Intentionally went to my first Pride last-ish weekend, and it was really fun. I’d been to Portland (Maine) Pride once on accident – we were getting food and then a wild parade appeared – but Seattle, Seattle really knows how to do Pride. It’s massive.
Next year I hope there’s more than one Bi Pride group, because in an all-day parade, having a good bit of visibility would be nice for those of us who often feel invisible.
Sometimes I learn slower than I’d like. I get frustrated because PHP isn’t intuitive and I can watch a segment and then I have to take a break and let what I learned sit there for a couple days before going back for more. On the upside, I am actually grasping it this time, but I wish I knew all the things now so I could make stuff already.
But I guess no one really learns a language in a day, and I am making progress, so that’s good.
Unrelated to PHP Basics though, I am exhausted and heavy hearted. Part of me doesn’t know why, and part of me is aware that I’m just sensing the weight of the world. I’m doing the best I can to make a small piece of it better though, and I just have to keep plugging away. I can’t focus on everything, and that’s okay.
I went to the library and found all the best fairy books in the kids section. I came home with one called the Faerie Door and I’m almost done with it. My favorite thing about libraries is that you can just sit there and read and no one bothers you and then you can bring the book home and continue to read it because you can’t pull yourself away. I think the kids section is the best part of the library because all the most fantastical stories are there – the authors don’t have to prove themselves to the adult world and they can be as imaginative and wondrous as they please, and this is why I mostly read YA books.
My particular library branch is small, and the dvd and adult sections don’t have a lot in my particular interests, but the teen section is what really stole my heart. They had so many resources – I can tell that my library actually cares about the youth that frequent it and I was trying hard not to cry even though I’m years removed from teenagehood. It would have meant so much to me if my library had emergency numbers, LGBTQ resources, and books dedicated to assuring me that I am indeed okay.
There’s this fiction book, called stronger than you know, about an abused homeschooled girl with PTSD who is rescued from her family, lives with her aunt and uncle and is trying to brave the world. I couldn’t bring myself to read more than the first page without being overcome and also wanting to leave it there for the inevitable person who’d need it after I left.
So I came home with a book I’ve barely been able to put down. I’ll probably finish it tonight and then drop it off at the library before going to explore a waterfall tomorrow. Yesterday I watched some bees pollinate lavender while waiting for the bus and taking in the breeze. I’m not sure how much I like being disconnected from twitter and facebook – half of me wishes I were all the time, and the other half knows it’s not good to be in a bubble cut off from the world forever, either – and the fact is, twitter is a better place for news than the news. I can also easily get lost in my head, and need a way out – sometimes it’s pleasant, a lot of times…..it’s not. I get lost in remembering things my parents said and did and I get upset with little to distract me.
I think the moral of the story is, I need to consciously remember to watch the bees, take in the air, take breaks, but also consciously live outside my head, and pay attention to the world.
Happier? no, less angry, maybe. Calmer? yes. More productive? somewhat. I just need to listen to myself.
Experiment: if I close twitter and log out of Facebook for a week (supplementing social internet needs with forum posts and reading blogs if I need to feel connected) what happens? Does the world seem less shitty? Do I break out of various funks long enough to work on projects? Am I happier?
I’ll let you know, I guess.
Sometimes I wish for an undo button, not because of regret but because I’m afraid. I applied to a job doing IT support and now I’m anxious about it. What if they hire me? (Like I’m not the one with ultimate say?) How will my life change?
Before applying it seemed like getting a job would be a good way to get myself out of my apartment (and make money) but in a way that’s maybe easier than all the MeetUps I talk myself out of? But now I’m nervous.
What if I suck? What if I’m just harassed because I don’t look like an IT Person (TM)?
Change – even theoretical change is scary. Change that involves leaving my apartment and interacting with other humans is terrifying. I wish it wasn’t.
But when I write it out, these are all factors I can control for, and when I remember I have agency, a job offer isn’t so scary.
Strangers on the other hand…
I feel the need to be more present physically in my world, but I don’t like the implication that the digital world is unimportant or doesn’t matter. Because the internet is more of the real (painful, brutal, honest) world than my physical experience is. I don’t want to sound dated when I say I need to be more “here” – but I do need to re-gound and center myself. I need to touch and see things outside of my screen. I need to tether.
The feeling you have when you want to do things and you even make progress on things just not in a way anyone can see yet, because you want more than anything to get back into your rhythm but you’re just not there.
