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You can still contact me at svaha@iki.fi |
29 Feb 04: Oscar Frenzy It's actually far into the morning, and even the fanatics here are baffled by ROTK winning everything so far! Not that anyone's complaining. Let's hope for the two most important ones that are left. (And yes, I know it should not matter... but how could it not?) (Later, properly in the morning) (...but I can't be bothered to create another month file in all this excitement, and besides, it's still the same cycle...) Oh my. I really didn't expect it to go all the way like this. But, as a true geek and a fan of movies in general and the stars of the LOTR films in particular, I cannot help an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction. That this was done - reasonably respectably - in my time; and that it was proven that Tolkien's vision has the power to touch and move many, many people... that I'm not weird for finding it fascinating and important - in general and in particular. I also find myself blessing my stars that I'm old enough not to fall deely into fan obsession any more, or I'd surely be planning my future around getting to meet the stars, and Elijah Wood in particular. Now I can just behave like a reasonable human being and respect him from afar... Still, I am amazed at how incredible a cast - both as actors and as nice people - these movies managed to get together. (I'd like to add that after four viewings, I am a complete convert of Wood's performance. It does grow on you. Its beauty only becomes apparent with time, while I got bored of Astin's easily accessible portrayal of Sam in two viewings.) I still couldn't listen to "Into the West". I had to go away in the middle and close my ears. Too much pain and regret of having to let go, once again. Oh, yeah - I followed the silly Finnish tradition of female proposal on Leap Day in the hopes of a skirt-fabric. The blasted man said "Maybe"! Unfair! 28 Feb 04: Serving the Public I don't think I'm really feeling much better. The problem is, we have too many young boys who don't want the sort of plots this game has to offer. They want to conspire and conquer and be nasty, and absolutely no romance. I despair of ever finding anything to please them in our choice of characters. I so, so desperately hope I could have half a dozen Greywolves or other experienced young men to save the day. Where are they all?? Oh, and there's no great overflow of older men either... I still keep trying to figure out what we are doing wrong. Well, at least I got the grant application sent. On Monday, will figure out the Ministry of Education grant papers. I don't have very high hopes of getting anything from them, but who knows? I am finishing up my re-read of American Gods. Don't yet know whether I like it any better than I did the first time (when I found it okay, but not much else). Should also get some cleaning done. (At the end of the hour of the wolf) ...I keep reading Eliot and finding more and more stuff that suits the tone of what I am looking for in the game. Or more exactly, in preparation of the game. But how to choose, or to distill, a suitable amount of it for people to take in? Should have started earlier, again. Not that I can't do it quite nicely even now - but perfection would have been nice. We'll see. (Even further into the morning) Haven't been able to get to sleep. More poetry, more scattered thoughts. Tried to search for some LOTR fanfiction to suit my tastes, as so often before, and - as so often before - drew mostly a blank. The incredibly prolific slash has begun to seriously get on my nerves. It's not that I have to read it, it's just that I can't see why people are writing so much of it and so little of what makes more sense a) storywise b) in my book. Trying to get to a result and only coming up with irritations is tiresome. Reminds me of the much-dreaded bureaucracy I'm trying to face up to. I wondered idly whether my SAS (Saving-Angel Syndrome, a common female complaint) was born already with my first reading of LOTR, as evne then I remember switching from identifying with Frodo to pitying and wanting to go to barricades for him, in the end. Not that I'd like to blame Frodo for anything that lead me so badly astray in my earlier life... And anyway, I seem to have cured myself of it rather thoroughly by now, or at least I keep any recurring symptoms under such minute scrutiny that they have no chance of flaring up. Never, ever, ever again. No fooling oneself into romantic sacrifice, no matter what the reason. Only men who are well enough to take care of me, and who are fascinating enough to make me go weak at the knees all without any tragic delusions. That, or nothing (and, well, possibly occasional small patches of flame, if such should happen on the way). Oh, that reminds me: I also tried the attraction test that people have been doing left and right. I didn't particularly like it, or find it accurate. I thought that their samples were in no way representative of the sort of people I consider attractive, though not mainstream attractive. My result was that I am extremely picky - well, no wonder, as I simply was too slow to go through the changing faces to pick much any of them, and there's no way I can rate anyone extremely attractive unless I can hear their voice and see them moving and learn about what they are like. Okay, maybe someone picture-beautiful like Orlando Bloom or Tom Welling, but not really very many others. In any case, I know my taste is quite boring. I always go for the most beautiful or the most charismatic ones, the ones everyone else falls for as well. Mrs Mediocre, as I always say. Unfortunately. 