February 20th, 2004

running, bomb tech

Civil rights are for everyone.

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Civil rights are for everyone.

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running, bomb tech

So I stopped actually communicating with this guy about 6 years ago.

And somewhere along the lines, I stopped just reading and accumulating trivia, and started actually spending time with people and doing things and having fun and exploring new interests rather than hyperfocusing on a few old interests that I'd developed in 1993 or so that were "safe".

But this man's mental picture of me stops at 1998, just as the socialization process was starting to set in. Back then, I was interested in Star Wars, Star Trek, other science fiction and fantasy (heavy on the Anne McCaffrey and Mercedes Lackey), writing (one novel in progress, constantly editing, revising, and adding to; major Mary Sue OFC in an AU of Voyager), and CTY. I crocheted, read books, and was fairly knowledgeable about the pet chickens. I wore a purple hat with a bazillion snarky-sayings buttons. I eschewed color, mostly. Since I'd read two books and cast a few spells, I was the Junior Resident Knowledgeable Witch in my high school. I was passionately and foolishly in love with said Shawn, and was completely loyal to him (even when even he rightly felt that he did not deserve my loyalty). I was openly bisexual, and wasn't ashamed of it (or of being a witch, or being a Trekkie, et cetera.) I had vivid multiple personalities, one of whom I was always telling to shut up, because she was always making dirty wisecracks. I had teenage hormones and the $PATERNAL_CLAN temper. I was the Goth!Fen!GoodHair!Hermione Granger, because I remembered almost everything I'd ever read or ever heard.

And that was about it. I was unusually deep for your average high schooler -- but even your above average high schooler doesn't usually manage to be incredibly deep, through sheer lack of experience. And then I got depressed and went away, and he got married, and after he got married, I think we may have seen each other in person two or three times before I left for Arizona and college. And the rest is history.

shawn says:Collapse )

What did he expect, me to stay frozen as I had been forever?
flaming, angry

Fire as humor

alphafenris, your choice of "That guy who set that thing on fire that time" as your name has me grinning or laughing every time. (Well, OK, usually smirking or grinning, but with the mood I'm in, that practically equals a laugh.)


I suppose because in certain contexts, fire is funny. Not when it's massively out of control, nor when it's burning something precious, but when fire is combined with a certain type of male in a certain context -- the sort of context where "the guy who [did that thing] that time" is usually applied -- it's freakin' hilarious (usually until someone gets hurt, and then it's time for the Darwin Awards).
documentation, writing, quill

New short fanfic mood piece?

"The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me" is now in beta. It's a short Harry Potter mood piece from a House that I don't usually sort to. The inspiration showed up late last night (this morning), but I didn't get up out of bed. Yay, memory working in the morning.
ingenuity, Bujold

Memory thoughts

Cordelia bet Aral that Miles would choose the Little Admiral: freedom from Barrayar.

Does Cordelia desire freedom from Barrayar? Yes, but not while Aral lives, and she desires him to live. So, she sublimates that into freedom for Barrayar.
Eris Raven, Marah

Ahh, cats.

votania observed that eris_raven is really becoming tame and well-trained. Raver-girl had the good grace to demonstrate that when I tapped my hand just so, she would jump up to be petted. She even sat still while votania petted her.

She still, however, attempts to vacuum up everything her little nose sniffs out on the floor. This morning, she was purrsniffling a piece of gravel. "No, Eris, you do not need gravel for your crop!"

I am fairly convinced that her habit of purrsniffling up anything loose on the floor that looks like it might be vaguely edible (stray chips, hairballs, gravel, et cetera) is what is behind her occasional (and infrequent) vomiting. shammash noses at things of interest, but he doesn't purrsniffle them up. He is not Mr. Vacuum Cleaner. The last time Moshie threw up was because he'd eaten some pink ribbon. (Halloween 2002, just as the party was dying down.)

I don't know what you do for cats with eating disorders, especially when the eating disorder was conditioned in them young (for survival as a stray). *sigh* Cats.