Exhilaration

So, I did something that my father would kill me for. My mother too.

I got a secret Oyster of my own, and I went out into London while Dad was at work. On my own!

I went to the Forbidden Planet-I remembered the way from going there with Thene! And I have a very talkative Aeris now in my pocket, and a new book in my backpack.

I watered some sad-looking plants in a church, and I looked at stones in a hippy shop. I'm typing this now from an internet cafe. Once I'm done I'm heading home again...for today, at least!

I just keep smiling and laughing. It's so great to be out like this!

London's open to me now. It's not just a city, it's my city.

I'm not trapped anymore.

On Placental Mammals

Now some years ago the pigeon had a hole named after it; the Pigeon-hole. And Man decreed that all things must fit into a Pigeon-hole. This meant that Rules must be Obeyed, and each creature was given its own set of Rules. For instance, if you were a fish you must have gills and live in water.

'But,' said the fish, 'some of us don't only live in water and can breathe air out of the sky.'

'Ah!' said Man, 'then you are a lung fish.'

There was no escape, even for Men themselves.

The Rules said, if you live in a house with two children and a wife, work in an insurance firm and drive an estate car, you cannot possibly be a ballet dancer. But inside you may be a ballet dancer even if you weigh fifteen stone and have a wooden leg.

That is the way Pigeon-holes work and everything is forced to fit into one. But this is the story of creatures that didn't fit and what happened to them.

By the way, all the pigeons I know think they should be called Man-holes, and are thinking of Getting Up A Petition.

-'Attila, Loolagax and the Eagle', Nichola McAuliffe

___________________________________

*bump*

*bump*

*bump bump*

...

"Are you okay, Mr. Chapman?"

"It happens a lot to a platypus. If people can't fit something into a preconceived category, it's invisible to them."

-'Kevin and Kell', August 20th, 2009

I said before that I might write this, and I have decided that I shall. Because I think it needs to be written.

First off-what is the literal meaning of 'placental mammal'? In short, it is a mammalian life-form that produces placentas in the process of pregnacy. I won't go into the biology, but this is a very common way of doing things. Most mammals across the world are placental-from humans to wolves to tree shrews by way of blue whales and sewer rats.

However, most does not equal all. There are two lineages of mammals that do things a different way-the marsupials, like kangaroos, that birth their young in a semi-fetal state and keep them in a pouch till they are fully developed. And the monotremes, which comprise only two species-echidnas and platypi. Monotremes lay eggs; in the case of the echidna, the eggs and later the hatched young are also kept in a pouch.

Now, monotremes and marsupials are ancient lineages-considerably older than placental mammals, in fact. But it's placental mammals that are all over the place, all over the world, filling every niche. Apart from opossums, which can be found in the Americas, marsupials and monotremes are restricted to Oceania/Australasia/whatever the hell it's called these days. They are considered a peculiarity of that part of the world, and their difference from the normal mammals that live everywhere else is constantly noted.



Now, pay close attention; this is where it all gets metaphorical. Be careful and you won't spill allegory down your shirt.

Placental mammals are Normal. This is a major part of their worldview. Ask one to give you a fact about, say, kangaroos, nine times out of ten they'll mention the pouch thang. Because this is so utterly Weird that it completely defines them.

Because that's what us marsupials and monotremes are to placental mammals. We are Weird. Sometimes they say we're evolutionary rejects-that our ways of doing things don't match up to theirs, that it's not as good, not as natural and obvious. Sometimes they don't believe in our existence at all.(The first time the taxonomical guys in Europe saw a stuffed platypus, they laughed their heads off and said it was a fake. It didn't fit into any known category; it looked like a mix of wildly disparate species; surely no real animal could look that mismatched and odd.)And sometimes, they just say 'GROSS!'

Now, gross is subjective. So there's no way to disprove that.

Thing is though, Weird is subjective too.

And that's why, really. Placental mammals need scapegoats. They need to feel Normal, and a lot of the time they're secretly terrified that they aren't. They need someone to point at, so they can say to themselves, OK, I may hang upside down and grow algae in my hair, but at least I'm not like those weirdoes who lay eggs!

Transphobia in the gay community. Racism in the trans community. Homophobia in the POC community.(Not that any of those are communities per se; but that might just be me being individualistic.) Placental mammals really are an incredibly varied bunch. Each of them has a different definition of Normal, but the thing they all agree on is that there are some people out there who are violating it, just by existing and doing their own thing. A lot of the time the people they think of as the Weirdoes From Down Under are just another set of placental mammals in their own right-which would be funny if it wasn't so exasperating and sad.

This echidna spent quite a few years knocking down and widening a personal definition of what consitutes Real People, and let me tell you, it's tiring work. In the end, I just decided-the hell with it. Instead of trying to figure out what's normal, let's just ask one question, when presented with any given situation. Is anyone getting hurt? No-then great, everything's okay here, move along. Yes-then do something about it, but keep in mind what the actual problem is! Someone is hurting. That is the problem. The problem is not that things do not look the way you think is pretty.

Thinking that everyone should be like you, taken to its (il)logical conclusion, ends up with the idea that everyone should have your job, drive your car, and marry your sweetie.

One last thought. All humans are placental mammals-and I don't just mean biologically. People seem to have a built-in tendency to get Linnaean with the world-and to put themselves at the top of the Tree of Life.(Either that, or put themselves at the bottom. The Happy Medium seems to have packed up her crystal ball and tarot deck.)So before you laugh and say 'yeah, those placental mammals, so damn stupid'-pause for thought! We have met the enemy and they are us! That goes for you, and, yes, for me too. Like any other of the annoying gremlins lurking in the engines of the human mind, there probably is no way to exorcise this one for good. All we can do is recognise it-and give it a good hard whack when it shows up!

Yet another headache, courtesy of family and their hangers-on

Okay. Hypothetical-well, not so hypothetical-question here.

I got my hair cut recently-quite short. Ever since then, my mother's boyfriend has been referring to it as 'spikey dykey' in a disparaging way.

Now, okay, my hair does seem to grow in natural vertical tufts when it's that short, for some reason(it never used to). And I am not really thrilled with the look either-it wasn't what I was hoping for.

But I'm pretty sure it's NOT overly PC to get annoyed at someone equating being a lesbian with being unattractive!

Especially since I sort-of came out to my mother and her boyfriend some time ago.(I told them I liked girls. They don't believe me. Apparently I am too young and naive to know. HAH.)So-in effect, he was telling someone that as far as he knew identified as a lesbian, that she looked like a lesbian, and that this was ugly.

So...finally protested about this, in a phone conversation the other day. My mother's boyfriend laughed and said it was a joke and that my hair was 'spikey dykey'.

When I pressed my point, he got shirty and said I was overinterpreting and being too PC. And when I pointed out that not all lesbians have spiky hair he denied this and claimed that he knew more lesbians than me, and knew more about lesbians than me, and all the lesbians he knew had spiky hair, and that I was ignorant and talking about things I didn't understand.

...I mean. Really. FEMMES EXIST DAMMIT! > <

I'm pretty sure it's not me with the problem, here.

So, here I am again.

I am writing this in a state of annoyance. My email account has been cancelled and I have no idea why whatsoever. I suppose I'll have to get a hotmail account or something...

Dad is saying that he'll give me the house keys; I just hope he really does. He has a habit of promising things and never doing them.

I keep meaning to write things. Blog posts or stories. But...thing is, my head hurts. Not physically. Maybe my heart more than my head.

It's all to do with that conversation I had with Thene, when I was staying with my mother for a weekend so as to see my GP about meds. About families.

I thought I wasn't dumb enough anymore to get annoyed about life being unfair to me. Life is unfair. I got the memo. And...I can deal!

But the idea...the idea that this isn't the normal way of things...

That breaks my head. And my heart.

I should be more eloquent. But I can't muster up the effort...

Weariness

I'm being discharged on Friday. I just don't fit in here. My therapist will be seeing me at home. But they reckon that this is not the environment for me.

