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30 Nov 05: Relieved, Revelatory

Yesterday, even though late for everything, I made myself get moving to meet Heli, and we sat over one cup of coffee (tea, in her case) in Cantina West for quite a while, unloading all sorts of stuff of late. On the way home, I stopped in the Academic Bookstore to suffer the agonies of purgatory afresh: all those books I should, must, need to read; need to have read already. If for nothing else, for this I really need to get back into ordinary income - I can't bear being so out of touch with books any more! (And even here, I am getting towards doing something instead of just feeling deprived. Granted, it's still not happened, but without a will, there's no way either.)

Then, when I was walking home from the train, and the rain had turned into something resembling snow again, I suddenly realised something extremely unexpected. I had to listen to the change for quite a while until I could say for sure, but finally I decided it has actually happened. I am no longer afraid to be alone with my own thoughts. Now, this may not sound like a big deal, but it is. Huge. Not wanting to hear my own thoughts has been a crippling problem for years and years: it has made it impossible for me to get out of the house and travelling anywhere without a book, which I've read even while walking to the station or walking anywhere in town. And if there's not been anything new to read in the house... well, no going anywhere, then. It has made it impossible to go walk the dog without a CD player and something good and/or new to listen to - which has not always been available, with my limited music collection. In short, it has been one of the main causes of the emotional and functional paralysis. And now it's over.

I don't even know the reason for this change. I guess I'm finally learning to put past troubles in the past, and present troubles in their places. As unbelievable as it sounds.

The one serious complaint I still have is that even now, I am tired and have trouble getting up in the morning. Today was not of much use until I made my way to Mirka and Antti's Yule party. I ate far too much (no, I'm not counting, but if I'm feeling physically uncomfortable, then that's surely a bit too much!), but had a great time, with nice people. And even today, on the way home, the magic held. I can be myself, by myself.

Huh. Wow.

29 Nov 05: The Deep Terror of Un-desire, Analyzed

I had one of those dreams again. Those that raise such terror in me I'd much rather not admit to them in public, in the fear that might lead to even the tiniest further connection to the cause of terror. I dreamed I was, for some unclear reason, back with my ex-husband, with the added actual despair to get out. It's strange and probably immature that even though my conscious mind knows he did nothing bad to me as such, and that Tommi did several inexcusable things, in my deepest subconscious I can forgive Tommi for hitting me (among other things), but cannot forgive my ex-husband for being with me. That I'd much rather wipe those years out of my past, and tried to do exactly that for so hard that it took me five years to start dealing with what Tommi's physical and emotional abuse actually caused in my psyche, because even after that tragedy of love and need and dependence was over, I needed Tommi between my past and me.

And now that that portrait of Tommi is turning transparent, my dreams reveal the terror of having to see that past. I don't want it; I don't want to carry it around in the imagery of my mind. I don't want to remember being to bed with someone I never, never, ever desired; someone I had to shut out by constant, complex theatre of erotica even while my body was reacting. How could I have known it was not the default state? How could I have known the difference between desire as a physical thing and desire to a person, until I experienced the fulfillment of the latter with Tommi? How could I have known the romance was lacking, and had to be built artificially with trouble and drama, and draped with the escape of weekends (which is when we could meet), exactly because that base of desire was not there? I couldn't, and didn't, but when I finally knew, I was filled with loathing, and I haven't been able to get past that loathing. Ever.

I can't remember how many times I've said the above, and where, so this might be repetitive, but right now I can't find an earlier entry where this would be stated quite so clearly. It's not just about being "in love" or not - I have been proven quite capable of friendship sex, as readers know. It's not just the aesthetics of desire either, even though those seem more important - or impassable - to me than to many. (But that's all relative: admiration, warmth, desire can all rise from so many different things besides looks... brilliance, drive, wit, goodness, courage...) It's the combination of both: this would not have been a person I would have wanted around me without the illusion ripped from fantasy books that he fed me. This person was weird, and not in a good way.

