Writing Successes: Today was an art day. Visit my Angel Asrial page and take a gander.
Music Playing: K103. Why it's playing Michael Jackson, I've no idea.
Exerpt from "...And You Think You've Got It Bad"
Etiquette and Courtesies - Man is Such an Awkward Creature - My dear girl, do not call one's men friends by their Christian name, when you show familiarity you invite it. A maid must not do the wooing, or play the coquet, our eyes may reflect love but not send out an invitation.
Short but sweet. I enjoy the opening of this one and all of the wording. You just can't call me "coquet" enough, really. This really shows how different our thinking is now, I felt. Mind, what this has to do with MEN being awkward, I've no idea. It comes RIGHT after yesterday's paragraph. Now, don't be sending me anymore invitations with your eyes, hear?
I've had a weird week. I mean this quite literally. One comment before we start, I rarely cry. I "sob" at movies, and get teary at commercials and weepy when people win big on game shows. I just don't generally cry. That said....
Tuesday was Buffy. They....did something to someone that quite literally HURT me. I mean, they reached in and they tore my heart out. I started crying. The really hard kind of crying, where someone has run over your dog or something. Over a TV show. I know the person in question is FINE in real life, of course. I know that's not real. But it was .. . bad. Very, very bad. I cried for at least 5 minutes and the residue of the absolute sadness that caused in me lasted well into the next day.
Later that same night was the wonderful discussion with the DH about getting a job. Please see the previous post for that rant.
Wednesday was all right, but I was depressed. I just couldn't shake the day before off myself. My brother-in-law came over and talked with me for at least an hour, about many things. He agreed that just before bedtime is no time to talk about stressful things. Anyhow, by the end of the day I was doing all right. Angel helped restore my soul a little. I enjoyed watching him and Connor sing. (LOLOLOL)
Today was better. I wasn't as depressed or sad for no reason, and things went fine during the day. Made some great PSP objects, which I'm proud of. I'll probably put that up on my "fan pages" part of the site. I was just really pleased with how it turned out.
Then my elder son came home. I raked him over the coals for having lied about a big project he hasn't been working on (the teacher had made him call earlier in the day). I told him he was going to sit back here and work on it until it was finished. Basically, grounding him to this chair. So he takes his foot and puts it through the chair, breaking the back off and slamming that piece around the wall and onto the computer. (It's hard to explain. It's a metal chair with "pads" on the back and to sit on. They aren't attached very well. This is why they were at cheap.) Then he stormed off into his room.
I followed him and put my hand out to take his Magic: The Gathering cards away. See, he takes these to school and spends a lot of time playing with his friends and trading them with his friends before and after school, things like this. I figured this would cut down on some of that. He advanced on me, slammed his hand down on the cards and I threw them around the room, scattering them. Enraged, he slugged me in the face and arm before I could turn and twist away, spin around and slap the back of his head and grab his arms (more to stop me from slugging him). I told him I didn't want to see him the rest of the day and left, crying, from the room.
I got as much a hold of myself as I could and called my stepmother. In situations like this, one requires instant help. Especially if one has been slugged around as a small child. The instant memories of fear, loathing, helplessness; they come back in these moments. You feel walked on, again. You're reminded of weakness, again. You're toasted. So I called. She came as quickly as she could.
My father called shortly after (mind, I'm crying this entire time. It had to have been 10 straight minutes, if not more) and helped me move into at least a workable frame of mind. This was amazing. He knew what to say and what to talk about to get me around it, to try to explain what had gone on, this kind of thing. And he stayed on that phone until my stepmom arrived with her husband.
They talked and talked until my DH came home, then the four of us talked and talked and talked. They left when we both felt a lot better and had a plan of action in mind. To say her advice was great is to underestimate her advice.
We got the kid out of his room and back here at this desk, working on his project. Cause the end result of this trauma is to not do the work. In fact, he was in taking a nap. While he began to get to work, we calmly removed all the "perks" from his room. TV, radio, clock radio, Magic cards, keyboard, Gameboy....whatever we thought he'd turn to. These will be returned as he proves his worth.
