| November 3rd; I thought you knew how to be scared | |
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Shannon called me a scamp after he read the first's today. People are being kind of rude on the Webgrrls list and it's sort of scaring me. But I'll live. i'll just keep deleting emails without reading them till everyone calms down. Oh, and there have been people sending me all sorts of emails about jobs for Misha. Thank you, all of you wonderful people. With luck, she'll find a job and move here really soon. So today I am thinking about stories, the narratives that separate who we are from what we were and what we might have been. Trying to separate the stories I tell myself from the actual things that happened, and not being very successful. confused? Me, too. As most of the people close to me know, i have an obsession with stories. stories told by other people, stories that I tell, stories i come across accidentally. It's why I read so much—the stories told are so important to me that I can't imagine missing a single one. but the stories I tell to myself are entirely different from what I read. First, they have no real external adversity. One of the stories I'm currently telling myself is about a girl in a future time who, as the genetically imperfect offspring of a man she's never met, has access to more money and power than she will ever use. But she's an insular, self-contained girl. Her only friends are her cats and an artificial intelligence that she programmed, who does things for her like schedule appointments and turn the lights on and off. She resculpts her body, moves to the Northwest, and happily spends her time exploring the city and delighting in her new apartment. Alone. There's no conflict because there really aren't any other people in the story. And I say I'm writing this story for myself because there's nobody else that will want to read it. this is my utopia. money, cats, a fabulous place to live and an electronic screen protecting me from other people. the ability to surround myself with beauty, the ability to control my environment so I can understand it. It's probably a reaction to me losing my hearing—it's getting noticeably worse all of a sudden, and as I lose my hearing I start to lose most of my ability to interact with people in the real world. It's probably also a reaction to winter coming on, as I start to want to find a burrow to hide in through the cold and lightless months. I tell myself the stories that I want to hear. i tell myself the stories that I want to live. I can't decide if this is good or bad. Other things: I have to call the doctor this morning again. i'm doing a template for a site at work. Brad's doing the LARP for ICON next year and it's based on immortal, and I'm going to play. (note to self: by prereg and make hotel reservations.) I miss Melli this morning for some reason. KimB is back at work. Misha and I and maybe Shannon are going to Fresh Choice tonight. I don't know if misha has a map of Seattle. There's one in one of the top desk drawers, if you read this and need one, Misha. I've almost chewed all the way through the wire on my headphones. Tomorrow, the Blarg site gets a redirect screen. "I was no sister then, I was running out of time and one-liners"
"The nights were long and cold and scary
Sounds: Dar Williams, Mortal city Words: Polgara the Sorceress, by David Eddings (which is epic fantasy with a different tone than anything he's done lately)
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