I bought into the fantasy; I bought into the promise of an acceptable life (my mother's ideal: computer scientist and teacher, two kids and a house); and now I'll admit to something I seem to have actively forgot: I bought into the Saving Angel Syndrome. My years at the church youth group had left me with a massive need for martyrdom, and Making Someone Into A Real Man must have seemed a conventionally suitable way of fulfilling that.

Hum. I really had suppressed even the memory of that. It's hard to find words for this now - not because I don't want to, but the logic is still a jumble. I've rejected any caretaking drive for years now, hating the idea of mothering someone grown-up - both as a basic dynamic of any relationship of mine on any level and also as associated with sex. Ever since I found my own need to be dominated in bed, I've not only desired to find a partner who can fulfill that need (though I can do without that as well), but even more, I've started to hate and fear even the possibility of coming across someone who might show the slightest inclination to be submissive (well, to be sure: it's an absolute turnoff in men, not so much in women, though it's not a trait I find interesting in women either). And I don't know what the logic, the order in which these things came to be or connect now, is: the memory of that false relationship, the terror all those wasted years still evoke in me, the dislike of being a Saving Angel, the deep personal insecurity that longs for security from a relationship, the same need in bed, and the turn-off of a man wanting to submit.

Nor do I know which part of all my Himalaya of fears last night's dream tapped into. It might be simply a higher wave in the general fear of being stuck in the past and not being able to move forward, to build an independent, adult life where I, myself, make the choices, based on my own actual drives, needs and abilities. If so, it's probably a healthy indicator - I just wish it didn't come in such an unpleasant guise! On the other hand, it might be part of the foothills of small, embarrassing confusion of these past weeks.

See, I've had something resembling instances of a social life lately. I've spent some time with an acquaintance of old, a single young man who has exhibited a clear desire of my company, so occasional thoughts of what-if have quite naturally occurred (not that there's any more to say about that at the moment). And a week or two ago, I spent the night with an old acquaintance/friend that I've also met a few times in the past months - the one on whom I professed to have possible bodily designs (though nothing more) in April. It was much as expected: a genuinely nice and physically satisfying sharing of warmth between two adults who like each other though have very little in common. It brightened my spirits for a couple of days... except when it stopped doing so, through no fault of anyone's. There's no expectations, no drama, nothing. I just suddenly started feeling irritable and confused all in my own head.

After some thinking, I came to the conclusion that it's because this is still so far from what I really want and need. I want more than friendship sex: I want delirious, explosive, trembling-with-fear-because- this-is-too-good-to-be-true sex. And I want a relationship that has the building blocks to go somewhere (remembering the ticking of time, still distant but audible even so). And I want them together, in the same person. And I don't want to dawdle about, I want it to happen. I want to meet someone who actually can offer me these things. Other people find them, so it can't be that impossible? I don't want to - won't, any longer - settle with anything that doesn't feel genuinely good. I don't want illusion, I don't want small hopes, I don't want complexes and compromises and all in all I won't settle for less. I know I've said that before, but now it doesn't feel like something passive any longer - not something that just proves I won't find anyone anyway, ever, but an active starting point.

I guess that might not be such an un-healthy indicator, either?

And I hope this finally closes the Accounting Book of the Terror of the Ex in these notes. Probably not, but we're getting there.

Hnh. I overslept my therapy, but the session still seems to have happened.

28 Nov 05: Struggling With a Chimera

Finally I have something to update to the sewing diary - during the weekend, trying to deal with the strange thingy that might or might not be flu to be well enough to pop in at Terhi's party and do the SuoLi thing on Sunday took all my energy. It was nice to see Terhi and some other long-missed faces, though, and I got a ride home through that white palace of winter, which was also very nice. The SuoLi autumn meeting was gratefully painless this time, and I'm quite happy about my concerns being heard in the discussion.

Last night, I went to Kerava and probably had a teeny bit too much wine, as the way home through the crystal-and-milk corridors of the invisible palace, hidden behind and between the common streets and blocks of houses like the hidden House Absolute in Gene Wolfe's Book of the New Sun, was punctuated with moments of baffling clarity and elation. Or is it too much if that is the result; isn't that exactly the effect that classical poets strove for? Anyway, all good things must be paid for, and so I slept badly and with a hangover headache, and could not much get up today.

