Letterblade

1. Jesus fuck, I have to move in ten days, and I don't even know to where yet. I'm not panicking, precisely. Just about 100% sure that it isn't going to work out, that the people I'm currently waiting to hear back from will blow me off, and I won't be able to find other opportunities because I suck at this and am a general failure at housing stuff, and I'll have to leave illuminaut's and I'll be homeless again. Because that's how my life works.

2. Which is triggered by the moving and cleaning panic because I have to pack most of my stuff up this weekend, because somebody else needs to stay in the guest room. I...settled here. I got too comfortable, forgot it wasn't home. I forgot it was temporary, because my brain simply couldn't bear the thought that I'd be moving again in a month on top of everything else--moved in here just after E. dumped me. Which is hardly an excuse for settling in when I shouldn't have. But. It's why.

3. Nothing could have prepared me for moving my box of magic/altar gear; I nearly started crying just looking at it. The same damn box I packed back in Somerville, when I was first thrown it; it was the first thing I packed, and so carefully. The same box I left at E.'s when I was homeless, kept wishing I could use it more when I was suddenly drawn, so intensely, into magic. Unpacked it in Medford, in a temporary room that proved even more temporary than I thought. Packed it back up again to store at E.'s. Had to go get it when he dumped me. And I haven't touched it since. What's the use? I look at it, it's like any other box of odds and ends. Cryptic and dead.

4. Packed away my battered pocket paperback of the Book of the Law. Bought it in Westborough, when visiting family. It rode around in my pocket for weeks; I'd read it on the bus to work, when I was hurt, or lonely, or tired. It was--solace. I'm not sure that word had much meaning to me until then. And then, tonight, I found it at the bottom of the piles of stuff on my bedside table. There was that comfortable familiarity of having it in my hands; I opened it, read the first few verses, and. Cryptic, frightening, meaningless.

5. Because I'm not strong enough to keep going, in the magic, without someone to share it with. Because I'm not strong enough to keep looking for what is necessary when I have a warm bed and four walls and AC. Because I've managed to pretty much fritter away the summer. Because no matter how good I am, it'll never be good enough.

6. I have to move in ten days. See you all from the gutter, because I'm completely fucking incapable of taking care of myself.

Every time so far that I've dated somebody who didn't have a strong, functional primary relationship at the time, they wound up, in whatever way, leaving me for somebody else they were also dating.

Hunh. What am I, a gateway drug?

Mostly, at this particular moment, what I make of this is that I should never expect anything to last. Not even last forever, but last more than a few months, maybe a year, until they find somebody better. Every moment I'm with somebody, I need to be prepared for them to disappear. When they find a new partner, no matter how it seems, I have to let go of any hope or expection of anything.

And I'm not going to start dating mono--I'm not wired like that, I'm just not. I don't want to place restrictions on the actions of others, or be with people who restrict themselves; I'd rather go through the pain of division.

It's what I get for always being second best, I suppose.

For I am divided for love's sake, for the chance of union.

This is the creation of the world, that the pain of division is as nothing, and the joy of dissolution all.*

But can I do this? Can I keep putting myself through the pain of division, over and over--because it's not nothing, damn it, this is the worst thing to happen during all this shit--knowing it's going to happen? Will knowing it's going to happen, expecting it, make it easier--will I actually be able to hold back enough to survive that, over and over?

I don't know.

Reformulating self, day by day.

Spent half of day feeling sick to my stomach. Is Beltane. We'd planned, months ago, to celebrate it together. Instead I'm moving again, alone, and he's spending the night with New Girl.

Meh.

[* Book of the Law, I.30-31]

Yesterday, as I drove up to a date with hoath_iaida, there's a turkey vulture cruising low as I pull onto Route 16. Later, up on the highway near the 93/95 interchange, I see a great blue heron cruising overhead. And when I look up again--I only see it for a moment, but so clearly, before it's obscured by the roof of my car, and I'm in a central lane and can't pull over--

--when I look up again, I see the peregrine falcon.

I've been obsessed with them, albeit oftimes quietly, since I was eleven. I know that silhouette anywhere. The exquisitely arched and pointed wings. The gray-white-flecked belly. I was stunned silent with joy.

Later, over dinner, I told him about The Wintering. I have to write it now. I can't even say why.

