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Here I am in an empty house.
Actually, that's not true. There are a ton of rats here, and I am here, and there is an awful lot of stuff as well-- bookshelves here, a shelf of flours there, a skull-and-crossbones rack to hold two swords in another place, a couple of beds: all indicative of the two personalities at work shaping the home.
I've got halfway through cleaning rat cages, seen off two boys, totally failed to eat anything more than half a cup of soup, done some dishes, and run around petsitting in the last 24 hours. Tomorrow I make up for today by pulling a very. Long. Workday.
I don't mind a long workday tomorrow, though, and in fact even welcome it: my support network is basically all in another country conventioning at PAX, enjoying themselves immensely if Twitter is to be trusted, and there are precious few people I know well enough to call let alone to lean on here. Work, therefore, will be my focus tomorrow. After that I do have some people I don't see often enough lined up, I do need to finish the rat cages, and there's writing to be done.
There's you. I expect I'll be writing to you plenty since this is where my voice goes when there's no one else to listen.
It's been interesting watching myself over the last few days. It's been quite some time since I was alone, not because I'd pried a few precious minutes away from something or someone, but because no one was available. With both the Writer and Angus before we parted I felt myself closing up, pulling away, sucking up inside myself. I've always done this, since Kynnin and I were living in different cities and I saw him on weekends only through weekends or days with Juggler I've never taken that transition easily. Text messaging seems to have eased it, allowing me the daily contact I want with my lovers.
When everyone was gone and the house was quiet finally I wandered a bit, cleaned a bit, waited-- and then came the sweep of exhileration, the feeling of my self pushing out of my skin and towards the walls. It didn't last long or go far since the house is disarranged and messy enough that it's not my home right now, but it started to bubble up and it will come again. All that is part of the fun negotiation about the house going on between Angus and I right now, and may involve resorting to a storage locker for loose boxes of stuff, but that's for another post.
This weekend is super booked for animal care. I'm ratsitting both in my own house and in New West, and feeding Andrew's cat down the road. At this point I'm a little regretful that I've taken on so much, but it's all payback that I really do owe people.
Right now my head is in a fantasy space. I can't imagine PAX with my close friends, nor am I even sure I'd enjoy that situation with them, though it's always fun to see people having a good time. It would be lovely to catch up with the fragments of the old Otherspace crew that are there, though, and see who else I knew to bump into.
Next year.
This year, there's bed and work.
Actually, that's not true. There are a ton of rats here, and I am here, and there is an awful lot of stuff as well-- bookshelves here, a shelf of flours there, a skull-and-crossbones rack to hold two swords in another place, a couple of beds: all indicative of the two personalities at work shaping the home.
I've got halfway through cleaning rat cages, seen off two boys, totally failed to eat anything more than half a cup of soup, done some dishes, and run around petsitting in the last 24 hours. Tomorrow I make up for today by pulling a very. Long. Workday.
I don't mind a long workday tomorrow, though, and in fact even welcome it: my support network is basically all in another country conventioning at PAX, enjoying themselves immensely if Twitter is to be trusted, and there are precious few people I know well enough to call let alone to lean on here. Work, therefore, will be my focus tomorrow. After that I do have some people I don't see often enough lined up, I do need to finish the rat cages, and there's writing to be done.
There's you. I expect I'll be writing to you plenty since this is where my voice goes when there's no one else to listen.
It's been interesting watching myself over the last few days. It's been quite some time since I was alone, not because I'd pried a few precious minutes away from something or someone, but because no one was available. With both the Writer and Angus before we parted I felt myself closing up, pulling away, sucking up inside myself. I've always done this, since Kynnin and I were living in different cities and I saw him on weekends only through weekends or days with Juggler I've never taken that transition easily. Text messaging seems to have eased it, allowing me the daily contact I want with my lovers.
When everyone was gone and the house was quiet finally I wandered a bit, cleaned a bit, waited-- and then came the sweep of exhileration, the feeling of my self pushing out of my skin and towards the walls. It didn't last long or go far since the house is disarranged and messy enough that it's not my home right now, but it started to bubble up and it will come again. All that is part of the fun negotiation about the house going on between Angus and I right now, and may involve resorting to a storage locker for loose boxes of stuff, but that's for another post.
This weekend is super booked for animal care. I'm ratsitting both in my own house and in New West, and feeding Andrew's cat down the road. At this point I'm a little regretful that I've taken on so much, but it's all payback that I really do owe people.
Right now my head is in a fantasy space. I can't imagine PAX with my close friends, nor am I even sure I'd enjoy that situation with them, though it's always fun to see people having a good time. It would be lovely to catch up with the fragments of the old Otherspace crew that are there, though, and see who else I knew to bump into.
Next year.
This year, there's bed and work.
