scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

15.11.13

It's so, so gossamer light when it's being laid down. You don't even notice, when it's being laid down, it's just one tiny invisible thread at a time - but i don't even know how far it goes back. It's so light, so delicate, and so fucking binding, i have no idea when it began. When i consider, when i consider x and y and z, i am nearly certain it goes back all the way to the beginning. That first summer, for example, and what he told me about it long afterwards; and the way it sheds light on how i was treated down south, in general - that's not an accident. It wasn't my imagination and i wasn't being overly sensitive and i wasn't crazy - that was the pattern. I rather think it was always there. (That's pretty fucking dark, that is.)

This is going to keep popping up, isn't it, unexpectedly, like this? Less and less often, as i identify more and more pattern, how wide and how deep and how long, and how all-encompassing, like some horrible, corrosive lace laid over an entire decade. I'll just stumble into some raw stub of history and be numb and angry for a week or two. Even now, I know enough to go, Oh, That old thing again. I know that one, i was expecting it.

(I met someone who told me something i had suspected about what now by all rights ought to be ancient history but i that had not known for absolute certain until just that moment. So. You know. I was expecting it. Still. Ow.)

I am also not sure what i can say.

Labels: blogging, drama

scrawled @ 00:13

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7.11.13

When reading, Glinda the Witch of the North and Charlotte the Spider have the same voice.

The girl in the apartment upstairs has a new boyfriend. I can tell.

The gifted ficus tree that was so unhappy by the balcony door has perked right back up, now, by comparison. New little leaves are growing, and the old ones are basically all dead and gone, so the crispy winter look has receded. He is still two-thirds naked, the poor thing, but better. I think it was too drafty, before.

I have had at least two unexpected compliments on my manicure. The third either i am imagining or is very subtle and admiring and gradual, but if i asked about it, the asking would destroy everything i have worked so hard to build.

Knitting is like a study of realtime topology - seriously, Mathematican Friends, look into it. You could be massively, cultily famous for inventing an improved left-leaning decrease.

Labels: random

scrawled @ 20:56

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