I have many good plans, though. And I don't much feel ill any longer, so that's as should be. Still, I can't help but wonder what and why these odd bouts of sort-of-flu actually are, now that the tiredness has found its own explanation. All the usual (and some of the unusual) suspects have been ruled out - but even so, undeniably, I am inconvenienced unseasonably often. I really, really want to find out and put a stop to it. Now. Preferably yesterday.

Despite my spectacular failure with the dream diary, the dreams are quite as varied as before. Maybe that's why it turned out to be such a daunting task to cover them in any length. Many of the images keep haunting me, but there seems no clear logic to which stay and which don't, though I'd expect some.

Good plans. Let's see where they lead.

25 Nov 05: ...Turned Into Glare

Haven't written for a week, since was away for the weekend, then tired and migrain-y, then had something wrong with the editor or the file itself, then was away again (and now once more migrain-y; undecided if it's a flu or something quicker). Trying to write a full roundup gets more and more difficult when thoughts pile up.

Star Wars marathon last weekend: now my childhood also has been marred with the face of Anakin Skywalker imposed in places it doesn't fit (no matter that it officially belongs there; no matter that I don't find Hayden Christensen's face particularly bothersome to watch as such; it doesn't fit, and that spoiled most of the lovely duel scenes of RotJ for me completely). Revenge of the Sith was not as bad as the ones before it, but boy was it idiotic in so many places, even so... Otherwise, marathon weekend much appreciated and appropriately festive, thanks to our lovely hosts Mirka and Antti.

Then, more marring of childhood memories: Suvi loaned me the Earthsea mini-series - that is to say, the series that purports to be a faithful adaptation of the first two Earthsea books and manages to offer more travesty than any sane being who has ever read the books can possibly stomach - in the first minute. Don't let me even get started with the rest of the agony! In the prologue speech alone, it takes several of the central concepts and turns them upside down. There's just so much to hate and no redeeming features at all. None. It's nails-on-the-blackboard-sand-in-your-teeth bad.

Okay, maybe it won't destroy my childhood simply because it has so little to do with the original it can be forgot and not associated with it at all.

Yesterday, then, Serenity. Unfortunately, I can't really give an informed opinion yet, as I was plagued by my one notably poor area of language: I could not make sense of the dialogue. I could hear well enough, just could not figure out the actual words - particularly Mal's. It was so bad I must have missed at least half of what anyone was saying and probably three- fourths of what Mal was saying. And since it's Whedon, not hearing the dialogue is most of the point missed. I was so frustrated I was ready to tear out my hair. Or my head. Something. I can't believe I'm so bad at something concerning language. The difference to my general competence is so big it's nearly a disability. Suvi had no trouble at all, and had to clarify several times when I was too lost.

I can say, however, that it was not the Firefly story I personally would have wanted to see, but that I knew going in... More about it once I've found a script somewhere, read it and then seen the film again, actually getting the lines.

I've been fighting something flu-like all week, and it seems to have hit last night: my head, back and legs ache as if I was wearing a full-length veil of barbed wire from forehead to heels. Can't sleep, though. And I would very much have preferred not to get ill right now. At all would have been even better.

Must return to those piled-up thoughts later. Need to do something (more) about the head.

Also, decided to keep a Sewing journal, which will hopefully be updated more often than the poor attempt at a dream diary. It won't be much interest to anyone who isn't a costuming enthusiast, I fear, but it'll help me shape up and work on stuff I need to finish, and I quite anticipate writing about my own costuming adventures in detail...

Finally got pictures of some of the costumes I've made for friends - many are still missing, but at least there's something to show for the work.

(Night) People are weird and difficult, and I find myself feeling the whole spectrum of emotions in dealing with them - including, somewhat surprisingly, exasperation. Irony of ironies: I've grown too old to tolerate much drama, and I have even less patience with corkscrew maneuverings. Do what you do, just stand behind what you choose to do! Also, I have a pretty good suspicion of some inconvenience that may have come to me because someone insulted me and is therefore afraid of my anger. Which, I admit, would be somewhat justified, but I can't be bothered: not worth it. A lesson finally learned, and earned. And maybe the suspicion is just that. It would be healthier so, certainly.

