Back to Diary

You can still contact me at svaha@iki.fi

31 Jan 04: Long Night

Ashes and dust

just one tear, or two...?


30 Jan 04: Evasion

So, no writing for two days? Birdie hiding something, hm? Not willing to open up?

Yes. Well. And so it will stay. Sorry. I think this is something I should open up about - examining one's more unpleasant sides is almost always painful but necessary - but I don't want to, because it might have Consequences. And I don't mean on a personal level, but on a business level, because there are people who might react too quickly. Whatever. There is no problem per se, only some inner struggles.

Yes, I know I am being terribly obscure, again. It was pointed out to me that I was so in the last entry as well. About that, I just thought that there were enough people already who knew about how little worth I have, and I didn't really want to parade the proof about. And this one - well, I promise to return to it later, when it's no longer urgent.

Any sort of sensible daily schedule still escapes me. It's half past three am; I slept from three to ten, and woke up cursing since I was supposed to go and see the Evil Movie ("The Last Samurai") with Atte and Heli and a couple of others, but clearly my tiny nap had turned into something else. Now I'm sitting up, working. Sort of.

Should not be sitting here. Should be sewing. Or sleeping, possibly? Not sitting up and cursing one's pitiful lack of witty puns.

That other edge I mentioned after "Yhden Illan Perhosia" turned out to be not so sharp, after all. Some good, at least.


28 Jan 04: ...And A Different Other

So. And I thought last week was bad. Amusing, really. This is my worst nightmare come true. And so we're back to wondering whether survival is worth it, when all I can think of is how much I want to hurt a number of people, for hurting me like this. And of course it doesn't do to go about hurting others, so what can I do? Except take myself away.

What else can I do? Tell me. And forget the bloody medication, it doesn't help as to what has actually happened. I would feel just as much a drowning animal in any case, as this is what it is; what happened.

Please God, why do I have to stay alive when the pain only gets bigger? Why should I?

BTW, it's odd, isn't it, that the English word "snake" seems clearly male to me, when the Finnish word "käärme" is so clearly female? It is, though, isn't it?

I don't know how to... anything. Anymore.

(Night) Met Lissu for lunch, talked much, was left with a feeling of much more to say that is too difficult to put into words. Hung around in town and at the Rikhardinkatu library, was useful for a small page of notes about the themes I want to explore with my Faerun characters (don't know how to go about them yet). Went to Vera's place to watch "Happy Together" and chat. The movie was about what I expected, which is not to say it was dull... it felt very familiar, in many ways, but not too close to confuse. Felt better after ranting at Vera about the injustice of the world (and particularly the lack of even vaguely interested, interesting men).

Came home, was reminded on the road that whatever others do or don't do, I still have letters from Faerie - perhaps not constant, but continuing, still. And the keys to some of its doors that I have not found yet, but they are there. If I die, I die with the keys in my hand. And if I live, I will open the doors.

And I pity the ones who fear that.

Came in, sat at the computer, happened to read Kristel's diary. I do not think the Source of All listens to me anymore, for whatever reason - but if, if... please, God, keep her in your hands.


26 Jan 04: And Another

Well, one more weekend spent comprehensively on a game, having survived mostly unscathed (which is a bit surprising, as the day before the game was quite difficult all around). I kept sewing until the last minutes, and for once, was reasonably happy with the results for others. Anni's Italian Renaissance dress turned out beautifully, and Ene was overwhelmingly satisfied with his outfit (I think it needs a bit of adjustment... still, whatever, if the recipient was happy :)). Well, let's just hope you will see the results in public in the near future, as there was a journalist there... but I don't think we're supposed to talk about that beforehand.

And let's also hope my own outfit will not be displayed. I did not like the end result at all. I looked fat (well, no surprise there, as I am fat), and the dark makeup made me look old.

I don't think I've completely processed how I felt about the fact that this lady who was helping in the kitchen came to ask me my age, as she was doubtful whether she herself was too old for the hobby, and I seemed like someone close to her age, while "everybody else looked so young". In a game with at least five people close to my age! And here I've always been under the consoling impression that I look a bit younger than I am, at least! I can't think of it, not really. If I do, I'll start getting into the terminal line again.

Yes, yes, I know it's an obsession with me. But what can I do? I'm in a hobby where most people are at least ten years younger than I am, and I don't want to be relegated to the boring mother parts!! I don't. Also, how could I not worry about looking old when I'm so desperately single? And never meet people anywhere except in connection with the hobby? And, also, have come to the conclusion that there are no men older than my own age that I could find interesting at all (unless, of course, they're John Cusack or Viggo Mortensen...). So...

Anyway. The game site, Meriharju, is really gorgeous. I know it's been the site of many games in the past - and no wonder - but for some reason I've never made it to any of them before this. It's the one available site in the greater Helsinki area that can compare to the incredibly expensive locations of Majvik and Suitia (the latter of which we, luckily, have deals with), and is free for bringing one's own food and letting people sleep there. As coincidence would have it, in two weeks I'll be there again for Ruusu ja Risti.

The game itself was an enigmatic experience. Anni herself was not at all happy with it, and it's true that I myself did not have the most rewarding game, but my feelings are hardly typical. My character was quite the exceptional case: a high-class courtesan from a more southerly country, just arrived, and pretending to be mute. I think there was lots of interesting stuff happening elsewhere, and most people seemed to be very deeply into their characters. So what if there were some quiet moments? It was only to be expected in a situation like that, and I don't think it bothered people (except in character, naturally).

Besides, I also had some really striking moments along the way. It was very interesting to communicate without words and to try and have conversations in writing (which I was allowed). I have several sheets of folded-up paper filled with scattered notes that I'm sure make really, really confusing reading! Furthermore... hm, writing about this is kind of private. But, well, diary. So.

In our pre-game conversations, I pointed out to Anni that since the character was supposed to be special enough to be extremely expensive (and very well aware of the fact herself), and since I did not trust my own appearance to account for that, it needed an edge to build on. So we modelled her specialities on the protagonist of Kushiel's Dart, even if I was somewhat shy of doing so (it felt too much like wish-fulfillment). I did not really expect it to have much bearing on my actual game, but it affected it quite a lot. First of all, Moira picked up the cue beautifully (her character was my new owner, a bordello mistress and a high-ranking member of the Thieves' Guild of Pelargir) and treated me exactly right; exactly like someone who enjoys their power over a natural submissive and uses it to secure the commitment of said submissive, and knows the sub knows they are doing it because of that. Further, the meeting I finally got with the lord of the Guild, Moreinion or "Shadow" (I don't know how the GM's want it translated; I suspect it can't be "Shadow", or then it's deliberate and there's something here we haven't noticed), shook the character to her core with exactly the sort of shivers she was most vulnerable to, Moreinion being as scary as he was (Teemu was very, very good in the role). I spent a lot of time after that staring at him more or less openly, but I don't suppose anyone paid much attention (they were all too busy being afraid of him). I was quite surprised, as I had not expected to react like that (I like and respect Teemu, but I've never found him particularly my type - and still don't, out of that black cape and mask - but right then, in the headspace of my character, he was Just the Thing). Gah, how do you say these things without sounding either insulting or fawning??

