holly_evolving: (Default)
I'm not an entertainer. Not really. Sometimes I sing, and sometimes I tell stories, and I'm a halfway decent pewterer. Not a real showman. But I still love being a little cog in the big machine that is faire, and I don't want to give that up. Not for anything. I love the mornings before open and the nights after close. I love knowing how it all really works and knowing these incredible people in a way that the audience never can. Yeah, sometimes I hate getting up at 7:00 am on a Saturday and sometimes the crowds get to me and sometimes I just want to fuck off and wander around. But I never want to give up belonging in this place, among these people. I used to think someday I'd want to quit. Now I know I won't ever want that. I want to be a part of this thing. I have my little piece of the world, I have my little spot where I belong. I make sense there and that's a powerful thing.

I'm keeping it.
holly_evolving: (Default)
Remember the AHCA hasn’t passed the Senate yet. Hound your senators. Remind them that they can’t rely on gerrymandered districts as much as the House can. Remind them that their jobs are on the line and you are watching. No mercy. Flood the lines. This thing was pushed through before the Congressional Budget Office even had a chance to assess it. The Senate won’t be voting for at least a couple of weeks. Bob Corker (R-TN) was quoted in Reuters saying “I’m going to guess 30 days or so.” Call, email, fax, write. Visit if you can. You are a constituent. Do the boring, slogging work that must be done if the people are to protect themselves and each other. Never let your elected officials be comfortable while you are at risk.
holly_evolving: (Default)
Why am I against the death penalty? I'm an atheist, so it's not a matter of faith. I don't look to outside authority to determine my morality.
So here is what I know: it is possible to become a sociopath, not only to be born one. Each act of cruelty, each rejection of empathy, makes the next one easier. So everyone involved in the ordering and carrying out of an execution becomes an unintended secondary victim of it. Each time we order someone to kill another human being and then get on with his life like it's just a job, we erode his humanity. The process of sentencing someone to die lessens the empathy of each person doing the sentencing. It is not okay to be okay with killing someone else. Reinforcing that acceptance makes it easier and easier to accept less formal killing.
Yes, there are times when wars must be waged and soldiers must kill - and look what it does to them. PTSD is not always flashing back at the sound of a backfiring exhaust system. Sometimes it's wanting a hug but feeling too unclean to even ask. Once someone has been ordered to kill by his own country, he can never feel protected again.
Eventually, the formalized acceptance of killing a killer becomes something else. Less formal. With fewer rules. Execution is what makes executioners. No one wants to be an executioner at first. But eventually, like all other acts of cruelty, the executioner becomes desensitized, and then develops a taste for it. The same is true of everyone else who said, "Yes, let's kill this person." The death penalty damages the conscience and capacity for empathy of each person who accepts it. It eats away at the humanity of the nations that house it.
My morality is based in empathy, not in faith. Despite its ubiquity, empathy is precious. And while the capacity for empathy across the whole of humanity is infinite, and renewed with each birth, that of individual people is both finite and fragile.
Execution does punish killers. It also punishes everyone else along with them.
holly_evolving: (Default)
I am ravenous for knowledge and beauty. I could devour the whole world and it would still never be enough.

Just call me Fenris, I guess.
holly_evolving: (Default)
Not really an update. Just, here I am.

House is progressing. Appraisal is done. Closing soon.

Therapy is...hard. But worth it.
holly_evolving: (curly hair)
Real update will come at some point.

Um. I got married. We are still an open-ish relationship in that sometimes we go off to see other people, but we are together and there's no one else in that togetherness.

We're buying a house together. Signing the contracts Friday.

I'm in PT now. I've been diagnosed with EDS. And ADD, so I'm on Adderall. Things are a lot better.

I'm exhausted. It's almost 1:00 am and I have a long day tomorrow.

Hi world.
holly_evolving: (curly hair)
I don't want to sleep. I know that means something is wrong, but I am fucked if I know what.

News: I switched to admin. I don't have to talk to customers anymore. I am gently tweaking things here and there so that someday I can work from home at least some of the time.

I've been watching Bomb Girls and it's a great show. But Betty reminds me of someone, so much, and that is this weird bittersweet nostalgia. It's also total golden age delusion - the years with that someone were never as good as I remember.

This cramped little apartment with its sulfurated water is wearing on me.

I was afraid I might have been becoming diabetic, but my A1C is 5.5. Turns out I have a sodium deficiency. That's why I'm always thirsty - my body can't stay hydrated.

Oh, and this is my spine:

That's enough for now. I'm going to have a little water, but not enough to set off my GERD, and then try to sleep.
holly_evolving: (curly hair)
My niece is now following me on tumblr. This...feels like a huge responsibility. I'm not ready, I'm not worthy, but dammit, someone has to show her that the ultra conservative religious crap she's surrounded with is not normal, and that her compassion is.
holly_evolving: (curly hair)
I've cut my hair and donned my father's coat
The only dowry that he left for me
And silently I've left my mother's house
To seek a life worth living on the sea

On the sea, my sisters, with a sloop for a home
The shore life is a poor life
Come with me and roam

The recruiter thinks that I'm a cabin boy
He signs me up for 15 pence a week*
"A private lad!" they tease me in the hold
They never see the secret that I keep


Around the world we sail and trade and steal
We fight for those who can afford to pay
An English sailor's knife and loaded gun
Will match a Spanish soldier any day


Now, bards sing songs of woman buccaneers
Who follow husbands bravely out to sea
I need no man to lead me toward the mast
I've chosen this life for the love of me


- copyright Loretta K. Scott, 2007

*I checked, this is a fairly accurate wage for the 16th century
holly_evolving: (curly hair)
I survive
I have survived
I am surviving
I will survive again
I will always survive

Also work

Feb. 23rd, 2016 11:39 am
holly_evolving: (curly hair)
Work is better. Found my stride again. It's all stupid and evil but I've hit that don't-care mindset that is required to survive customer service. I can deal with it till something better comes along.