It doesn't feel fair that I keep falling ill all the time, except in different ways. Neither does it feel fair that I have absolutely no chance of buying anything at the much-hyped Kaupunginteatteri costume sale tomorrow morning! Not a penny, so I'm not even going - it would just make me feel too deprived, and therefore too self-hating: if only I'd finished up all the unfinished stuff by now... (No, it doesn't help to know I could, in theory, make anything I might find there. I'd really need to stock up on materials - velvets, brocades, decorative braids and motifs in particular. And there's stuff that's more trouble to make than is reasonable.)

Then again, when was "fair" ever part of the package?

Have I mentioned lately that I still think of switching to Finnish? Even more so, this past month. I want to write, not just chatter.

18 Nov 05: Glimpses Of Serenity

(And yes, that is a bad pun... Serenity still in the future, probably through several different means.)

This has been a surprisingly calm week despite the less-than-auspicious start. Calm, and collected. I don't dare to say "strong" yet, as that implies action and accomplishment, at least in my mind, but definitely one of feeling more connected with and cognizant of self. I was very happy about Anni's two days here, as well as Moira's visit: both were relaxing and easy. I loved getting into the new "Galactica" with Anni and all the talking. It seems as if being with people has definitely become easier, and that is surely a sign of impending health (it has always been much desired, of course, but not by all means easy).

Yesterday I wasn't feeling too well physically, so I took up Mom's invitation and headed for Kerava, where food and evening tea and the like was of much help - though in the morning I woke up at five feeling sick again, apparently with a beginning migraine. A cannonball of ibuprofen and then later breakfast helped temporarily, but when I got a drive home I was again feeling rather awful. Now it's better, so I suspect the reason was that the fragrance I tried on yesterday (and that therefore stayed in my clothes, scarf and coat in particular) included, under its profusion of vanilla and flowers, that one mystery ingredient that has always made me sick. At least I hope it was that, so I know to avoid it in the future - and it's better after changing clothes and hanging the coat outside to air, anyway. I'll keep my fingers crossed - I don't particularly fancy the thought of regular nigraines returning.

However, I've made it to both of my therapy sessions this week (hooray!) and felt rather good about them as well - confident, open, willing to think, to move on. And I have several entertainments promised for the weekend, which is good too. Now all I need is to get another grip on my sewing, and then on to more difficult stuff.

...However, I did realise that I am no closer to any sort of resolution of what to do when I grow up.

I'm faithfully pacing myself through Quicksilver; am close to halfway and am finally rewarded, as it has suddenly turned funny in addition to being educational (I'm not saying it's been boring so far: remember my problem with historical fiction?). Have made a decision to write a proper review once I'm through all three.

Working out the money thing would be an absolute necessity, but it doesn't seem to get me down right now. We'll see how bad it gets next week when there's an actual opportunity to do something again.

...What the...? I've lost two pairs of thigh-high boots - both the black suede ones for larps and the high-heeled ones. I have absolutely no ideas of where they could be, having dug to the bottom of all the usual hideyholes. Can I possibly have left them both somewhere without noticing it? And where??

14 Nov 05: Irritants

Morning. Was too tired for roleplaying yesterday, which I realized when I had been haunting the whereabouts of the coat rack, my room and the kitchen for more than ten minutes trying to figure out (unsuccessfully) where I'd put my gloves just three hours earlier. My brain could not work out anything even that complicated, so it certainly was not up to riddles in the halls of death in some faerie dimension. (I realize that another example of how I had to cancel something because of tiredness does not exactly help my claims that I'm getting better and more functional, but this time I at least had an excuse of that sleeplessness at P&P's place, after the party. Bad luck. And bad dreams. But better, even so, slowly.) Also had to cancel a planned walk with the dog, because I hurt my knees at the party, too. I thought at first it was because of all the dancing, but I think the reason is more prosaic in the end: I just stumbled in the party and fell on the stone floor (no, not because of the sparkling wine - a chair was pushed where people expected to walk...). And Anni, who was supposed to crash at our place, was delayed until today, so I got to bed around eight pm. It seems not that many hours were needed to catch up on sleep after all, and so I am up at strange hours once more...