And then you remember that you moved barely a month ago, and the fact that you can think and even make a little progress outside readjusting to life again is a pretty big deal.
Oh and remember, you spent last night plotting out story arcs, after a week of really draining work, so that’s something.
This has been a post.
I didn’t know how much I needed this trip until I took it, and now I feel soooo sappy.
I’ve wanted to have a birthday that involved just chilling with friends for ages, but my mom was anti-chill parties, and I never end up living physically close to my friends in general, so spending a weekend traipsing about DC and Richmond with my girlfriend exploring museums and seeing/meeting friends I’ve known for ages IRL, was just…….beautiful.
A perfect ending to the east coast chapter of my life, before embarking on a brand new adventure.
Stories were told, drinks were had, food was eaten, laughter was plentiful……it’s a small fucking world.
As I sit here on this train for 12 hours I’m just happy I finally got to see my friends, and happy I’m actually moving, and excited about the future and the next time we get to see each-other.
I have the best group.
Seriously though, it’s weird. Every other year or so, I expand out (exhale) I disperse my art and my thoughts across various different sites for a couple years to compartmentalize them in my mind, and then over time, every thing comes back together (inhale) and I try to put everything back in one place again. I’ve done this enough times that it’s starting to feel like breathing, a natural inhale and exhale of my online presence, going more places and coming back in. I’ve added back a couple handfuls of posts from KieryGeek.Com because I keep writing (or wanting to write) about games here, and keeping up an entirely separate and more quiet blog has been thrown to the wayside, but then I feel guilty and like I’m neglecting it. If you check out the KieryGeek category, you’ll see a bunch more stuff than before.
KieryGeek.Com will still be around and alive, as an archive (so all the links will work, yay!) until I decide to exhale again.
I’m also breathing.
I changed meds and have been taking Lexapro for about two weeks now and I feel a lot better than I did on Zoloft. The vivid dreams have started to die down so I’m sleeping again, which is helpful. I got my hair cut, and I get to play business Kiery this weekend, which involves makeup and some pretty rad shoes.
Pepper Potts was in an Iron Man suit. The suit was keeping her alive. She couldn’t just take it off whenever she wanted to, because to do so before she was in a place to receive proper and necessary medical care would be her death. As it was, the condition that lead her to live in an Iron Man suit was complicated and treatment wasn’t easy, not even for someone close to Mr. Stark. So Pepper Potts wore an Iron Man suit. She wore it every day and every night. She wore it to parties and running errands, work, and taking out the trash.
Tony was supportive, he knew Pepper was in the suit, and that living in the suit was hard for her. He kept her company and made her as comfortable as possible. He taught her how to use it and tried to show her the plus sides to living in a suit. He was there to listen when she had problems, to hold her iron clad hands and watch netflix, but most importantly, he saw her. He saw Pepper for who she was, not the suit she was wearing.
Whenever Pepper left her home she had to make a decision – a decision that was revisited upon every interaction with every human she encountered during her day. She could go out in the suit and be mistaken for Iron Man, talked to as if she were Iron Man, or reveal her identity as Pepper and be disbelieved, ignored, or beaten, harassed, and tormented. Of course, there was the off chance that some people would believe her when she said “I’m Pepper Potts, this is just a suit, it’s not a reflection of me” but those people are rare in public.
Most often, she got called “fake” and her life experiences were invalidated because all people could see of Pepper was the suit she was wearing. They thought, well if there’s an Iron Man suit, obviously it’s only Iron Man in it, and as soon as they learned otherwise, they harassed, threatened, and called her a poser, just trying to get attention, a wannabe, not real.
But it’s only Pepper Potts in an Iron Man suit. We all know that what we wear isn’t who we are.
Sometimes I feel like my skin is a suit. It’s something I wear, something I have to wear because this suit is what’s keeping me alive. But whenever I go out, because of my suit, I have to decide if I want to put up with the misogyny and misgendering that my suit brings me, or risk confrontation. I often opt for keeping my head down and avoiding conflict. It doesn’t make the way people treat me – when they see my suit and harass me because of it, or keep calling me her when I’ve told them I’m not – feel any less painful; it’s just sometimes easier to ignore it than fight it, until I have the energy to. I haven’t found my powers yet.
My skin is a suit, it isn’t me. I’m inside of it. And the people who see through the suit and into me are the people I want to keep around. I want to be seen, my suit doesn’t define me.