You can still contact me at svaha@iki.fi

15 April 03: And Definitely Not Bliss

Spent practically all of today in front of the computer, working on putting up some pictures of Faerun III. Also got some important emails sent, such as the one for my players in FIII (stupid, stupid me: I had all the email addresses just sitting in those excel files that we uploaded onto my computer to take to the game site!). Had two noteworthy IRC conversations - a very interesting one with a nice Estonian guy who was the contact person for the group of Estonian players in FIII, about life, ethics and viewpoints; and one with A Certain Someone, about love. I'd like to put up the transcript of the latter (I saved it), without names of course, but the things I say in it went so deep that in public they would seem pompous and self-important. I just don't have enough guts to risk that.

Besides, there was nothing new in that conversation. Just reaffirmation of how things stand - as they always did. And it is sad, and unfair, and unhappy, but that is how it is. And I must live with it, now as before.

Need to sleep. The days and nights are stretching again, and I need to catch up before they turn upside down - I still want to get some things done before I leave for Easter.

14 April 03: Life Is Just This...

Overslept badly in the morning due to exhaustion and non-working phone alarm. Should have gone to substitute nearby. Must call tomorrow and apologize.

Spent the day arranging my room further. Like it quite a lot by now. Candles and incense aren't bad either. Need some stuff for putting up more pictures. Must go and get some tomorrow. Oh, and started on the impossible job of all that laundry...

Saw Ego and Tiina and agreed on the final touches for their costumes. Finally got the thank-you email written for those who played my characters, but could not find all their emails, so it has to wait till tomorrow.

Been reacquainting oneself with actively listening to music. Heavily addicted to "Notre-Dame de Paris", even now.

Trying not to think; to be productive; to be ordinary. Feeling irritated and confused and pretty miserable. Should Write More. Planning to, for all those huge Ropecon projects. Hesitantly excited about beginning them.

Got a note from a once-friend about being a reader of my diary; asked why they would bother; they said because they still care. Well, good for them if they find it best to do their caring from afar. And probably good for me, too.

Fighting not to put in a single word about That Drag of a Longing. Debating on the merits of making a firm decision not to use the names "Smeagol" or "Quasimodo" of oneself anymore. Avoiding conclusion.

"...But this hunger for him keeps scorching me like a bowlful of burning coals being poured over me: a sudden, random pain slashing through me wherever I turn. It may attack me at any time... and does so, too, again and again. When I step into a room. When I get on a horse. When I wake up. When I fall asleep. When I open my mouth to speak. When I breathe." (Corona Kawa)

13 April 03: Wiping Off Ashes (A Futile Occupation)

Sleeping helped some, as I hoped. Well, knew - the problem was getting to sleep. I still haven't slept enough, but it will do for now.

So far, this Palm Sunday has been rather positive and energetic. I've done some more cleaning in my room, and took Inka with me to peruse the flea market on the other side of the sports fields from us. Found some nice curtains to make new covers for my ancient, beloved but sadly dilapidated armchairs. Called Mom to ensure that they'll tape Pacino's "Looking for Richard", which is an utterly, utterly wonderful exploration of Shakespeare, the play Richard III, and the meaning of both to today's actor and everyman.

Will probably go and hang out with the Faerun&co. guys later today. We'll see if I feel energetic enough for actual roleplaying.

(Later) Well, even if I did, no-one else did. And I was tired and oversensitive and hanging with dear life onto the edge of the black hole so as not to cause scenes or be trouble in any way. Boring and tiresome evening with many small hurts.