No, that's not one of the irritating things. I think I'm quite capable of having a normal day from this. I'm just... I don't even know what I'm just. I'm feeling lots of things, and very few of them are nice right now - but they are active feelings. Of anger, hurt, irritation, sadness. I just can't put them into words and don't even know if I want to. I wanted to call more than one friend yesterday, to talk, but was strangely reluctant to, after all. Words were not around. I don't much feel them even now. Moments like these make me curse my choice to write in a foreign toungue, as well as reaffirm my belief that I will never become truly fluent in it - literary-fluent, that is, or even educated. My vocabulary is limited and uneven: I have a very weak grasp on metaphors and even weaker comprehension of basic voice differences - what is standard language and what isn't; what is clearly British or American; where words are situated on the continuum from colloquial to obscure (or from colloquial to literary, which is still different); just to start with...

And right now it bothers me immensely.

So does being unable and unwilling to analyze my emotions.

I need to know one thing. I can't tell myself. If a person tells you that they have lost any interest in you except just as a hole, and an occasional one at that, and that yes, this does bother them, so maybe we should sign off any friendship (which we've supposedly had for quite a long while, even if it's been... eventful), should you be insulted? 'Cause I sort of am. And no, it was not a badly-worded way of expressing actual sexual interest - that was actually excluded explicitly as well. Neither was it said in the heat of an argument, but as an answer to a casual suggestion of meeting.

I just don't know if I should be properly angry or not. Of course, if that actually is how they see me, then there's not much to do there, right? I'm particularly insulted that they see my mind - my experiences, my conversation, my interest in how they are doing - as that worthless. It's not like the person in question is so incredibly much more intelligent, experienced, empathetic or socially (or personally) aware than I am that they could have actual cause to look down on me. But, at least they were honest. I guess it's a small plus.

13 Nov 05: Brightness Falls (And I Won't Help It Up)

This shiny new Sunday with its fresh, pale sun is spectacularly failing to do anything about my mood. I don't know if it's the hangover - mild enough, just emotionally miserable - or if it's yesterday's terrible and endless nightmares that still bother me, as I didn't really sleep what with all the bubbly and punch and dancing and general partying at Paula&co's birthday-etc-celebration (that I had completely forgot until Paula called to ask if I was going to turn up, since there was a proper, physical invitation and therefore no reminder in my e-mail inbox, which generally serves - poorly - as my calendar). Or if it's the frustration of trying to clear some things up with a friend and come to better understanding and not being able to do it well enough to be there already. Or if it's the fact that another exchange ended with, well, an ending. Of an era, really. And endings, even when really rather unsurprising and probably actually beneficial and not that significant any more - well, they suck. Even when all that.

So maybe I'm cranky for all of this.

The party was great, though, even if I did arrive rather late. I finally got to catch up with bro, and got my dancing itch scratched for a while, too.

So, yesterday and those nightmares. I slept the night badly, despite having had a very nice evening with friends, sauna and movies (and being tired enough by then that I should have slept well and been in a normal rhythm as a result). So after a few hours of listless morning-related puttering, I went back to my bed for a book, fell asleep on it and slept until evening (missing Meira's party along the way). I had been thinking hard even since I got the email about the general arrangements and game mechanics for Sielun/Messu, and that was certainly reflected in the dreams: I kept being pulled from one story to another and another in all of which I was being forced into different situations that were, each in different ways, emotionally and/or sexually repulsive to me. The dreams were unusually compelling, so I was in a foul mood when I woke up, just a little bit before Paula called.

I'm still thinking really hard if I want to go to the game or not. This time it's not about the usual reasons at all - simply that the game will be very challenging in exatly those difficult areas, and I'm not yet sure if I can take it in the right spirit. I find the concept and particularly the game mechanics extremely interesting and am very eager to see how they play out. I just have to think this through, calmly and thoroughly, and realistically. We'll see.