I also employed some other trappings of the submissive behaviour to stick to my role when my corset and my aching shoulders were about to kill my concentration completely, and they worked. So, even if I'm not actually that much of a real Phedre, there were some quite enlightening moments there.

Writing about this has been really embarrassing. In a way, it's still been easier than something that I refused to write about last week (as evidenced by the fact of that refusal). That was real stuff, this was only imaginary, still, in the end.

I could say a lot about how impressive almost everyone else was in character, in addition to Moira and Teemu - Jukka (so gorgeous as the wrongly accused, beaten, poor boy, and my champion!, I was bursting with pride and awe), and Jori, and Sampsa, and Lissu (who was beautiful), and Gini (just out of this world, as she always is), and Irrette (she played so well) and well, everyone - but I'll stop before I grow completely boring. Oh, and the food was just right, too. And Lin worked her ass off all weekend. Without her, it just would not have been possible at all. I was so sorry to be, again, so late with the sewing, and to have to leave earlier on Sunday for a Faerun GM meeting, because it meant more work for her - after all her game had been spent in the kitchen already!

The Faerun meeting went very well: we got everyone figured out, which is good. Aarne took a couple of characters to write, in addition to the rest of us. The only problem is, we have more male characters than females, and there's not much we can do about it... and naturally, the state of the hobby being what it is, we've had literally dozens of applications from young girls we simply won't be able to include, no matter what we do. While there are still quite many places for men, especially ones over twenty with at least some larp experience.

So guys (the one or two who read my diary and already don't have an old character in the campaign), go apply!

In other, better, news: my therapy funding was renewed!! This might mean a continued lease of life, after all. Actual life, I mean. I'm seeing Liisa tomorrow. I just wish I remembered at what time...

I've been thinking about whether I will ever get a regular job after having these two empty years in my resume. I suppose it should really be a plus in the teaching profession that I've survived a difficult depression, as it may better my understanding of its warning symptoms in others. But I don't know if people will see it like that, or just think that it'll recur anyway. I don't think it will, not if the therapy will continue to work at all and if I get to be rid of it finally, but how to convince people of that without explanations that come off as self-absorbed?

Daily cycle shot to hell, again - too little sleep before and after the game, so slept too long today, and now it's five am once more.

The Tavern will not be played before Solmukohta, after all. Logistics problems, and not mine. I'm a bit sad that it was not decided before - I only said yes because Taika asked, even though I felt like saying no, and it would have been nice not to go into the public program and then be out of it so that everyone will think I've not been able to deliver.

At least I can now concentrate fully on the translations and rehearsals for A Kitchen Line (though I do wonder where we're going to have them!). And writing Faerun, of course.

And sewing. Still. Though nothing can be as hard as the sewing last week, so I'm not that worried about that.

...Except I have absolutely nothing to wear for "Ruusu ja Risti"! I have no clothes fit for the end of 15th century, beginning of 16th - not after I took the Italian gobble-up apart and killed the black velvet corset. The dress I had at "Yhden illan perhosia" is altogether wrong, and altogether too fancy, and everything else is full medieval. And I hate the idea of having to create a complete dress of the complexity required for that time, having no use for it in the future. Besides, I just made something like that for Anni, and am making another for QHeli.

Tired. It's actually far into morning by now.


23 Jan 04: Toil

Sewing, sewing, sewing, sewing.

Still no idea what I myself am going to wear. Well, an idea or two, yes, but whether they can be realized remains to be seen.

Too much work to do. Well, Kalle's tunic is finished, and Ene's only lacks buttonholes (which I hate!). Anni's dress is still only halfway to anything, but so far, it has not been too difficult to work on, and I hope it will stay like that. No blasted velvet edgings, at least!


21 Jan 04: Sleep-deprived

I think I am, for once, exhausted enough at a reasonable hour. I should stay up and finish at least some of today's endless sewing, but I've slept so little and so badly that I feel sick and can't even keep the fabric straight anymore. Tomorrow, then.

Heli visited, though we were far less than productive.

Anxiously waiting for the Faerun IV ad to appear in the calendar...


20 Jan 04: Living, Dying

So, yesterday was another day when I got another reason to die, to give up and go away and stop the pain now. But then I thought; if doing it only to escape dealing with that pain, well, am I selfish enough to spoil Anni's game for that? No. It can wait that much. And then I thought, Faerun IV: I want to live to do that, don't I? Do I? I'm not yet quite sure; I suppose. I suppose it will end up so; its aftereffects may be the next really, truly bad one, but that's then.

But all the while, the pain never stops. Deciding to live (now or for good) does not lessen it. Nothing lessens it. It can only be forgot for a little while, reading or watching a movie or somehow losing oneself and one's life of no meaning. Every moment hurts.

I was not even bullied at school (well, not seriously anyway), and I'm not doing even reasonably okay, while other people have come and conquered all their adversities and are doing not only okay, but admirably. And are accepted. Above all, are accepted.

I can't manage even that.

(Much later) I've been compartmentalising things a lot in the past few days. Not writing about this or that because it would be embarrassing to me, or to this or that person. And this time I can't even say I'm sorry and do better, because there simply is no talking about these particular things publicly.

So let's just stick to generalities: it really bugs me that I can never hit it off with any man who'd respond the right way in the physical department. I'd very much like to, just for a change, even if the only things right were that they were reasonably attractive, reasonably friendly for a meaningless shag, and wired at least somewhat in the right way to make it interesting. The meagre flirtations of my recent life have always been with people who are nice, and safe, and friends, but who just aren't built to take charge. Okay, well, there was one case with a friend, last summer - it was very nice. But it was then, and it's not an experience we're likely to repeat, as there is absolutely no spark between us, though plenty of good friendship chemistry.

I'm not even moaning for the lack of actual dominants - that would be just too much luck, and maybe not even necessary (besides, there are none that I know that would not be either strictly unavailable or totally unattractive). But just men who have enough self-confidence to take the lead at all. And enough taste not to make it all blunt and non-erotic, or, on the other hand, to start opening up about their own insecurities in the middle. A woman being insecure may, occasionally, be cute - a man being insecure is an instant turnoff.

But, well, as I've often said: as long as I am terminally depressed, I can't really expect anyone to take the risk even for a while. Those only looking for some physical sharing would probably fear me getting long-time needy and clingy (whether this would be the case or not, and let me emphasize it is not); those looking for something more lasting would see only my implied inability to commit to a normal, faulty human being (if they'd not already be scared by my flippancy about death).

The tragedies of net journals. Can only blame myself, after all.

Took the dog for a morning walk (sleep? what sleep?) and mused about this amidst dragging him back every three steps (no, I'm exaggerating, every two steps; we haven't been out there together for a while, and it shows). People keep telling me I give off the wrong vibes; that I come off as too strong and not at all inclined to be submissive. It's strange, considering how insecure I am (not that I am really inclined to be meek in anything else except the horizontal). A case of hiding it too well, again? People not seeing past the defenses? How on earth do I end up friends with those nice, kind, non-forward young men, then? Because they think I am so far out of their league and their experience that I could never bother them anyway, and so I am completely safe?