27 Feb 04: "...An Occupation for the Saint" I got stuck reading Four Quartets again. There are many authors that I adore, but the two that I venerate - the two I could quite well call prophets - are Eliot and Tolkien. They go deeper than anyone else. I don't even have words to describe the effect of theirs, not in me - perhaps in Finnish I might have, or perhaps not. ...And right action is freedom And much else besides. The subject line refers to the grasping of "the point of intersection of the timeless / with time", meaning (as I see it) the extraction of timeless truths out of the actuality of the moment. Or the other way round. What the poet does, and the game writer (if they are good). "A lifetime's death in love, / ardour and selflessness and self-surrender". I wish I could believe I can do that. So, as you can see, I am still here. Tired, and not much easier, but here. I haven't done much today except searched for a zipper for Mom's skirt (in vain), worried over the money applications for Faerun, and visited Mom & Olli at Kerava. And spent far too much time aimlessly hanging about the Net. Heli and Heidi coming over tomorrow to really work on Faerun. Hopefully will be feeling clearer after that. Some cleaning up to do as well, for Sunday night. I do hope at least some friends will turn up, I'd love to have a nice night. 26 Feb 04: ...And Down... And Down This has been a very, very bad day. I realize I use that expression often about days that are just tired and low, but this was the real thing. We had to move my phone connection to Mom's name for me to be able to keep it. And even more so, I had to tell Mom many more details of my monetary issues than I ever wanted to, just to get her off my back. Then, even though I really, really tried to just go home, we went to eat something and then see Return of the King. At least I refused to have any serving of my own (and in the end agreed to eat the rest of Mom's portion, as she never finishes a restaurant-sized serving of anything, so she was not completely insulted), and the movie tickets were half-price. Still, not much compared to the ignominy of having to have your phone paid by your mother at this age. ROTK also made me think of how I'm scraping the bottom about as badly as our hobbit heroes, and even if I survive, I haven't even done anything to be proud of, anything that would be worthy of that survival. I don't know how to go on with my life anymore - I don't know how to get up and go on grabbing for normalcy, when even through simple bureaucracy it is too far and too complicated to reach - and I have nothing to show for it, not like Frodo, not like any of them. Nor will I ever, as, after all, most good and useful deeds are done when one has the strength and capacity for them, and I don't think I will ever be back in that position. Not now. Not any more. I wanted to stay alive at least past Faerun and then see about it again, but now that the application deadline is looming, and I've been pestering several people for weeks, and we still have a lack of men, I don't even feel like doing that. Why should I, when clearly we are doing something completely wrong, as people are not willing to come? And after Solmukohta I suddenly realized that there is so little time left that our monetary support applications will probably not be taken as seriously as they should... I've screwed up this one, too. So why even try? I think I have now pinned the problem down to one simple dilemma: I have so little worth that I could only be redeemed by some deed or deeds of indescribable creative beauty or useful goodness, and being as lazy and talentless and weak and selfish as I am, there's not much hope for that. I can't even make it to my therapy in time, or at all. I've been living outside the society's safety web for two years now, and getting back in is like climbing a sheer wall. I don't even know how to start, and when I try, there is no purchase. I am a waste of space, air and resources. I will never create anything that would move others. I will never save even a single life or mind. And what's more, I don't even see why anyone should be saved for this ugly, painful world, except for those moments of sublime beauty in art, and as stated... no go. No good. And don't come and tell me that there are people who care. All those people care more for other people. Not