July 23rd, 2004

Housewife's Lament

Laundry Day

It always sneaks up on me. I know for a few days that I really do need to do the wash, but then when the search for underwear gets dire, I have to fold and do the laundry.

I used to be more timely in doing the laundry. I had it scheduled in my palmtop, to do twice a week, and Inanna would nag me until I actually did get it done and check it off. I'd do the laundry when I still had plenty of clothes in the closet to wear, and I'd get to wear my favorite clothes regularly.

That doesn't seem to happen anymore. Inanna's gone where even Enki can't bring her back, and I do laundry when I have the time, generally not on Friday or Saturday nights (I have to wake early on Saturday and Sunday mornings).

Right now I'm in the Discovery phase of the laundry cycle, which is where I turn to my closet and see an item of clothing and declare "I'm never going to wear that again!" even though I may have in fact worn it the week previously. The plain fact of it is, though, that it doesn't fit me correctly, and I prefer other garb... so I might as well have it pass on to someone who wants to wear it.

I don't think Sis is going to want the nice dark magenta shirt, though. Maybe I should keep that. Just for old times' sake.
  • Current Music
    Boiled In Lead - Drowning...
fangirl, _schools4303

Purebloods and Squibs

It's been established that being a Squib in the Wizarding world is a very bad thing, perhaps even worse than being Muggleborn.

According to some of the saner takes on the Pureblood-centric world, the emphasis on Purebloods not associating with Muggleborns is to make sure that the ability to perform magic will breed true in subsequent generations. Muggleborns marry into other recently Muggleborn lines until the rest of the Wizarding world is assured that these Muggleborn lines will continue to breed wizards and nothing but wizards, with no Muggles coming of the unions.

What, then, is the stigma attached to a house when the most Noble and Ancient bloodlines throw a Squib? Alliance-by-marriage seems, at least in fanon, to be a large part of wizarding culture. Can one magically analyze the genes to see whose family carried the (recessive?) weak magic gene? If not, one might imagine that no one would want an alliance with any offspring of Argus Filch's parents. I seem to recall Neville Longbottom mentioning that his family had worried that he might be a Squib for some time, and had been quite relieved when he proved to have magic after all. That relief might well be more than "Ah, the kid will be able to take care of himself, then," and could very much include "Good, now our family will not be excluded from the current generation's pool of marriageable witches and wizards."

How long does it take a wizarding family to ensure that their bloodlines are to be considered safe again? One would, of course, once a Squib showed up, be sure to pick the cream of the crop of the new Muggleborn witches and wizards to marry off to any siblings or cousins who do show magic... In that way, having a Squib in the family could be a blessing in disguise. One's family could snap up some of the newest, brightest talent, and regain strength a few generations down, when the unions stopped throwing Squibs -- and one could always blame the Muggle blood of the Muggleborn partners for those Squibs until they stopped appearing.

Since Harry was the son of a Muggleborn witch, would he have been a good pick as a match for an old-blood witch if not for the whole hero status? I somehow doubt it. The core of the Old Blood, the ones whose families haven't dropped a Squib in centuries and never will would already be sniffing and lecturing their daughters on the inadvisiblity of getting too close to the Boy Who Lived even so.
  • Current Music
    Laether Strip - Antius
wild rose

Bizarre reasons to enjoy your bank

I walked into my bank on Wednesday to deposit my paycheck, and "Bizarre Love Triangle" was playing.

I didn't quite tear up. Not quite.
  • Current Music
bleeding, Ryoko


Dreamed that I was in a really interesting universe. People in it included my old workplace back in Alaska and my ex BJ (who was dangerous and playing with guns) and some of the Alaskan streets, and definitely the Phoenix apartment. It smelled like my virtual aunt's place.

There was something with driving to try and get back somewhere, and something with cakes and household supplies, but then there was some swapping back and forth between my apartment and my parents' place.

FatherSir was testing this worldgating thing he was doing between the Alaska house and my Phoenix apartment, and after the test, he just showed up. I saw him walking, somewhat insubstantially, out in the place between the buildings, and then when I went into my room to look, there he was -- he'd walked through the worldgate on the wall that I'd made, the blank section of wall that I'd cleared off just to the south of the window. He said that he was a refugee, escaping the stuff in Alaska.

We were back in Alaska, at the sunflower/golf course intersection. (Fairbanks denizens will know what I mean.) There was this chicken, not quite dead, but not quite there either. My first thought was that it had been stripped. (Deep Secret readers, you know what I mean.) It was someone's pet. In the chaos of refugees pouring out of the golf course/sunflower intersection, FatherSir explained that Dumbledore had had him testing gating, and the gate that Dumbledore had had him make up was a dangerous-looking one (and there was a mental image akin to the anomaly from Star Trek VII crossed with a dangerous orange-and-black chemical fire smokebillow) and it had all of this and that upon the surface, and he was supposed to stabilize it -- and he almost did, but the one thing that he couldn't stabilize was this chicken's soul, going through it, but he did it because he trusted Dumbledore to know what he was talking about, that it would be OK -- and it wasn't. That chicken wasn't just some chicken, it was someone's pet.

I fiercely declared that I did NOT trust Dumbledore, and never would again, and I didn't care who knew it, and probably some other things happened, but the dream ended.
Eris Raven, Marah

Cats in the morning (what'll I do?)

I was sound asleep some five hours after my bedtime, and suddenly, BANG! Out of nowhere, my door burst open, and there was a tabby in the room that had not been in the room before.

I have the habit of leaving my door not entirely closed, because the door does stick, and closing it slightly does mean that you have to tug to open it from the inside, and push to open it from the outside. shammash took advantage of this. It's not a soft push that you can do with a cat paw, oh, no, no. It's a stiff, sharp push that's best accomplished, for a feline, with a running start, head first. BANG.

I shooed him out and shut the door firmly, closing it all the way so it latched, and climbed back in bed.

eris_raven started banging the bathroom cupboard doors, which is what she does when she's displeased with me.

I got back up and let her out, and continued my happy sleep...
  • Current Music
running, bomb tech

Work, underpants

New monitoring system today. All computerized. Gods. I wish I'd been there Wednesday when it was bright-new.