I've been rereading Yeats. This is something that every schoolkid knows in Britain or even in America, but we don't really do Yeats at school:

"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with gold and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."
(Yeats: He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven)

Then there's The Song of Wandering Aengus ("...And pluck, till time and times are done/ The silver apples of the moon,/ The golden apples of the sun..."), or Easter, 1916 ("...Changed, changed utterly:/ A terrible beauty is born"), or The Second Coming ("...Things fall apart, the center cannot hold... and everywhere/ the ceremony of innocence is drowned..."). All expressions that have become part of the common cultural and metaphorical discourse for English speakers exactly because they are so true that they become instant cliches. And then, too, in the end, Sailing to Byzantium:

"O sages standing in God's holy fire,
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity."
(Yeats: Sailing to Byzantium III)

(Even later, far too much later) A while ago, Kalle found a cable that is long enough for me to get online from my own room. Now that I've cleaned up here and rearranged the bed and everything around it, it's pretty comfortable taking the computer here, to get some privacy once in a while. (Actually, privacy is not a problem in this house: we have so much room that five people practically disappear into the depths behind all these doors, anyway.)

Still, I got stuck reading some of my own scribblings, and I found, or re-encountered, this: "He is the sword's edge on which I balance, and the sword's edge through my heart." It was written about a character, but it happens to apply to the real situation, here and now. (...Though, of course, there is no "situation". Absolutely no situation at all, for that would be embarrassing to all, and not to be had.)

But even so. Even so. You are the sword's edge under my bare feet in this delicate and confusing dance of balance that I know I can manage as long as I concentrate hard enough; and you are the sword's edge through my heart and my gut, against which no concentration is enough. I wish it were not so, I do... and never more than when you reach for Her (no matter that it is good that you have someone, and someone worthy of it, to reach for). I keep hoping the edge would get blunted, but it refuses to. It is always just as neatly burning...

And I am far too tired tonight, just as last night, and the night before. Tomorrow I will be better, after getting back to the mood medication (and therefore starting to see the world in a normal light and not in nausea green or dirty, fluorescent white).

Not that it will help with this stupid drag of a longing.

12 April 03: Charring Shields

I need my medication. Now.

Panic attack. I think. Bad. Very, very bad.

And I don't even have a single sleeping pill left, to solve it with a good night's sleep.

11 April 03: That Cursed, Cursed D-Word

I got up after three hours of sleep, got a ride from Kalle halfway to my job, and stumbled through the day with leaden legs (not that it was bad otherwise; on the contrary, it was quite tolerable). Then I met Jori in town and caught up with quite a long stretch of time when we both have been too wrapped up in our own heads to have the energy to reach out very far. It was good to talk. I ambled along with him to see Ripa and Ville as well, and we got stuck with Mikki on the way... I must say, an hour and a half in that company probably did more good to me right now than a day and a half with someone more serious. I really, really needed to laugh, there and then.

But now I'm home, I really need the sleep, and I'm watching a very unwise choice of a movie, and feeling pretty much completely miserable. I know it's mostly the lack of sleep, and I hope to be stronger again tomorrow. When I sat down to write I let out a lot of feelings - but then I looked at what I had written and thought better of it. There's honesty and there's honesty, and the words that came from my fingers were such that they would have required too much honesty in answer... too much for me to bear right now.

Tomorrow. Or something. Or never. The truths are there, and they will stay even if and when I bind them to their proper places, behind their proper doors.

(It makes no sense to say those things in a diary and not face to face... and face to face, I have no right to cause scenes. I won't. I will learn to be okay with the way other people are happiest. I will not burden them with jealousy or pity or misery. I will not. I will be loyal, and that means being a good friend. Always. In all cases. I will be worthy... I will.

So why won't the D-thing leave me alone?

I just keep waiting to be slapped, like a dog who cannot trust people anymore.

And I wish I were less loyal and more beautiful and desirable. I can't care that it is morally or actually better to be the former than the latter... I can't care any more. I just want to... want... No.

(No, don't worry. I will behave honourably. Not that it would change anything even if I didn't, but I will not cause problems.)

TO BED, GIRL, AND SHUT UP! This is all just self-pity caused by exhaustion. You'll manage, just as always, and tomorrow you will come up with a shamefaced apology for this silly diatribe.

P.S. I got my prescription renewed, but I could not make the time to pick it up today, so I have to wait until Monday for them. Not that it really is crucial in any other way - it's not like I'm schizophrenic or bipolar or anything - just that without them, I still feel negative emotions too strong and positive emotions too weak.

