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Today and the Tomorrows hereafter

Tomorrow my recovery ends. And I've learned for it.

I've learned never to take my freedom and responsibility for myself for granted again. This week back with my parents has showed me who I have become and what I have learned the last year of living alone, taking charge of my life and identity, and the last few years of having my own car. I may have my belongings and my parents willing to pay for me here- but I find that I'm much happier being poorer and free. It's a precarious life at times, but at least I know that it belongs to me- not at the mercy of my parents' schedule or whims.

Today, because I did not have control over my life, I missed the bookstore opening despite being a mere fifteen minutes away. I had even arranged with Aaron to get a ride from where I was in Livonia to the event. However, due to rendering my sister and mother to tears with my "callous" behavior earlier in the day, I ended up going to her engagement party. It was precisely as I had expected.

A bunch of mundies I had no chance in a million years of identifying with, chattering about themselves, eating food, and watching football. Everything was disposable, otherwise I would have volunteered to do dishes just to escape the mind-numbing boredom. I made my opinion of being here quite clear on my face whenever my sister was nearby. If guilt-trips run in the family, here's a taste of her own medicine. My dad understood my anger, boredom, and overall acidic attitude with a few sympathetic pats on the shoulder and quiet, encouraging remarks such as "did you have a drink?" or "We'll go within the next hour" or "I know... I don't like crowds either". He and I clung together in one corner of the dining room table, he because crowds unnerve him, I because I had no desire to know these people.

I keep being told to never let my family manipulate me as they have in the past... and despite trying, I let myself be taken in by my sister's tearful pleas, my mom's illness and inability to attend, and my father's stone, passive silence just hoping for this all to blow over. I didn't cry in front of them- which was an improvement, even when my mom's voice became icy. When I did, I dismissed myself to my room to decompress.

Soon I'm going to get another car (as much as I desperately miss my Focus) and I'll have my life back. I'm not going to let it go so easily again.

Pain's faded. Only a sore, tender spot on my solar plexus, some pain when I first wake up, and noticeable discomfort when I stretch or flex my torso in a way to tweak my ribs the wrong way. Putting on tight jeans is an unholy terror. Skirts more, methinks.

What happened

I need to write this down- partially so I can stop replaying it in my head and partially so that I can remember.

It was a little after five- it was a cold, rainy afternoon that I typically love and I was walking through the drizzle to get to my car in Depot Town. I'm too much of a cheap-ass to get a commuter pass for the parking lot, so I've been leaving it at Frog Island park instead, plus the fifteen-minute walk isn't too much of a bother.

After retrieving my car I headed down Cross street. I was headed to the Cheneys' house on Packard to pack up the last of my possessions and finally move in with Rae and Josh. Traffic around 5pm on Cross is always stop-and-go and crazy, but I found myself unprepared when I was coming up to Hamilton where the light had turned green. Traffic was moving. I moved. The guy in front of me slammed on his breaks and I tried to as well, but the wet roads weren't in my favor. There was a massive crunch as my Focus hit the back of an Intrepid; my body was jolted forward and hit the steering wheel (thank god I was wearing a seat belt) and my stuff went flying all over the car, which shattered my rear-view mirror.

There was a moment after I went into the back end of his car that I couldn't move or speak or breathe... or pray. Thinking about it... it felt like my heart had stopped. Then everything came flooding in at once- the pain I felt, how I couldn't breathe, was the other driver all right, was I all right, what would my mom think once she heard that I had crashed in the very car that we'd gotten fixed last week. I wondered if I was injured or if I was going to die.

Somehow I managed to collect myself and take the car twenty feet or so to the parking lane in front of a church. I scrambled to latch open the driver's side door and I found myself so overcome with pain, distress, and fear that I tumbled onto the cold, wet pavement gasping for breath. I remember other drivers looking at the obvious terror on my face as I panted, half on the ground.... and driving on as if they'd seen nothing.

The rest is a blur: asking a stoner couple who'd seen everything to help me call the police, waiting like a wraith in a sopping wool coat on the steps of the church for the police (who took twenty minutes....) just staring at the remains of my car. I cried on and off, so by the time police and fire arrived my cheeks were streaked with green and gray. The EMT's checked me out, the police officer took my information... and gave me a ticket (my first ever, joy), and I frantically made phone calls. Perhaps the biggest slice of wierd in this incident was that the man that I hit had his friend take us both to the emergency room to be checked out- me for the pain in my ribs, him for a pulled muscle in his shoulder. I was admitted quickly to triage, put on the sterile blue gown, was poked and prodded.... asked everything from allergies to religious preference. The doctor gave me slips of paper. Rae arrived with a mug of tea and I painfully stooped into her Mini.

