Reunion

Last night I went to a reunion of sorts, and it turned out much better than I expected. Backstory: When I was a teen, me and all of the other local scummy people hung out at a local coffee house. The owner was an ex-cop that sold drugs out of the back of the shop.  He was also allegedly banging an underage employee, but that is just (likely) rumor.

I didn’t get along with everyone there. I was shy and weird. But I had a small circle of friends that I was very close to. Over the years, we didn’t lose touch, but they moved away one by one.

For the past few years, my best friend from the group has been coming back every christmas time, and a couple of us would get together and have a few beers. This time she thought it’d be a good idea to have some more people, and to have it at the bar where the owner of the coffee shop now bartended.

So one friend created an event on Facebook. And it grew. And it grew. And it fucking grew like an out of control giraffe erection. All the people that I hated and caused massive amounts of drama were coming. At one point the Going or Maybe Goin list was over 100. I started to dread it.

I should not have been afraid for flakes will always be flakes.

Only a small amount of people showed, 20 at the most. Most I was friends with, and I found that the formerly obnoxious ones were…still obnoxious but not as bad. In all, it was a great night that I thought would be an awful one.

So I raise a glass to good cheer. May all people we dislike turn likable in time or turn away.

doge in space card redux

 

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It’s Been Such a Long Time

I can’t believe just how long it’s been since I blogged. What happened? I’m not really sure. I suppose that it’s because I’ve been busy with my life. My job eats up a lot of time, and I’ve jumped in headfirst into the SCA stuff, especially writing or reshaping folk tales for the College of Performers (Bardic performance). But I’ve been neglecting the therapeutic, er, therapeuticness of journaling.

I really love the SCA. I wish that I joined as intended 20 years. Not only is everyone super awesome, but it allows me to not only delve into medieval history, but also to write in a completely different way. The spoken word is not like the written one, and public performance is still pretty scary. But I’m doing it. I’m out of my comfort zone, but I’ve been doing okay.

Saturday was the Yule feast in Bhakail (the Philly area) and I’ve never experienced anything like it. Feasts are unique. There were servants (I’m assuming members that volunteered) and court was very interesting. I participated in a “court of love” based on the Elenor of Aquitaine style, and got to show off not only my eloquence, but my ability, poor as it is, to speak in rhyming couplets. And I won myself a basket of Hershey’s Kisses.

And yet, there’s still so much I want to get into. I’m deep in the SCA hole. I just need to balance it with my novels.

And Life. I hate being tired all of the time. I hate waking up at 4am and nodding off by 9. I’m old before my time. I want to be young again, or at least not so old.

Sometimes there’s so much that you need to say that you can’t even say it. Like, it’s so overwhelmingly that to expel it will take your heart, your lungs, and organs that you can’t even pronounce. The purge will destroy you. Keeping it inside will destroy you. No matter what, it will destroy you.

I am waiting to destroy myself or be destroyed. It’s in me, waiting. I cannot purge it. It’s attached to too many VERY IMPORTANT THINGS and I’m afraid of the blood and guts that will pour out.

So I will ignore it. It will go away. Or not. Neither way is better. I just wish that it wasn’t necessary.

Cold Iron, Feverish Writer

Sooo, now that the chaos of Cold Iron’s book release is over, my body decided “hey, wouldn’t this be a super awesome happy jolly fun time to get sick?” Of course, it didn’t tell me this until I was mid-date with Katie, so she’s probably sick too.

At least my summer position in the job coaching program is over. I have 2 weeks of summer before school starts once again.

I hope that the cold doesn’t last that long. Despite being the size of a small bear, I am in poor health and many of my colds turn into bronchitis or pneumonia. Just something to be concerned with.

Yay

Oh, i should make a graphics ad for Cold Iron. This book is really freakin good, and I usually hate the things that I write 😛

guinea pig card

Trainwreck Day

Yesterday was a heckin trainwreck at work. This summer I am working as a job coach and mentor for special-needs high school students. I’m at several job sites in the local mall.

Yesterday the mall was closed, but they didn’t tell us. I found out when I got there at 7:45. The students get there at 8:00.