The hitting thing? Next time I will call the cops. This is really hard for me. I know the cops and how they work. They take first and ask questions later. But I'm not going to live in fear of my own son in my own home. I'm not the victim I once was. It won't happen again without my calling for the police.
Situation resolved, I cook some dinner and try to shake off the tears and see how bad the bruise will be (hardly none, although it does hurt) and the kid logs on to do some research. Right after he does, my stepmom calls back asking me to call her.
I dry my hands (I was doing dishes) and call her back. She has some information about this doctor she recommened the kid might see. We considered the possibility that he might have ADHD or some other thing that's pushing him over the anger edge. Anyhow, she calls with this. Then she has further information, another doctor's name....and she gives me the name and says.....(hold on to yourself)
This is the doctor that did my sisters breast reduction. My father will pay (most, not all) for me to have the surgery.
I'm tearing up thinking of it. I mean...I mean...there are not enough words for this. She says that she told him it "was time to step up" and take care of this. She offered to go with me to the appointment and that she'd call and MAKE the appointment herself, since the doctor is already familiar with her. She did explain that dad wasn't comfortable talking to me about it, because....well, I don't actually remember. I was too busy crying, again....(which he had mentioned) to really keep up.
I called dad after. My opening sentence was, "You are a strange little man." Which is true. Then I said thank you, which seems so woefully inadquate. I mean it's just not ever going to be enough. But I tried.
Then I ate my dinner and watched my shows. And in the background of my brain? "I'm going to ...." and I stop. Cause I just can't believe it's true. That it's possible. That its even within the boundaries of my reality. I will probably not believe it until someone puts a mask over my face and knocks me unconscious and I wake up from that....free.
Cause having this problem is to be chained. Mentally tied up in knots, in ways you didn't even know you were tied up. And to have someone come along and just unlock that....is freedom. I still can't concieve of the concept.
To say I'm tired is an understatement. It's been an exhausting day, an exhausting week. I'm crying, again, from hope and gratitude. I should probably go right off the internet and just go to bed. *wipes tears* G'night.
Etiquette and Courtesies - Man Is Such an Awkward Creature - You may judge a man's character from the way in which he shakes your hand. It is horrible when your unoffending digits are seized in the sharp compass of a kind of vise, and wrung and squeezed until you feel as if they were reduced to a jelly. But no better to find them laying in a limp, nerveless clasp that makes no response to your greeting, but chills like a lump of ice. Shake hands as if you mean it, swiftly, strenuously, and courteously, neither using an undue pressure nor falling wholly supine. As for cold-blooded creatures who offer you one or two fingers, it is rcommended you ignore them, look loftily over them as if unconscious of their existence and - their fingers.
I've always wanted to "look loftily" over someone as if I was unconscious of their existence. Never mind the fingers. Although I must say I've had some horrible handshakes in my time. Pretty much as described above. I was taught (by a book, I think) to have a firm grip and a strength of shake, but not too much. It's a lost art, shaking hands. I get cold-fingered penguin-grips all the time. I really like the descriptions in this paragraph.
Pardon me, I will be ranting now.
So, my husband (dh) and I usually pay our property taxes with our tax return money. But we lost our bill for the property taxes, and have spent a little bit of it along the way. He called them today and got the actual bill. I say, "Well, we'll send them a bunch now, and the rest we'll have to pay off as we go."
He remarks how I sound kind of matter-of-fact about having not paid the taxes, and having to spread out the payment. I'm like, I am matter of fact. He's like, "This is serious, you know." I point out that I KNOW that (see, I'm apparently totally stupid) and that I wasn't being "matter of fact" I just wasn't in a PANIC like he is. He says, "You sounded like it was no big deal! It's a big deal."
