Not Broken, Just Bent.

It's been well over a year since I was over here. Too many platforms, too little time.
Not much has changed, beyond accepting my anxiety and getting myself a brain mechanic for it. Social outings have gotten curiously difficult.
I tell myself I should journal more, but most everything I want to talk about dries up in my throat. The crushing anxiety of a directionless middle age. The depressing fear of our collective future. The innate desire to do something, anything, that will go on after I'm gone - a time with feels increasingly shorter and shorter. But why? Many others have already given these thoughts words.

With the death of G+ (where I mostly lurked, but was quietly watching) I might make the effort.
Anyway - Hey. It's nice to see you.

• When I left the house the morning of 1/21/17, I was scared. I was alone, going to a place where I didn't know if I was going to be meeting friendly people or not, I decided to leave any form of weapon behind, including my trusty pocket knife that I carry every day. If I was going to do this, I was going to do this to the best of my abilities. I didn't know if there were going to be like, 20 people standing on the Common because everyone else got apathetic and stayed home.

• I agonized over how I dressed like someone preparing to hike the Whites in January. Layers rather than bulk, and clothes I could move in easy but that were abrasion resistant. Who knew my official brand of Protesting would be Duluth Trading Co.? What shoes? Sturdy hiking boots or running sneakers? (I settled on the boots.)

• When I got to the Commuter Rail platform, There was a sizable crowd already gathered, people in groups of 2, 4, +. Some singletons like myself.
There was a curious group of 4 white males, approx. late 20's/early 30's, who carried no signs, wore nothing to suggest they were going to the rally, at least not with good intentions. Their group, which I observed from the far side of the tracks, seemed nervous, agitated. They moved forward as if to get on the train headed east, reversed course, circled around as if to get on the platform again, and then eventually left. I observed no one being aggressive towards them, but their group dynamic and body language was peculiar.
The train was approaching capacity by Ashland, and was full in Framingham.

• I got off in Back Bay, and walked over to the Garden, very slowly made my way to the Common. It was already packed.

• The mood was cautiously optimistic. Resolute, determined, yet warm. I don't know how that makes any sense, but it did at the time. People were friendly.

• People liked my sign. I was shy, I didn't think anyone would care, because there were no swears, no colors, and no witty sayings. But history. One cop really complemented it, really liked it. I wanted to hug him, but the sign was in the way.

• I still hate crowds like that. 150k people can suck the life right out of you. Not being able to move was a test in mental control. I still don't like it, and all I could think about was the crush in Kenmore right before the bombing, when Ian and I mused about population densities and biological weapons. Not a joyful thing to keep your heart light when you're shuffling along by inches.

• I saw every age, and every skin tone, and every gender reflected in the crowd. Children were everywhere. I really liked that.

• Bringing a granola bar was a very good idea. Not drinking water so I wouldn't need to find a bathroom was a mixed bag. It turned out to be partly sunny and about 50*, so I wound up dehydrated and spent the next two days chugging water.

• Meeting Shu_Al was wonderful luck. Thought I had resolved to being ok with being there "alone" it was better to have a buddy. Cell phone use was spotty. True texts were the way to go.

• My feet really hurt after that, and it was good to sit down and have a beer.

• The Free Hugs Pitbull was the best.


I don't know what to take away from this, other than if we could get all women and people who are allies of women's concerns pointed in the same direction, we could be an unstoppable force. That people still believe in kindness. That people still do desire to do good. That maybe it isn't always pointed in exactly the direction this specific cause or that specific cause would like, but people want to do good.

There are still good people in the world. That's what I have to hold onto from all of this. That we aren't all apathetic and cynical to the point of in-action.

Migrated over from LJ, and sadly, nixing that account. I'm sort of sad about it, as it's been my longest lasting online thing. Heck, I started LJ in my second year of college, I think, though I'm loathe to go back and look. Younger me should stay younger, and fixed in her point in time.

Life has changed since I logged in that first time. A lot.