10 April 03: ...Or Step Into It?

The embers of my pyre definitely seem to be heating up. I guess, after last weekend, that the frost has thawed enough... A natural part of the cycle, or an actual achievement? I don't know yet. The flares have not been only positive.

What am I saying? Simply that the rage on Monday was not the only extreme of emotion this week.

"Hero".

I could write a lot, but I want to think about all this for a while now. I want to be sure these extremes are not only side effects of the break in my medication (I still haven't got my prescription renewed, and I ran out of them a week and a half ago already). And I want to... I don't know. Figure out what all of this means.

And get back on that medication, as I clearly am sliding. About an hour ago, I found myself back to considering ending it all - quite calmly, simply, in a tired and lonely manner.

I wonder if he would agree to kiss me once before that, if...?

Now that was pitiful, girl.

But true.

And so now I need to concentrate on hanging onto the other truths, the ones with life and fire and strength and beauty. The fact that I was measured and not found wanting. The fact that I have earned the right to use the words loyalty and love - in writing at least, if not aloud.

The truths where I deserve to feel empathy with heroes.

In other news. Or non-news, really. My spy program seems to tell me that I have something of a faithful readership, as the list of IP addresses that upload my diary stays nearly identical from day to day and week to week. So, it would be nice to know who you are, you who find constant entertainment (or keep up constant hope of gossip) among my self-centered ramblings. If you read my diary somewhat regularly, and suppose that I don't yet know it, feel free to drop me a line to reveal yourself. If you have suggestions for improvement, feel free to let them out, too. :) Still, I don't expect to start enhancing the experience by, for example, coming up with a more twisted script than my life already is... I wish I could at least spice the romance up, but it doesn't seem to be in the studio instructions. (For social interaction, go read almost anyone else...) And no, the metaphor of a net diary as a film or TV series is not mine - it belongs to the ever-ingenious Dare (who doesn't read me, so I can steal his metaphors with perfect ease :)).

Work tomorrow. Have to get up infernally early. Sleep now.

08 April 03: Beware Of The Flare

Something happened today that caused me a huge fright. I got so angry that I completely lost it, in a way I haven't done for years and years - probably not since Tommi, and maybe not even then. I just snapped and went into nothing but pure red rage. Or black, rather. Unfortunately, this happened while on the phone with the person who I got angry with in the first place. I behaved abominably. I just screamed insults at him as loud and hard as I could until after maybe twenty seconds he hung up on me. Then I stood there, adrenalin hammering through every inch of me until I nearly fainted, went into the living-room and ranted a bit to others and - when the shock finally caught up with the anger - collapsed in the kitchen, in front of Kalle and Inka. I was so horrified that I could lose control in such a manner that I got into even more of an adrenalin scare for that, and just cried and cried.

And all the reason was that I thought this person showed a public lack of approval to someone whom I a) think deserved it pretty absolutely for the matter for which the lack of appreciation was shown b) love. Yes, yes, it was reason enough to think he behaved impolitely, and even to get somewhat angry and give my opinion... maybe, if I really felt so (I did)... but it was no excuse for flipping completely, totally and utterly out of control and let absolute red run me.

What is wrong with me? I mean, what is wrong with me?? I simply do not let rage out like that. First, I generally do not even have blinding rages like that, and second, for the past few years, my deliberate and conscious choice not to express negative feelings - any sort of them - uncontrollably has got so much practice that I just don't stumble in it like this. Not any more. I just don't.

But this - this was an explosion. An inferno. Momentary, for sure, but still.

Didn't like it. Didn't understand why. Still don't.

Must work it out, and get rid of it.

I wonder what my therapist will say about it. I, for one, am at a loss.

In other, brighter news: it would seem that the next game in the Faerun continuum may become reality sooner than we expected, and with a concept that is a highly logical continuation, and that I, for one, cannot wait...

07 April 03: Thighmaster... Not

My upper thighs are killing me. By slow torture.