They say there's a chance my car will be totalled and that I have a broken rib. Won't be sure for a couple of days, which is what I have since my life has been put on hold by Doctor's Orders.

Prepare to be boarded at Teslacon in WI


Next Weekend
Prepare to be boarded!
The Imperial Anti-Piracy Squadron
will be at
Teslacon

double eagle logo

FRIDAY

2PM-4PM
G.D. Falksen
Introduction to Steampunk
in
Tesla 2 Room

4PM-5PM
The I.A.P.S. Presents
Character Building
in
Tesla 2 Room
The rest of The Imperial Anti-Piracy Squadron's Friday ScheduleCollapse )

SATURDAY

8AM-9AM
Graf Georg von Ziger Presents
Morning Calisthenics
in
The Lobby

9AM-10AM
The I.A.P.S. Presents
Airships: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Zeppelin.
in
Tesla 1 Room

11AM-12PM
The I.A.P.S. Presents
Grooming for the Steampunk Lady
in
Tesla 1 Room
The rest of The Imperial Anti-Piracy Squadron's Saturday ScheduleCollapse )

Dear Roommates

It's great that y'all are getting action (Lord knows someone in this apartment should) but the living room is sort of... well... my room. When I come home from class and basically find a trail of various degrees of getting it on and your DOOR OPEN it's not particularly classy or welcoming. Would it be too much to call? Say: Hey Jen, doing this chick, go down to Sidetrack's and have a beer.

That's perfectly reasonable. Hell, it's downright congenial (gives me an excuse to partake in cider and deep-fried pickles!).

Chris brings home various girls and Robieh has his girlfriend over at least a couple of times a week (she engages me in conversation occasionally too, she's a sweetheart) but for once I wish I could just bring a fella over (not even DO anything) and camp out on the couch naked- only to pull away from snogging to haplessly shrug at the boys and go "What? Is this a problem? Because that's how it feels when you have sex with your door open".

Other than that the boys are pretty good. They respect my belongings and take care of the kitchen and bathroom decently- they knock first when they enter the living room in the morning. Granted, the conditions are less than ideal (WANT SEWING MACHINE), but for the next three weeks, I'll take it.

My classes are thankfully interesting (the exception being math, of course), and the semester bodes well because 3/4 of my instructors are male (for some reason I always do better with male professors)- although I wish Dr. Bartczak would tell us outright what grade we received instead of giving it to us in standard deviation format.

Ev's working on getting my ass to New York City Comic Con. No idea how that's going to work out, but wow.

The List of Finishing

More for me than anybody:
OHGODWHYCollapse )

First Weekend Overview

It's year two of playing Katya and it feels pretty good character-wise: I put on my fingerless gloves, my makeup, and my punk rock hair and it was just as easy as sticking my nose in the air and saying "baby ice cream". I found what made it so difficult to be Katya at practice though- patrons. Without the patrons there to be confused, exasperated, or downright transfixed it was just impossible to pull off that arrogance that the Vulgarians have. When I'm at practice with my friends and peers, it seems that my natural desire to be agreeable and somewhat polite takes over... except for the belching, that's just in my nature.

Anyhue, bad points:

- My feet are killing me, since I was wearing tights and a pair of Mary Janes. Thankfully this can be fixed by next weekend.
- A few of my beads and stones on my new costume came loose- but again this can be fixed.
- Opening on Saturday was... er... rough... but what can you do? It was our first real run-through with everybody.
- The dust was seriously killing me. When I went to Haleigh's house on Saturday night I was stuffed up and full of grit, something which continues to this morning. Note to self: Pack allergy pills.
- The Vulgarian joust was 15 minutes late due to a program mistake.
- The IAPS is not listed as a guest on the promo flyer for WSE they're passing out.
- No bakery means that about 1/2 of what I eat has been taken away. Last year I more or less subsisted off of their spinach and feta puffs and garlic bread.

Saturday was easily the worst day: everybody was sort of running around flailing, even me. There were barely any patrons to entertain, so there was also a lot of casterbation going on. But it was a first day, and Sunday was an excellent mulligan to it (hey, any day where the cannon fires on cue is a good one).