me. Never me. 25 Feb 04: It's A Party, Then So, feel free to turn up for the watching of that popular movie culture indulgence, the Oscars, on Sunday evening and night. No, there's not going to be anything fine or formal in any manner, just lazing around, watching, rating the dresses, eating whatever snack food you bring yourself, and that sort of thing. I sent a few emails to people, but I've no doubt forgotten several, as this was such of spur-of-a-moment thing. Today has been pretty useless. I have to see if I can get some writing done. (Later) ...Well, actually, I did. Not spectacularly much, but a respectable piece of work anyway. Oh, I just remembered it's time to finish Mom's skirt. Bah, I'm so comfortable here on the sofa... But in any case, I have to keep up the sewing. 24 Feb 04: Cloud and Flame There are yet true people in the world. I woke up this morning - noon - to a banging at the door and the Black Furry Monster barking his heart out. Once I finally managed to open my eyes and drag my sweaty self to the door, I found it was Mikis, bless his loyal friend's heart. He did email me about meeting today, but I said I had therapy, so the afternoon would be cut rather short, and he still showed up, even without receiving an answer from me to his note that he'd come anyway (because I was asleep, of course). So I managed to get up, shower, have tea and unload some of the recent sharp stones, ending in an infinitely better mood than yesterday. We even found time to watch some Two Towers extras, until it was time to move. What did I ever do to deserve him? Or any of my knights, really? I made it to therapy, spent all of the time getting up to date and getting the worst of the latest off my chest, then got back to town in the hopes I could meet Mom to work out the phone bill. Unfortunately, our plans had been cut in the middle when her phone ran out of power, and so she didn't get my message, or just couldn't make it from her other appointments (as, actually, expected). Hung out at Stocka and stuff, glanced through all the movie magazines in my ever-present hunger of LOTR movies tidbits, got some unhealthy stuff to eat, then saw that Mom could not make even the later time, and in any case, the Sonera store was closed. On the way home from the train I was, again, and most involuntarily, pushed into the borderlands of reality and otherness. It seems lately, as these walks are rather rare, that they always force me into that other mode of existing, the one of which words are an inherently organic part, necessary and dependent. There was a narrow sickle of the growing moon in the southwestern sky: not the newest of moons, but still a narrow strip, one clear curved brushstroke. Venus was shining bright under it and to the right; a curved sword or the shiny edge of an axe hanging threateningly over a heart in mid-stroke, ready to cleave it in two. No other stars were visible anywhere near, just this tableau of sorrow and regret. Then the clouds came up from down, from the east, pink and orange from city lights, a silent wall of marching flame, and covered Venus behind them. The sickle was left hanging there, indifferent, a proud executor: So, what shall I cleave next? The clouds rose, but even then one could glimpse it every now and then, wandering around in the fields of flame and smoke, searching, ready to descend. It is there still. It came to me that it is probably odd that I see the Moon as male, no matter what particular metaphor I end up using. Isn't the Moon supposed to be female in the Western mythology? No matter, to me it's a he, absolutely. A judge and an executor; a faraway sorcerer. The Sun, well, that one changes. Sometimes it's a female - a friend - sometimes a lover and a hero and an impossible dream: a man. More often a man, really. I suppose it's just another of those personal relationship things: no matter how hard I try to be open-minded, when I relate to certain things in a romantic or erotic way (as I do to many strong symbols) the default for me seems to be male, anyway. (Later) You know, I really, really want to have an Oscar-watching party on Sunday. How about it? I know it's a bad time - far to Monday night and morning - but I really want to watch and cheer for Return of the King (even if the movie itself left me only lukewarm compared to what it should have been, as I've stated so many times). You know, punch and snacks and relaxing and bitching, completely informal, slight Tolkien flavour optional? Anyone reading, feel free to tell me if you'd like to come, though I'll probably be emailing people as well. If I can gather the energy. But I'll be here, and watching the glitz through the night, in any case. And my phone will be back in action on Thursday at the latest. 