That would explain quite a few things. Oh, the perverse logic of human expectations!


19 Jan 04: Up In Arms

I am shivering with rage, and would like to point to some old diary entries about being included or excluded, being trusted to cope or not... but I'm too tired to go over the same ground again and again. I've worked for three years now to show people I can do stuff I've promised to do, and do it bloody better than anyone else, and it still is not enough.

I want to die - seriously, as nothing ever seems to help, nothing seems to change - but I'm too angry to go down in front of some people in that amount. They don't deserve it.

And, of course, now all the malicious souls reading this for curiosity can think that I've surely deserved this, whatever it is, and that I'm just trying to be a martyr. Whatever. I don't give a shit. I'm writing here about my feelings, to learn to cope with them without opening my mouth, at least not before thinking. And I'll be damned if I care about those who want to read this the wrong way.

(No, this is not me opening my mouth. This is about what I feel. Note that I have not made any proclamations or judgements on people, nor said anything about how I am going to act. This is what I feel.)

Luckily, people like Dugi exist, and keep me on this side of sanity just when they are needed. The talk we had after he phoned Anni and then me about next weekend's costuming almost saved my day. Almost.

(Later) I noticed that I never talked about that other edge that I referred to in yesterday's subject line. And, well, I won't even now. There's personal and then there's personal, and this is the latter. However, there is a confused issue that I'm trying to figure out and don't know how to. Don't know at all.

(Much later) It's here, it's happening: Faerun IV - Baron of Stonelands.

And now back to preparations for Pelargir and Solmukohta...


18 Jan 04: Past The Ordeal, Another Edge

So, I got my act together, and even if the same did not really apply to my dress, I swallowed my pride, packed the sewing machine in the car and got moving. Tonja, Clotilde and me arrived at the game site in Orimattila in plenty of time, and I managed to squeeze almost enough time into both the costume, the dressing up, and dances. "Almost", since I did not get to check a couple of dances that are newer favourites and that I've never ever done.

The game itself was a pleasant surprise: the dancing worked better than in any other game I've ever seen, though to my sorrow I did not get to dance much; the food was very good; and all in all the general organizing was properly thought out. It was also lovely to see some old acquaintances from Orimattila, as well as many other people. And, luckily, a certain person whom I did not particularly relish meeting, did not need to make contact with me much. Also, after the game, there was more dancing and more talking, and that was nice - though I did not get to dance much even then.

There were some causes for criticism, of course. About the characters themselves, I'll pass, as Sandra is only fifteen and this was her first larger game. For fifteen, it was quite, quite acceptable. But I got to dance a lot less than I would have liked, and so did some other ladies, and this could have been anticipated. There were considerably more women than men in the game; there were, again, plots for certain groups of men that took them out of the circulation and into their own closed rooms; and anyway, even those men who come to a game where the main aim is to dance, mostly do not know the dances as well as the ladies do. The men had been prepped well in both dancing and manners, but still, the reasons for dancing with this or that person were naturally not equal. So therefore, while the mistress of the house got to dance every single dance, some women were left out pretty much completely: those with no family with them, or with few other connections. But, all in all, this was still the only game I have been in where the dancing has been, or planned to be, the point, and that has worked.

After the game, I dallied for far too long, considering I'd not slept the past night, and in the end we got to leave around six am, taking along Tomi, who came to Lummetie for Sunday to keep me company after the ordeal of the game.


16 Jan 04: Just When You Thought You Were Human...

It is six am in the morning. I have not slept (I only got up in the afternoon, for another headache), but neither have I sewed. I have thrown up three times this night. I just nicked Kalle's chocolate and ate it all. And threw it up, of course. And tomorrow - today, that is - I am supposed to play a beautiful, desirable, charming Elizabethan courtier.

And, even more ironic, I am in this sorry state exactly because I was already in a panic about the whole thing. Dressing up, trying to look good, only looking fat, not having a proper dress...

I sincerely hope that some people who have the nerve to call me arrogant will read this, and get some joy over the fact that the person they will meet is small, and scared speechless, and only able to get out of the door because I promised a ride to a couple of others. So far, there is absolutely no guarantee I will be able to get myself into a presentable shape.

Oh, and even if I do, since I haven't slept and since I have eaten so weirdly, and since I won't be able to have anything to eat until the game meal, I probably won't be able to remember half of the steps, and even if I do, won't be able to dance for feeling nauseous.

But I'll go and try to put that dress together in some manner, now.


15 Jan 04: ...And Was Caught

Woke too late to do much anything today was supposed to be about. Guess it's down to sewing, then.

Dreamed of being in a fantasy LARP that was played in a hiking lodge at the crossroad of big paths, far into the woods, though still in Southern Finland. Through some unbelievable stroke of luck, the GM's had managed to get Michael Praed and Judi Trott as they were in "Robin of Sherwood", almost 20 years ago, to reprise those roles, but the game was not in any other way "about" the actual Robin Hood mythos, nor was there any of the series' peculiar atmosphere in the dream. I played a servant girl who was in love with Robin (no surprise there). There was a moment when we were standing on the yard in the darkness of the late evening, when people were settling to sleep, and I gathered up my courage and told him I was happy for him and Marian (it was new in our game), and he hugged me and said kindly, "Just try to be", and turned and went to one of the sleeping buildings where they were staying. I was left standing there to muse on the incredibility of, in character, him realizing my feelings, and off character, there being there, and that I had just been hugged by a young Michael Praed.

There was also stuff about a woman who bicycled down one path and into the yard in the middle of the night and, while I was yelling at her to get lost, promptly turned into an old gentleman who was lost and had to be shown the right path out to civilization with much pouring of maps (which had suddenly turned unknown in my hands, and I am good with maps!) and finally taking him down the route to the greater road. On the way back, I was lost and had to avoid, among other things, young delinquents of a correctional facility that was surprisingly near to our game site (one of them, inexplicably, had Ari's voice).

I also remember some stuff about a stage performance that was based on a modified fantasy game...

(Night) I've become far too good at checking every possible interesting site I ever found, again and again, in the prolonged attempt not to get anything done. I finally got so bored of me it transferred over to the sewing projects: I decided to do something unthinkable and take apart my old black velvet corset. Started already, so it's too late to cling to wistful memories now. Not that it has not been modified through many combinations and two actual costumes (first with the pink velvet skirt and undersleeves and silk tissue oversleeves, and then as the "Italian ensemble" with the burgundy skirt attached above waist, slashed sleeves and front decorative stripe - oh, and that one kept changing, too). Besides, this is necessary, as I suddenly remembered in horror that I don't seem to have seen my actual undercorset around lately - Inka returned it to our post-box on a day when I myself did not wake up, go out and pick it up as I was supposed to, and I haven't seen it lying around after being brought in by someone else, either... I absolutely need a strong corset for "Yhden illan perhosia" - it's Elizabethan, after all! (No, I am not going to let myself think of the possibly lost corset. I am not. I will think of it after the game. No time to get depressed now.)

