I can never show him this, but writing it helped me feel better anyway

Dear Vella,

Recently you have been PMSing, excuse me, irritable and blaming a great many things on your eldest son and your eldest son’s girlfriend. While both these people admit they are hardly stainless innocents, there are some things that they rightly refuse to accept responsibility for.

Things that are not Eagle’s fault:

• Your leg ulcers.
• Your summer flu.
• Faruque’s bad habits.
• The bloody oppressive summer heat.
• The fact that Ash sometimes calls when you want to talk to Eagle. This is made especially pertinent by the fact that you keep slamming into the room, yelling for thirty seconds, then leaving for ten minutes or so before coming back in and yelling again. If you have a point to make, then MAKE it for goodness’ sake instead of ranting vaguely and then storming out. And if you leave, you cannot expect Eagle to not assume you are done with the conversation and find something else to occupy himself.
• The fact that when you vehemently tell him to do something, then five minutes later and just as vehemently tell him not to do it, Eagle just sits there like a lemon blinking confusedly.
• Your forgetting to use a condom, approximately twenty-one years and eleven months ago.

Things that are not Ash’s fault:

• Your leg ulcers, summer flu, Faruque, etc.
• The mess in Eagle’s room. Amazing though it may sound, Ash is not capable of making a mess in a room at the other end of the fucking country.
• Any and every defect in Eagle’s character.
• The fact that she sometimes calls when you want to talk to Eagle. You hardly have a schedule or some such that she can avoid.
• The fact that Eagle does not always agree with you.
• Eagle’s lack of ‘respect’ for you. That has more to do with the fact that it’s hard to respect a total whackjob even if they are one’s father.
• Original sin, bird flu, the destruction of the rainforests, the high price of butter and the common cold. Despite your claims that she is responsible for ‘everything’.

the home front

I can't blog about this. It's too private, too personal. But I can't not say something about it either.

All I can say is-homophobia in religion sucks, especially when it gets internalised. That, and...there's the moment when it all becomes horribly real and immediate-all the shit you know goes down. When some of it happens to someone you know, or a friend knows. The moment you can hear the wolf at the door.

Cousins, it's dark outside.

A Few Days Ago...

...there was Athene, and bad fish with good chips, and very happy plastic elephants; there was a museum with happy rocks and pretty metalwork, and a very fancy gun, and there was discussion about Balthier stealing from museums, and Charles the Second, and Ashelia B'nargin Dogmasca. There was Mieville's wonderful latest, which you MUST READ NOW, 'Thene, and there were green tea puffs and green tea mochi, and a very wonderful hoodie.

Things I Have Decided About My Funeral

(My grandfather's funeral was the first one I have ever been to, and so I went into it with the manner of someone investigating a New Experience. I do not know whether or not it was typical, as funerals go, but it certainly made me formulate certain definite Ideas about what I shall arrange to have happen after I croak.)


• No leaving the planning to my widow and kids. People who’ve lost a spouse or parent have enough on their plates as it is. I will put away a lump sum for the purpose and leave instructions in my will.
• Black is a good colour, and there’s something to be said for tradition in this regard. However, to my mind it does not go far enough. Everyone in attendance should be encouraged to dress Goth.
• No fake flowers.
• No hymns. Particularly no ‘dur, dur, dur’ ones. I demand decent music.
• No Bible readings or other compulsory Christianity.
• If anyone takes the opportunity to feel up my grandkids under pretence of comforting gestures, I’m coming back and haunting them.
• No embargo on mentioning my fuckups and less attractive qualities. Everyone can bitch as much as they want about me; I won’t be in a position to mind, and anyway it’s stupid giving people rave reviews as soon as they shuffle off this mortal coil.
• No damn quiches and penance sandwiches. The funeral feast shall be a hog roast. And there shall be free beer, too.
• On the subject of food, before the funeral everyone must get together and anyone who wants to can have some tea and cake and Breton biscuits to tide them over till the pig. It’s too hard to have a ceremony if your stomach is rumbling.
• Having charity donations instead of relatives spending money on flowers is, I admit, a good idea. However, part of the funeral funds must go to at least one big bunch of tiger lilies.
• The whole thing must be outdoors.
• As soon as it gets dark, let off some fireworks.

The Blog Posts That Would Have Been, If Only

Okay. Now, the library decided to ban Blogspot.

This annoyed me.

I wrote a couple of blog posts on Word that never got posted. And are now seriously overdue and probably past their sell-by date. But I wrote the damn things and now I shall post them.

^_^

Spending nearlyaweek with Ashwas fun.

All is quiet? Not likely...

I apologise to my non-existent readership for my prolonged absence. I've been...doing Stuff, and I got caught up in it...

What sort of stuff?

Well...riding a lion in Trafalgar Square. Drinking cider, eating guacamole. Going to the Natural History Museum a lot, reading Ursula Le Guin short stories, re-reading Unseen Academicals. Getting given up on by my therapist. Angsting about this. Just today, getting a hopeful sounding letter that makes it seem that getting a new one may well be on the cards soonish. Breaking my glasses. Getting new glasses, and finding that the optician here in Tower Hamlets, Aldgate, London, is a lot nicer, friendlier and more considerate than the one back in small-town St Neots. Playing Zelda on DS, and getting stuck on it. Playing 358/2 Days, which is the gloomiest KH game yet, which is some achievement. Playing Tales of Symphonia again. Talking a LOT with Ash and getting in trouble for pulling all nighter phone conversations(free weekends how I love thee). Planning to meet Ash in London in a couple weeks, yay! Occasionally exchanging emails with Athene, whenever I can make time for internet cafe-age. Trying to chip away at the OCD on my own...and finding it tough going. Not giving up. Nearly giving up. Having troubles with phones that break at inconvenient times for no apparent reason.(Okay, one was mysterious, the other went through the washing machine, which was admittedly my fault...)Having flu and trying not to be Janaff(i.e. Impossibly Whiny and Hypochondriac)about it. Discovering that my father likes the Dubliners, and Isaac Asimov. Despite these revelations, still mostly not understanding him at all. Looking out now into the dark street, thinking I should sign off soon and head home...

But watch this space for further developments.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)