I don't either. But I know my parents are going to hit the roof. I'm not looking forward to it.

I just feel so tired.

I left Cosmo, my miniature rose, out in the courtyard on the table to get some sun. While I was gone, someone came and threw her pot into the bushes. Compost everywhere. I don't know who or why. The pettiness of it makes me feel so tired. Why do something like that?

I don't know.

Smiling inside

This story makes me a very happy echidna.

Let's hope it comes true someday.

The rewards of exploring

I have found an absolutely wonderful place. A magic place. And it's so close, it's on hospital grounds!

Not that I'm meant to be there, I think the padlock on the gate was a bit of an indication I'm not allowed in, but when I saw it through the wire fence...I just had to get in. And lucky me, there was a hole in the fence that I squeezed in through! Looked like some sort of animal made it...

The Place is this smallish fenced-off area next to one of the carparks, bounded on the other side by a stretch of grass with some sycamore trees. Once upon a time there was a building there, and the concrete of the foundations pokes up from the ground, in big flat broken-table plateaus.

It must have been ages ago that the building stood, because there's long grass all over, and plants and flowers-there's buddleia and lilacs growing wild, smelling gorgeous, and attracting so many butterflies. Tortoiseshell butterflies, and cabbage white, and once I saw a shimmery blue and white one, though it was gone so fast I only glimpsed it. And sweet peas and a bush covered in rosehips-I think there must have been a bit of garden there once-and the tough weed-flowers, fireweed and those yellow ones like stringy dandelions and some reddish ones I didn't recognise, that had fluffy silver clouds of seeds.

And stones. Smooth round flints, embedded in the concrete and lying around loose, little ones and big ones. Rusted iron pipes, about the width of my thumb, long and spindly-some loose, some stuck in bits of concrete. Rubble, and plants growing up through it...

And it was a special place. An extra specially alive place. A sunshiny feral growing calm place, a place with warmth and stillness all about it. A magic place.

One smallish plateau was particularly special. It was more or less in the centre, and shaded by buddleia bushes, and I knew as soon as I saw it that I had to make an altar there. I made it from flints and a bit of rusty pipe-bigger than most of the bits of pipe lying around, more drainpipe size-and consecrated it with the milk I had brought with me to drink and put a sweetpea on top.

And I scratched out a name, on the concrete, in front of the altar.

Once I googled the name Tikal and discovered that as well as the name of Pachacamac's daughter, it is the name of an ancient city. A ruined city of the Maya. I saw some pictures of it-stone pushing up through grass-read a little about it. One site called it 'the incomparable Tikal'.

That phrase stuck with me.

So I named that Place, that special place, The Incomparable Tikal. And I sat there, and felt more alive and at home than I have for ages.

This isn't the best tarot quote out there. But it's in the top ten.

I've been meaning to post this here for awhile, but only just got round to it.

Copyright to Comet Jant Shira and to Ms. Steph Swainston:

"The cards..." I swigged my drink. "The cards don't tell the future. How could they? The future isn't set. These cards tell you about yourself in the present. All you need to know, to predict the future as accurately as possible...all you ever can know, is yourself right now. Most people don't know their own character well and these cards help you reflect. Then for the future, you extrapolate. Go ahead and make the future up-your character will be the main factor."

Because hellfires, I had to talk about it SOME time

When I was a kid, I assumed I was female. This was on the not unreasonable grounds that everyone I knew said I was, and at the tender age of five or so I didn't see any coherent argument that'd have me disagreeing with them. I just said 'huh' mentally and went back to the more important things, like playing with my plastic animals, riding my bike round the green, pestering my mother to let me have a pet(unsuccessfully), and devouring 101 Dalmatians.

I was, however, somewhat uncomfortable. I couldn't, at that point, really put my finger on why.

One of my mother's saving graces is that she did, to her credit, stress that girls could do anything they wanted(although in my teenage years I was darkly amused they still, apparently, had to do 'anything' with shaved legs and painted faces.) Nevertheless, I didn't feel comfortable. Something just didn't feel quite right.

I remember watching Pokemon and Digimon on TV-the first anime shows I ever saw. That'd be later, when I was around ten. I remember watching them religiously, but...always being slightly confused, in the back of my head. Surely I should like Misty best, because she was a Girl like me. Or Sora. Maybe not Mimi, because she was too pink and frilly and helpless and, well, girly, but Misty and Sora were tough and brave. I liked them.

I liked them just fine, but...why did I like Ash and Izzy best of all?

I assumed it was A Crush. Girls had crushes on Boys, I knew. However, I didn't want to kiss these boys. I wanted to be them. Or to be their friends. I wanted to be Ash, with mythical beasts sleeping at my belt and riding on my shoulder, loyal friends at my side, and all the paintbox landscape to explore. I wanted to be Izzy, and have everyone amazed at my smartness, have friends who respected me and knew me as, well, me. Not a girl. Not even a smart girl. Me.

I knew girls could be smart. They could be Nobel-Prize-Winner smart. They could be Gym Leaders and Lady Knights and world-saving heroines. And yet...and yet...

When puberty hit, I was appalled at what my body was doing to me. It just seemed all wrong. Why was I bleeding and cramping? What the hell were these things on my chest, could someone please take them off? The females in my life said it was just part of being a woman. I felt I'd gotten a bum deal.

But Girls were Girls, and Boys were Boys. I knew that. So I had to try and be a Girl.

I drew the line at pink, however.

I also refused point-blank to have anything to do with bras, makeup, or fashion. The bras thing was simply because I hated wearing something so uncomfortable, but makeup and fashion I despised because I had somehow gotten hold of the idea that the only people interested in their appearance were vain, shallow and catty. Being a frump was Honest. Also, more comfortable and easier.(I eventually managed to realise that a mild interest in playing dress-up did not preclude an intelligent and thoughtful nature; this was thanks to some very nice spirit-women I met up with. Peace and love to them, wherever they are.)

My mother tried in vain to persuade me to be a Proper Girl and Dress Nicely. I fought back with all of my might. I won, more or less, though on special occasions I would have to wear a Nice Dress. Not a dress, I wore those all the time-they were comfier than pants, and I didn't really care what they looked like. For some time my favourite item of clothing was a stripy blue cotton sundress, which I had had for several years, and which had gotten pulled more or less totally out of shape in the course of that time, till in the end my mother, despairing, threw it in the bin when I put it in for the wash. That, and the blue fleece with red stars on it that Sendalinde stole to give to one of his adopted orphans-but a Pretty Dress, which you had to be careful wearing, which she would say made me look nice. I didn't think so. I looked in the mirror and felt glum.

A memory that leaps out at me-I did Work Experience at the Raptor Foundation, cleaning out the cages of rescued birds of prey, petting a cockatoo called Zu, and once picking up an adorable little owlet. It was cold, messy work, so I wore a heavy fleece, and trousers, and my hair pulled back under a hood. One day I was cleaning out some kestrels when a visitor to the place-an old fellow, white-haired-noticed me and asked me for directions to someplace. The toilets or something. I forget what. He called me 'young man'.

When he called me that...I felt suddenly, unreasonably happy and pleased. But that was wrong! I knew I was a Girl. And he had made a mistake. So I pretended instead to be offended and corrected him, and he apologised, and all was well. But I kept turning that incident over in my mind. I told myself I was indignant. I almost convinced myself that was true.

A similar thing happened when I got my hair cut short for the first time, then looked in the mirror and saw a younger version of my father's face looking back at me.

This was about the time that I really got into reading porn, and I seriously wondered about my preferences due to this. See, when I got a crush, it was always on a girl. When I thought someone was hot, girl. But I was bored by femslash. I preferred yaoi or het. I had absolutely no idea what was up with that. The reason, though I didn't know it, was that I couldn't identify with a female. So it stayed 'sex happening to someone else'...

Another memory. I took a fencing class for awhile. I needed to wear a sports bra while I did this. One day after I had put it on I looked down at myself and thought 'holy fuck, those are tits. And not a bad pair either.' And started crying.