I am going to take off the velvet, change the bones that have bent permanently, mend the bone strips that have ripped in some places, and temporarily attach the golden undergown to it. After, I'll see about some permanent overfabric. I also need to change the skirt of the red-and-pink thingy a bit, to open at the front, and to sew some extra oversleeves to go along with it. But that's about it.


14 Jan 04: Must Catch Morpheus

Tired. Slipped last night in fear of not making it to awakeness and to psychiatrist's appointment to renew my therapy grant application and med prescription. Made it. Now falling on two feet, so far beyond the normal country of awakening or tiredness that it has dropped off all maps. Sleep, then communicate again, with sense.


13 Jan 04: Nice Stuff, And Ugly

I didn't get much sleep, not getting to bed until seven am again, and waking up to Jero's furious bark as Mikis came to visit and watch movies. I was going to get up and shower earlier, but I suppose I was too deeply unconscious. We watched Infernal Affairs, me having completely forgotten that we had actually agreed to watch Spirited Away... Not that the former was bad, but it wasn't as spectacular as I had thought it might be. Had some highly caloric, highly nutrition-less lunch, talked about how the game had been, and then he had to leave for rendance practice (I debated long and hard whether I should go, too, to prepare for next weekend's game, but decided against it, as I have too little money for bus tickets to Lauttasaari and back, and too many sewing projects to take care of, now that I'm awake properly).

I also engaged in some email discussion over some not-so-nice people politics that have been more or less a problem in the periphery for about a year-and-a-half or so. And I'd like to make a statement about this, one last time. Live-action roleplaying is a shared hobby: we make the games together, and we simply cannot afford to ruin the arranging and the communication and the whole deal with personal shit. I did not always behave according to this requirement myself when I was younger and more stupid, but I hope I have learned better (besides, even then I never tried to lay claim to being a professionally-behaved game arranger, or any sort of game arranger at all!). I say that it is not acceptable to take personal grudges and let them affect how we deal with this common activity and the people in it, in the context of the activity itself. And if I see a GM doing that, I can only say that it is their right to do so (as long as they get no proper profit out of it and are therefore not really subject to consumer's complaints), but it is also my right not to trust them as GM's any more, and to vote with my feet. And they can be sure I will not stay quiet of my opinion on their lack of professionalism. Personal is personal, and should stay so, or sooner or later, the whole hobby will collapse in on itself.

There. I've spoken. Hopefully for the last time on this subject.

(Five am) ...And who, anyway, can be bothered to care when the world is a sculpture in white bone china, yet unglazed? And I'm still up, even though by rights, and lack of sleep, I should have fallen seven or eight hours ago... but I don't feel like sleeping. Other people's dreams are so much more interesting, and most importantly more selectable (and therefore safer) than my own.

This nightmare gig has seriously buggered my mental safehouses (except probably, a house can't be buggered any more than a hedgehog).

(Less, I'd say.)

As I've been reading (yes, still that strange sub-sub-sub-subgenre, mostly simply because there is so much fanfiction out there it's cursedly hard to whittle out the brilliant ones, and I happened to find an "awards" site that has turned out some quite, quite brilliant ones indeed). And while I've been reading this one piece - absorbing, but so long that one necessarily finds one's thoughts taking little walkabouts at intervals - I've been thinking. Of some of my own, extremely occasional, physical encounters in the past year. Of some regrets, and some non-. And also, of friendships and the fact that I get really angry when people refuse confrontations, when such are clearly called for. I mean, it's not like I pick fights with people often nowadays (besides poor Anni, that is, and she doesn't count; or does, but differently). I have learned to abhor and avoid backlash a bit too much - you know, not to risk anything to make someone mad at me, to go away. But that can't always be right. Pulling back, giving in, giving up can't always be right. And right now, I am mad as hell at three people (at least) who are doing so, or have done so.

Not that I can do much about it. But it still makes me flaming mad.


12 Jan 04: Nightmares

That's what you get by once more staying up all night and thinking optimistically that you're just going to sleep a bit: sleeping until late afternoon and having nightmares of such terror that the word "nightmare" seems far too used and tame.

Honestly. I generally don't have nightmares like this. I don't.

The first that I can remember (and there was odd stuff before that, too - something having to do with that cursed song "Into the West" that undoes me every time!, and a beach under rocks, and old school friends, and meditation)... The Ropecon dance group is having a rehearsal for something that could be, but isn't, A Kitchen Line. There is a performance later today. I go backstage, and suddenly the view changes as if in a film, and there is an evil creature whispering down a huge, bottomless well, and the camera plunges after the whisper (this, surely, came from someone falling like that in Feersum Endjinn, which I was reading before falling asleep, but the twist...). Levels and levels again of some modern-ish structure, then natural caves, then medieval vaults constructed of black stone and lit with torches, straight from a video game. I start feeling bad, as the vault openings are decorated with evil-looking gargoyles, and force the dream to stop the descent (before, I did not know I was there, falling with the view), slip into a natural cave to the side of the shaft. Gollum is there, and I know that it was his whisper all the time, though he does not see me - yet. He is chanting something about there being no way out, and I panic. I am somehow half-flying half-sliding through the vision, and I try to find a way out through all branchings and alcoves there are, but the cave is small, less than man-high in many places and only a couple of meters into every hollow. There is light coming from the end of one tunnel, but the end narrows far too much to get out that way. I know there is no way back to that big bottomless shaft. I turn in that small tunnel with light at the end, and the other end is shut, too. I am trapped in a space I barely fit into. I scream until I force myself to wake, though only to another dream.

(Did I ever mention I am mildly claustrophobic? Not enough for closets or lot of people to bother me, but enough to fear being trapped in just a space like that. And all that crawling through small tunnels they do in, for example, books by Enid Blyton? Not even to save my life. To be stuck, to choke... that is the worst kind of death I can imagine.)

Next, I am back preparing for the performance. Everybody else is late, I am the first to arrive. All our stuff is spread on the highest steps of an outside stair structure, the seats of an open-air theatre (though we are performing inside). There is also stuff that Mom has dumped there: my old stuff from her storage spaces. I fret about others being late. They begin to arrive, but I am so focused on getting others ready that I forget to do it myself. We are going to give a performance to the students of a primary school, but it isn't for an hour and a half, and we supposedly have dress rehearsal yet. I am supposed to dance a neoclassical pas de deux with a guy who has a full classical training (that surely came from following Heli's dance thingy in Lahti), and then there is a group musical number with the girls.

Suddenly, I hear our pas de deux announced - an hour too early! There is no way I will be able to go out there half-dressed, with no shoes and no makeup and my hair all over the place, far less with no last rehearsal, and I am angry as hell. I am given the impression that they'd decided to settle the children into their places early, and now they are fidgeting. Well, fidget all you want! I announce that I will not do it, nor will any of the performance continue at this hour. I am not listened to. I argue for a while, but the only result is that they simply pass our number and go on to the musical one. If the other girls are going to do it, well, I can't let them down and spoil the thing, so I rush up to the stage and to my spot. There are stairs to the floor from the stage for its whole length, just like in Dipoli; to make everything more difficult, they are covered with loose red velvet. And there is a subwoofer at my cue spot. We settle ourselves anyway, and the music starts.

