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Randomness.

Little Fayoumis has been testing the boundaries with everyone lately. "Spider-girl" and "Halloween-girl" were OK, marginally, to be calling me (today I am wearing a black shirt that says "BOO" in large letters, decorated with spiders, cats, bats, and spider webs), but "old lady" was right out. And I told him so. Reading tonight, he spaced that marxdarx had asked that they read together, and therefore didn't mention that he was supposed to be reading with Marx when I claimed his attention (because Mommy was busy and so, according to Mommy, was Marx). Result? Kaboom. In the reading, he was squirrelly; I firmly quashed most of that.

It is definitely tree bukkake season here. I really need to start pouring salt water up my nostrils again. The creeping crud has therefore started to claim my throat; in response, I procured some orange chicken from the usual place on the corner. Sadly, it wasn't quite flamy enough to burn all the way through my throat.

I'm doing laundry tonight. As intriguing as it would doubtless be, work dress code and Arizona sun demand that I wear something on my lower half besides shoes, socks, and underpants.

I was walking to pick up the Little Fayoumis today, and was hailed by someone, asking if I was not cold. (Today I am wearing my BOO t-shirt, canvas sneakers, socks, and a calf-length skirt. All black except for the sneakers, naturally.) I was actually not. She was surprised. I'm Alaskan.

I noticed that I've been walking faster. My natural pace is now full speed ahead, with long and easy strides. I'm feeling far more at home in my body, and I don't feel as if a day is complete if I've only gotten in a half hour of walking. This evening I noticed in the mirror that I am attractive. I wasn't even out as Marah, nor had I recently been out as her. This is Odd. Nor Naomi. Dagger doesn't give a fuck, she says. Mentioned to votania that I'd been feeling (and, I think, looking) more attractive lately, and she told me that I always have looked attractive, and that maybe I'm finally starting to notice it. (My classical counter-argument to this, which I did not use this time, was that it hardly matters how attractive I am thought in general when those who matter do not see it. This is generally countered on her part with growls, glowers, and grimaces aimed at Darkside.) I think that playing equal parts in this off each other are the consistent exercise and the St. John's Wort.

I polished my nails today, in a deep blue-green with sparkles. I've been attempting to start staying made up at as near to all times as I can muster, which does lead to an awful lot of me wearing lipstick around the house, but also an awful lot of me feeling prettier. (My face is still very pale, so any blemishes stand out like Rudolph's nose, and lipstick draws focus to my lips and away from any blemishes.) I have discovered pale lavendar eyeshadow. With all the tanning I've gotten in Arizona, what used to be a medium-dark shade on me is now pale. Scary, considering that I'm still pale for someone who's been in Arizona three years.

My black clonky sneakers had been bothering me with laces that were too thin and hurt my hands to deal with. I bought some thicker laces the other night and installed them tonight. This should help, I hope.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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