It seems arranging for a horse for some of the game was a good idea, though not everything connected with it went seamlessly (for one, we were supposed to have two horses). However, since the sweet white pony I rode was a riding-school veteran of several years, he was less sweet about testing my rusty skills, when I rode him the first time on Friday, for about an hour. So I had to work with all my strength to drive him forward... and now there are blunt knives in muscles that make it impossible to walk, even though one doesn't generally know they are there except after riding or good sex.

(Well, at least my memory of one of those got refreshed...)

06 April 03: After The Trial By Fire, What To Do?

So.

I think I can say I passed the test. The game is over and done, and I a) did what I was supposed to do for it b) managed to clothe the people I had promised to clothe c) behaved myself all through d) got some positive responses on my character concepts and feel like continuing with them as small tabletop campaigns (having received permission from Atte). And I actually feel like I could do the latter, and want to try and see how it goes, with an open mind.

The game was far from perfect, mainly because of several small setbacks and oversights that together resulted in one of the warring sides being clearly (NOT totally, no - don't think that!) weaker than the other. So the first full-scale fight became the last - but still, though shortish, the game was very intensive and atmospheric. It was not comfortable for players because of the most horrible weather I have even seen in April, and one of the worst I've ever seen (and of course, the sun is shining brightly today!), which made it very difficult to set up the tents or light proper bonfires, and pretty miserable for those whose character died. Still, not too many complaints about that. I am awed by the faithfulness and courage of our players for showing up and putting up a proper fight in that horrid wind!

The foremost words in my mind to describe my post-game feelings were: "Promising. More!" I guess that is okay?

As to the subject line - I really don't know. Right now, anything else is softened by the relief of being finally (after God only remembers how many years) able to say to myself that I did something pretty much okay. Not perfectly, far from it, and possibly not even very well, but tolerably. And as it was a pretty big something, that counts. For something. :)

How I feel after I've slept and after I've received some of the negative responses (there are always some - but though I know it, they will still feel just as bad) ...that remains to be seen. There is sadness, certainly. That much I recognize. What other feelings there are - and even why the sadness - no idea yet. No idea.

So. And so. I passed the test. Now I must live on. How do I go about it?

Ask me again tomorrow.

...Do you know - do any of you really know - what it means to me to find myself true? To find myself measuring up to the standard of loyalty I set? Do any of you have any idea? I am not sure, but if you think you do, then you know why I have to keep repeating it to myself.

Thank You, Source of All. Thank You.

03 April 03: The Truth Of It

When the night becomes heavier and sharper than flint
and you must carry it still further, with the end
far in the distance, not even at the end of the tunnel;
must, for there are no options if you wish to live

(oh, you can stop, the stone whispers
- yes, yes, you can always give up and fail
yourself and others)

when you know it is already too late, too late,
forever too late
for some things,
but not for some others, smaller,
different, separate

forever separate

when the riddles beyond your eyes and
your bones
take you to the echo of war and fear and despair

and make you too numb to see into the abstract

that is when you find out.

* *

...And then, in the test of of the pledge
for the mystery: once and for all
whether one is made of the empty spaces
between existence
or whether it is there, the actual, tangible
particle of ever-revolving loyalty

if then, in the accounting,
one should be kept company by the image of him,
find constancy in it, and the levity
of revelation
and should triumph by it

then...
it must be a true thing, the loyalty.

I pass the test.

And I finally learn
for a moment, for a flash, for a single frame of white fire
that I am not worthless.

01 April 03: Going Down, Down, Down...

No April Fools here, except for what a fool I am every day.

The Food Monster pounced with the panic of having to finish up texts for the game (for then they would be done, and there'd be no hope of not facing the fact that they're only mediocre) and with the fear of tomorrow having to be in the same space with someone to whom I feel infinitely inferior physically.

Not a good day. Luckily, therapist tomorrow before that.

Too much to do, too little time. Too scared and lazy.

I heard that Leslie Cheung, the Hong Kong actor and singer whom my cousin Nina adored committed suicide today. It made me realize it has been three years since we have been in contact. I miss her often, and I've thought about her more lately, what with all the news of the SARS epidemic.

Maybe I could call her tomorrow, after I figure out the time difference between here and Hong Kong.

It would give me something else to think about, as I'm afraid of tomorrow.