Mama sent a package, with stuff.
She sent the raven costume, which is just as cool as I remembered it being, with button eyes and a beaky beak on the hat, and a large rectangular black felt poncho-thing.
She sent a jar of blueberry jam.
She sent books!
Dealing with Dragons, Patricia C. Wrede
Searching for Dragons, Patricia C. Wrede
Beauty, Robin McKinley
The Blue Sword, Robin McKinley
Daughter of Witches, Patricia C. Wrede
The Hero and the Crown, Robin McKinley
The Raven Ring, Patricia C. Wrede
Magician's Ward, Patricia C. Wrede
For the record: chugging a shot of ginger/spearmint tea on a monthly basis to keep me regular, as it were.
I got the package from home today, and as I was headed to put the jar of jam in the refrigerator, Little Fayoumis inquired after something to do with "a guy", who was or had been in some way connected to me. "But I can't remember his name."
"My dad?" I asked. "My boyfriend?" (I don't have a current one, but I've had several over the course of being parent/guardian to LF...)
LF shook his head. "No," he said, and began to describe the guy in question. "White hair ... beard ... from your house."
"FatherSir!" I said.
"Yes!" Little Fayoumis agreed.
"FatherSir is my dad," I explained.
a) Not Christian.
b) Not single.
...So why do you bother?
It's come to my attention, last night, while carrying laundry back from the laundry room in a great netting sack balanced on my head, that I don't really live in my apartment.
I mean, I eat there, I sleep there, I do things there, I clean there... but it's not a place I've put so much time and effort into customizing and making mine, anymore.
I have my room decorated the way I like it, with suitable furnishings, but I don't really live there.
I live here. Most of my friends are here. I can come here from almost anywhere, and be right at home. Comments are like people coming by the porch to chat; mostly, I say hi, and chat. Some people, I invite in; some, I ignore; a very few I run off the property with a shotgun. (Do I currently have anyone banned from commenting? I'm not sure. If I do, it's only a very few, and for good reason... think abusive ex of a friend... )
When I move back to Alaska, I think I'll have a physical place that feels completely like home again. I fit, in Arizona, but it doesn't quite click.
I'm too tired for the coherent, but... I live here. On the net. In LJ and my webmail.
Brain is not working properly. At least it was an easy test in LIT. Poetry. Didn't study; didn't even know it was happening. Know I aced it.
Will be signing up for classes later. Joooooooooy.
Hope I'll be coherent enough to get the Little Fayoumis through homework and so forth before zoiding out.
I think I'm making up words here.
It takes energy to interact with people.
Mr. President says that it's an important meeting next Monday -- Student Services is coming in to talk about suicide. I'm of two minds on that -- it's still a sore enough subject that I may have to run screaming, but then it's also something that I'm going to need to ...
Loony minister, right? So Loony need to know what to do.
And don't want to come close to losing other friends. Think that the ones I nearly lost are going to stay found, though.
20minutes til go pick up kiddo. 'k, now 15. Not with the brain thing.
..."Tough rough creampuff." Said to peers when they were saying he was six and he was saying that he was seven.
Called Darkside. Gossiped. Spent 131 minutes on the phone with him, which is... rather a lot.
He read silly gaming websites to me.
His mother poked in at a few points, wanting to know if his dad had called on the last poke-in, but noticed that he was on the phone, so...
Evidently I'm one of the only ones he does this with.
He told me I sounded exhausted, and should really get some rest. I did my best to sound wide awake. Hee.
We're so much fun together...
I pity the chick named Ana who does that straightedge x$NAMEx thing with her name.
...I like being called "dear girl".