My apartment doesn't quite look so much as if a goth club exploded all over it anymore. Tuesday night featured me digging through boxes and boxes of fabric, largely black, trying to find my cloak. Great draperies of black fabric went all over the place. This led, inevitably, to some Irish chocolate milk and a round with the sewing machine on some of the fabric of lesser importance, trying to practice the making of skirts without a pattern, experimentation for personal adornment.
Most of the fabric has been lifted off the floor and slung back over the boxes it came out of. The boxes are still either out of the closet, or down off the shelves, or otherwise in the way, but my floor is almost safe again.
Laser Mom from work figured out the general direction of my religious leanings the other day. She noticed the Circle ring on my left hand, and made the connection. I pointed out, "And I've been wearing a great big sign around my neck, too," and indicated the pendant from Darkside. She felt very silly, but I was amused at myself: the pendant is enough a part of me
that it doesn't get noticed particularly readily if someone isn't either acting overly familiar (swallowtayle
had it staring at her, because she's my biological sister, and there's a connection there, and the pendant wasn't familiar with her) or isn't a threat. Threats, people trying to get close or people who are close, and fellow Practitioners will notice it. But as far as work's concerned, I could put neon pink paint on it and the fact that it's a star would probably still go unnoticed.
Randomly, I had to play this song twice in a row, just because it was making me shake my hips and bounce so much on the yoga ball I'm using for a computer seat. I'm following it up with "The a la Menthe" and "Weep Day" just because I can. That'll mean I'll have "Weep Day" stuck in my head for all of tomorrow, but I think I can deal with that.
It's going to be a Thursday. The monitor meeting that was supposed to happen has been canceled; I'll probably hear more about that in my e-mail. I wonder if my posting of the memo on the near monitor room is still up there, or if someone who's more on the ball has taken it down. (I'd guess that one of the lead monitors would have done that when cleaning up.) It seems that I'm the only check-in who will share a desk with my elder clone. If I'd be expected to do "Extreme Programming" in the industry, why can't I share a desk with someone whose presence is a delight?