Then one day, I was searching the net for veves, the Vodoun god-sigils, and info about the lwa. Why is another long story for another time, but anyway, I found this site. And, well, I read the stuff on religion, and then, cause I am a voracious reader, started on the stuff about being trans. And I followed a few links, and read some more things, most notably Venus Envy...

I did not, however, manage to put it all together in my head till some months later.

I was in the bath. I don't know what it is with me and bathtime revelations. It just happened. Everything came together and holy god, I was petrified. I sat there an hour, while the water got cold, just thinking Holy shit I'm fucked.

That was only the beginning of Figuring It Out. It took awhile, and a few talks with Athene, but eventually I was done Figuring It. Or, well, not done, but...reasonably certain to be going on with.

I still have to present as female, because coming out would open up so many cans of worms I might as well start a bait shop. That will have to wait for later, after I'm free of my family and on top of my OCD and generally In Control Of My Life. The waiting annoys me a lot sometimes. Like the time when someone chided me for not being 'ladylike' and I wanted so badly to scream at her, I'm not a lady!(I controlled myself and kept silent.)But I think I can handle the wait. As long as Ash knows who I am, and as long as I know. I can handle it.

the Tarot of Tellius

If I was a better artist, I would be planning to draw these. But I'm not. So I won't.

More will be added to the list as I think of them.

The Fool-Ike
The Magician-Bastian(no duh)
The High Priestess-Volke
The Empress(reversed)-Almedha
The Emperor-Sanaki
The Hierophant-?
The Lovers-Greil and Elena
The Chariot-Tormod
Strength-Rhys
The Hermit-Stefan
The Wheel of Fortune-Naesala
Justice-Reyson
The Hanged Man-Ena
Death-?
Temperance(reversed)-Nasir
The Devil-Micaiah(also no duh)
The Tower-?
The Star-Mist
The Moon-Soren
The Sun-Rolf
Judgement-Elincia
The World-?

I wonder if you could be my therapy~?

So recently Knux has been doing stuff in my head. Good stuff.

It's...subtle, and complicated, and hard to describe. But it's about boosting self-esteem. It's about allowing myself to feel comfortable in my body, it's about not feeling guilty, not mortifying the flesh, not practising self-denial. It's about untying my hopelessly tangled shoelaces and letting myself walk barefoot over the grass and get dirt inbetween my toes.

It's about not feeling like I'm under a moral obligation to give away every bit of security I can get a hold of, not having to be the one who saves the world, being allowed to be one of those characters with sub-par stats that never gets used for the boss battles, being allowed to be the human equivalent of my Platinum-version Weavile, who has no surefire big-hitter moves and whose stats are only average, but who is pretty and has a lot of character and is named after a good friend of mine, and who keeps up with the other five members of the team, more or less. It's about not panicking, not rushing or hurrying, staying calm, keeping it together, living in stone time.

(Water-name notwithstanding, Tigris is fire in my head; hot and quick and impatient. In fire time, every second, every nanosecond counts. Tigris always has a sense of energy about him; always poised to jump up and do something. To roar and fight or laugh booming-deep-golden and romp like...well, like a cat chasing sunbeams. Do Something. Time's a-wasting. This is the time, now is the time, every moment is the most important moment, the decisive moment, the moment of the fight, so do it, get up, do something, make something, fight something, change something, whatever you do, don't stand still. If you're standing still, you shouldn't be.)

Stone time is geological ages and patience. The slow, slow movement of mountains rising and tectonic plates shifting. They'll get there. There's no rush. No need to get in a lather. There is world enough, and time. Everything in its time, and a time for every purpose, if you only wait. Stone time is the green soft glow of the Master Emerald. It's meditation in a cool still room, and walking a meandering path through the Marble Garden, smelling the flowers, picking fruit, playing in the dirt, doubling back on yourself, lying down to sleep under a shady tree. Granite calmness, basalt wisdom. Stone just is.

Acceptance.

That's stone time.

Domestic adventures

Truefax; the difference between ordinary porridge and instant porridge is that if you try to cook ordinary porridge in the microwave, it will explode. And the writing on the side of the porridge box that says otherwise is a damn dirty lie.

Other truefax; 'My porridge has exploded' is one of the most ridiculous sentences in the English language.

15 books in 15 minutes...or not.

Because I can't resist a meme. Not one like this anyways.

Instructions: Don’t take too long to think about it. List 15 books you’ve read that will always stick with you — the first 15 you can recall in no more than 15 minutes. Copy the instructions into your own note, and be sure to tag the person who tagged you.

The Chronicles of Narnia

101 Dalmatians

Wee Free Men

...oh, bother.

No, that's not a book.

That's the noise of me trying to think of another book, coming up blank, and realising that for me, it's the video games that have stuck with me more than books. Though I love books too. But it's the game-stories that resonate in me.

Well, I never was one for doing things the way everyone else does. So let's do it Eagle's way.

Fifteen games in fifteen minutes, in no particular order.

Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance

Final Fantasy IX

Final Fantasy XII

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask

Fire Emblem(FE7, Blazing Sword, Rekka no Ken, etc.)

Final Fantasy VII

Final Fantasy VIII

Pokemon Blue Version

Final Fantasy(the original)

Final Fantasy XII: Revenant Wings

Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney

Phoenix Wright: Justice For All

Kingdom Hearts II

...Okay, I managed fourteen. Still, that's better than three. Welp, now for explanations.

Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance. This game I love to pieces, not only for the compelling gameplay and amazing storyline, but for one boy I met through it; one wicked, funny, troubled, wild, amazing boy, full of darkness and sparkle, who is now one of my best spirit friends in the 'verse and I hope will be for a long, long time. Soren of the Greil Mercenaries.

A lifetime being labelled as 'boring, grumpy introvert, who couldn't have fun if the world was a party, and has no sense of humour' by the placental mammals* can be pretty annoying, when you know that you're not like that, inside. Sure, you're cynical, but in this world that comes with having a brain, dear. And what, never heard of black humour? Apparently not. And who says that just 'cause you aren't a naive little kid-type, you can't get joy out of simple things? I'll have you know I can draw with chalk on pavements, blow bubbles and play hopscotch with the best of them! Only, when people see you do that, it's point-and-laugh time. So...you hide. But playing's not so much fun when you're on your own.

Soren and I have had fun together. We've sung along to The Killers, tag-team-taunted Shinon, and tag-team-snarked annoying placental mammals(even if they couldn't hear us, it was enjoyable anyway). We've jumped on my bed and chanted 'Five Little Monkeys' till we really did fall off, danced the Witchy Dance to the Fire Emblem theme and to 'Keep The Faith', terrified Stefan, thrown popcorn at Naesala, collaborated on complex and insane ninja plots, and just hung out together, each reading our own books or listening to music or whatever, comfortable in each other's company. He's been a true boon companion.

That would be a lot, on its own. But being friends with Soren's been good for me in another way too. It's forced me to seriously think about the ramifications of privilege, and to be more conscious of my own(and thus better at checking it). It's also made me think about the label of 'victim', and how harmful and limiting that label can be-whether it's other people labelling you, or you labelling yourself. It's helped me have the courage to look at the world without painting my glasses rose-pink, and not flinch. It's made me a wiser person.

Much love to ya...Lady Senerio.(No, I am never going to stop calling you that. Ever. :P)

Final Fantasy IX. This was the game that really got me into gaming. I picked it up on a whim in a little game store in my hometown that's closed now...and my life was changed forever.

I'm trying to put words around the idea, but...it's too much, too hard. I've been trying to put words round the idea, really, since I started writing fanfiction for it, and I know I've not managed to capture a hundredth part of what I saw and felt.

I'll just say that Zidane has been an inspiration to me. Trying to shine like a jewel is hard work, but it's worth it, I think.

Final Fantasy XII. This one was all about the scenery for me, really-the scale of it. The expanse of the Westersand or Tchita Uplands, the gloom and glory of the Sochen Cave Palace or the Stilshrine of Miriam.