I attempt to explain that it is NOT that big a deal. We'll just pay it off month-to-month. In fact, if we start doing that, next time tax time comes around we won't have a big bill to pay, some will be paid. I explain that this is just how I see things vs how he sees things. I'm a glass half-full, he's a glass-half-empty.
He proceeds to lecture me on why I should go get a job. "Well, we just don't have enough money coming in," and yadda yadda yadda. I've heard this song a million times, every month, every year since I decided to stay home so I can raise my children and take them to appointments and all that kind of stuff.
*sigh*
I stop him. "Look, I don't want to do this tonight. I just wanted to explain my TONE. I don't want to have this discussion again tonight." He FUMES, throws his hands in the air with a disgusted look on his face and goes stomping off into the bedroom. I follow and say AGAIN, "I wasn't talking about MONEY. I wasn't talking about TAXES. You said it sounded like I didn't care and didn't know paying taxes was important, and I was explaining WHY you heard it that way. That's all."
He went to bed and I let him.
It's not like I'm an idiot. Taxes have to be paid or they take your house. Bills have to be paid. Food must be bought. DUH. Thus is the circle of life. But I don't understand that, see. I'm stupid. I have no concept of money or where it comes from. (Did I mention WHO pays the bills around here? WHO keeps the checkbook? WHO buys the groceries and knows what we need when and where? hmmm?)
Sorry about the raving. I can't stand job conversations. I've had about enough of them. I'm sure you can tell from the tone of this blog. It has nothing to do with getting or having a job. I just am sick of explaining, for the millionth time, why I don't have one, don't want one, and why this isn't the time for me to get one.
Then again...this is the same dolt who replied to the news report of "SARS is out of control in Asia." With a "Why would I care, it's China's problem," this evening. Appalled doesn't even begin to express how I felt at THAT moment. "Can you be more heartless?" I ask. (Yes, I talk like Chandler. Seriously.) "What? It's China's problem." I'm like, "9 people died today ALONE. It's spread through most of Asia. There are cases popping up all over the US, including in Washington (state) because nobody knew they had it!" "Oh. I didn't know." Well, SHEEYAH. The heartless comment was like saying, "Oh, well, let them die from it then."
Some days, it doesn't pay to have the husband around. *snarl*
Writing Successes: Sunday Brunch Chat and 2, count them 2 posts for >Themiscyra. All told, about 3k words in 3 days. I'm pretty down with my bad self.
Music Playing: KMHD
Exerpt from "...And You Think You've Got It Bad"
Etiquette and Courtesies - A lady walks quietly along the street, hearing nothing she ought not to hear, and seeing nothing she ought not to see. She recognizes acquaintances with a kindly bow and friends with a warm smile, and does not speak to strangers. She does not talk or laugh loudly and to chew gum on the streets is a sign of low breeding. She must attend to her own business in a lady-like way. She never walks in the evening. When walking with another, each must keep in step as otherwise it is ungraceful and inharmonious. When walking with a man it is his duty to keep in step.
To chew gum on the streets is a sign of low breeding! I'd have to say "yes" to that one! I'd never chew gum on the street. I mean, how gross is that? (LOL) I also live a very inharmonious life. When walking, usually in the evening and generally with a man who couldn't care less about if I'm in step or not, I make it a point to be OUT of step. LOL. Well, this one isn't that funny, but I needed it for the next one, which is. LOL
Okay, I'm keeping this short. I've two story-like things today. The first is my work from yesterdays Brunch Chat. (Well, the first and second.) I had a GREAT time writing them. I must say that going from Ronic & Calen's point of view was easier than going from Reany's. The second (or third) is the post I wrote today for Themiscyra. I don't post these as a general rule, but I got HOT HOT HOT today and it turned out SO good I just had to share.
Without further ado....
Describe a stranger you (or a character) see in a public place. 15 min
Reany struggled to get through the crowd. She made little progress and finally stopped when a wide-eyed blonde girl of about five stepped in front of her. The child’s blue eyes were hopeful as she looked at the Gladiator.