23 Feb 04: As Expected This has been, and continues to be, a bad day. I slept until afternoon, which probably was necessary, but every waking moment since has been sheer misery. I feel awful, and I can't think of anything else except the awfulness. I can't concentrate on reading or TV or movies, anything. Maybe if I had something new and interesting to read or watch... I don't know. Maybe not even then. I feel left out and completely devoid of any worth, as no-one has let me know of any afterparties or hanging-outs - I asked Anni to please let me know, but all she sent me was a note yesterday evening saying there probably was not going to be anything. I worked my ass off all weekend, and I still was not part of the group. I am just too awful for anyone to bear having around. I have also been trying not to think of jealousy and envy, or then at least properly analyze them and their reasons, but I haven't been able to do either. I'm stuck in a wordless web of misery. And right now I am absolutely convinced I won't be able to do what I wanted to do with Faerun, and should just give the whole thing up and die now. I thought maybe doing something useful, something reasonably sized, like finishing up Mom's skirt or something, would make me feel better... but I'm simply too tired to do anything real, and too desperate to want to be alone. (At night) ...And there was a general afterparty, and she did not tell me. I asked her to please let me know further, specifically, for the second time when told there might not be one. I said thank you for keeping me up to date and asked to know further. She did not. Why? (Even later) I realize it might be time to get proactive about this whole thing. What do I need to do to not feel so lost and lonely? Meet people more, right? So how do I get to do that? Asking them is really difficult for me, so is there any way to make them remember me better, to want to spend time with me? I have to work on this. Just to note: I am, for once, comfortably tipsy, and have been examining how I feel about it for an hour or so. (I drank a 0.5l bottle of ordinary cider and a smidgen of hard liquor in juice. No, I am not going to have any more.) Funny as it is, I feel a bit more positive and a bit less desperate about things in general. The medication never works this well. Too bad this feeling doesn't last, so the meds are the best approximation anyway. Except I don't know where to get the money, again. It is too bad that in this case - I mean Anni and all of that - I cannot write about my feelings honestly. There is so much pain in it, so many things that simply are not fair at all, and I would simply alienate everyone. It is taboo to write about jealousy or envy, and even more taboo to imply that one might have some justification, no matter what sort - which is difficult enough for me in any case, with my inclination to always believe the worst of myself in any sense. I am not saying envy or jealousy are good and okay - I would just like to find some way through them, to deal. And so far, I cannot see any. I have been thinking how in this diary I somehow try to live up to an illusion anyway - the sort of an illusion I was supposed to strip away when I started. The illusion of being some sort of a tragic heroine worthy of pity and empathy, when in fact I am just a sad, aging, no-good loser who is trying to get it all without working for it all, by making other people carry her and pamper her and provide for her out of pity. Proactive? Yeah, I know I said that. Never mind. It was just a moment's folly. And now the mild buzz is wearing off, and I am tired enough to sleep. Tomorrow may not be better, but at least sleep will put the pain off for a while. 22 Feb 04: Bone-Tired Survived Solmukohta. In short: Week in Finland much, much nicer than I feared; really liked the guys staying with us. All of them. Solmukohta itself, nothing but work. Never got to see a single program. Too little sleep, too lonely, too insecure. Behaved tolerably all through, though, which is kind of surprising. A Kitchen Line seemed much liked; running the dancing stuff is harder and a lot less rewarding than remembered. Didn't meet many new people at the event itself: the majority, it seemed, were surprisingly clannish. Was worried over a friend's illness on Friday. Saturday, after all duties finally were over, tried to enjoy oneself but only felt tired and defeated. Didn't sell enough Hyperborea CD's. Everybody just wanted the godawfulstupidfucking Pornopolka. Main feeling: vaguely positive. Main feeling over myself: about as sharply negative as a well-made knife. Begged a ride home for myself and my three huge sports bags of costumes and two other bags from Atte; also talked a bit about Faerun, so was somewhat useful for the future. More after a proper sleep. 