On top of that, Fran is awesome. The runaway who made good. Or at least made fun bad! Her aching family situation struck a chord with me. It still hurts-I could see in her face, in Eruyt, when she first entered and talked to Jote-she looked like a little kid, hurt and confused, and that made my heart clench, because she was strong, she was capable and clever, she was respected and looked up to and yet here in front of the family who'd disowned her she was once more a sad little kid.

She's a sky pirate, but she's still a little girl, who misses her sisters and her home.

And she's that little girl, but she's also a sky pirate, who can fix an airship and fly a hoverbike and snatch a treasure out from under the noses of who-knows-how-many nobles and Imperials. Who travels the world, wild and free, and-I think-happy. On the whole.

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. What is it with me and individual, amazing characters?

This time, it was Midna. Because, really, Midna is awesome. And that is all.

Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask. This one stays with me for its utter creepiness. Moon with a face that SCOWLS...and the masks, oh god the masks...poor Mikau...

I never actually finished this(got stuck somewhere after the sea temple)but I may never be able to get it out of my head.

However much I try.

Fire Emblem. Because of all the amazing people in Steel Bird Pack. Because of peerless warrior Lyndis and daft dear Hector and gentle, brave Eliwood, and all their legion, their horde, their elite. And, mostly, because of Legault. Because Legault is one in a million.

Thank goodness.

Final Fantasy VII. Because of the utterly confusing story, because of Aeris and how she was the one who came up with the utterly flawless idea of crossdressing Cloud, and because I met Caity there.

Final Fantasy VIII. Because of the Garden. I've spent more time as a student than anything else, and I feel I know my way around schools-for better or for worse-so writing fic for it is natural in ways that it isn't for other games. Also, because of the discussion that me and Athene got into about what videogames the cast play.(I gave her a new reason to hate Rinoa. As if she needed any more. :) )

Pokemon Blue Version. Because it was the first RPG that ever I played. Ever. So it was kind of like my introduction to the mechanics of RPGing. And the first computer game I was really into. And because I had a Ninetales. Fire breathing kitsune!

Final Fantasy. Because of Amano's gorgeous, eerie, evocative art. The 'Strange Land' picture will be with me till I die. I want a print of it.

Final Fantasy XII: Revenant Wings. Because due to some very nasty meds that I am thankfully no longer on, I've some idea what it's like to lose your anima. So I can really sympathise with the aegyl. Also, because of the Cu Sith, and because of that one Cu Sith that was friends with Tomaj. I don't know why.

Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney. Because this was so much darker and more twisted than the other Phoenix Wright games, because of hobo-Phoenix with his mild manner hiding a steel heart, and because it will always be my headcanon that Thalassa Gramarye was a BITCH.

Phoenix Wright: Justice For All. Because of Franziska. 'Nuff said. Because I've said it already.

Kingdom Hearts II. Because of how beautiful and awful the World That Never Was is, and because of the unfairness that made me fume. Also, because Xigbar has a surfer-dude accent and a ponytail and hangs upside-down in mid-air, and there is no possible way that that is not win.

EDIT: And a fifteenth! Can't believe I didn't remember this before, but, Sonic Chronicles: The Dark Brotherhood. Because of my Echidna. And also because of the Timmy joke. ^_^

*Eagle's current code for Boring People, particularly People Who Like Boxes. A further explanation may or may not be forthcoming; watch this space.

Wow. Just...wow.

Yesterday I got out The White Darkness from the library-the audio book version as they didn't have the actual book itself-and stayed up late at night to listen to it.

And, well, wow.

I gloomily suspected from the blurb that it would end up being anti-figment, but...it didn't. Sym's Titus was her lifeline, he helped her, without him she'd never have made it. And handsome Thulcandran Sigurd turned out to be a total love-rat. So no 'she just needs a proper boyfriend and then she'll grow out of it' then.

On top of that the story was gripping, and well-written. I spent most of the time hugging Knuxplushie so hard, because I needed to hug something so bad. Maybe it's just me, but since I was a little kid, one of my worst fears, the sort that crops up in nightmares, has been of getting lost, somewhere where there is nobody to help me, and where I can't find my way home...

Anyway...wow. I'm gonna find a copy of the book and send it to Ash if she hasn't got it already.

Further evidence that(surprise, surprise)the Eagle is nuts.

So I'm working on a Fire Emblem fic.

Sort-of working on.

Problem is, it's a Soren-centric fic.

And problem is, Soren's company does very bad things to me. Five minutes thinking about that guy while I'm in a good mood and I want to call him up and spend the day with him putting jelly in the toilets and decorating trees with Silly String and sidewalk chalking filthy jokes at the entrance to the hospital and generally pranking the world.

So I generally end up giggling to myself and coming up with mad plots that would never really work instead of, you know, writing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Playing with Dolls; Eagle on my toys

I will admit to being childish at times.

Okay, most of the time.

Anyway, when I really WAS a kid I had millions of plastic animals, that all had their own names and personalities, and that I acted out little stories with...actually, not so little. Great long complicated stories. I had dynasties of plastic beasties. I snuck them to school in my pencil case. It was fun. ^_^

These days? Welp, I dunno where all those plastic animals are. In the attic someplace probably...

...but in some ways, not so much has changed.

Let me tell you about Squalldoll. ^_^

Squalldoll came from the Forbidden Planet bookshop in London, part of a set of four Final Fantasy figurines; the other three were Tifa, Auron and Ashe, and were sent to three good friends of mine. He is about the same height as my thumb, and is an SD-ish rendition of the character from FF8 whom we all know and love. The one inaccuracy is his eyes; instead of grey, they are brown. He had a gunblade(Revolver model)which rested on his shoulder, but the blade broke off and got lost.

Squalldoll rides around in my pocket a good deal, occasionally coming out to investigate things. He is very comforting to hold. I awakened him a bit when I first got him(I awakened all four figures, in point of fact, and did a little extra hocus-pocus on the other three too)and he has a very definite personality. He doesn't talk much, though. In his Squallish way.

I have made a room for him out of a cardboard box, and had far too much fun doing so. In point of fact I have made two rooms as the first one was thrown away by an idiot nurse who thought it was a bit of rubbish. However, it wasn't a total loss, as the second room was, I think, somewhat better-executed. It is green and white, with a bed that came out of a Sylvanian Families set, a table made from a bit of white cardboard, a felt carpet and bedroom rug, and a picture in a little silver frame of Squall and Rinoa dancing at the graduation ball. I liked that cut-scene a great deal, not for the pairing, but because Squall was so funny being reluctant to dance, because he looked so handsome in his formal uniform and Rinoa so pretty in her yellow dress, because once they got into it they seemed to be enjoying themselves so, because the music was lovely, so solemn and so happy both at once, and because secretly, I should like to wear a smart formal uniform and dance the Dollet Waltz with a beautiful lady in a big ballroom with fireworky sky above. It just looked like such fun.

Ever since I sent the other three figures away to their respective owners Squalldoll has wanted rather for company, though he would surely deny this. Aurondoll and Tifadoll got on well with him, and I think he rather liked quarrelling with Ashedoll. Thus, since another human figure would be difficult to get hold of, I found him a pet. My(slightly)guilty fondness for Pokemon resulted in the choice of pet being Spots, a little Vaporeon figure two inches tall.(This has the added bonus that since Vaporeons have no hair, there is nothing for a Squall to be allergic to.)

Spots is doglike in obedience, loyalty and affection, but cattish in physical appearance and mannerisms. He has a collar and lead made from soft blue wool, and I am in the process of making him a room with a waterproof-paper floor where he can get as wet as he likes.

While I've never actually said so before, my mental picture of Phoenix HQ, the grand rambling place where most of my RPs with Ash take place, includes Squalldoll and Spots living loose in the walls and under the floor, purloining food from the cupboards, going on adventures in the jungle of the garden, and defending himself from too-curious animals with the aid of a sewing needle with red embroidery thread wrapped round the thick end, for a grip.