I had to run around, find all of the students before they panicked, and arrange rides for them to get home. Okay, that was aggravating. But what really pissed me off is that no one told my boss. I called her to let her know, and she was shocked.

Then I went to the doctor and discovered that I gained 5 pounds since starting the job. Unacceptable.

Also, I pulled a muscle in my back. Unacceptable.

Oh, and today I woke up at 3:30. Unacceptable.

That whole day and this morning were unacceptable. I’m not happy.

But at least I started revising The Third Watchmage Novel…”Watch Hard With a Vengeance…” not really the name…or is it?

cosmic-cat tripping balls redux

Ghosted By My Best Friend

One of the most important people in my life, one of my best friends and a former lover, a person I love more than myself, ghosted on me a few months ago. I keep looking at pictures of us and her daughter around my apartment. The tears come every time.

I will never see her again. I will never see her smile or hear her laugh. Her daughter, who I love as my own and even included in the dedication to Cold Iron, will never play with me or show me her stuffies and their life stories. I’ll miss every giggle. I’ll never push her on the swings. I’ll miss every birthday. In time I’ll be little more than a faded memory, and that’s if I’m lucky. Maybe in her world I’ll cease to exist.

I think that I know why she ghosted. Her current boyfriend doesn’t want her contacting me because we dated for so long, and our love is still palpable, even if it has turned to friendship. I’m the enemy. I’m a threat. And she loves him enough to do that. She doesn’t want to be alone anymore. And I understand because I know her so well. She needs him because he can give her what I cannot.

Nothing will repair this slash through my being. The heart heals when it’s a romance, but what about a friendship? I’ll miss her forever. I’ll miss her when I’m dead. And that’s how I feel inside.

I’ll miss her when I’m dead. I know because I’m already there.

doge in space card redux

Too Old To Rock N Roll?

Last week I went to The Clearwater Festival, also known as the Great Hudson River Revival. It’s the biggest folk festival in the New York area and one of the oldest in the country, and I’ve been going for 20 years. But sadly, last weekend reminded me that I’m not a kid anymore, and I can’t have fun the way that I used to.

Camping out is not required for the festival, but there are campgrounds that me, my friends, and several dozen people use. Traditionally every night has a “hoot” (a big singalong and jam where we sing folk and old classic rock songs) that goes on way too late. Of course I joined, and I was up singing and stomping and drinking (a LOT of drinking) until 2:30 in the morning Friday night.

I woke up shivering at 6 the next day, which is amazing in itself. If you’ve been following my blog, you know that for the past year, my brain has decided that 4-4:30 was an appropriate wake-up time. My head was pounding like I was in a drum circle all night (which I kinda was…there were drums along with the guitars, flute, washboard (!), saw (!!!) hand clappers, and singers). I looked in my cooler and realized that in about 4 hours of singing, I drank 10 beers. You have to keep your throat wet for a proper song circle. There is magic in a song and alcohol is one of the spell ingredients.  20, 10, even 5 years ago, I would’ve have flinched, but I am 41 now. I was dehydrated. I was headachy, and I could barely drag my ass out of the tent.

I still had a great time on Saturday and got to see all the bands that I wanted to see (Ani DiFranco, They Might Be Giants, The Mammals, Willie Nile leading a tribute to Dylan and Springsteen, the Neilds), but on Sunday morning I felt awful. I didn’t get much sleep, it was going to be 90 degrees (it had been almost 90 the day before, and I hate the heat), and I knew that if I stayed I would be miserable to the miserablist power. So I struck camp, and I drove home.

It was the first time I had ever left Clearwater early, and you know, I’m okay with it. I made the adult decision. A younger me would’ve toughed it out for the sake of toughing it out, but I weighed the options and made what I feel was the right choice. Sure I missed Jeff Tweedy (front man for Wilco) but hopefully I’ll see him else where. Sure I missed The Mavericks, but I’ve seen them 3 times. I accepted that I’m older now. I can’t forced myself to party just to party.

Also, I should learn to pace myself with the beer. I had no idea that I drank that much. They just disappeared down my throat.

Totally worth it.

doge in space card redux