Reany sighed and stopped. She dug into her pack and dragged out what they were all clamoring for; worthless copper coins stamped with her image. She pressed one into the child’s hand and the blonde clutched it to her breast lovingly before weaving off through the circle of people.
The Guard pressed more of the coins into outstretched hands. She hated the thin little coins. On them, the maker had given her upswept hair over a low-cut gown. She looked like one of the nobles she fought for.
The reality couldn’t have been farther from the truth. She wore the Guard uniform almost constantly, her hair bound in long braids or left loose and wild to the wind. When she did bother with a dress, it made her look like a tavern made or street walker, so cheap was the fabric.
She was accosted after her fights most days, the crowd seeking the little tokens to share and trade with their friends. Hers were the rarest of the Gladiators; she loathed pressing them into the greedy palms of the commoners.
“Guard,” one voice rose over the clamor of questions she had been ignoring. “How do you fight like that?”
Turning, she met a pair of wild blue eyes under a mop of blonde hair. A young man, lanky and tall, waited for her answer nervously. The crowd jostled him and he was shoved back and away from her.
“How do you fight like that?” he yelled again. Several of the people around her followed her gaze back to the commanding voice.
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Describe the narrator from part 1 from the point of view of the stranger you described. 15 min
Calen followed the woman from the arena, as did many of the people. They crowded around her until she was forced to stop. The crowd surged around her, trapping her. They threw out questions and comments, patted her on the shoulder or leg, thanking her for a good afternoon’s entertainment. A look of resignation crossed her face and she reached into a pouch at her side and began passing something out.
Curious what a Gladiator would hand out to fans, he moved a little closer.
“Don’t get distracted,” Ronic said.
“I’ll do what I like,” Calen snapped. A woman near him turned and glanced at him.
“You do that, dearie,” she said.
“What is she handing out?” he asked.
“Her coins. Treasures, they are.”
“Coins? She passes out money after she fights?”
The woman laughed, showing several missing and blackened teeth. “They are stamped with her picture, lad. All the Gladiators have them. It’s a brisk trade round these parts,” she winked at him. “Do yourself a favor and get one. It’s good for a nights lodging and a solid meal.”
Calen thanked her and tried to shove his way through to the red-haired woman. The crowd was thick, but not deep. Some wandered off as soon as they secured a coin, others simply stuck their hand out again for another. She ignored the hand that reached out a second time.
The Gladiator herself didn’t seem to notice the crowd, the questions or anything else. Her caramel-colored eyes looked off into a distant corner of her own mind. She didn’t speak, she simply handed out the coins.
“Ask her!” Ronic demanded.
Calen shook his head, ignoring the voice. He moved forward a little in the crowd, extending his hand for one of the coins.
“We aren’t here for this. If you won’t ask her, I will,” he threatened. Calen felt a small disk pressed into his outstretched hand.
“Guard,” Ronic’s voice burst from his lips. “How do you fight like that?” The Healer pitched Calen’s voice over the throng of questions, drawing instant attention from the Gladiator.
She turned to look at him. He panicked under the scrutiny and allowed the crowd to move him back and out of the little circle around her.
She’s beautiful, he though irrationally. He’d known that, he’d seen it from his place high in the arena stands. But up close, she was stunning. Her face was round and lightly freckled, her hair a cascade of wild red curls, her eyes a liquid amber. She was
“How do you fight like that?” Ronic asked again.
“Shut up!” Calen snapped, turning away from her burning stare.
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When the world was new, it was a gray place full of nothing more than promise. There was neither good nor evil, beauty nor ugliness, hate nor love. It simply was.
Many races populated the mist, magical and mighty. They loved each other and hated those different from their own kind. In this way, they came to invent love and hate, beauty and ugliness, good and evil.
One race remained between these opposites, content to maintain the balance between the two, to simply be. The fighting of the other races disturbed the peaceful nature of these beings and they decided to make an arena to contain the conflicts. They drew upon all of the elements forming in the mist, the hate and the love, the beauty and the ugliness, the good and the evil. They mixed in their own neutral and peaceful ways.