Ow.

Throat.

Ow.

I need honey and lemons.

Things that I have Learned Today

• Library amnesties are love.
• So are libraries now being open on Sunday.
• Greggs's cheese-bacon-and-tomato toasties are delicious.
• Greggs, despite stereotypes, is not frequented solely or even mostly by chavs. While I was having my breakfast there I saw two geeks chatting about some videogames they'd just picked up, a pair of grey-haired folk who looked like somebody's grandparents, several ordinary-looking mothers with children under thirteen or so, a pudgy, long-haired, tattooed middle-aged fellow who rode one of those moped/buggy contraptions for folk who have trouble walking, and an Asian girl of about twelve, alone save for her younger sister, who was terribly overexcited at the fact that the aforementioned middle-aged man had a Mickey Mouse mascot attached to the basket on his buggy. Of course, it might be that the ones up north have a greater proportion of chavs; I reserve judgement.
• Sometimes, people forget to put the jam in jam doughnuts.(On the bright side, though, once I complained about this they were very kind and gave me another doughnut-this one bejammed-free of charge.)
• The church in the square in Huntingdon is not so impressive, inside, as St Neots's, but the people there are generous and you can find some very nice titbits in their booksales. I found a copy of The Neverending Story for 50p.
• The people at the church also agree that while Oliver Cromwell may be their one claim to fame(christened in their font as an infant)he was also an idiot, and that when Christians ban Christmas things have come to a pretty pass.
• Despite flunking Systems and Control Technology, I am able to figure out how to collapse and put up a scooter in a few minutes, despite never having owned one since I was eight.(I discovered this while waiting for the library to open; there were three small girls with one scooter between them, which they were having serious problems with. First they needed it collapsed and couldn't figure out how, then once it was collapsed they wanted it up again and couldn't figure out how to do that...I offered to help on the offchance that all it needed was stronger muscles than those of a twelve-year-old. But it turned out to simply be a matter of understanding mechanics.)

This is totally my philosophy in life

EDIT: The size is playing havoc. Gah. Well, just click on it and you'll see the punchline!

Okay, so I like this result. ^_^

http://www.helloquizzy.com/results/the-social-persona-test-version-25/?fromCGI=1&var_Maleness=1&var_Normality=-4&var_Tradition=-1&var_Dominance=1

Props also to the quizmaster for that bit of sarcasm on the entry page. XD

I cut my finger on a rough bit of pavement, but it was SO WORTH IT

Sidewalk chalking is win.

Especially when little kids join in with you!

Yesterday afternoon was a ridiculously happy time for me, yes it was. ^_^

On Saturday's two interesting purchases

So on Saturday I got two very nice things from the Game in Huntingdon.

Number one; a Knuckles plushie. Who is exactly the right size and shape to snuggle, which is very nice indeed. Squalldoll is very comforting, but he's too small to snuggle. Also, I have found that Knuxplushie makes a rather good partner in crime, because while a teenager wandering about looking cocky or furtive will excite suspicion in hospital staff, a teenager looking sleepy and snuggling up to a stuffed animal looks Innocent and Harmless.

Number two; Pokemon Platinum. Before buying it I got the guide and made a detailed plan of exactly which beasties I'd have on my team. When I did buy it, those plans...well, they didn't quite go out of the window, but, close. Playing this way is more interesting though, so I can't complain! My Rotom is so win. Hell, I love the very concept of Rotom. Ghost in the machine! I've called it Deus Ex. And I've got this Psyduck which I'm also getting weirdly attached to-I meant her just to be a placeholder till I could grab a Vaporeon, but I don't know...

I'm still determined to have a Lucario on the team, though. That plan is staying.

And because Lucario is blue and has what looks like a headband, I shall call it Ike.

He shall be mine, and he shall be my Ike.

...Really, I shouldn't be allowed near this kind of thing. ^_^;

Because of a phone conversation yesterday

So from now on the anti-Micaiah campaign will wear cowboy hats!

*Puts on a blue one*

Homeland

Recently I reread Wee Free Men.

I love that book, but it's always made my heart ache. Because Tiffany has things I've never had and never will...an ancestry, and an ancient homeland. Tiffany is pure calkin girl, she has the hills in her bones. Her face and her name. Her eyes and her hair. Tir-far-thoinn. One place out of all the world that is hers, Land Under Wave.

Me, I'm a mongrel, a muddle of different lineages, so many that they cancel each other out and it's like having none-I have no ancestry, only ancestors. And my ancestors came here, to this bit of the world, only very recently...

But I reread this book, and something struck me a different way, and I thought.

This land is not like the chalk downlands, it is not ancient, but like the chalk downlands it was made by men. Men moved the earth around, planted trees and raised buildings. They brought plants from every corner of the globe to grow in their gardens, and they laid down paths among their houses. Just as men, so long ago, cut down the trees of the old forest and brought in sheep that ate the seedlings in the grass...

This land is. It is real. Not some abstract, historical ideal, but real earth and stone and concrete. It is a real place, and there is life here. Humans, animals, the million small tough plants mixed in with the short grass in lawns and parks. Down to the clay and the chalk below(for all South England is built on chalk), this land is alive.

Men brought many things to this land. Plants grow here that have grown here since time immemorial-oak, ash, thorn-but also there are plants that men brought over the water. And plants that men made, breeding for shape or colour or taste. They grow here just as well. I can be one more transplanted thing, here, one more naturalised citizen of the earth. There is a place for such as me.

There is beauty in this land. There is the big sky, which is more beautiful here than anywhere in the country. Painters come here, just for sky. There are the trees. I climbed a hill, here, and saw the patchwork land laid out before me; I found a still small pool, surrounded all by trees, and light shimmered down onto it at sunset. When I was at Longsands, there was a courtyard there, and in that courtyard a cherry tree. In spring it blossomed, and then it was a tree of wonder, a tree of pink-white foam, a tree fit for samurai to write poems to. But it did not care that no samurai saw, that no-one respected it or wrote haiku in its honour. It just was. And maybe some people saw. I know that I did. Maybe there were others...

There is cruelty in this land. But I can accept that. There is cruelty in every land. This is one problem that Tiffany has no advantage over me on. She knows that the people of her land can be just as vicious and unthinking as people anywhere. There was the old lady...What was done to her made Tiffany angry and ashamed and resolved that it should not happen again, not while she drew breath. But it didn't make her feel that she didn't belong right where she was.

I have lived in this land all my life. I know it. They say that the landscape you live in for the first seven years of your life leaves a mark on you. I do not know how true that is, but it is true for me, I think.

The ancient lands have their witches and wizards, and all know. Tiffany tells the hills what they are, and they tell her what she is. But is there anyone to tell this land what it is? Not just the parts of it that are old, but the new? The suburbs lying quiet in the hot sun, the man-made gardens, the playgrounds in the parks? The boats on the river with puttering motor engines? This land is real, as real as any land. When I was jealous of Tiffany it was because I felt less real than her, that my land was less real, because it was not so old and pure. But that's all wrong. Time isn't everything.

This land has no name that I know. There are names for the counties and towns, but there is no name for the land.

I will look for one. I will tell the land what it is.

Maybe if I listen, it will tell me what I am.

Because it's been bugging me a while now

Why does the word 'lemon' denote a pornographic fanfic?

I mean, why 'lemon'? What is there about citrus fruit that is reminiscent of sex?

I mean, on the one hand you have this little yellow dimpled roughly oval thing, on the other hand you have...well, you know.

If lemons are famed for anything, I thought it was staying put. I mean, when I was a kid and in the way or not doing something that I should of been then my mother would say 'Don't just sit/stand there like a lemon!' I can't really see the relevance, myself.

Woohoo me!

Managed to get into my old blog and export all the posts in it to this one. I pwn the technoverse!

Also added gadgets and pictures and so forth. Twiddling with things is fun!

I. Am. Such. A. Peacock.

Skateboarder shorts.

White skateboarder shorts, to be precise.