18 Feb 04: Harried Been too busy to update, or even think! Helped with some translating for Wicked Master, the Week in Finland version of Ilkeä Isäntä (though Irre and Anni did the lion's share of the work). Was going to play in it, then hoped not to while trying to recruit people in the Monday night sauna party (which was one of the most embarrassing experiences for a long time), then in the morning after dragging a mountain of stuff and all our visitors there and seeing the situation, ended up playing anyway, and had a lovely time. It seemed that the game was an all-round success, even though I had some fears beforehand - people seemed not to be into the whole idea, when I tried to get them in on Monday. But the atmosphere at Pukkisaari is so great, and the people who ended up there were so... professional, I guess I could say, that I was astonished at the result. All right, it was wet and cold, and the insides of the houses were smoky, and the schedule was a bit hurried, but all in all, Nina can be proud of the game. I just hope my helping was not too intrusive (she asked me to help with the briefing a couple of times). I was terribly tired last night, and did not want to stay long at the afterparty of the Solmukohta book party (that we finally made, after getting home, showering and dressing up, when people were packing up and had already moved to the pub). We headed home (Anni, I and the boys staying with us) and ended up drinking tea and watching Dogma anyway. One of those seemed-like-a-good-idea things. So I could not drag myself up until one today. Still, an afternoon with reasonably little to do - until KL practice and everything. I just hope this will work in any way at all... The singing, surely, but the dancing... We'll see. 15 Feb 04: Dark Had Kitchen Line singing practice here, and it was wonderful. Solved two pesky problems of casting in quite a satisfactory manner. And now that people left... Well. Okay. This is hard, and humiliating, and useless, but. Diary. Truth. Meaning. It hurts like hell right now, when Anni and Tammikuu left for a Ropecon meeting, (right now, again, and still) that I was not accepted to work for it, even though I offered. That I was not accepted, after all the work I've done, and done well, because I am "always too difficult". It feels so desperately unfair that I don't know how to deal with it. I've tried to rationalize a bit, knowing that many of the people who (probably) are the ones who blame me for being difficult are themselves extremely difficult, it's just so easy to make me the scapegoat (as I explained when musing about my relations to passive-aggressive people). I've tried, but it doesn't really help with the pain of being excluded. It hurts so much I'm losing all sight of anything beyond this moment of hurt. It hurts so much my body is in full panic mode. I'm alone, and not good enough. 14 Feb 04: Joys of Storytelling My Kaarina is not dead. Hooray. With a long, heartfelt sigh. What am I talking about? Well, there was a plan in the air for the Vampire chronicle that would have meant the death of Kaarina, my little ventrue that I've played ever since the chronicle began: eight years (give or take half a year here and there, for trying on another character for size, and for sheer exhaustion in the face of the depression). I had already okayed it, as I had given in to despair of ever getting into the scene of things anymore (too many days of not being able to make it; too many unfinished reports, too much self-generated pressure). However, last week I really began to dread it - that was what the dream was about, but I couldn't describe it then, naturally. So I whined a bit, and I suppose I was pitiful enough for my GM to let her survive. (Let me state that this was not the sort of a plot that was logically impossible to survive. Not at all. The death had mainly been agreed-on simply to bring and end to the character.) So she did not die. And I feel enormous relief. Let's just hope it can transform itself into energy and action, too. I mostly had a nice time in the game all in all. A little estranged, a little frustrated, but considering how little I've been there for the past two years, not too bad. And the near-death accident went quite nicely, I must say. The only thing wrong was how fat I was, of course. Henri took loads and loads of beautiful pictures, but none of mine came out looking even reasonably nice. Not his fault, considering how well he did with others. But a pig is a pig, and there's not much to be done about that. Singing practice here tomorrow. Some unexpected problems, but we'll see what we can do. 12 Feb 04: Struggling I was up and about today; even managed to jump around a little, and to do some cleaning. I found the corset I thought lost in one of the mysterious bags in the dining-hall (dining-hall... that sounds lovely, as if we had an actual feast hall, a castle or a Valhalla). I exchanged some productive email over the coming game, and even got a spot to practice the dances for A Kitchen Line (provided there is to be one). Seanna was here, and we watched Chicago and went to the sauna and had bucketloads of tea and coffee and lovely creamy pasta, as well as lots of delightfully relaxing conversation. I didn't stuff myself silly today. And despite all that, I feel miserable, sad and helpless. 