I guess I’ve put it off long enough. One chapter every third of a year, right? Stormy weather reminds me of Darkover, so here’s my… not really review of Chapter 2 of Thendara House. You can find Chapter 1 in this tag.
I’ve been down that road. Not as publicly. But I went there in some of my darkest post-breakup hours.
I will repeatedly say, to anyone who has vague suspicions, that I don’t count as a Christian. I mean, you’d be stretching the definition a long way. Sure, Jesus had some great ideas, but does that really mean I have to take the whole Bible as some divinely-inspired document? Can’t I just view it as a brilliant cross-section of cultural norms that applied at the time and might serve as some inspiration to those who really dig that culture?
So. Established. I am pretty darn heterodox and satisfied to be that way.
You’d never know it from my taste in clothing.
My Ziva has such enormous eyes. You wouldn’t believe them unless you saw them, so here they are on display.
Hi. I know it’s been awhile since I had anything real to say, and since this is Refuge in Audacity, I have to at least try for audacious. Since reality is the ultimate act of audacity in Trump’s America, that’s where I’m going. Reality.
But I think I gotta work backwards.
Things I promised I’d do four months ago: start this review!
I have spent a lot of my life fussing with my hair. I have spent the short-haired days wishing it were longer and the long-haired days wishing it were shorter. The journey of growing it out has its stages, each one of them interesting in its own way.
It’s never been this uncomfortable.
Found: one early bullet journal. I’d just turned fifteen, we did Romeo and Juliet that year. Bullet journals hadn’t been invented yet, but this was very much in the spirit of that. Notes, writing, diary entries, all of that is in there. I wrote that Mulder was a jerk — conclusion I formed after he left and came back. I made playlists, mostly fannish, and these I’m going to take out and save because I want the music. 🙂 I had something of an obsession with gel pens, too. I remember now I’d get in trouble for handing in assignments written in pastels.
I drafted the silliest things; well, what do you expect? Fifteen! Hormonal! Romantic! I wrote diary entries about Being (Un)Popular and I really didn’t trust people who wanted to be nice to me, did I? And I trusted people who were nice to me conditionally. I see when I had specific dreams that resulted in some interesting writing, which survives in print form, not digital. I was just as much a slacker as ever, but I had my proud moments, like the time I wrote an essay in half an hour during study hall and got full marks on it.
(Won’t this make entertaining reading someday?)
Yes, little me. Yes, it rather does.