And a white t-shirt with blue-green tigers and leopards on and a white jacket that actually gives me shoulders.

And a white headband with little black stars on.

And a necklace of snowflake obsidian chips.

Yeah, I look good. ^_^

I am not one of us

I don't know if it's just me, but I've never felt quite included.

Technically I am a member of many groups. Not groups like organisations, that's a whole 'nother post subject and one for later, but...demographics. English. Mixed race. Genderqueer. Fantasy geek. Etcetera. I don't deny this. It's obvious.

Yet whenever anyone says 'us', no matter how stirring their speech is, no matter whether I think their sentiments are right or wrong...a little voice inside me says, 'I'm not one of you.'

Not in any insulting way, you understand. Not 'I'm not one of you!' hurled like an insult, defiant and secretly terrified, but simply a statement of face. I'm not one of you. Full stop.

I don't really understand why. It's just been...well, a rock-solid certainty, for as far back as I can remember.

Maybe it's psychological. Something to do with my parents-my mother refusing to admit I was part African, my father refusing to admit I was part English, in the simplified version. Maybe it was because I hated baby dolls and action-men both as a kid, and played instead with plastic animals, narrating long complex stories with my lions and tigers and bears(oh my). I don't know.

All I know is that whatever you are, whatever I am, I am not one of you.

That does not mean I don't sympathise with your problems, or that I think you are Wrong and I am Right, or that I pig-headedly deny that we share a common enemy or friend. All it means is that I am not one of you.

I am not plural. I am me, singular, and that is all.

What that means...I don't know.

It was twenty years ago today...

So I've finally hit the big two-zero. Somehow I can't really believe it. Probably because I'm still a scrawny little kid who looks about sixteen.

Happy birthday to me. Thulcandra has now survived two decades of Aquila Chrysaetos.

Welp, I'm still with us after all these years, so...Bring on the next two.

You're such a lovely audience, we'd like to take you home with us, we'd like to take you home. ^_-

The universal opera; Aquila's internal dialogue

Most people have an internal monologue. I got an internal dialogue.

These guys aren’t figments(save Caity, who straddles the border). They are me; they are also complete entities unto themselves. I don’t know how this is possible but it clearly is, and the world was never under any obligation to make sense to me.

And you can call it crazy if you like, but having them around and personified has helped my mental health, as far as I can tell.

That said, here’s the roster.

Caity: Impossible to define with any accuracy, other than as himself. He goes by the name Devin these days when hanging with figment folk; on Sygnus years ago when he shifted skin and introduced himself to someone else’s figments he asked for a name to be called by, and was given that one by one of them.

He originally came into my head from outside, but you could say he’s a naturalised citizen by now. He’s kind of an ambassador or messenger between the figment folk(mine and other peoples’), the independent little spirits(story people or talking stones or anything else-whichever), and the rest of the internal dialogue.

Tigris: Shoulder angel. Inner angel. Holy Guardian Angel. I’ve mentioned him before. He’s a personification of strength and virtue-specifically my strength and virtue-the best self I have.

He’s been around for absolutely ages, but I only personified him, figured out his name and face, a couple years ago now(maybe just one year…I have a crappy memory for timeline stuff). Tigris is the Latin word for ‘tiger’, a spur-of-the-moment naming on my part for this huge, marmaladey-orangey-golden-tabby beast with his saber fangs and clear gold eyes and Professor of Literature voice. As Athene reminded me, though, the Tigris is also one of the rivers that flows through Eden. I’m sure he was thinking that, even if I wasn’t. Caity and Knux call him Tig or Tigger sometimes, which is another thing that’s Athene’s fault; Demyx usually refers to him as Big Tigger, when he isn’t doing his Organisation name thing.

I vaguely expected him to be more distant and humourless than he is; boy, was I wrong! Though he takes a hands-off approach a lot of the time, it’s all about practicality, not to mention integrity and respect; his job is to teach, not coddle. And he is not humourless by any stretch of the imagination! His sense of humour is actually a good deal more robust than mine, probably because he’s a stronger person.

And then he’ll go and totally knock me for a loop by responding in kind when Stefen makes innuendo(I didn’t even understand what he was doing at the time, because it didn’t occur to me that he would!)or declaring that Franziska is his daughter, or becoming very close friends with Knux…

Tigris, these days, lives on Angel Island with Knux, in a cave near the edge of Marble Garden Zone that strangely resembles Tumnus’s home in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.(That is, when they're not being their otherselves, which I'm still finding out about so watch this space...)They had a big row recently over Gold(see earlier posts for details on him)and it looked for awhile as though Tigris might move out, but by now they have made up.

Franziska: Shoulder demon. That nasty little voice saying how weak and stupid and pathetic you are…or else goading you into being a total bastard. She’s from inside, like Tigris, and like him she’s been around for ages and her shape and name are just qualia. Unlike him, they are pinched directly from a spirit woman called Franziska von Karma, of Phoenix Wright: Justice For All fame.

When Franziska first got personified I expected her to be more or less straightforward nasty, all the bits of me I could really do without and need to get rid of as soon as possible; not quite a boggart, more along the lines of Screwtape(‘he can’t really love-nobody can-it doesn’t make sense’ wailed that demon on one occasion). Life is rarely simple however, and Franziska turned out to be rather more complex.

Christianity has it that devils are fallen angels; that badness is goodness fouled and twisted, rather than something autonomous in itself. The worst demons are the ones that fell the furthest-Lucifer was an archangel once. Franziska, I discovered recently, was also not always what she is now. Once she was the rightful wielder of the sword that rests between my shoulderblades(all people have one there). She was a desire for justice, for fair play in all things.

She fell, though. Somehow or other, she fell. Now she’s all muddled up with anger and spite and self-flagellation and hollow pride that hides burgeoning, breeding inferiority complexes. Now, she can’t or won’t touch the sword, and she’s a thousand miles away from dispensing justice. Quite the opposite, actually.

When I described her to Athene, she said It sounds a bit like she set herself an impossible task - to prevent anyone getting away with evil - and is mad at herself for not succeeding at it. I hadn’t thought about it that way before, but it seems pretty accurate.

Tigris says she’s his daughter. He refuses to elaborate on that. But he does seem to care for her, though he doesn’t stand for any of her demonic attitude.

Knux(Knuckles for long): My Knight of Swords, with shades of Strength and The Tower. He could be from inside, he could be from outside; I honestly do not know and cannot tell. He’s…well, if I say ‘ego’ that sounds wrong. He isn’t a selfish person, or a cruel one. But he knows what he likes and is prepared to get it, he knows what he is and is prepared to be it, and he doesn’t give a damn for anyone’s arbitrary categories, hence the t-shirt he sometimes flomps around in; on the back is a bunch of green ones and zeroes, on the front the words BINARY IS FOR BADNIKS, with a little picture of a seriously trashed robot underneath.

He can be kind, and wise, but is definitely not subtle; a good knock-down fight is always his first and preferred option. He picks fights, but never at random; it’s just that he won’t walk on by when he sees something he can’t accept. He’s smart about knowing when is the time to attack, though, and when is the time to wait and sharpen his spikes. He’d rescue princesses from towers, not for the glory or the romance of it(because he frankly hasn’t got a romantic bone in his body)but because they were there and they needed rescuing. He’d also rescue dragons from knights, for the same reason. He and Tigris bonded pretty much immediately; they share something of the same sense of humour. Quite often Knux can be found using Tigris as a sofa or pillow(which Tigris does not seem to mind in the slightest), or lying between the big cat’s front paws and being thoroughly washed(which Knux does not seem to mind in the slightest).

He lives on Angel Island, which floats about above the clouds on the power of the Master Emerald and goes just about wherever he wants it to go. I sometimes think he is Angel Island, somehow. I’ve heard before of people who are places, so it follows that some places might be people, and the impossible geography of the Floating Island sometimes looks to me like a depiction of his own mind and heart…

Demyx the Demon DJ(D3 or D-cubed for short): Probably the weirdest of the lot. Another one who uses qualia unashamedly-his form is ‘borrowed’ from one of the Nobodies of Organisation XIII.

