June 4th, 2003

wild rose

Happy happy happy. (and, musings on a still garden)

Being as it was midnight, I decided to open the presents from my parents.

The big squishy package, which I'd thought would be a black t-shirt... was black socks. Well, I got the "black item of clothing" part right...

The watch was, obviously, a watch.

It was packed, however, not in the original packaging, but in a small metal box, formerly holding of chocolates, that someone, a young dreaming girl, had once painted on the top of...

She painted in nail polish, sparkling the background a deep, shimmering navy blue. She added stars in holographic glitter, a crescent moon. It was a garden, and the garden was symbolized by green leaves, a cluster of them, and one star-kissed rose.

Silent garden. Shadowed garden.

Silence shadow. Shadow rose.

...I'd been thinking about that box a lot, lately. I hadn't mentioned it to anyone.

Mama sent it.


Left a message with Lady Malfoy: am planning to go see X2 with the Little Fay tomorrow, as it's my birthday; Darkside's welcome to tag along if he has the day off. Also, happy birthday to Lord Malfoy.

She knows who it is when I call. Heh.

She seems to be somewhat fond of me.
running, bomb tech


Did some dishes, swept kitchen, got driver's license, tidied living room some, did laundry, cleaned bathroom catbox, kept eyes on Little Fayoumis.

Am to be seeing whazzup tomorrow.

Sleep now.
high energy magic


Gemini Horoscope for week of June 5, 2003


Gemini (May 21-June 20)
You're in a phase when you may be tempted to start food fights at fancy dinner parties, wrap toilet paper around the trees in front of your adversaries' houses, and regard the juvenile delinquents of cable TV's "South Park" as worthy role models. I hate to discourage you from indulging this instinct for uproar, since so much of it could be fun and liberating. Therefore, I'm going to authorize you to go right ahead. But please keep a fraction of your adult brain working in the background, ready to step in and halt the proceedings if you're ever about to, say, imitate the South Park kids' "How to eat with your butt" routine for your boss.

N%'s going to be trying to have fun with something, won't she. Oh dear.

Cancer Horoscope for week of June 5, 2003


Cancer (June 21-July 22)
If you're swallowed whole by a whale or a dragon this week, don't panic: It's much better than being chewed into little pieces before being swallowed, which is definitely not going to happen. And according to my reading of the astrological omens, while you may spend a few days in the belly of the beast, you will eventually be…uh…expelled intact out the other end. Then it'll just be a matter of navigating the winding path back home. The entire experience will no doubt be humbling, Cancerian, but it will also have the salubrious effect of scouring you clean of a whole mess of karma.

Owwie. Oh, my poor love. He's been going through a lot lately.
running, bomb tech

Wonderful ways to get ahead in Database class

... insult the instructor's golf scores.

DeAnn did that, inadvertently. Mr. Burns, being the nice guy he is, teased her about her grade. He eventually came back with some zinger to her. I continued the game by suggesting that "bad_golfer" could be a synonym for "mike".
running, bomb tech


Happy Birthday to wiseheron. Happy Birthday to the late King George III of England. Honor to the memories of those protestors killed by the Chinese Army.

And happy birthday to me!
running, bomb tech

Operation X2: Success!

Headed out with the Little Fayoumis to claim my Free Birthday Movie. Kid tickets are $4.50 now? Aye-yaye-yaye. Forgot cool refillable cup at home, which was probably just as well.

The phrase, "She's whammying him" was heard at several points. Little Fayoumis is under standing orders to endeavor to try to not whammy people.

I did nearly cry at one point.

Nightcrawler kicks ass. I'm going to have to learn that, now.

Good birthday so far. Narcissa sent me an e-mail. She is cool. Mama will probably call at some point. I hope to have a Darkside on my doorstep at some point. He is probably working today.
running, bomb tech


I am a developer. I have definitely developed a headache.


Think that it is far too little of the sleep.
running, bomb tech


Little Fayoumis looked all excited about The Matrix: Reloaded upon seeing the trailers. Informed him that he would not get to see it for quite a while, as there were some grown-up scenes in there. However, when we got our own copy, we could edit that out and make it safe for him.

He seemed quite contented with that idea.

Ahh, censorship.

...Well, it *is* rated R.

He and I had in-depth discussion of X2 upon leaving. He'll be a mutant for months. He dug Wolvie.
  • Current Mood
    happy happy
high energy magic


I am delighted when close friends tell me secrets that they are free to tell. It speaks of trust, which is the root of love.

Other people, strangers, will tell me things.

I am a minister. I tell people things when I need to; I ask people things when I need to; I listen to things when I need to. When them telling me this does not involve me in any way, I listen gravely, say what is needed, and often --

--well, I would say "never think of it again", but that is wrong. I do think of it, when I am feeling quiet and sober, or when reflecting on my duties, or the nature of humans. It is not forgotten, but their words are weightless to me. Not massless, for they carry impact, but merely bearing them does not cause me strain, so weightless. Odd, that the clergy is like free-fall. It would be disrespect to forget some of these things, and yet they do not weigh me; I need not jettison them or share the burden, often.

They are things that must be said by them, must be shared lest they explode or grow too exhausted bearing all that weight alone. Secrets that would scatter all over with them are contained, in me; terrible truths do not drag me down, and correspondingly I do not judge. The truest confessions are to strangers, from strangers. A man told me a terrible thing, once. If a friend had gossiped this to me, about another, or about themself, I would have been properly shocked/horrified, based on my appropriate cultural programming. He told me this thing, and I sat in sober silence, and failed to judge him. It was an event that gave him no peace, that tore him badly inside, and I failed to judge him. The responsibility was not given to me to judge him. It was given to me to listen, and to make him examine why he was judging himself, and what his self-inflicted punishment was to be.

I am required, by my office, to take confession from strangers. It requires nothing of me but time to listen, time to stay still, time to truly hear what they have to say. It is too much, sometimes, for one person to know a thing, and to know that they are the only one who knows. One cannot form a reliable picture, with one eye, and unable to move, weighted down by such a thing.* When it is a stranger, there is no danger of me hating them for knowing this about them, after. I can add the confession to my collection of knowledge of what humans are capable of doing, thinking, feeling, believing -- but I am almost incapable of shock, when taking a confession.

I wish I could better describe my state of mind when hearing someone else tell me truths that have no bearing on me. I am become empty and open, willing to receive input, bottomless. It is a feeling of peace, and terrible compassion. I could well have experienced some things that would have brought me to places like that. I cannot judge the things that are painfully admitted from the depths of the soul. It is not my place, not my duty. I cannot.

When someone tells me horrors not as confession, but with glee, with secret satisfaction--! ...There, I am less certain in myself. The purpose of confession is to remove the poison of dark things un-admitted from one's soul, to let some air and light in to neutralize the rot, to bring healing. When someone lets forth from the depths of their heart some foulness, but treasures the seed of that foulness within them still, and will knowingly, delightedly grow more poison within themselves, taking delight in bringing others down, planting poison in others--!

That is not the confession that I was charged to take.

*My mother can see out of only one eye at a time, and cannot drive well at night because of this. It is by multiple perspectives, either through multiple eyes, or an illusion of such created by motion and multiple views of the same scene, that we gain perspective.