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well it's groundhog's day, again

on the train to Rhode Island; left at 10pm from DC; currently parked in NYC, I think, for Amtrak to do whatever it does that I know nothing about. the train is supposed to reach RI at 9 am; I suspect this stop is longer than strictly necessary, because the overnight was listed as an 11-hour trip overall vs. quicker daytime trains, as little as 7.5 long.

Have only just now peeked at 538 to see what might be happening in the Can We Not Be Openly Fascist, Please election. Trump is currently winning, and/or ABC News (528's master now apparently) and the Washington Post are having a great time doing a series of Harris HQ sad and panicked/Trump HQ celebrating stories. Just go back to sleep, basically.

A gummy and my entire Spotify library kept me company starting at about 11, and the gentle fascination with music genre has carried over to my less fuzzy listening, drifting just above deepest sleep and still getting really satisfying rest (just being aware of it in a way that what I think of as "hard sleep" doesn't let you be).

Sadly I'm hungry. Only trail mix and an apple packed in until dis.. look, it's deplaning, and it would be "bajar el tran," but I don't know what to call it, off the top of my head. De-training. Disembarking. Heaving to.

Probably Stephen will take me to the one diner attached to the bowling alley and I can just have a big old diner breakfast. I hope that's what we get to do! Man I miss Stephen. So, so much. May cry a little thinking about it. actually, despite (because) that I'm going to see him in a couple hours.

Considered briefly, a couple days ago, doing a bunch of drugs and showing up completely manic and therefore giggly and self-conscious and needing help and attention lest I feel like I really lose it. I did not think of it this way when I first had the thought that I could keep dosing myself at 4 hour increments forever, actually, since I would only need to work Monday and Tuesday before I could really let go by being on vacation on Wednesday. Then I stopped and reframed and went, oh I'd be being a jackass! So we're just going to see him regularly and I'm going to rub my head up against him like an insecure cat and probably cry a little.

as I said: already feeling kind of strained. which, again, if I look at that statement from the other angle, makes perfect sense when you think about how I get anxious and have particularly large emotional reactions. traveling counts as a large stressful event! it's okay!

Also, again, I need to eat.

okay, going down for another nap.

Current Mood: two gummies last night;
Current Location: still quite out of it

(no subject)

a dream: dad told me I should write a book like he had written a book, in the style that he had which was the style that papa had written. and everyone when he was young ng and everyone he knew read the book he'd written when he was young, and they told him he was so clever and so good at imitating papas style

I hit him hard and he started crying. the way he felt when he was crying was the way I feel, I knew. "do you have *any* idea," I said ,and hit him. "how
.. arrogant, how awful..."

then I woke up.

(no subject)

I mean the thing about "the gentleman pirate": it's just an oxymoron that's the snfirs thesis of "he'll kill you... with /kindness!/" and in this universe,that's the kind of guy would show up a d kill you, worse luck

kill (pirate) with kindness! (gentlemen)

passive (gentleman) aggressive (pirate)

the show says it 50 times to remind you who Stede is/sees himself as. absurd, but adorably so. or insanely so, if you're reading him as a pirate
(rather than reading the title "gentlemen" and mentally filing the piece away as a regency style lords-you-dont-understand

(no subject)

all of which is to say
I with thee have fixt
by dissembler

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38180623

Entry tags:

our flag means death

(no subject)

blackbeard marking Izzy with the tattoo is a romantic gesture in any case but in the particular setting if our flag means death, it takes on an additional dimension of romance and adventure: the whole narrative is about flags; flags as belonging, demarcating a fake but vitally important social group (the social grouin this story btw turns out to be a group that is so silly. they're so goofy and well meaning fools).

as the community is demarcated, so too is Izzy. he's at the vortex of the whole story of "identity definition" whirls around because he's the pirateyest pirate in the first narrative, "the pirate narrative" (ie the show). marking him oddly. defines him as the very center of the genre: and by this action, ed stakes a claim wit planting a flag like no other charActer dies with *any* other marker: im claiming it all. I'm claiming the vortex of piracy; I'm all if it, it is me. I control this all. which is, in this particular story, blackbeard marks Izzy. they're staking the meta narrative claim/control of the story.

Current Mood: chilly here。really autumn，now.

inaugurating

it turns out i use

schmirius for doodling bits of fic these days; who knew? but i have been thinking for a while that doing a bit of the ol' 2004 blogging might be fun again, since i've stopped keeping a proper journal in any other format, and the LJ always worked for me as a friendly thinking about things/performance space. and also [stede voice]: what if i didn't have to write only fic every time i opened a text box? i think that's probably getting me down, writing wise. and also [lucius throws his quill down in exasperation, leaves]: my drugs have fucked my language skills up significantly in the last five or so years; i bet exercising said skills couldn't hurt.

stares at screen.

~~stares at word count.~~

yesterday i went to friend D's mom's birthday party; i have been friends with the D family since D and i were in high school (so 23 years). spent a loooot of time at her family's house; spend a lot of time at her house now. (i am, in fact, at her home alone right now, having fucked up and forgotten what her schedule for today actually was and come over while they were doing their morning Toddler Activities, her and her husband and their preschooler). as is typical for me, i freaked out for probably three hours before the birthday luncheon, anxious about going out to a restaurant and seeing people and having to be doing party manners and be On; and fucking angry (despairing, etc) about having to choose clothes and therefore Presenting and doing Gender. there are reasons i wear my stupid black t-shirt and jeans ensemble every day of my life

(many of them are that i started about ten years ago when i had about three non-sleep/non-work/non-classwork hours in my day and i had to wear black shirt and black/blue jeans for work anyway)

i am self-conscious about my hair right now! it is very stupid! (the feeling. the feeling is stupid.) for these same ten years i have been in a cycle of: shave bald, let hair grow out, keep meaning to shave it back down to a centimeter or two but keep putting it off, let it get too long for my liking and shave it off again. this is what we call a Chia Pet situation. happily my hair is of a texture and density where i hardly ever look stupid doing this. HOWEVER, in the last month i have started attempting to have a... style... with my very short hair, and i have not been succeeding to my satisfaction. again, my hair type covers a lot of the poor artwork which has been occurring, but it does not cover my feelings of frustration and inadequacy. besides this, moms still like my hair, and this is, as we all know, unacceptable. mom D told me three separate times "oh, you look great!" after not having seen me for a while, and i took this at face value as one of those compliments that women are supposed to give each other, until the third time she added hastily, "i mean, not that i didn't like your hair before!!" and i then realized that i had a full head of hair not buzzed down to almost nothing. shame upon me.

i was telling Tough Customer Molly (also a 20-year friend) on the phone in the car, driving down to the event, that D had offered to "clean up" my undercut(?) "before mom's party" a week back but it hadn't worked out, time-wise, so "this is all her fault, really," and Molly cackled and agreed that it was her fault that my hair was a wreck at the Nice Function. apparently my haircut did not end up rude and ugly enough after all. sad all around.

logging off. going to consider the matter of izzy hands, perhaps, or just nap on D's couch before they all get home. it occurs to me now that i could've done a couple errands that i've been meaning to do in her neighborhood, but alas, i created a blog i may or may not use regularly anyway. we'll see!