The original Demyx is a musician, and my Demyx is the music in my head, the invisible orchestra that no-one can hear but me. It all comes out of his magic sitar-everything from classical to J-pop by way of rock and roll. When he isn’t singing along with it, he generally talks obliquely, in circles. He’s probably the most mysterious of the dialogue-nobody can ever get a straight answer from him on anything. He has a habit, too, of referring to people not by their own names but by those of members of Organisation XIII. Knux generally gets called ‘Lexaeus’; Tigris is ‘Xemnas’, or ‘Saix’. Caity is ‘Luxord’.

He is also in love with Franziska. He endlessly flirts with her, which she reacts to with alarm and confusion. I’ve a suspicion she actually likes it, though-even when he’s calling her ‘Larxene’.

He spends his time in his own version of the Castle That Never Was, the Castle That Always Is-a shimmering confection of crystal walkways and pearly towers, under a moon shaped like a heart and a million shining stars. That is, when he’s not following Franziska to her home, and singing under her window…

Playing Path of Radiance again. And loving it!

So I smuggled my Gamecube into the hospital. I'm glad I did. Tellius is better than any happy pill by far!

(But Rioh, stop cheering for the Daeins when they're targeting Ranulf! It's really offputting. And if you keep it up I'll have to tell Ike why, and you don't want that, do you? :P)

Addendum: It's funny, the things names can mean. Isaac; 'he laughs'. I was laughing all right yesterday, doing my clumsy mage-dance round the courtyard, first to the Fire Emblem theme, then to Bon Jovi. I laughed, then. I laughed.

I've just realised that little correspondence, and it makes me smile inside.

Fire Emblem memories

I played Path of Radiance(a name which makes me think of the moon or the sun rising over the ocean, the silver or golden light on the water making a road to heaven)first while I was at Condover. That was really the reason why I acquired a Gamecube in the first place.

I didn't have my own TV, then. So, instead, I used the one in the common room, which was common in name only. It was meant for students to socialise in, but it was a cold, unwelcoming room, in the basement of the main hall, with nothing really to recommend it-my fellow students preferred to socialise in the warm living rooms of the flats.

Thus, I had the room to myself, at lunch-time and after classes for a few hours each day.

White-painted stone walls, an old, boxy television set, and an ugly, uncomfortable plastic-covered armchair. Nobody ever interrupted me.

Me and the story. Me and the spirits.

It was our kingdom-mine and Soren's-tactician brother monarchs. He beat back the ghost, glared it into leaving us alone as we played; I brought down chocolate and gingerbread and tea, which we shared. We talked, and we listened, and we argued-he had a terribly annoying habit of saying 'Don't do that!' one millisecond after I had made my mistake and pressed the button to confirm it. I suspected he was doing it on purpose.

It was slow progress, since I never had long to spend down there at any one time. When the holidays came, it was only Chapter Nine. Chapter Nine: Gallia. I can't remember any other chapter titles. Just that one.

After the holidays, the common room that nobody used was closed down. A common room that people did use was opened in one of the empty flats, and I used it myself for only a small amount of time before managing to scrape together the money for a TV of my own, in my bedroom.(Expensive but necessary. Certain boys had decided to pester me while I played; I needed privacy, and in the common room I just couldn't get it. There was no joy in playing like that, no freedom to talk.)

It was a very short-lived kingdom, that cold little basement room.

Still, it is one of my strong memories. Chapter Nine was not the most exciting or difficult or easiest or most interesting of chapters, but it will always be dearest, I think, to me.

I'll remember it forever, I think; Gallian sunshine spilling into a cold English room, a beach where Rolf wanted to make sandcastles and Mist earnestly explained through a closed door to a person who wasn't listening that it was bears you played dead to avoid, not beorc; where Lethe shouted Idiot human tacticians! at us as she and Mordecai made mad dashes hither and yon and always ended up in exactly the wrong place, as I tried hopelessly to get the hang of issuing commands, and as Soren smiled his small, wicked smile and commented drily that surely I knew the saying about trying to herd cats?

And I laughed, and laughed, hunched over the controller, and Lethe made a rude noise through her nose at me and said something fittingly catty(pun intended)about how glad she was that somebody was finding this amusing. And I had had half of a Twirl bar, and there was the taste of chocolate in my mouth.

I'm not sure why I post this now. Maybe just because recently I've been thinking about Tellius again, and because this memory is so clear and bright that it deserved to be written down. Just because.

Things You Should Not Do When A Patient In Hinchingbrooke Hospital

• Make sarcastic comments about nurses.
• Make sarcastic comments about doctors.
• Make sarcastic comments about support workers.
• Make sarcastic comments about ward managers.
• Ask ward managers if they think they own the place.
• Burst out laughing uncontrollably when they reply in the affirmative.
• Monopolise the TV in the Games Room, even if no-one else wants to use it.
• Monopolise the computer in the Info Zone, even if hardly anyone else wants to use it.
• Sneak into the staff-only library in order to use the computers there after being thrown out of the Info Zone.
• Use said computers in order to find game walkthroughs.
• Use said computers in order to read mindless smut.
• Walk around grinning evilly so that everyone gets worried about what you're up to.
• Contrive to find innuendos in everything staff members say, and accuse them of having dirty evil minds.
• Stick up notices saying 'ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE' on the doors to the wards.
• Stick Occupational Therapy sticky-back plastic all over the glass window on the door of your room to stop the light coming in at night and waking you up.
• Paint the glass window black with Occupational Therapy poster paint when the sticky-back plastic is discovered and removed.
• Deny that there is anything unreasonable about doing this.
• Refer to staff members as 'whassisface'.
• Refer to staff members as 'Lord/Lady Muck'.
• Refer to staff members as 'elephants' rear ends'. Even if they are.
• Sneak out of the ward without telling anyone where you are going.
• When told off for doing any of the above, smile widely, nod, then as soon as the person telling you off is out of sight, do it again.

I love doing things I shouldn't. ^__^

Pride(In The Name of...What?)

Question for the world! Is pride okay or not?

I read a LOT of Christian writings-despite not being Christian myself at any point, though I came close a few times-and in those Pride is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, as you know.

Read Mere Christianity sometime for a good potted summary. Pride is defined there as enmity between humans and other humans, between humans and God. Pride takes no pleasure out of having something-only out of having more than someone else. Pride is what drives people to ride roughshod over people, just cause they can. Pride is when you don't care what people think of you, cause the only opinion you care about is your own...

And I believed this, y'know. Not cause I was spoonfed it-well, maybe a bit-but because I KNOW I can be an insufferable prig at times. A snob of major proportions.

Only...

Only I've been reading recently about some other ideas. Like 'constructive ego'. This idea threw me for a loop a bit-always has.

A voice-yeah, another one-turned up in my head. He's not so disassociated from 'me' as the other voices...sometimes it feels like he's a mask I wear, or I'm a mask he wears, and neither of us can tell which. I can't love or hate him because he's too close to really being me.

Let's call him Gold.

Gold is proud. He takes no crap from anyone. He likes to be acclaimed and praised-he doesn't suffer from the stagefright that I do-and he's not ashamed to admit it. He doesn't scuttle around with his head down.

Gold thinks he has a right to be who he is. He doesn't have to apologise for it, and he doesn't have to pay for the right to exist. In a 'discussion group' here with some other patients, one woman said unhappily that she felt she was useless, no good in the world, and didn't deserve to live because of it, that it'd be better for the world if she was dead. Everyone started saying things like no, I'm sure you've done good-did you ever see that movie Clarence, small things you've done might have big consequences-you must have done Good Things whether you think so or not.

And Gold spoke up through my mouth, and said that answers like that were well-meaning but they were wrong at a basic level. You have the right to exist, he said. You don't have to pay for your life by doing good works. It's good if you do, of course, it's good to be a good person. But you don't have to work at deserving your life. Me, I was born. The rest of the world just has to put up with it.