Master and Commander, by the way, was just as entertaining on the second viewing as the first.

About that ending... it makes me cranky, as endings always do, so even though I can see how liberating it may turn out to be in certain senses, I find it hard to enjoy that freedom just yet. However, I don't think it will be intolerably long for the positives to start outshining the inherent negative.

I may write about it in detail later, or may not. It's that sort of a thing.

This time being comfortably drunk worked for me: it brought with it some surprising but much-needed emotional clarity on some of the more obscure strata in my mind. One result was just mentioned, though it was not my choice as such. Others... need to be examined with more organised thought.

11 Nov 05: Breaking Tradition (While Assuming Others)

My timetables this week have officially sucked, but I'm working it out. I'm writing this at six thirty-eight am, and I decided that this is officially now Morning, not Evening. So I'm dating it as such (even though generally early-morning entries have belonged to the previous waking cycle and therefore been labelled for that).

I've come up with a couple of surprisingly rewarding new habits that don't even require much work to become regular and help me with the Great Goal (which, as I've said to many people privately, but have not wanted to Make Into An Issue, is to drop these twenty extra pounds mostly on my waist for good, so I can live to a ripe, healthy old age). (But I don't want to make it an Issue even now. It's just that I've finally got it through my all-round thick skull that time has not stopped for my body even if it has stopped for my mind and heart, and some day sooner rather than later it will start bringing me considerable discomfort unless I make it so it won't.)

First, tea. I never liked tea that much if other options were available, but I've slowly mellowed to it, thanks to friends and the discovery of liquid artificial sweetener. It is particularly helpful to me because I'm one of those people who constantly crave something to put in their mouth - I don't know if it predeces the eating disorder or grew along with it, but it seems I can't learn out of it. Making tea and having a cup to sip from next to you seems to work as a substitute. Still, I can't say I love the taste of tea alone so much - I prefer the fruit-flavoured mixtures.

Second, "The Voice", the new(?) digital music television channel. Sure, it's the most shallow and commercial hits of the day, but what it does is get me up from my butt in front of the computer and dancing! It's not just ballet I love, after all; just shaking it is great, too! And if one knows (I just had to stop for another song - see?) how to move one's body even slightly, it's pretty easy to move in ways that target different parts of your body in a mild-but- acceptable workout. (For example, I've noticed that doing like Maija Vilkkumaa says and rolling one's hips - in figure-eights, to their furthest extend - which Latin pop makes you do pretty automatically, I'd say - really works that flabby stomach and love handles. No wonder serious Oriental dance enthusiasts often have such wonderful hourglass shapes!) And even if one just does it every once in each hour spent in front of the computer, it's oodles better than nothing.

Third, I've found a muscle exercise for that miserable midriff that I can do while reading, without any extra trouble! It's supposedly the move that got Julia Roberts into shape for Erin Brockovich (at least according to Cosmopolitan at the time). All you need to do is pull yourself into the position where you would normally do pushups, but with your elbows down, and hold your body in a straight line for as long as you can. Doing it with your knees down at first is fine; doing it with just your toes is pretty topshape already. (Yes, when you read that it seems it would work the back and the butt more, but my stomach muscles can testify to the effectiveness right where needed.) What? Oh, yes, I tend to read in (or on) my bed.

And then, walking the dog. No, this is not a new thing, but I'm getting back to it, after the months-long comalike state. It's good for him, it's good for me, the night brings inspiration and healthy skin and plenty of oxygen; so what's there to whine about? Just minuscule things compared to all those benefits.

Lissu took me to see Doom. It was not completely bad - in fact, it was reasonably snappy and tight, and it had Karl Urban in it (so we both got our dose of pretty men). So I guess I have to admit to it... However, I do feel the need for some heavy drama now. Let's see if there'll be anything interesting for tomorrow night's DVD evening...

I finished Clute's Appleseed without ever being quite sure what it was about and what the ending meant (in practice, that is, for the reality constructed in the story). I think it's the sort of book I need to re-read with a thesaurus next to me - I won't be able to put it to rest otherwise. I suspect this means I need to get back to reading poetry.