Except it's not the right music. It should be an explosive song from Chicago or some other musical I'm not clear on, but it ends up being the background to Roxie's stand-up tell-all in the film. We keep making the moves to the beginning of our number, or just changing position and trying to look nice, and then it's over before it began. I am burning with shame and rage.

The show continues with the students' own performance: some sort of a modern Romeo-and-Juliet version that seems to be quite fresh and nice. Not all of us stay, but some do. The lead couple are sixth-graders: twelve or thirteen. At some point where the actors are fooling with the audience, they end up in front of me, and I manage to make some quips that actually are funny, or at least get a laugh and a surprised, satisfied look from the performers. Then they go back to the front (the performance is set on the floor in front of the stage, not on the stage itself), and a teacher takes the opportunity to ask me who I was, again. I say I teach at the Junior High, then correct myself that I only substitute, and even then she gets the wrong idea that I am a regular, all-year substitute; I don't know why I let her keep it. I am also informed that the change in time was a decision of the school headmaster, because they had decided to let the children home earlier.

The performers go into a wonderfully rehearsed, beautifully choreographed and lit group dance number in a Renaissance style, and I murmur in admiration to the person sitting next to me. When I turn back, the dance has changed, and they are throwing the boy lead high in the air - and I mean acrobatic high. I am under an overhang (a balcony or something), and they are throwing him so high I can't even see it. I suddenly get a feeling of horror: this can't end well. They can't control the throws or the landings, I can see it. They should stop. But they don't, and the next throw goes completely askew, and the boy flies many meters to the side, and - with dream logic - even while flying, his head separates completely from his body. I bang my eyes shut in time not to see (much of) the blood and run out; the door is right behind me. On the yard I stop, in wild panic, and realize I have to help the teachers with the children, but I can't force myself to go back in. Some other adults are coming out, shouting for someone to call emergency, and I whimper that I don't have a phone, but to my relief, I see someone else already making the call.

A small girl, maybe six years old, runs out and seems to be running off; I catch her and get her to calm down; she does not seem to grasp what has happened, and I try to keep it so. I ask her whether her parents are coming to get her and when, and she says they are, soon - and actually, her mother arrives in maybe a minute. (For some reason, the little girl has a blond moustache and goatee.) I let go of her with relief and try to find something else to do. All the while I have a persistent feeling of guilt, but over what, I don't know - maybe over being of so little help. There is complete chaos everywhere. People running this way and that, audience and children led somewhere in small groups; I m adrift in the middle of it all, horrified and helpless.

Medical people have arrived earlier, and now the police arrives: they march in, maybe twenty or so, looking more like officials behind a desk in some other country. They start asking everyone's papers, which is kind of odd. I manage to dig my old driving licence out of the wallet (where it actually is quite visible) and present it. There is no picture: it has fallen off. I fear there is something else wrong with it, nor is the policewoman too happy with it. But before she can take action one way or another, we notice from our higher-level walkway that somehow there are tigers free in the library below us. There is a zoo adjacent to the school (don't ask me why, according to dream logic the connection was performing and circus, but these were not trained animals), and all the tigers and lions are out. Everyone starts to flee; there is no way for everyone to get away safely.

I follow a group of teachers going through a door to a different part of the building that supposedly has no open doors to the library space. I know I am leaving behind a man who is sitting down and writing something: I shouted at him but he won't come. As I bang the door shut behind me I also see a small girl there, but I cannot open the door anymore, or I won't be able to shut it quickly. All walls and doors have suddenly become rickety, hazy constructions of unsmoothed plank and chicken wire that are not safe at all. I run through another room to the next door, hoping that the man will protect the girl, but even as I open the door I hear her screaming... The teachers have barricaded themselves to a classroom, but I don't think it's safe, and I don't want to stay in this school any longer than I have to. There is a walkway over the side of the yard, going to a small shack on the other side, and stairs from there. There are two other people on the walkway, both younger than I am but older than the students at the school. We run halfway to the shack but realize that it is open, and the stairs open to the yard, and the tigers will be there any second.

Everywhere there are waist-high steel-and-wire fences, like at an airport or a sports arena or some other much-used public space. But they won't stop anything, and besides, there are no gates to bar. I run back to the lobby I came out of and try to find a place that would be safe. Through windows, I see into other wings of the building and realize that there are some areas that are quite secure, and most of the children are settled there, some even doing aerobics to pass their time. But I have nowhere safe to get to anymore, because I took a stupid direction; made the wrong choice; was just as dumb as could be expected, and now I'm alone and there are tigers out there...

And I wake up, trembling in terror, and for some reason, "Into the West" playing in my head once more. It is not helpful.

(Later) And just to get some sense of perspective: Gollum on "Frasier". Lovely. And I really needed that laugh.

In other news, I tried to write some stuff about my most delightful encounters at larps in larp.fi, but now I've done it, it doesn't feel like I managed to capture the moments at all.

Janka complained (again) about my lack of comments log or board or something. I am finally starting to feel I might like to have one, mainly because I really am hoping for answers to the occasional questions such as the "leimahdus" issue. It just means more stuff to learn, to set something up.

(Even later) Yes. Yes. I finally got a grip on my procrastination and sent that request for date change and budget offer to Suitia about Faerun IV. Now if things don't work out, it's not on me any more. And if they do, we finally get to go forward!


10 Jan 04: Typical

A fitting ending to an already miserable week. Migren, bad nausea, no game. And despite the fact that the migren and the nausea probably are results of fear, they are very real, and I really really wanted to go. For the game, I don't think it matters: there are many, many beautiful, charismatic women there who will play the movie star much better than I could have - but for myself, I can only curl up and weep at the loss. It was mine, written for me, with love, and I couldn't.

This isn't fair.

(Night) Once the migren had settled a bit, I managed to get a hold of Jonni through IRC, and he kindly sent a message to Mikis and Ari for me, saying that they were still welcome to have a sauna after the game, as I had promised, provided they did not drag the whole horde of players with them. I was particularly worried, since I had promised a lady from Tampere could stay over at our place. However, no-one has turned up, and since it's two-fourty am by now, I think I can safely say no-one will.

And, perversely enough, I feel abandoned and hurt. As if they'd a) dared to come and bother someone they knew was sick b) wanted to, after I had to back off so late (I had no way of letting them know until Kalle came home from somewhere after two pm). And maybe someone might have called even, but since that's not an option...

I hope the game was good. But for the life of me, I can't yet make myself hope it was good for whoever substituted for me. It hurts too much.