He got given some astonished looks, and then a round of applause.

I'd have expected Gold to be pure selfish bastard, but he isn't, which continually surprises me. He has this weird but genuine respect for other people that seems to come of viewing them as equals. You aren't above me, so don't get on your high horse and ride over me. You aren't below me either, so don't bow and scrape. We can look each other in the eyes.

He's free to be kind, too...Another thing that surprises me. But after that discussion group Debbie-the one friend I have here, though she's an outpatient now-was feeling depressed. It was Gold who went to cheer her up, hugged her and invited her out for a meal in town, took her mind off the bad stuff with friendly talk till she felt better.

Humane. That's the word. He's weirdly, unexpectedly humane.

He's not good, and I don't know about nice-he's too sarcastic for that! And I don't know if he's right, either...

...Despite all this, though, I want him to stay.

When I'm Gold, I feel strong.

But I worry that I'm...well...Sinning.

I just don't know.

Gloomy Post of Gloominess

Athene isn't answering her email.

Ash seems to have dropped off the face of the earth.

I am bored here and convinced that I'm going even more bonkers than I already was.

I'd scream, but really, I just don't have the energy.

AAARGH!

Well, I now cannot get into my old blog for complicated technical reasons that pass my understanding. I'll try and copy all the stuff in it into here when I have time.

And Athene wonders why I said being coauthor on taarot would be too much trouble!

My first post from the hospital

I have a new DS. It's an old clunky preowned thing, pink of all colours(they had nothing else), and the touch screen seems to have seen better days, but it was cheap and it works. I think it was Rinoa's before mine, though I've no idea how it got here. I can just see her now, sitting on the floor resting the little handheld against her knees, tapping away at the touch screen, playing Pokemon Diamond.

Revenant Wings. I am enjoying it-the aegyl are strange folk, perhaps the strangest mortal people I've yet met, and trying to figure them out is interesting if worrying. They are what the viera pretend to be-different and apart and aloof. Not from thinking themselves better than humes so much, but simply from not being interested in them much. Viera remind me of Nobodies inasmuch as they insist, loudly and often, that they are different, but their actions give the lie to it. And while there are runaway viera in droves, whoever heard of a runaway aegyl? The Yarhi, too, are strange. I like the odd little family Shiva has-a paramour that looks a little like Squall and a little like Howl, and a son(I think)with a scowly little face, and I was tickled to find that there are Cu Sith-about time there were cooshee to balance out the equation.

(Once long ago I saw it spelled like that, cooshee, but I don't recall where or when. No matter.)

The aegyl live for such a short time; part of me can't help but be horrified by that, though I know they're used to it and it seems perfectly all right to them, but part of my hindbrain can't help but see death at forty as monstrously unfair, as a kind of species-wide terminal genetic disease, as being cut down in ones' prime.

The more sensible and sarcastic portions of me wonder whether this is what Fran feels like all the time.

Vaan is Vaan, as ever-little quick-foot, sandhair moppet, and Pen is Pen, Penny-low, Penny-lane, and I'm reminded of the Wendy comment Athene once made because in some ways I'm reminded of Peter Pan in Scarlet...

Their banner is white, with crossed galbana lilies. It is the perfect name for the ship, the silver-wasp-angel-dragon who I am sure thinks and feels as much as any of her crew.

Dropping off the face of the earth for awhile

Gone to hospital.

Back in two weeks, probably.

Big post of thinky and fear and so forth

Been reading some stuff on Dw3t-Hthr’s blog about fear of motherhood, fear not of the ‘I don’t want this, don’t make me do this!’ sort, but fear that goes hand in hand with the wanting, fear and want twined round each other like a nest of garter snakes. She talks about fear of what she might do to her kids, what she might inflict on them-passing on the generational curse. I understand that, and I wish I didn’t.

Reading it makes me think about my own fears. I’m scared of what I’ll do to my children, what kind of parent I’ll be, because the first people we learn parenting from are our own parents and mine taught me so many bad things that I am still painfully unlearning. I don’t want to be my mother and snap and lash out and try to stuff my children into a just-like-me box made out of ticky-tacky. I don’t want to be my father and live in a world of my own, not paying attention to what my children actually think or say, meaning well but being totally unreachable because when they talk to me I don’t listen, don’t even register their voices. I want to teach and protect and not be a burden of spikes digging into their minds, hanging on them as they try to grow up. I don’t want to be a monster…

And as well as that, and even worse than that…I’m scared of what my children will be. Maybe that train of thought started with my fiercely hating my mother, wanting so badly for her to be out of my life, and having everyone tell me that this was Normal. Everyone hates their mother when they are Teenage. Everyone rebels when they are Teenage, purely out of spite, for the sake of rebelling. Because god knows, Teenagers don’t have any thoughts of their own, they don’t see their own paths and try to follow them, they just want to make their parents angry…

I heard that over and over, and somewhere in there I started doubting myself, and that added to the misery…

(These days I don’t have much hate left towards my mother. Just resignation and sadness. And a firm determination to cut all ties with her sharply, as soon as I can support myself. Not solely for my sake. I could cope, you know, if I just had to see her once a year at Christmas or whatever, and that could be managed if I only moved far enough away…But I don’t want her anywhere near my children. Ever. Not even for one day a year. I don’t want that poison in their lives.)

However it started, I’m scared. What if my children hate me? What if they rebel against me, and the way to do that will be to become Normal People, geek-hating, gay-bashing Mundanes like those that made my growing-up hell…

I want children so badly, but what if they turn out to be objects of fear?

It makes me want to cry and hide my head under the blankets. And meanwhile a small annoying voice in my head says I’m getting ahead of myself, worrying about stuff that won’t happen for years yet. But it’s my future that keeps me going, the thought of my future; if the Promised Land turns out to be another deathtrap, where will you live…?

And I don’t have any answers.

But then I start examining myself and think that what this all boils down to is that I don’t trust. I don’t trust myself to be a good or passable parent. I don’t trust my unborn kids to have the good sense to be decent people. I just realised that I also don’t trust my girl-my future wife, and thinking that lifts me out of my misery a little, gives me a happy little buzz-to help me, help catch my mistakes. I don’t trust in my own strength to cope if the Worst Case Scenario actually happens. I don’t trust my God and my little gods and spirits to help me and give me strength…

And then I remember what Athene said a long time ago about trust and trustworthiness, that Zidane didn’t find people trustworthy by never trusting them, never trying to trust.(And that means accepting the possibility of getting hurt, and not letting the hurt when it comes turn you bitter…)

And I wonder if maybe total inability to trust isn’t what makes Silvers, or some of them at least. If maybe closing yourself in and threatening the host of monsters outside with a knife isn’t what makes you a monster, too. There’s got to be a middle ground between naïveté and cynicism; between the idiot that can’t smell a trap a mile off, and the idiot whose mantra is ‘it’s not paranoia if they really ARE all out to get you’. The Golden Mean, and all that.

I’m working on it.

The back-from-dad's place update

A thumb-sized plastic Squall Leonhart is a surprisingly comforting thing to have in one’s pocket, even if his gunblade is broken.

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My father is still impossible to talk to.

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Captain Carrot and Lloyd Irving are possibly very nearly the same person. I must research this.

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My faithful DS is dead. It died of internal bleeding, and I am much annoyed about this. I’m saving up for a new one.

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My aunt and uncle and cousins came through big time with regards to presents. SERGEANT PEPPER’S!

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I’ve put on weight. It’s probably all those duck legs. For some reason it all seems to go to my belly, nowhere else. Some of you are probably making pregnancy jokes on reading this. All I can say is, if it is pregnancy, we are probably about to witness the birth of a new religion. Someone should phone the Archbishop of Canterbury.

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I hate politics. Hate hate hate.

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Ian is still a prat. Why does he have to act like he’s lord of the manor all the time? AAARGH!

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Tomorrow I have another appointment about getting psychiatric help. It looks like we are actually getting somewhere soonish.

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All in all, things could be worse.