11 Feb 04: More of the Same Old Shit Sorry for cursing in a subject line, but that just about sums up this day and week. The flu has made it impossible for me to exercise (which, of course, I should have started weeks ago). It has also awakened my need for comfort food like at the worst times ever, and I've been ballooning back to what I was before that slight plateau of sense before and after Christmas. I've just slowly been sinking down into the familiar mire of depression and food and fat and sleep... This morning, after having been obligated to finish Jonni's elf tunic in a timetable that was not what I thought I had agreed on, I had to make two trips to the train station to deliver it, as he missed his agreed-upon train. So I couldn't just drive there, drive back and get back to much-needed sleep. After having to stay up for a couple of hours I thought I could just as well stay awake until night, as I was supposed to meet Jori at four. Well, guess again. I continued watching the Two Towers Extended commentaries I'd started while working on the tunic and promptly fell asleep somewhere around the beginning of the Helm's Deep sequence. And since there was no way to call me and inquire, I woke up around ten at night, in darkness, from nightmares where someone was forcing their way into our house, and me and another woman (an unspecified friend) could not manage to keep him out, nor reach our phones to call for help. It took me quite a while to calm myself down and remember that even though I am without a phone, there is not much chance of anyone forcing their way past Jero, even if there were any monsters about. It took me somewhat longer to unwind the panic of having let a friend down with a meeting, once again. I really thought I was getting better, more normal, with this stuff called life. I really did. But after all this flu-and-food funk I suppose it's no wonder I'm falling into deep pits of regression, and the first sign of that is always heavy oversleeping. I also dreamed of next weekend's Vampire game. This time, I am bloody well going. None of this depression, no kind of ballooning and the resulting self-hatred, is going to stop me. I am going to get a grip on myself and get myself moving and preparing for the next days, and I will be there, in time, with a positive attitude. No matter what. Solmukohta, well, Solmukohta has turned out to be quite another kettle of fish. We'll see. 10 Feb 04: Exasperation What is wrong with our game? Not even nearly enough men (or even boys) are applying, and in three days I've had three "thanks, but not this time" answers from specifically invited people (either old players or other). And we're buried under desperate females. What is this? The gender balance can't be this skewed in the whole hobby, can it? I'm really, really down about this. The plans, unfortunately, require all the males roles we've planned; we can't just drop them off or switch them around just like that. I'm also suffering from a new bout of the flu. No wonder, considering the way I bounced about during the weekend - except I felt completely healthy then. Why did the bloody flu skip three days and then strike again? Janka has extremely important things to say. Well, she often does, but this one, on the persistence of social roles, I find particularly relevant right now, right here. 09 Feb 04: Stroking Up the Heat It's so cold. I buried myself under blankets and watched Chicago, when I wasn't obligated to do some sewing, or have tea and business with two young ladies who dropped by to relieve me of another old piece of costume. My feet are even worse than they were yesterday, so I've tried to avoid getting up as much as possible... time to go for a bit of a walk to warm them up at least marginally (and also to buy bread, as our very own big black monster had got into the toast I had left yesterday). I also wrote a bit about the themes I'm looking for in writing Faerun IV. See here if interested. 08 Feb 04: At the Outskirts of Magic Ruusu ja Risti weekend over. Great props, very atmospheric and distinctively styled game. I was left rather conflicted about my own game on Friday - I really was very tired, I seemed to be very out of everything happening, and I didn't know if it was my fault or something else - and did not sleep enough that night. But an easy morning on Saturday, the loan of Jukka's car to drop home and finish Merten's trousers, and then back in good time helped a lot, and I finally felt quite happy chopping beetroots, serving stew and playing a mute, perpetual-motion fire elemental, generally irritating the hell out of a lot of people (at least they assured me so). The only problem was, my feet (and most of the rest of me, too, for that matter) were beaten dead by the constant jumping to and fro and up and down. Sauna helped a little, but even then, moving about has been seriously hampered today. Oh well, I still feel it was a job worth it. Nino has been busy and put up pictures, and has one of Saturday's partial staff there, too. (I used up all of my tiny, very expensive pot of loose gold shadow/powder... but I sort of think even that was worth it. Or maybe the makeup just photographs well.) Had time to meet