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Pages read in Lord Of The Rings: 520 (Still. Again with the getting caught up in writing! But I'm enjoying it. )
My knee is fucked, my shoulder's acting up, and I have a crick in my lower left back. Dear body mine, you're 21, not 41. Please act accordingly. Sincerely, someone who would like to be able to plan her movie nights around "Do I feel like going to a movie?" instead of around "Can I go see a movie without coming out of the theatre crippled?" I don't get this. Where are all these pains coming from? Sure, I've always had a bad knee, but that was my tendons. This is the actual knee -- and okay, I have a suspicion that that's the same thing I had at 16, and I'm working on that. But my back? My shoulder? Actually, it's my collarbone, which makes no sense to me at all. I don't want it to make sense. I want it to go the fuck away.
FCA-L people are getting on my nerves. Made a post a few days back, clearly stating that I understand the CYA appreaoch in regards to age statements, although I personally think it's overrated, but that what really gets to me is the "smut is baaaaad for minors" attitude I've seen in M7 (and other places, but M7 was the most noticable). Now they'll all reacting as if I said they don't have the right to demand age statements or whatever. Motherfucker!
And in sort of a display of fannish hivemind, Anna posted this, and I have to say, right on. This reminds me of this little incident on HP4GU, and well. Argh!
I hate this attitude that somehow, simply being who we are and not hiding the fact that yes, Virginia, there are homosexuals, and bisexuals, and transsexuals, and all kinds of other people who don't fit a label but are definitely not Straight White Male, is somehow tantamount to "shoving our sexuality in their faces".
On a good day, this pisses me the fuck off. Today is not a good day. Today, I just want to hide in a corner on the internet somewhere and not come out until trivial things like this have stopped being an issue, when sexuality and whatnot is a similarily important thing about someone as hair colour, when only a few stray freaks would even care about what gender I happen to love.
And I can't figure out why this effects me so much. I've always been a freak. I've been ostracised for liking to read, for being a Beatles fan at a time and in a school where everyone was a techno- or boyband fan and the few exceptions were into metal. I was that weird girl with a passion for Dylan in the later years of high school. I dress like a goth, I'm Christian by choice, not upbringing, I identify as a pseudo-punk, I'm socialist with slight communist leanings, I have the freakiest taste in music. All of these things have gotten me ostracised from and even condemned by a lot of the general public, and I don't give a damn. I just shrug, leave them to live their own closed-minded lives, and move on to live mine to its full extent. Except when it comes to this, it seems.
*sigh* For some reason, I'm in a mood for Sex Pistols slash. May actually have to write some myself. Hrm. Mmmm, fucked-up Britbois in love.
In other news, I appear to be Tyler Durden. Huh. I'm a figment of someone's imagination. Go fig. :)
Dude. Dude! Woa.Oh, and also, this. Chris, you fucker!
Have been thinking about my different journals lately, and maybe I'll go back to /sleepless for these once-a-day long entries, and keep this one for the shorter pointless ones. (Except FTP is a bitch from here, so it'd take me some time to get them up.)
Just spent five minutes in R's office listening to the others gossip and complain about random (work-related) people, and watching birds fly over and over the buildings. Urge to photograph ... rising. I'd go this weekend, but there's the chat-in happening, and also, I'm a lazy bum.
I seriously need to do my nails. All that's left of the silver I had when I left WI is some on my thumbs, and some blue on the pinkies. I think I'll go back to black for a while.
Gah. *reads over entry* It's that kind of day. I actually don't want to go to FotR today, because I'm downish and vaguely catty, and I don't want to ruin the movie for myself. Besides, in this emotional state, I'll actually cry during Boromir's death scene, and my mascara and eyeliner aren't waterproof.
I hope I'm old before I die
I hope I live to see the day the Pope gets high
I hope I'm old before I die
But tonight I'm gonna live for today
So come along for the ride
I hope I'm old before I die
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The only people I've ever explicitely told I'm a lesbian are my parents, brothers and grandparents. My collegues know because I talk about Mol sometimes and I refer to her as "my girlfriend". But I've never used "the L-word" here. I don't know why, and I wish I could make whatever's stopping me disappear, but ...
Yeah. :/
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I can, and have, said to my friends, "I'm a lesbian," but I'm having trouble when it's people I don't know. I went to the Career Center the other day, and I was talking to the woman who helps people find jobs in non profits, and I couldn't even say to her, "Instead of using my Spanish to teach people to use computers, I'd really like to work on LGBT issues." I didn't tell her I don't want a job that will take over my life, either, so I sort of think maybe this is just part of my larger problem with telling people about myself. I don't know how to get past this either.
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