I finally planted a few rows of peas after work. The squirrels will dig them up by breakfast. I keep forgetting to get chicken wire to put over the soil, and there’s a huge roll of it at Chris’ house. My intention was to also put all of my seedlings in the ground, but I was so freaking dizzy out there bending over that I had to come curl up on the couch for a bit. Just sitting here typing my head is swimming from moving my eyes. I suppose I should call back the ENT to get that appointment and watch another fictional pile of money disappear.
romance makes me sick in all of the wrong ways it’s not cardiac arrest, blood thinners, bed rest, and a pat on the back it’s in my brain a stroke in my temporal lobe dead tissue left where the nerve endings for heterosexuality complacency and happiness ought to be
and if it says something about my wiring that i cannot bear the cookie-cutter shapes that society has laid out in front of me —-
before i have even seen a sex scene in a movie before i conquer my fear of tampons when all i know about love comes from disney movies
then maybe it says something about the wiring of the ones who can.
it’s not just grey matter that matters, it’s the stopper in my lungs put there by a boy who asks me out to dinner it’s his hand on my breast the screaming, recoiling fear in my head the words i should say, but never do
because if his creeping fingers mean that i am worthy of something – not love, but of his tongue down my throat something i am afraid of something i don’t want something i don’t speak up about because if silence means i am worthy of something then i won’t say anything at all.
there are girls out there who would kill for a tongue down their throats a hand on their breast because they think it means they are worthy of something, because they think it means that they are loved.
and maybe i thought that i was loved in that moment of paralyzing fear, of adolescent insecurity allowing him to touch the walls of my temple in the hotel lobby.
( maybe i thought that the sick knot in my gut was two steps from tying the knot like good girls are supposed to do if they’re good for anything at all. )
i want to slit the throat of the notion that my body is a playground for the people from whom i recoil in fear. i will bathe in its blood because love is not a fucking game
boy meets girl and he takes whatever he wants and my heart is to valuable to be conquered.
fuck anyone who says we can’t be happy without candlelit dinners and the petals of sacrificial roses to share our bed
i will light candles not because they are romantic but because i love the dangerous look you get when you see fire
instead of giving you flowers i’ll plant a garden and sow in our hearts with the seeds and nothing that grows there will have thorns because i’ve never believed that you have to bleed for love so i promise never to wound you and i’ll tend the scars left by selfish lovers who thought they could coax from us something we weren’t designed to give in the first place
fuck anyone who tells us our love cannot be two different melodies, off-key harmonies two hearts that beat independently i’d rather paint our life in complimentary colors than a single shade made from only parts of you and me.
i promise that your body will always be my temple and never my playground and i promise that we will always be individuals because we are not broken, and i promise that your hand, on my breast will not be because i think i am worthy of something but because i know that i deserve a love that isn’t built on stomach knots with fear behind the sails.
Sorry, not a fic, though that would be a fantastic title, come to think of it.
I couldn’t fall asleep last night as my body was still wired from adreneline and my mind wouldn’t stop trying to process Destiny and how/if they are going to fix it! I have so many thoughts and not enough time this morning.
But, two things I want to throw out there:
#1 - Leonard is not *gone*. He will be in LOT (and Flash, which is actually kinda cool). I am going to reserve judgement about next season until I see how they bring him back next week. I don’t think it will just be in flashbacks, as while there was purpose to doing so with Carter, I don’t see how it would drive the story forward with Leonard.
#2 - Crazy thought of the day (’cause, aforementioned lack of sleep). What if *Leonard* has lost his memories and ends up being the recurring VILLIAN in Season 2? Whoa!
Okay, I now have to go attend a full-day conference for work and try to stay awake and look like I”m paying attention.
(So I found out that if I type in a very uncomfortable position and keep my laptop absolutely still, my charger will work. So until it stops working, I will continue rping. Sorry for the scare everybody! Also, my mom and I both have concluded that it’s probably just a short in the wiring.)
There’s always been this rickety, spindly, peeling, crooked, geriatric phone pole in the yard that carries all the phone and cable wires for half a dozen buildings. All the wires that ever were, going back to the Eisenhower administration, hang off that pole.
Then yesterday, along comes a big brown UPS truck (according to an unnamed witness) or more likely an 18-wheeler or construction vehicle too tall to legally go cruising up a side street, which hooks the wires and yanks the pole right up out of the ground like a toothpick out of an hors d'oeuvre. The pole now lies draped across the next yard over (where the base of the pole was located) and leans on the garage of the house on the corner. My yard is an obstacle course of drooping fiber optic and cable wires that were ripped out of buildings.
Nobody will claim responsibility for the pole. ConEd (electric and gas) says it belongs to TimeWarner (cable). Time Warner says it’s Verizon’s (phone and fibre) problem. Verizon says it’s either ConEd or Time Warner.
Time Warner doesn’t care because they’re too busy pimping themselves to first Comcast and now Charter, so infrastructure isn’t their thing anymore. Verizon isn’t in a hurry to fix anything — they’ve been on strike for the last five weeks. Even if they went back to work tomorrow, they’d have a helluva backlog to get through before they got to us. According to the lady next door, the Verizon guy said, oh yes, they’re still working, and he would return on Saturday, once he’d gathered a crew. Well, it’s Saturday and nothing has changed. So much for that theory.
I’m very lucky to still have service, thanks to the comparatively short distance between the pole and where the line enters my apartment, and the ridiculous amount of slack that was always in the line. Because anybody who lost their service may be haunting all those nearby hipster coffee shops and sucking up their free internet along with the $8 coffee for some time to come.
So yay, retro Mercury. Ten points for creativity on this one.