Ari today for lunch, too. Felt good. Took the same train with Heli, making her way to visit. We had cider and I had loads of coffee and we were exhausted and hysterical and still managed to get ourselves to Santahamina to visit Atte, which turned out to be a good idea indeed (even despite the pain in my poor feet). We'd both been desperate for more ideas for Faerun, and having an impromptu development session there worked surprisingly well. Atte has something I completely lack as a game writer: the ability to create dynamic plots. I don't know if it's long experience in tabletop gamemastering, or if it's just inborn; it's still something that leaves me amazed and admiring. All I'm (moderately) good at is character psychology. And we still need more men. Now I'm, again, beyond exhaustion, and it's midnight already, anyway. A soft bed is one of the most genuine pleasures in existence. 06 Feb 04: Trying to Adjust to A Job Finished It's done; the blasted musical translation is, finally, completely done. I didn't expect it to be such a complete overhaul of almost every song and theme; I don't think even half the jokes (if they could be called that) survived from the original. But different strokes for different needs, and since the languages move in such separate ways, it made no sense to force them to behave similarly. No, of course I don't think it's particularly good. Who do you think you're reading, someone sane? But the job was so not what I expected that I feel a sense of accomplishment anyway. We'll see. Everything would be just dandy, if I didn't have less than two hours before I have to leave for Ruusu ja risti, and if I wasn't trembling from fever chills and headache. Why does everything always happen on top of everything else? 05 Feb 04: All Fall Down I wish I could make some objective sense of whether people are being good friends to me, or any kind of friends, really. Being what I am, even the tiniest pat on the head makes me sit up and do tricks and think the patter is my lifelong friend. And then I'm wrong. Again. And since this has happened so many times, I find it difficult to trust real demonstrations of friendship even if they, once in a green moon, happen to be directed my way. Liisa helps me with this, but even though I should have had an appointment today, I was too fluish to go. It came to me that I am terribly easy fodder for passive-aggressive people. Whatever happens between me and one such, no matter who is to blame, it never comes out except in me. And so I get the blame even when said blame is nowhere even near me (and often blame is, after all, somewhat to do with all involved). It's so easy, out of carelessly(?) thrown comments, to assume that the one who makes noise, or made noise the last time, is the one who screwed up this time, too. And you know - there's something awfully wrong about that assumption as well: that being (even over)sensitive is the same as being incompetent, or even always being in the wrong in arguments. There are two kinds of passive-aggressive friends or acquaintances I should note here. One is the kind that basically likes me, but withdraws in the face of any kind of real or imagined trouble, because, as they state, "they just don't have the energy to abide such displays". These people generally make me feel that our social circles are not the same, or in some other way make it clear to me that I should not expect anything out of them; that the rules, if such there are, are theirs. And the other kind is the one who behaves warmly towards me, and often does things with me, just letting me be the conduit through which the stress of said things come out, whether it be my stress or theirs. And it's really easy for the latter to convince the former - how could it not be, it's so obvious, after all? I wonder if recognizing this in this context, in friendships and social circles, will help me control it? I knew years ago that I was always the conduit, the antenna, in groups that were formed because of necessity (school, study, work): anything that was wrong first showed in me. Knowing this did not much help, then. I don't know, perhaps it might be different now. Even saying this stuff - displaying this much "selfishness" - makes my body go into fear overdrive. And this is not good right now, with the flu and the things I have to work on. I miss Ari. I miss his easy friendship and his unflappable energy. He doesn't have any repressed angers to channel through me, nor is he afraid of me. I really wish I had a working phone so I could at least keep in some contact with him. I managed to have an email tiff with Moira simply out of panic and paranoia - there were reasons for those, though not good ones, and no blame of hers. Luckily, it passed, because she did not withdraw (which, considering how much she needs to prioritize the gradu, I am really, really grateful for). (And, Moira: I feel exactly the same about everything you write about the fight, and about fighting in general...) (Later) When do you know you're too