Janka, you were right about the medication (as you generally are; in fact, I can't remember you ever being wrong about anything you have ventured an opinion on, which is pretty awesome). It's hard and I don't want to, but I suppose if I want to have a life, I have to be willing to exchange some head-in-the-clouds emotion for the energy and the ability to stick with real people. But even after acknowledging that decision, it gets no easier. It is terribly, terribly important to me to be honest, to show only the true face of myself (and I don't mean completely; of course it can be shown in parts, in moderation), and the medication makes me feel that it's not the real me, but something watered-down, something painted over. And also, most often there is no actual reward; no actual lessening of the confused hurt I seem to gather more and more around people, every time. No-one who would instantly see how much nicer and more sociable I was, and how much of an effort I was putting into it.

I can only tell the difference negatively, at times like this, when even the smallest threads of contact are broken because of my own inability to hold on.

"Kaksoset:
rakkaus ja kuolema, yhtä
epätodellisia molemmat, yhtä haluttuja,
kun luonteeni pettää, pakenen
toisesta toiseen."

(Eeva-Liisa Manner, of course)

...Isn't that what I keep trying to fill my head with?

P.S. About that "Emily flash": I want to emphasize that to me personally, the connection to Montgomery's little Mary Sue is in no other way relevant except that it was the only place where I have found a description that seems to match my experience. Of course I can't even be sure, and the similarity never even occurred to me until many years had passed from my first reading of the book. I have no deeply personal relationship to Emily Starr or the brand of artistic ideals that Montgomery embodies in her. I always preferred Anne of Green Gables (much more wholesome and real), and later, even more so Valancy Stirling of The Blue Castle (much more identifiable, even a long time before I was a lone, repressed thirtyish woman myself...).

...I suddenly realized, after checking backwards on something else completely, that this was the third headache in a week. Clearly, something is askew physically, as well. Not that this is really any reason to start worrying yet, but it bears observation. I have no idea what it could be, though. Knotted shoulders, again?


09 Jan 04: Theories (Procrastinating Like The Champion I Am)

I came to a theory on why I don't switch to writing in Finnish, despite considering it almost from the beginning: I am afraid that if I start in my mother tongue, I can't stop.

After all, I never know when to stop in anything. I never know how to give up. And there are so many words, so many thoughts, so many formless emotions I am unable to pin down precisely and therefore just keep approximating towards, over and over and over... I'm afraid of getting lost in the universe of words and never finding my way out, or even to any waystation with a signal for coherent messages.

Another theory, or explanation of same: Lynoure commented on my notes about reluctance in sharing, and I answered quite flippantly (I was on my way out of the door, and abominably late, as usual): "There's only one Frodo, 'for real'." Now what I meant is: to me, the relationship to a story character is always intensely, deeply, sharply personal. I find it hard to have any meaningful conversation on what I feel about any given character, far less the important ones. Oh, I can spend all day analyzing what I think they are like, objectively, but bring in even the slightest hint that my "objective" view may be dependent on my subjective thoughts, and I clam up completely. I also expect that others have this same kind of intensely, intimately personal bond to characters, deep in the core of the rest of the stuff - and so, there could only be feelings of misunderstanding and jealously. As to other aspects of story worlds... sure, I can share, I can talk, I can create, I can gush over and moan about and laugh at. But don't come between me and my Frodo (or my Luke, or my Will Stanton, or my Tarod or Leia or Anne Shirley or Ronja or Ged...). In fact, don't even look in the same direction, and I'll extend the same courtesy to you. Or try to, at least.

And on a more general, less character-tied level: how can I have any authority to say anything about the characters of a beloved story, if I can't back it up with excellence that makes others want to believe what I say?

Now, on to a completely different tangent of personal aesthetical experience. I am really curious to know if the phenomenon I am going to describe is common, or even uncommon-but-there. You know Emily of New Moon and her "leimahdus" - that sharp shiver of sudden, extreme aesthetic rapture that seems to be a flash of the Otherworld? Well, I have that, ever since I can remember: rare and unpredictable, of course, but when it occurs, so sharp and undeniable that I've realized, at adult age, it is in its essence the same as sexual rapture, le petit mort itself (though it feels as if it's happening in the body in general, not in the sexual areas). What about you? I can't be the only one, can I - after all, Montgomery seemed to know what she was describing, too? But so far, I've never found anyone else.

(A while ago, I even tested the theory and the experience by watching the red-women-in-golden-leaves sequence in Hero, undistracted and focused and with the music blaring... and sure enough, it's still there, and pretty much indistinguishable from the other sort of rapture, indeed. And no, I did not know it was possible to bring it on deliberately, but it seems to be so, in theory.)

Come on, own up. Tell me I'm not as special as I think I am. :)

(Night) Finally, very late, managed to make it to Samu and Mari's birthday party, on the basis of the theory that if spending time with dreams is beginning to cause serious hurt, spending time with real people might be just the ticket. I only got there around eleven, so a lot of people had come and gone (including Ari, whom I really needed to meet about tomorrow's game). Still had a nice time with the people left: ate, talked, watched some episodes of Cowboy Bebop for tomorrow, moaned about life and lack of men with Heli (though both were reasonably consoled by backrubs from Jonni and Wolven). Drove Heli home. However, theory was not proved right. For no reason at all, the end result is just as hurtful. Don't know why, don't know what.

And I'm too fat for my part tomorrow.


08 Jan 04: Holiday's Over

(Morning, not having slept) Ookay, that's it for that one. Good bye to the frolics of high exaltation, time to get back on the damn meds. Everything's starting to look black, even the here and now. And all waking moments are sliding towards a wallow of misery over how no-one likes me; will ever like me; far less love me. And all words find themselves twisting into a cord of endless whining, over and over the same core.

And I thought I was already better than this. But no... and I can't even think positively about how it will be better soon again; all I can think of is needing love and having none; needing to be held and having no-one for it. Oh, and eating. Too much, again. And therefore starting to hate the idea of going to any larp any time soon. And thinking how I should not whine about my need in public, as no-one can be bothered to muster caring or admiration for someone needy.

Besides, what kind of a sane male would ever let themselves care for someone who's just spent the better part of two weeks crying over an imaginary character? I mean, what would I think of a man doing the same, or even something remotely similar? I'd avoid them like plague.

And I had so many things I was supposed to do today. Now I'm only too tired. Tired enough to want to sleep despite last night's dreams of being attacked by a tiger that turned into an alligator; of being dragged down and under, of screaming again and again that this could not be happening, I could not be about to die in its (whatever it was) jaws... It was not the death but the pain that I was afraid of, in the dream. I think. Or just the fear itself.

Oh, and there was also the most common nightmare of all: of having to go back to Senior High, because I could not possibly become a University graduate any more, having forgotten so much of what I had to know simply as a basis. But that's routine, already. Too much so, of course, but there it is.

(Later in the day, too far without sleep) While perusing the countless linked web sites and story archives full of LOTR fan fiction of all genres and styles possible - far too much of it - what I feel more and more is defensive anger. And it occurs to me, again, after many years, that I've never been good at sharing. I want what I want, and I want it all, completely, so that I drown in it. I don't want others partaking in it.