It seems that a number of people have grown unaware that I treat FB like I would my living room. And if you start throwing down in my living room, (a giant living room made up of a lot of people you might not know personally, who's situation in life you may be blissfully unaware,) I'm going to turn the lights off and toss ya'll out in the street.
I can not wander around the internet without feeling attacked for almost every aspect of my life right now.

I'm a heavy fighter, so I'm a horrible anti-fencer.

I'm deeply disappointed about how the kingdom has handled this past fall crown, but I should just suck it up and accept it, otherwise I'm anti-kingdom.

I was raised with religion, and science tell us that that's unnecessary for morality, so I'm just a quaint backwards person with an invisible friend.

I'm a person who has always felt strongly about protecting the rights of my LGBT friends, but a familial situation has made it such that I have had second, (and third, and forth) thoughts about just how deep those convictions go. But I'm battered over the head every day with how if I don't absolutely believe in championing their rights (even to the detriment of other's) I'm a horrible person.

I drive a regular old gas powered car. I must hate the environment.

I raise beef cattle and eat them. I must hate animals.

I rent, work 8 hours a day and do not have a fenced in back yard. Therefore I must be an unfit dog owner.

I don't have kids and I don't have any idea about anything, so I'm unfit to have opinions.

I believe in responsible gun ownership. And that means tests and licensing.
So depending who you talk to, I'm either a monster who's pro-gun, or I'm a terrible anti-gun person for thinking they need better nationwide regulation.

I'll be 35 in May. The internet tells me I'm failure for not having matching dinnerware. In the past week, I've also been told via the electrons that I'm a failure for not having kids, for not being married, for not having a job that I LURV, for not having enough set aside for retirement, for not being proactive enough about my career, for having an opinion, for not having an opinion. That I'm going to die from any of a dozen different forms of cancer, so I should give give give, as if giving all spare income may somehow spare me from the prostate cancer from which I'm surely going to die...
Waaaaaaait a minute....

I constantly feel utterly damned if I do, damned if I don't.
Doesn't make getting out of bed every morning any easier.

Sat down and sewed up the holes in my fighting pants.
Hopefully, this weekend will see an end to the albatross that has become the breast/backplate of my "new" suit of armor I ordered 3+ years ago.
New stainless spaulders and arms on order to match the new kit. (Different armorer - I should have it the by the first few weeks of Jan.)
Need to get a gorget made that will tie the new helmet that's been sitting on my living room floor for a year to the rest of the kit.
Need to look into the boots again, and a new gambeson.

Maybe I'll get this kit together by the time I wind up quitting.

Which lately has been an awfully tempting proposition.

The thought of family, and building families (not only biologically speaking, but socially speaking) has been swirling in my noggin lately. About choices, decisions, and ramifications.
It's not baked - I don't know that it will ever be. It's just there. Maybe later when I have more brainpower.

My sister is getting married this July. It's going to be very casual and laid back.
My mother is insistent on throwing her a pre-wedding Tea.
Not a Shower.
No gifts necessary.
Just an excuse for the women folk to get together and eat finger sandwiches at an event other than a funeral.
But popular opinion is that it will be perceived as a shower, regardless.
And that if one is invited to a shower, even if it isn't, one is automagically invited to the wedding.
But she's not inviting a lot of people to the wedding because weddings are bloody expensive.
So I had to align my mother's invite list to my sister's invite list and make sure no one was left off that she'd be heart broken over.
But now Mother is pissy because I asked sister to look at the invite list.
As if she didn't know she was going to get an anti-shower.

Etiquette Sucks Balls.

Sibling moved out while I was at the folk's for thanksgiving. Was gone when I got back.
Still not sure what I'm going to do with the space.
Still living with a lack of resolution, general anxiety.
Feel like one big toothache. Physically and emotionally.
Having difficulty concentrating at work at all. Has gotten much worse, actually.

Cat is much more snuggly now that I'm the only thumb monkey in the house.
Cat is still not a dog.

This week I will have two nights to myself.
This weekend is helping with Dorchester.
Next weekend is Crown.
The weekend after that is back off to the folks.
Then an off weekend, which likely won't stay off for long.
Then 100 Min.
Then Thanksgiving.

This time of year, it's best to stay busy.