Later still, he coaxed Kundalini up my spine, and up, and up, even a little to the crown. Like coming when you're already exhausted, sensory overload, so much pleasure it hurts, but all through you, splitting you open from the spine out, with your soul having an orgasm and your body just along for the ride.

I say this because I want you all to know, I really madly want you all to understand even though my just saying it won't do a damn thing, that the world is a far more strange and wonderful and beautiful place than we ever dare to, are allowed to, imagine. Than anyone ever expects, even a loony like me.

And tomorrow, on Fool's Day, I start my new work. A beginning.

In its place, have icons. Utena + the first line of the Priest in the Gnostic Mass, three attempts thereat, because I just that kind of a dork.



I think the third one works best...

(Nabbable, as always.)

Also, OH DEAR LORD THIS COMIC IS MY LIFE. Except maybe not anymore. Except still.

And, no, I'm really not as emo as this post sounds. I'm just very low-energy (fuck knows why, mostly frustration, I think) and very headsplodey (er, reading Kabbalah, it happens). And my hands are bloody frozen, so I can hardly type.

For those who might have heard me bitching about my financial situation, that is all set. I am relatively flush and will not be calling escort agencies any time soon. (Looking into using this to find some sort of place to stay before I go nuts from couch-surfing.)

Also, for those who saw me breaking down at Intercon (which is to say, um, everyone at Intercon, and I apologize for the mess), I am now doing much better. Got to Mass later that Sunday up at the O.T.O., which was exactly what I needed. (The Book of the Law does funny things to one's brain, and I think it says something very strange about me that I find it intensely comforting. Definitely been heading in a Thelemic direction recently. Huzzah?) I'm still kind of...low momentum, I think is the word.

Played Clue with my parents last night. Three-person Clue, so relatively easily. My hand was almost all rooms, which was a huge advantage--I could rule out half the board from the case file before even making my first move. And I had the information to accuse several turns before everyone else.

So I did.

I keep a two-part notation while I'm playing Clue. One logic grid with all cards and all players, which is essentially how the game works, and one list of questions and people's answers. (Y'know, Foo said that Green did it with the Gun in the Conservatory, Bar passed, I flashed the gun to Foo.) My last question was a simple test: to know what I needed to know to accuse, I had to see which of two cards, same type, that person to my immediate left had in their hand. Easily set up.

I wrote down the answer correctly in the answer list. Then I filled in the logic grid wrong. And then I accused--with one answer wrong. Not because I didn't know, but because I'd written it down wrong. And lost.

(Also, somebody besides my father winning Clue in my family is a big deal. I was all set to beat him and everything!)

So. Huge starting advantage, played cleverly, got everything lined up right, then made one little negligent mistake and lost. The story of my fucking life.

On the plus side of last night, though, got to borrow my mother's art table, compasses, bristol board, etcetera, and play around with geometry for the first time in ages. Whee! Promptly looked up approximate constructions for heptagons so as to make seven-pointed stars. Go figure.

...when you pause, look down at yourself, and say, "I need a shower," as you are sweating heavily and liberally streaked with lube and mead.

Haven't served him in all ways yet today, as I haven't written any porn. (Muse says: I can remedy that!)

Circumstances which prompted my first full-blown self-designed ritual in the name of my deity? Unpleasant. But my life? Interesting!

In wake of a recent big magicfiltered post, Cyn and I fell to trying to figure out the uses of a new rune spell I've been given. First, after much wibbling when she offers, I chuck it at her and it does nothing. Then she makes a big ball of very dark energy, and I chuck it at that, and it pops it like a bullet through a water balloon, as she later described it. (This was a spell I'd initially perceived as a sort of personal version of Holy.)

We snuggle on the bed afterwards, and work over our thoughts of what the spell looked like, and finally she says, "You realize, if I'm Sailor Mars, you know what this makes you?"

I blink. This has been a sort of running gag. She's a mono-elemental (fire = Mars), and I'm a raggedy mix of air and earth (Uranus (have seen enough of the anime to meet her) and Jupiter), probably some seawater (Neptune), and language (no correlation that I know), and you know if I have access to a grand piano and a good hand day, I'm going to try to make like Zoicite.

Cyn ruffles my hair madly and chirps, "Usagi-chan!"

Whereupon I promptly squeak, bounce all over the bed, and almost throw a pillow at her. Apparently I do a very good (drama, for the love of god!)Usagi impression. Who gnu?