Now I'm reading Stephenson's Quicksilver, but finding it slow going. It's so close to historical and so late in history that I have to fight a lifelong aversion to the dryness and boredom I used to associate with history lessons at school. (Have I ever ranted about how I didn't find history at all interesting, and how this made me feel lacking, as all literary-minded girls were supposed to love history? I probably have. The truth is, I've learned more about history from larps than ever at school - because there the actual people and their emotions have become real; and because I find cultural history infinitely more interesting than the rest of it, and only learn the rest through relation to it. Okay, I've happened to learn some through costume references as well... as weird as that must seem.) I'll get myself through the Stephenson somehow, and I'm sure it'll be good, once I'm finished...

08 Nov 05: Skittering Facts, Vanishing Dreams

I've been avoiding writing, because I've had a few things I wanted to say right at the tip of my fingers and still been too hesitant to set them down. I mean, everyone else gives opinions much better than I do. Even so, these things have touched me and bothered me lately.

Paris. How is this happening somewhere practically in my world? Somewhere I've been and want to be again; somewhere a family member lives? I'm baffled and frightened and pray that it can and will be controlled; will subside soon in itself. And I can't help thinking that a friend has a point about who it is that is rioting. Of course it must be frustrating to be an outsider to the society you live in, but the answer certainly is not violence.

And I really, really pray my cousin is okay.

The Blog Culture and the public discussion about it lately. It's all made me even happier that I Am Not Writing A Blog and therefore am not part of that elusive country where rules are now starting to be demanded instead of freedom of expression. I am not part of journalism, people's or otherwise. I am a writer, dammit! Maybe not a good one, but what I'm doing is self-expression with some (if not very great) artistic intent, aspiring to be better, and I will not accept that it is either less "worthy" of being made available on the Internet than opinionated public discussion or that it should somehow bow to the rules of propriety and self-cencorship. Sure, I do censor myself a lot, but it's by my choice. And certainly my writing is less relevant to current politics than most blogs, but I never pretended it shouldn't be. I set down my aims in my foreword to this diary, and they still hold: understanding, of me personally and of depression generally, and learning to write better. And both matter. Understanding people matters. Words matter. People's journalism can go do its own thing, and that's fine with me. (Just don't come and tell me I shouldn't be doing mine.)

In those personal news, I'm reading Appleseed by John Clute, and it's turned out to be the most frustrating reading experience I've had for years. Not because it's bad, but because he uses words so rare that I have a hard time figuring out what the text is saying! I really thought my English is extensive enough that this should not happen, but clearly this is not the case after all. (In any case, I would love to read a book or find a comprehensive site about the differences in British and American English, as I would like to stick to the former yet have slid too much into the latter or an ignorant mix of both because of the 'net.) The book in itself is rather interesting and innovative space opera, as far as I can have an informed opinion of something I can't picture comprehensively...

My sleeping patterns slid down the all-too-familiar well because of Saturday's headache. This is Not Good, despite all the interesting and emotion-filled dreams I've had as a result. Also, I think they give me a convenient excuse to avoid therapy: I've grown afraid of the Demands of Being Well again, now that things are up and there's no reason not to get a real life, is there?

Now, at this time and stage, is where I need my friends. Please. As bored as you all are with my dragging and whining, this is where help would, well... help. I have grown to believe that getting better is possible, so I won't shoot down your attempts to help, but I can't yet dare all those practical things on my own. And I need to get out of bed in a reasonable hour and to get myself sewing like a proper job (for those couple of projects still left lying) and then to hie myself to employment office and to the Tanssiopisto office and other official things. I want to. But I don't dare. Yet.

(Night) Had a couple of surprisingly long phone conversations, which is a rare and welcome occurrence these days. Should practice it more often. Also, had forgotten how important it is to unload properly every once in a while, up to and including tears. One simply feels completely different afterwards.

