Articles by admin

moving (though not shaking)

It has been a strange day…again, filled with an intense lethargy that meant very little got done (although I did clear out all the rubbish and recycling); I need to organise the lounge room (I moved the television out of my bedroom, as it was wasting valuable space) and do some baking…but I don’t have the strength to sit upright for very long, so everything that isn’t urgent is put on the backburner, so the important things get done, no matter what. I hate it, but until I know what’s causing it, there’s nothing I can really do to combat it…one would thinking sleeping would help, but it doesn’t seem to. Waking up tired is an awful feeling.

I rearranged the furniture in my studio & my bedroom last night, somewhat…most of my cube shelves are now in the studio (as seen in the background of this photo of the tiniest iron in the world), and the half-shelf that housed my makeup has been traded for the small table my grandfather made, and currently holds all my Pullips. It really is a less-than-ideal setup for them, as they’re organised in rows, and you can only see the dolls in front, so I’m hoping to somehow put them back on the large white shelf I had them on previously, and use that halfer for my crochet…somehow. I don’t have enough room anywhere for another full shelf in my studio, unless I can somehow manage to move my desk around, and that is close to impossible — it’s far, far too heavy. Also, given the fact that I have only ONE wall in the studio that has nothing to get in the way of furniture (no windows, light switches, wardrobes, and so on), it really would be a waste to move it…

Aah, my kingdom for a bigger studio…I dream of a 5×5 room with a wardrobe that stretches across an entire wall, and then wouldn’t have to worry about these wretched shelves at all…

I got my altar set up once again, which is a good thing. I need to throw myself into my magic and my spirituality as of late, not because I feel like I must (I am not pressured by my gods; I would not honour Them if I did), but because I  know that I need to. My soul needs to be nourished. This year has been…so, so strange. I feel like my spirit has been grazed on bitumen, not to the point where I’m seriously injured, but applying the witchy equivalent of Savlon would be a good idea, all the same. I’m not sure where I end or begin, and I don’t know where this whole strange, liminal time began or will end.

I miss the sea…

tired & tired & tireder, still

I am still so tired. Sore throat, body aches; sitting upright is literally painful. I’m wondering if maybe this is a glandular fever stress-related flare up, seeing as the last time I remember being this tired was when I had it. Who knows. (Whatever it is, it isn’t COVID, though. No fever, no respiratory problems.)

…is this adulthood? Endless moaning about your health, or lack thereof?

Mum not due out of the hospital until Friday, as of the moments. Blood clots in your lungs will necessitate that.

…this lethargy is beyond ridiculous. I’m going back to bed. Maybe when I wake up I’ll remember what I was going to write about. It ain’t happening now.

endlessly

It just never stops. It never, ever stops.

Mum’s being driven to emergency (private, at her oncologist’s insistence, which is going to cost a minor fortune but you die on the public system) because she’s having trouble breathing.

I feel like an hourglass with a crack, and all the sand has run out.

sleeplessly

I am tired.

I am really, really, really bloody tired. Probably because I’ve been in an anxiety spiral for the past three hours, thanks to some unsavoury people. They know who they are, they know what they’re doing, and I know what they’re doing, too. That doesn’t stop the physical body from responding to a trigger, sadly, but…

It’s really hilarious in a screwed-up way when people preach love and gentleness and uwu your trauma is valid and…don’t extend that to those they don’t like. I get that the woke facade is exactly that, a facade, and really they’re just bitter and nasty people, but. I mean. Who purposefully goes around trying to set someone’s anxiety off? How damaged in the soul do you have to be?

The world continues to be weird.

I should sleep, but while my body is exhausted, my brain’s wired, so it won’t be happening. I should probably work on outstanding projects, but…which? (Also such a thing would require concentration, which I don’t have; it’s interesting enough trying to write this entry…)

Maybe I’ll go get another coffee…maybe I’ll go reblog pretty pictures…yes…I think I might.

steady as she goes

If “queer time” is a thing (and yes, yes, it is), then I think “survivor time” is also a thing. Survivors of abuse experience time completely differently from a person who hasn’t been through it.

If you combine my queer time with my survivor time, then…I mean, it makes absolute sense that I feel lost in time, pretty much all the time.

not tragedies

let there be coffee
and someone who wants to kiss me for hours
and will play endlessly with my hair
and won’t mind that I am silent quiet slipaway shy quicksilvery fey
and badly damaged
someone who can see past the smokescreen of okayness
who will not expect me to save them (I am flat-out saving myself)
where are the sparks
where are the fireworks (even one would suffice)
where oh where did the needle in the haystack vanish to
an ocean of fiftythousand
everyone exists except that one sliver of silver
of summerchance
and if I can’t find you;
then you probably don’t exist.

give me wings, city lights, bright things

Breathing in carefully, listening to songs that made my heart sing…during the year that was. And wasn’t.

Ten years ago, now. My body was mine, then it wasn’t, then it was filthy. Chasing cherry-blossom coloured illusions; no one told me that sakura contained cyanide. I found home, but I was locked in a tower again. The key to the door was so very complicated, and the gaolers…

Ah, who really knows. So many thoughts. All of them a mess, because of the headache (72 hrs and counting). Going back, grasping things, becoming a person. But I’m…I’m not afraid, not really. More apprehensive. Is it because I temporarily have to take room in the tower once again? Who knows, who knows.

I don’t know.

Maybe I don’t even know what I’m talking about, right now.

(What kind of introvert sickens when she’s been away from people for too long?)

Song of the Day for the 5th: “Heaven or Las Vegas”, Cocteau Twins

Song of the Day for the 6th: “American Dreaming”, Dead Can Dance

so I can wear honesty like a crown on my head
when I walk into the promised land
(don’t fade away, my brown-eyed girl)

But when I walk out of the tower again, the world is mine. I’m not letting anything less than Death itself tear it from my hands this time around.