June 2nd, 2003

running, bomb tech

Crafts, projects

Started rag rug. Is mostly black so far. Will scrounge other rags from around. Yay, rags.
running, bomb tech


Dreamed that thrames had done something unusual with computers, possibly something bad, and that I had to be collecting data. We had a very interesting conversation in the computer lab/cafeteria, when we were sticking the hamburgers in the zip drives that were made for hamburgers. He had one that was all meat. Mine was meat and other things like lettuce.


And then I was a guy, interviewing potential lovers to trick a relative. They were wondering why I was demanding a resumé.
documentation, writing, quill

Interesting things brought to light: multiples, origins

I think the first beginning of any split, the first seed planted, was back at the beginning of the first grade, inadvertently, by my parents.

All my short life, I'd been Joanie, at home, unless I was in trouble, in which case I was Joan, or, in extreme cases, the full set of names.

My mother enrolled me at school as Joan, as it is, of course, my legal name. So, from day one of first grade, I was Joan at school, and still Joanie at home. Joanie has always been my name.

I did not have close friends in my classes. First grade, I was sort-of-friends with the popular girl, Colette (the one who later asked if my parents were divorcing), and later became friends with Ruby (and Jay), though there was intervening bullying. Sarah was a year older, and my friend. Ginger came to my school in 2nd grade, but left the next year. Narcissa was in first grade in my third grade year.

I had no close friends in any class. I barely talked to anyone in my classes. 4th grade was the loneliest year, where I started to notice the differences between me and everyone else, sharply, where I began to get taunted the most. Sarah M. was friends with me that year, because her friend K. wasn't there that year. Calico was my best friend that year. I spent recesses with the other Sarah.

5th grade was a reprieve. Ginger, Gaia, and Galadriel were all in my class, and we were awesome. We were good friends. Krissy was kinda with us, but kinda not. This was the first year I'd actually had friends in class with me, and it felt good.

6th grade, I resolved to become the appearance of cool. Didn't really work. Ginger left, and our quartet fell apart without her. Gaia and Galadriel were friends, I was friends with Galadriel... and it had worked when Gaia and Ginger, and Ginger and I, closed up the circle, but it fell apart. I had a boyfriend anyway, and I got to know Michelle. She was awesome. (She was on the geeky side of popular/cool, and later became one of the high school's neohippies.)

By 7th grade, I was feeling lost again. Our little group had merged with a new set in middle school, and I was on the outskirts. Savil was the center of the group, of course. I was friends with her, but losing touch with Michelle and Galadriel, and never having had touch with Gaia.

When the substitute reading teacher (Mr. Addington, who I took a liking to after hating him for replacing Mr. Murphy) left a book about Eve where I could get at it, I read it, fascinated. She was able to do what, again? Interesting. There were already several prominent facets of me. Ginger had insisted on spelling my name Joni. I was Joanie at home. I was Joan at school. Other people felt that way inside too. Only they didn't have very good control over it. I had to be able to keep it all together. So I could be Joan at school, Joanie at home, and Joni when I was happy and laughing and accepted by my friends. That was fair. I could do that.

The first really really visible sign of multiples came in 9th grade. 8th had been a holding pattern, and when my depression kicked in. I didn't really fight it. I just sort of rode with it, trying to ride it out, not knowing what was wrong, hiding in a succession of sf/fantasy books. (Bless you, Mr. Murphy, for leaving Menolly where I could meet her.)

9th grade saw me grimly hanging on, lonely, with no one close but Savil, and my books. I had escalated my journal-writing, as it was something I could do undetectably in class. It would look like taking notes. I'd perfected that back in the 8th grade. Imagine my surprise when I wrote back to myself, from a different mental perspective -- with a different handwriting.

There were two of us, at first. Me, and Shanna.

Then there was the Vulcan. And then the Vulcan and Shanna merged, and then there was Laughing Hawk. And Mona was in there. Quiet Mona.

Shanna never let me know how depressed I was. When I'd get bad, we'd remind us that we had to hold on to see the new Star Trek movie coming out in the winter. That got us through the fall. Then I had CTY to look forward to.

...The rest is history.
documentation, writing, quill


"...Half of what we call madness is just some poor slob dealing with pain by a strategy that annoys the people around him."

"How is it dealing with pain to give yourself more pain?" she asked plaintively.

He half-smiled, hands on knees, staring at the floor. "There is a kind of riveting fascination to it. Takes your mind off the real thing. Consider what a toothache does to your attention span."

Mark and Elena, from Mirror Dance, Lois McMaster Bujold

Sounds like a few of the comments my priestess-confessor has ruthlessly hammered through my skull. I'm not insane, as I am able to sort out what is imaginary and what is not, and I am at least shakily functional. I'm merely dealing with my pain in nonstandard ways...
running, bomb tech


Little Fayoumis is fascinated when I wear tank tops without overshirt around the house or in the weight room, as this allows him to see the black stuff under my arms. Since it is of interest to him, I have mentioned (before, this time, and will again) that it is hair, and it's a sign that your body is growing up. (He's quite fascinated with the idea of growing up.) Told him that his body will start to grow more hair under his arms, on his arms, on his legs, and under his underwear, and he will know that his body is starting to turn into a grownup.

Best to not leave some things as surprises. My parents did all right, and I aim to achieve the same thing.
Little Fayoumis, Nephew


Little Fayoumis got curious about the bandaid in the crook of my right arm. Gave a fairly complete little-kid summary of the plasma donation process. Also told him that I won't be doing any lifting stuff or swimming today. I don't want to start my arm bleeding by the scab falling off, or get it so wet it might soak off. (If he's as bright as we think he is, he'll realize that 'not lift anything' applies to working out as well...)
running, bomb tech


The Tenchi songs have been stuck in my head of late. "Passion isn't really happiness" is one bit that's been sticking with me. And then the ending song from that series: "I'm sorry, you'll never be a goddess like me. ... When you lose, how you are going to cry, 'cause the guy will be mine!"
Little Fayoumis, Nephew

Fayoumis time

We're supposed to be doing schoolwork, or things of that sort, over the summer, so his skills don't get rusty.

I'm bad about doing that in organized fashions, but today, he and I did go over electricity.

Electricity is the same as lightning, only lightning is wild and electricity is tame. Stuff that plugs in uses electricity. Stuff that uses batteries uses electricity.

We named off some stuff that used electricity, and some stuff that did not. Chef does not. (Chef is our timer. He was a Good Cook generic chef-shaped timer; he was repainted as Chef from Southpark.) Chef gets his energy from getting wound up. The TV does. The stove does. (Stoves that have red circles to heat stuff up do use electricity. Stoves that use blue fire do not.) You can plug in the vacuum cleaner. You can't plug in shammash. 'Mash gets his energy from cat food and the sun. The clock gets its energy from batteries.

We had a great time with it.