06 Nov 05: This Week's Noteworthies

DVD: The Lion in Winter - the original, from 1968. I've written about it before, I think, but it's still utterly magnificent. It's a great demonstration of how people can wound each other when they are so needy all they can think of is rejection and revenge for it.

Book: Anansi Boys. A disappontment. Light entertainment mostly in a young adult style (but not in a good way). Not as poor as Loponen thought, but not good either. Terribly predictable, which might not be a fault in itself, but if you know what's going to happen in the end, there should be the delight of miracles in how to get there. Nope.

RPG: We finally got to continue Topsu's long- (and lately rare-) running Mage on Wednesday, and after some initial ignition pains, went quite happily along the ride. I had fun, despite the frustrations of the mission in-game, and we're going to continue a bit sooner than before this - next Sunday, if all goes well!

New movie: The Duel, a Hong Kong sword fantasy with lots of pretty people, surprisingly little fighting, and lots of intricate plotting. And romance! A lovely way to spend an evening (not to mention the red wine and rum cocoa offered by Vera on the side).

People: Quite many meetings with friends and a few important telephone conversations. Very nice, very encouraging.

Vanity: Curls. How else?

Plans: More roleplaying in store! Movies with the Q's, coffee meetings, hopefully ballet. Must catch Dad - phone attempts last week happened to run into this or that technical problem on both sides.

05 Nov 05: The Slow Creep of Healing

Out and about every day past week, which is positive in itself, of course, though not very useful: could not get any sewing done and managed to avoid both therapy and official business. And then, in the end, was unable to make it to the SCA party (got in from the waiting list just this week). Headache probably due to having slept just a bit too little or too badly and having eaten unhealthily (due to not having had any money all week, so ate what happened before me from the depths of the cupboards or at friends' houses). (Or it might even be due to unhealthy eating binge on Friday, when finally had some money.) But mostly, I think, it was simply due to not being able to run smoothly for very long, yet. And that is disappointing, frustrating and depressing.

Still, at least this is better, now, than having been inside all week and still too tired or ill to make it to anywhere, which was the case just two months ago.

However, I want to note that I really wanted to go, and that having your body not go along with what your mind wants is really unfair.

01 Nov 05: On Being Alive, Possibly

So I was having this conversation with no-one on the way home. In my head, of course. No, not the kind you have with yourself, because this was not dialogue. You can quite easily have a conversation with yourself, but this was not it. I was pouring it out, but no-one was listening.

See, when I'm fat and flat-haired and ugly and feeling every recent line on my face gleefully scratching its own gutter deeper every minute, all I can think of is how I need to get fitter and more beautiful. But when I'm feeling fitter, having lost a kilo or two, and got my curls and have a pickup serum on my face, and am dressed in flattering clothes and being complimented on them, I can't be glad of it, because vanity is terrible and takes your concentration away from what's actually important. Which is working your ass off to help other people. And yes, I really do believe that's the most important thing. But then I wonder how I could ever help enough people for it to matter; and then I remember that even one person matters, for each and every one is an "I" to themselves. And that is all fine, until I wonder how it is that one could make a difference even in one life - I mean, how does a difference big enough ever happen, anyway, and how can other people even make it, because we all know things like that are a complete mystery once they happen? And then I remember that it's not the results that matter, but just trying with all your heart.

And that's the sort of thinking that leads to not only, "so what's it all about, really" but, "So, with all that, what the fuck is it all about, fucking really?"

But I was not listening, having heard myself a thousand times already, and anyway, I was just parroting the voice of the newest book I was reading, drowning in an eternal "Polly wants a cookie" repeated in another's literary accent, not hearing myself in the sea or anywhere.

Curse it, why did I have to stop writing just when the basic gift of words was no longer enough? Why was I stupid and narrow-sighted and could not see that that was when I could and should have started to try out different voices, so I could have found one of my own in maybe ten years, or twenty? Now all I have is frustrated memories of teen talent and the facility of a crafter, not an artist.

Dammit, I feel oddly alive tonight.

Though I'm pretty much going crazy trying to remember which fragrance it is that smells pretty much exactly the same as the one I'm wearing now (YSL's Cinema, which I tried out in town today).