  But, I got in to the gate as they were doing their first call for all rows and thanks to the helpful Frontier agent in Denver, got a window seat next to a kid who was rather wiggly but at least silent (he pulled out his sketch pad and drew what appeared to be handguns.   Colt Revolvers.  That was sweet.)

Then, I ended up taking a somewhat more expensive cab ride  than I expected which is obnoxious, but you know, par for the course and these things happen and I think we’ve got things set for the way back.  I was just WOOT WOOT over the fact that this is my first cab ride all on my own (we never use cabs in Colorado – in a little suburb, it’s just unheard of.)  First cab ride, no one died or maimed or even terribly freaked.

I am going to spaz out and hope my energy lasts another six hours through the show and the tour and pouring myself into bed.  This could be painful.  Terrible.  Fantastic.  Whatever, I’m doing it.



Open Verse for the Open Road

So let’s hit it.  See how fast we can pump this out.  I’m drifting already and I can’t be doing such a thing when my life is on the line.  Or at least this string of posting that I’m sort of proud I’ve been able to keep up.

Now we are in the pre-vacation mode of acceptance.  Whatever got done, got done.  Whatever was missed, was missed.  I ran to the store, the store beyond the near grocery store whose import is written about somewhere, elsewhere in this blog.  It’s a driving thing I have, but I got there and I bought things!  I made some extra money this paycheck and I spent money on myself and it was glorious.   I got a few shirts, one ridiculous pink one with a black skull and crossbones, a big red jacket, some jeans and pants and a skirt and some false lashes and a toothbrush, and some awesome tights.   Now I have both new things to bring and no laundry to do.

Well, I have oceans of laundry to do, but as a girl who doesn’t have a washing machine that works, that happens when it happens as it happens.

I’m pretty freaking excited.  I worked on the project all day and dealt with people throwing shit at my head and looking perturbed when I didn’t catch it.  All this, Oh dear, do you have time to do this one thing?  I know you’re busy, but I need this, that and the other…stuff.  I think I came to my limit at that just about 4:59pm.  I started sort of laughing to myself and losing my already tenuous grip on reality.   But reality, whether I’ve got my hands on it or not, turns up and makes demands.  I turned in my project to the graphic designer, I sent all the emails my fingers could tap out, I got my piles relatively piled, said my goodbyes and hit the road like a bat out of hell.

I’ve been trying to keep this trip quiet and I have this weird suspicion that they all think its some kind of weird booty call weekend or something, but it’s really difficult to explain to adults who do not get dressing up, who do not get RenFaire, who do not get my whole generation (of which I am considered an anomaly, since I apparently don’t tart around like your usual worthless twenty-something).  It’s impossible to explain fandom and the internet and conventions and this whole culture that if you tried to guide them into would just read to them as a hideous waste of time.  It wouldn’t translate to anything in their experience and they’d reject it and reject me and I just don’t need that.  I just go to see friends which is true and leave it at that.   They’re kind and sweet about that and I’d rather have them know me halfway than struggle to gain their approval over something that I don’t want them thinking about anyway.  Such is life.  This blog is truthful enough for three fangirls.

I didn’t go get an airplane book.  I thought about it.  I almost turned around.  He might not have even been there.  I didn’t have time, though, and I have to stop adding kindling to this little fire.  When it gets snuffed out, I don’t want to go with it.  I have enough books.  Should try to read some.