The arena was a gorgeous jewel of blue in the center of the mist. They named it Earth for it was solid and firm.
The race that built the Earth then showed this arena to the races. They offered it to them as a precious gift, a place where they could go and fight their battles in a physical realm. All of the races were eager to settle old scores and they fell upon the Earth, settling in many places on the physical realm. The Founders, as they came to be known by the races on Earth, chose to remain in the Mist, guarding the ways of neutrality and peace.
As the races lived on Earth, the Founders discovered they had to create more realms to accommodate the first. A realm of death was created, to hold the souls of those who had died in the battles. A realm of rebirth was created, to return old souls to new bodies so they could continue their fights. A realm of Gods was created, populated by the highest powers among the races so that there was an order to the Earth.
And between all the realms was the spirit realm, where the Founders dwelt in their mist of neutrality. They began to help others cross through each realm, one to another. It was their duty, they decided, since the Earth was their creation. They took animal forms and protected the souls of the races. They came to know and love many of these races, favoring them above others. Balance began to tilt in favor of good and beauty and love.
One of the races on Earth became jealous of the Founders. They saw the Balance shifting and could see the battles tilting toward the sides of chaos and total destruction.
This race rose up and infiltrated the mist. They denounced the Founders for losing their neutrality. The Founders saw the Balance as it was, tilting slowly toward good and into destruction. Without Balance, there was chaos and disorder, they saw. Many among the Founders hung their heads in shame and renounced good and evil, vowing to return to the ways of neutrality and peace.
But many of the Founders were dissatisfied with neutrality, and wanted to remain protectors of their chosen. The neutral Founders could not allow this, so the dissenters were cast out of the Mist and sent down to the Earth.
The Fallen Ones, as they became known, were quickly sorted into two distinct groups: Those who protected evil and those who protected good. Unable to find a common ground, as they no longer had neutral thoughts or feelings, the two groups separated.
The side of good became a race of powerful Shamans and Shamanesses. They kept close ties to the Founders, finding ways to leave their physical bodies and visit the spirit realm. In this way, they kept neutrality in their heart and in the physical world. They renamed themselves the Guardians and spread themselves out among many of the tribes of Earth.
The side of evil also became Shamans and Shamanesses. They severed all ties to the Founders and to their good relations on Earth. They renounced neutrality in all its forms, promoting instead the precepts of hate, jealousy, loathing, and disgust. They kept the name of the Fallen Ones, so they might always remember where they had come from and what they had once lost. Together they plotted and planned ways to retake the powers they had once had as Founders.
The two sides had many conflicts. At the last, the Fallen Ones attacked the main village of the Guardians and slaughtered all that lived there. Only those Guardians who had been in other tribes in other lands survived the attack. These numbered but ten.
Yakut, Kuk’Tai of Themiscyra, was one of their number.
She was training a young Guardian in the ways of spirit travel. He was having difficulty reaching through to his animal spirit and she was attempting to find the Founder with him. She had not had success yet.
“Look, Sias, I’m not sure where he is today. Perhaps we should try again tomorrow,” she finally sighed. “The Mist is thick today and uncooperative.”
The boy glanced around one last time, hesitant to give up. He noticed something taking shape in the gray around them. “Perhaps that’s the Founder,” he pointed.
Yakut followed his gaze and waited for the shape to fully form. It was not a Founder and she gasped in surprise. “Deoris?”
The Ti’Sa moved forward and embraced her sister. “Yakut. Artemis has given me the power to find you.”
“Sias, return home,” Yakut commanded.
The youngster looked suspiciously at the woman dressed in leather and fur with the wild brown hair and the long, sturdy staff. “When will you be home?” he asked protectively.
“When I return. Now, go,” she ordered.
Sias sighed and allowed his spirit to be pulled back down into his body. He faded slowly away.