No, not even when that something I want does not diminish, does not wear down, if others have a piece of it. There is such a strange, and to my senses, false camaraderie all over the net on fannish things: "Oh my goodness, you too? I'm not alone, great!" I've never felt so. I've never felt the need to vindicate my interests to anyone: they were always private to me anyway, and the more private the better. And in any case, the sense of understanding, of seeing the same, is almost certainly false, as we all are different creatures, shaped by different lives, traumas and desires and fulfillments and all.

Perhaps, if I were good enough at transforming my desires into sub-creation that others could and would appreciate... perhaps, and almost surely, then I might enjoy the sharing. But so far, all I feel is rage over my inadequacy in that aspect; in the way of mirroring back a shard of true light and colour.

"I can be a prism for you" - yes, I know that is what I so proudly state. But only in the much smaller sense of trying to respond to the specific needs of one person. That does not require excellence, only some sensitivity and lots of tenacity. Excellence is beyond me. And so I am angry, and begrudging.

Oh, and just in case you think this is a roundabout comment on the musings on polyamory on several friends' journals, it is not. People are different from dreams, and one can never completely fulfill one's formless longing by swallowing up another person, anyway. Besides, people grow much bigger and more beautiful and their radiance infinitely more fulfilling when allowed to flourish freely. I learned this by the negative example, and I hope to never, ever unlearn it.

But as for dreams... as for perfect exaltation... yes, I admit I am terribly, terribly jealous of them. Always were. Always hated societies and clubs over shared obsessions. Was there when talk of a Tolkien Society started at University. Slunk away as quickly as could. Probably only ever managed to obsess over Star Wars because it was not a general phenomenon in Finland then, long ago.

For, you see, if others claim the dream, how could I compete with them? Tiny, miserable, no-talent me? How could I have any part, even that of loyalty, love or inspiration? How could I be even a mirror, when all those others stand in the way of the light? No, no way. And then, with no mirror shielding my heart, the sharp wounds, the helplessness, created by the piercing of the dream would be open and visible to all.

(Again, in a few hours) How suddenly strength fails... so suddenly, so inevitably, so simply. How suddenly even the superficial meanings are washed out, and the world is back to monochrome. No specific reason any more, no final rock on top of the old, familiar mountain - you just look around and see in grey. And the only help you have ever found for that, the only non-desperate answer, is to go to sleep and hope it will pass, again... that some of the colours from dreams, the colours you can never remember, though you are sure they were there (and how apt is that, then, now), would spill over to waking. As they sometimes do. Sometimes, just enough.

(At night) To my own surprise, having fallen asleep on the living-room sofa, I woke two hours later to the sounds of Kalle coming home, dragged myself up and managed to make it to Vera's, after all (not without several mishaps on the way). Had the nicest, most relaxing evening, with Indian chicken curry, espresso, and some madeira I took with me, just chatting about this and that. It restored my faith in genuine human contact just a little.

Time to go to sleep and see if I can get myself up early enough to go and help Paula with a project (as I was supposed to, today).

Oh, some months have passed, and my phone is out, again.

...And I hate, I hate, I HATE Tolkien and his poetic-justice endings. As well as myself, for not being talented enough to change them, like some people are.


07 Jan 04: More And More Irritable

Screaming headache. No reason, it just pounced on me while I was driving Jatuli-baby home. Took some ibuprofein, but right now, it hurts so bad my teeth are throbbing.

I've been really, really short with people today. Nina was one of the few faces I could have tolerated right now, as her company never requires one to be any more accommodating than one feels like. We made some marjarahka and had it with chocolate cake moistened with madeira (hm, I wonder if that has something to do with the headache, now that I think about it?); watched as much of El Cid as we could stomach for the fun factor in costuming; talked about our own costume projects and future events and games.

My sleeping schedule is still shot to hell. And I hate being lousy at writing. And I can't figure out where all the Christmas money went. And there's a really, really irritating something that has taken hold of my Explorer and throws up ad (or empty) windows every time I switch pages, and I can't find it to kill it.


06 Jan 04: You Get What You Order

Crankiness continues. I slept until just before seven pm, so that was it for going to Seanna's birthday party, which I really, really wanted to do after her kind invitation. Well, I suppose it was high time the lack of sleep caught up with me - but why, once more, did it have to be right when I had plans to be social? Is there such a deep-set fear about people in here after all, that even when I want to go out and meet them, I actually don't?

Angry. And really low.

Anni has gone back to Kaustinen, and the house is empty (so has Lin, but she wasn't here during the holidays at all). I'm afraid of sliding back into apathy now that I don't have other people around (despite the pain her presence so often causes).

The processes at the back of my thoughts on how I really relate and to whom have not only been about friendships and loyalty, but also about the other sort of ripples, small and vague as they are. I am very bad at flirting, except in cases where I know the other person has even less confidence at same than I do, and that is kind of pitiful of me. And then, on the other hand, there are people with whom I don't know how to flirt at all, even when it might be fitting ...I suppose out of fear of spoiling an otherwise good, honest loyalty thing. I'd like to be better at it. I mean, in many cases it is so good for the self-confidences of both parties.

I don't count flirting with girls/women - that I seem to do with relative ease, but it just doesn't carry the same level of meaning for me. I hope it's flattering to the other side, anyway.


05 Jan 04: Everybody Hurts

I can't sleep. I mean, properly. I woke up after five hours today, and this is not the first or the second time lately. I still haven't figured out if this is a good thing or a bad one.

I seem to be at the crux of giving up on someone today. Not because they'd done anything to deserve it, but because I am too tired to be constantly hurt by the fact I don't deserve as much of their company and friendship as I would like to give in return. It is no wonder - this is a person loved by many - but it still hurts. I had kind of fooled myself into thinking I was a friend, but I'm not, really, not a trusted sort, the sort to hang out with, anyway.

The link that hurt me has been removed. Quietly, without fuss. Another non-surprise, another extremely delicate, deliberate rejection.

(Later) WordPad has eaten, or rather excreted, the file that was proof number one of my weirdness over Frodo (that first weird plot cue). It's nowhere to be found, so naturally now I keep dwelling on the couple of tolerable ideas and sentences in it, and regretting it almost like something worth regretting. Hmnf.

Today has sucked, anyway. Well, okay, Seanna and her fabulous cocoa did not suck. But the rest, absolutely. I'm tired and teary and cranky.

To be more exact: I have been feeling very doubtful about my own worth as a friend, and as a result, the worth of any and all friendships I have imagined myself having - particularly the ones I have thought of as close. I don't know if it is my fault, really - that I don't actually know how to cultivate friendships; to do the things to stay in touch and stay close - or if I've just had rotten luck, always ending up trying to be friends with someone who really has no time for me and no room, having their fill of stable friendships already.

And I'm really, really cranky about that fanfic file going missing. Quite too much so, considering its relative worth as halfway competent writing (ie. non-worth).

Gnarh. Grmph. Mrr.