deep into something? Well, for one, when you watch a favourite performance sport (figure skating European Championships, to be exact) only to check whether any skater is using LOTR movie soundtracks for their music. Polishing up the Kitchen Live translation, up tonight. I like some of the stuff I've managed to gobble together; despair of some. But I guess that's the best anyone can hope for. And I finally know how to end the blasted thing. I've finished three books in a week. Kushiel's Chosen dragged a bit compared to the first book, and it took me weeks to get through it. By contrast, Paladin of Souls by Lois McMaster Bujold was a breeze that took a night and a day and left no lasting impression. It was nice and neat and curiously lacking in any emotion, as if the only way to write about the inner lives of grown-up women would be with an aplogetic dryness. Tam Lin, the modern classic by Pamela Dean, on the other hand, was breathtaking, compulsive, surprising and utterly rewarding. I want to write like that (and never will be able to; for starters, I lack the basic education in classics and European literature - actually, have done it all, but never in enough detail to remember it). Apropos both Tam Lin and Bujold, Seanna and all others who have read both and furthermore respect their Shakespeare: go read Jo Walton's take on Tam Lin, by Shakespeare, through Barrayar, canonical to Dean's novel. I'm bedazzled. Link, as could be expected, through the inimitable Making Light. 03 Feb 04: Useless That's what people think I am. Or bright and brittle, at best. And that's not true in the least. And the worst part is, when people think of me like that, I start to think of me like that. And it's simply not true. I have the capacity to go on endlessly, if only there is the smallest smidgen of belief, of trust. The smallest reason, and then peace to be left alone to it. Mistrust - Well, yes, that does break me. Always. So perhaps they are right; perhaps they know better than I do that there is always mistrust, and therefore it is a foregone conclusion that I fail. I have to get back to bed, the fever's using my head as a terrace for a campy party. ...Why did I ever try to do anything, when it makes no difference? No-one loves me, no-one considers me special, even those who I had the gall and the stupidity to think close friends chose other friends before me. I'm never worth anyone's apologies. Or anything. Why do I have to be in this world? What's the fucking point of having just one more person here, with no reason, no purpose, no nothing? 02 Feb 04: Oh Drat I got Irre's flu. Damn it. This limits my options for certain things considerably. Last night, I dreamed of being in Australia to watch the Olympic Games - though of course everything was very simple and small-scale as if it was just a huge LARP, with accommodations at schools and such, and many people I know around. I didn't even know how I'd ended up going, or where everything was, but there I was, in Australia. I tried to phone Nina in Hong Kong (on the premise that it was almost next door), but I had several numbers for her in my phone and could not remember which was the correct one... It weirded out from there. Tonight, I dreamed of a quite fascinating and original fantasy LARP in a big medieval/classical town. It's still so sharp I keep fighting the inclination not to talk about it for fear of revealing details to other players... I was a priestess in a religion that came out of Bujold's Chalion books (seasonal family of gods plus a bastard for good measure), and I was on a secret spy mission with Anni (who was a proud, willful young warrior-priestess) and Jukka (who was some sort of a chosen warrior and looked inordinately good in pure red). Lots of sneaking around, trying not to attract suspicion; plans on how to extract this young girl we were supposed to secure for our side for some unfathomed super-skills; arguing over who gets to carry our money; my taking a timeout to go and read a comic book detailing the world and the religion of the game... Also, a castle. Big. A seashore. Sand-y. And thriftwood-y. And stuff. Can't remember much more besides that one short minute under the pillars of a marketplace, debating on the best means to complete our mission of extraction, and that is incredibly vivid. Went to see Mom yesterday. Walking in the mountains of snow was something of an ordeal, but at least it's beautiful. There's just something that cuddles one's heart and nourishes it, in the heavy blankets of white and the smell of snowman-weather. Irre's new cats are mindbogglingly cute. Must go back under covers. Went to bed around nine to fight the flu, but it didn't help much. Damn it. ...And the translations to A Kitchen Live are right at the worst stage: mostly done, but not as good as they should be, and now I should let them out of my hands, knowing they should be better, but aren't. Blaagh. And my head is filled with sawdust, and someone is trying to make more of it by sawing my skull into small pieces. |