“I need your help, Yakut,” Deoris said.
“I figured as much, athelfi,” the Shamaness replied. “It must be important for you to come looking for me here. How can I help?”
The Ti’Sa explained the current situation in Themiscyra, detailing what she knew of Selena and Venlusia’s troubles. She left out nothing that she knew. Last, she spoke of Latra Jadea, her abdication, the promotion of Latra Valkyra . . . and her own new duties in the tribe. “So, you see why I can’t fail them. I need to know how to help them,” she finished.
Yakut walked back and forth in the Mist. Little swirls of white scattered as she moved, like puffs of smoke against a gray sky. “I’m not sure how I can help,” she finally said.
Deoris sighed. “What would you do, then?”
“I’d find out who has possessed Venlusia, and why. Selena . . . I can’t tell if she fights an inner demon that she made flesh or if she fights a flesh demon made spirit. You will have to find out which. Knowing a thing gives you power over a thing, athelfi.”
Deoris sighed. “I’d hoped for a faster solution.”
Yakut’s green eyes flashed. “Sometimes, the hard way is the only way. You need to stop asking others for help, Deoris. Artemis does not always have the answer, neither do I, nor does Jadea or Valkyra or any of your sisters.”
The Ti’Sa looked stricken at the harsh words, her eyes darkened to black as the truth of Yakut’s words hit her. “I understand, Kuk’Tai. I won’t bother you again.”
“You had better! I don’t mind the occasional visit, you know. Just don’t expect me to have all your answers in a tidy package, ready for you to open when you return home. Visit often. We both know you can. And without Artemis’ help or the overly dramatic prayer you spoke. Just come,” Yakut said. She would enjoy having someone she could share her queenly woes with, as well. “Now, go home and help your sisters. They need you.”
Deoris nodded. “Tepae, athelfi,” she clasped Yakut’s hand and then saluted in the Amazon fashion. “Efharisto tu for your help. I . . . needed that.”
“Give Valkyra my blessing and the tribe my greeting,” the Shamaness requested.
“Nai, I will. Herete, Kuk’Tai,” Deoris said. She melted back into the Mist as she allowed her spirit to be called back into her physical body.
Yakut allowed herself to be pulled away from the spirit realm as well. She had been here too long already this day. She had many things to protect her own people from. The Guardians were young and vulnerable to the Fallen Ones still.
But they were becoming stronger.
--
Toria finished healing Selena’s wound and left the jail with a glance at the swirling mist in the circle Deoris had drawn with the dagger.
Venlusia taunted Selena for a moment, but Selena ignored her and moved to her little cot in the cell. She looked pensively out the window.
Deoris was aware of these things as she traveled the spirit realm with Yakut, but above them. As if they were the dream and the Mist was the reality. She followed the call of her physical form down into her body and the universe altered and righted itself.
She looked around the jail at Selena, then at Venlusia, then at the guard, Clarion. She rose from the ground and gathered the dagger Yakut had given her as a parting gift. Then, she scuffed the circle with her boot, erasing it.
“What magic did you bring back with you?” Venlusia purred. She leaned against the bars, staring out at Deoris with malicious eyes.
“The magic that knowledge is power, athelfi,” Deoris replied. “But you don’t have the power or the magic I need. For that, I must speak to your sister. She has what you never will, which makes her what I need.”
Venlusia snarled. “I have twice the power that little brat has! She’s nothing! NOTHING, do you hear me?”
Deoris turned to Selena. “Tell me everything you can about the monsters you saw, and the demon who scratched you, athelfi. Everything.”
“Morigan has NO POWER compared to me! NONE! She’s NOTHING. She’s NOBODY!”
Both ignored her ranting and gathered together at the far side of the cell, away from Venlusia. Deoris listened to Selena’s descriptions, making mental notes along the way.
She may not learn much from Selena, but she had already learned a lot from Venlusia. She kept one ear on the ravings coming from that side of the jail. Mostly just threats and curses at Morigan.