04 Jan 04: Many Inspirations... Or Not

Had a hard time getting up, but finally made it in time to catch a ride with the Iiskolas to see Heli in "Nutcracker" at the youth theatre in Lahti. I am hesitant to criticize the show, presented as a mixture of acting and dance, since I know that many of the young performers had only been taking ballet for a year or so... but, well, some parts of it were very sweet, and some dances rather nifty. And Heli was very good and radiantly beautiful as the Sugar Plum Fairy, as could be expected. I was quite inordinately nervous for her, and danced everything along with her in my chair, but she really was wonderful.

I gave her a combined late-Christmas-good-luck present: that new TV film version of "Arabian Nights" that I found in the Anttila sales. To my surprise, she did not kill me for blatant campaigning on the Magic Carpet sequel. Perhaps we will see about it some time post-Faerun. At the moment, every game or other project is post-Faerun, post- Solmukohta.

Heli got a ride home with us and came to stay here and watch Cowboy Bebop the Movie with me for next weekend's larp, "Tee-se-itse- tulevaisuus". We hit a lucky break and found her clothes for the game straight out of my closets (bafflingly, I also know what I am going to wear already, and won't even have to sew except for shortening the hem of my dress a couple of inches). I drove her home and ended up staying for far too late, talking about Faerun and then going through Heli's picture albums from games and events. I borrowed some of her negatives for scanning, as she had some very nice pictures from the gig we did at Suitia in May, as well as Ropecon and some other stuff.

At home, the sauna was hot, and afterwards, Anni and Ene and I went through my fabrics for Pelargirin ympyrä. I'm drowning in sewing projects, as in addition to the Pelargir stuff, I need to fix something to wear for the Elizabethan rendance game on the seventeenth, and there are all those old jobs I've been procrastinating on... This week, it's going to be Mom's wool skirt, Ene's pants and sleeveless doublet, and probably Ari's doublet. Next week, the Elizabethan gobble-up, Anni's costume for Pelargir, and as much time as I can put to the promised costumes for the Q's and for Wolven. The week before Pelargir, Anni's dress, my own cloak and pants, and starting on Mom's winter cape. Not that all this is bad - I just have to take it so that sewing is my full-time day job for these weeks. And see if I can accommodate some flamenco lessons in there somewhere, to keep my shoulders and back from turning completely into stone...

For the first time ever in the history of this diary, I feel bad about somebody referencing it. Not that I expect the state of the referencing to continue after I made my feelings known: in this case, the concerned person(s) will probably just remove it and never confront me, as they haven't done before, either.

I despise people who claim friendship while deliberately avoiding any communication at all.


03 Jan 04: Productive But Headachy

It took me a year of procrastination, but better late than never: for your viewing pleasure, and in preparation for a page of my own character images, some pictures from Taikamatto. Now I feel all tingly about the old ideas of a sequel to that one, too. Well, let's see what Heli's opinion is, once her current ballet project is over. I'm going to see the show tomorrow (getting a lift with most of the Iiskola clan).

I was supposed to go to Seanna's place for some hot cocoa and chatting, but a headache sneaked up on me while I was putting the last touches to the Taikamatto page, so we rescheduled for Monday. I took some ibuprofein in the hopes of getting better in time to go and hang out and watch films at Qttiland, but right now it doesn't feel promising.

Need to lie down a bit, now.

(Later) The headache let up for long enough to stick to plan. Watched beginning of Cowboy Bebop movie for next weekend's game; had sauna; tried to concentrate on this British TV series of absolute genius of embarrassment, but could not muster up enough of an ironic mood. Came home, headache is back, lots that should be done but just want to go to sleep.

In better news, Heidi agreed to come aboard the Faerun team. Now if only we can figure out who, finally, writes exactly who...


02 Jan 04: "When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire"

Eliot again, who else? I never cease to be amazed by Four Quartets. Never.

We had a most rewarding Faerun recap session, Atte and I, and now I can hardly wait to get on with everything. If our plans work - and this time I see no reason, not even the unlikeliest, that they would not - it is going to be very, very good.

I saw ROTK for the third time today, with Topi and Heli. My opinions did not change much from the last viewing, just sharpened - both likes and dislikes. Oh, and there was one more moment that I must add back to the list of the most beautiful, along with Pippin's song and Frodo's final smile: Aragorn's face at the Black Gate when he turns his back to Sauron's contempt, smiles in the simplest, most bittersweet acceptance of his fate and says: "For Frodo". Nothing else. It is enough.


01 Jan 04: "...Such Permanence As Time Has"

Here we are, now. Still here, no closer to reasons and meanings and truth, far less peace, than a year ago, or two years - at least not so that I could tell. But, still here. Whatever meaning that, in itself, carries.

I have no other words yet (and no wonder, as I slept for maybe four hours and woke up to a vague nausea that probably has to do with having had too much coffee last night, as a substitute for alcohol), but for this one truth that I know, composed of many, many smaller truths. What remains with me from this year is the knowledge of everyone who was with me, and carried me, even if only for one step, or if only accidentally, or only because they happened to be on the road at the same stretch of the journey. Because of them, old friends and new, because of each and every step that I was accompanied, and carried, I am filled with gratitude that knows no bottom, no edge, no bound, and that is the one answer, at this hour and day and year, that I can give to the question of meaning. I was carried, and for that, I can only say I am blessed; that this is what being blessed is. I see and recognize that this revelation comes to me late, as everything does, but this is the true world: better later than never. And in this instance I even believe it.

My truest, highest goal, now, is to be granted the grace to repay that debt in time, either back or forward. I will try not to lose sight of that.

..."With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling": I thought T.S.Eliot might, once again, be apt to this day and moment. It is. But I should, again, type up all of the last three movements of "Little Gidding", the last part of Four Quartets, to do any justice of all that it says of here and now, this very time and place, here with me. So I leave it to you as an exercise to find it yourself and, hopefully, be amazed.

(In the evening, alone and lonely) But even then... even then. The theme song now is Maija Vilkkumaa: "Häviän".

Tired, and sad, and very, very small and fragile and lacking the strength to reach for and grab those tentative threads of connection to several people yesterday. I am crushed under the fact that no matter how hard I try, so far I have not managed to grow out of hating someone I should only love, at most sometimes be frustrated with. But no - I hate, and it truly is needlessly consuming. Also, just as truly, it is there. I don't want to be this bad a person.

I've been trying to put together and crop into suitable sizes a bunch of pictures of myself from a couple of games. Still in the middle of the process, though. And why is it I never have any pictures of the most striking costumes I've managed to gobble together, during the years? Just never.

(Night) "...Ja jonain päivänä en haluakaan
enää enemmän kuin ikinä saan
Silloin väsymys ja kipu katoo
ja sitten mua ei oo
mua ei oo..."

Good grief, are all songwriters like that, or is our generation really just as lost as I am, or am I really as common as everyone? All except for two pieces of the Vilkkumaa record could be written just to make a point to me, personally.

I want a badge or a shirt that says something like: "Go ahead, Sam, just try and kill me!" Despite the fact that I don't think the Very Secret Diaries are anywhere near as good as their rabid fans would have everyone believe... Still, there are some good catchphrases in there that are pretty easy to use for driving certain points across.