Good points!:
- Sunday's Vulgarian joust was amazing! After discovering that we don't need no stinking microphones, we got the crowd riled up by having a mass minioning and teaching them chants like "Cheat to Win!" and "Blood Makes the Grass Grow, Kill! Kill! Kill!" We all very much got into it- even the knights. For being Russian (and also quite the looker) Sir Dimitri was chosen by Verneita and I to be the Vulgarian champion... although we aren't particularly loyal to this notion because he typically loses... and our support shifts throughout the joust. The joust is also the perfect time to load up a tray of food, grab a bottle of iced tea, and just take it easy for a bit.
- Holy crap, old minions came back to us and reported for 'duty'. They even remembered their numbers!
- I came up with a few new bits, many including Ross. Since Verneita and Shawn are sometimes preoccupied with either talking to old festies or being achey (OLD!) or sick, Ross and I did quite a bit of streetwork together. Much of it had to do with the master/servant sort of relationship, but I'm encouraging him to come up with new ones that center or are instigated by him.
- People loved my new costume!
- People loved my strawberry scones... I'm planning maybe 3 or 4 batches next week to meet with demand.
- Holy crap people are giving me stuff. It's making me a little uncomfortable, to be honest. Two ladies gave me home-made necklaces (one is red and hematite, the other is black and orange), our fiend Spatula (whose mother owns Dawn's Donuts in Grand Blanc) gave the Vulgarian court donuts (which got her a promotion), and I was given an extra stick of honey glaze at the jerky shop. Seriously, I really feel bad that people are giving me things, particularly since all I'm giving back is... my personality? Looking at me? Giving them membership in a pretty useless club? Ah well.

All right, on to a lazy afternoon. This week I have to go over von Grelle's costumes and pack a bit up for Dragon*Con- as I leave next Wednesday for it. HAIL VULGARIA!

Day and Night

Is what my mom used to collectively refer to my sister and I, particularly when I was younger and a lot less open to people. It not only describes the utter polarity between the two of us, but fits our personalities to a T.

Beth precedes me, being the older of the two of us. She was bubbly, sociable, charming, and an avid fake-n-baker back then. On the social level she was the good child- never drank or did drugs, had a retinue of friends- not that she needed them since she always had a boyfriend in tow (they're quality was to be desired, however). From the age of fifteen she worked, shopped quite a bit- although she never took to having hobbies it seemed. The flute was more of a job to her by the time she hit high school, instead of the joy it was when she started at 11.

I followed Beth chronologically, but back then I was sullen and angry for very little reason. I kept to myself mainly, engrossing myself in art, sewing, reading- showing very little interest in making friends or finding boyfriends, at the very least the ones in my peer pool at school. My mom had to strongarm me into buying colored clothing when we went shopping, but nothing hardly ever removed the grim frown on my face. I was the academically inclined one, at least intellectually (Beth was the one who lacked the hubris to actually do her homework).

It seemed somewhere we swapped a bit. Beth moved to Peoria and lacking her friend base retreated a bit more into herself- she gardens now. When I see her visit I see less and less of the shallow thing I knew from the early aughts. Just as well- after freshman year of college (after I "got pretty", as it were) I started to come into my own... and look at me now.

There are traces of the old order though- she still tells me to 'lighten up'.

It seems almost apropos that my sister is being married in white while I look on in black.

(Yep, she's putting the bridesmaids in black. I got off EASY)

It's unearthly realization time!

Saturday is dress rehearsal for festival.

One week from Saturday festival opens.

Three weeks from yesterday I leave to go on a magically batshit, haphazard, and probably terribly thrifty trip to Dragon*con.

A month from yesterday I move back to Ypsi. Where I have no job, and my parents are under the impression that I won't be dipping into my loan money to get my books. Let's rephrase this to make you all have a laugh: My parents (*point*), expect me (*points to self*) to pay (*turns out empty pocket*) for my books (*points to 20% of the contents of her room*) out of my own pocket (*it's empty*). Commence laughter.

I believe, at an auspice such as this a certain word best sums up this wash of upcoming uncertainty, excitement, and poverty:


Fuck.

Horrible Things I Wonder About at 4am

SO.... If Pompeii was such a pit of sex and debauchery....

AND... If the remnants of the occupants manifest themselves as molds, created by the spaces the bodies left in the ash...

ARE THERE... molds of individuals caught in flagrante delecto?

THINK ABOUT IT. A third of the businesses in that town were either brothels or bathhouses- somebody HAD to be getting it on or having one last go-giving, even with piles of ash falling from the sky.

Okay.... new plan

The farmhouse has gone bust- however Rae has put a bid on a house on Whitmore Lake and the whole affair looks to be shaping up nicely. My drive to school with be chopped by ten minutes to boot... and I continue to have my own room.

The idea of a cozy stone house on a lake sounds wonderful, but what's really got me inspired is the possibility that I can have my own canoe.

And with my mighty canoe I shall become the most illustrious pirate Whitmore Lake has ever known.

In my bright orange life jacket, just in case.