I applied for a QA analyst post in my company but it went to the other applicant. Hiring mgr said I was really strong but she just has more Excel experience. So that's a concrete thing I can work on. Also now her post is vacant and it's excel heavy so I applied for that. There are quite a few more applicants, though. So the odds aren't in my favor but I will keep on trying.

I hate talking on the phone.
holly_evolving: (curly hair)
Meds didn't happen.

Current theory is that this is hormones. I don't feel like I'm going to die anymore. I am still experiencing executive function problems. Example: I should call my gyno and chase down this hormone theory. Don't wanna. Haven't.

I'm surviving and I haven't exploded since December.

GP gave me Brintellix, which joins Cymbalta and Lexapro on the list of meds that give me serotonin syndrome. Sick of finding shit out the hard way.

Oh hai

Feb. 23rd, 2016 11:18 am
holly_evolving: (curly hair)
Good grief. My job would be so much easier if other people would do their fucking jobs.

Brother got married over the weekend. It was pretty nice right up until my godmother talked about how great my dad was in an unsolicited dinner speech. Just...no. Mom, bro, and sis all hate my dad. Not appropriate, not okay. I spent the rest of dinner keeping godmother's attention on me so she would leave the rest of my family alone. Did the same thing at breakfast. Trying real hard to feel celebratey but that keeps poisoning it.

I should get back to collecting my essays for the next book. Out of steam. But Steve's mailing a copy of my poems to a friend who can't afford it so that's awesome in a few ways.

Slept like shite. It's gonna take me a while to decompress from that.

A basilisk

Dec. 8th, 2015 08:58 pm
holly_evolving: (curly hair)
There is a monster inside me
a basilisk coiled beneath my heart
and sometimes it wakes
and when it wakes I must fight it
I must do nothing else
I must not let my focus shift
for if I do it may strike
and if it is allowed to strike
it may kill me
holly_evolving: (goldeneye)
So end-consumer-facing customer service call center is pretty much guaranteed to be a position of taking abuse. The customer is semi-anonymous, but knows that 1) the rep knows they're rich and 2) the rep is a peon. So take the greater internet fuckwad theory and add rich asshole, and that's a normal customer.

Next chance I have to get out, whether it's to a different department or a different company, I have to take it. I am losing my mind. My depression has spiraled out of control since the summer and I can't stay in the situation that I know is making me sick.

Until I can get out, I'm going back on Prozac. I didn't want to do that, especially since it's pretty clear to me that the problem is an external one, but I've taken meds to survive abuse before. I'm also back in therapy. This doc has so far told me that she thinks I need to nurture myself, and has me practicing deep breathing on a schedule so that I'm better prepared for the next fit of despair. Panic attack? I don't know, the symptoms don't line up, but it sure as fuck feels like the world is ending. Had my most recent one on Thanksgiving and it almost made us late to go see family.

There is a plan. The plan is get out of this job. There is a plan to survive until I can do this. I have an application to fill out tonight (paper applications wtf?) for a local gig. We'll see how that pans out.
holly_evolving: (goldeneye)
I am 35 years old. I was born in 1980. My entire life has been this cycle. Iran-Contra. Desert Storm. Bosnia/Herzegovina. 9/11. Muhajideen. Taliban. Al-Qaeda. Daesh. War and killing and reaction and outrage and hate. I grew up with Eastern European and Middle Eastern refugees. I do not remember a time when the world was not this.

I want to.
holly_evolving: (goldeneye)
Paris and the world.

I believe that the US, Europe, Russia, and China should suspend commercial relations with the 4 major financial backers of terrorist groups. Those backers are known to be Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Qatar, and the United Arab Emirates. At the same time, I believe the UN should coordinate financial and manpower efforts to rebuild those areas that have been devastated by conflict for the last 30 years. If individual governments want to send strike teams after significant targets, that's reasonable.

But there is no fucking excuse for bombing civilians.
holly_evolving: (steampunk can can)
I believe the only way to fight terrorism is not to fight at all, but to un-make terrorists. Let's go to the places that have been destroyed, no matter who did it. And when we get there, let's build what is needed.

Let's build wells, and hospitals, and shelters, and farms, and schools, and libraries. And yes, let's send the military. To do the building and to guard the builders - but not to hunt. Never to hunt.

Let's honestly create and build and leave the world better. Let's do the heavy, boring, unglamorous work of healing.

And yes, let's do it while wearing our uniforms. Let's make it clear that we are helping. But let's also make it clear that there are no strings attached. There is no catch.

Yes, it would be very expensive. But I believe that in the long run, it would be far cheaper financially than this endless cycle of pouring trillions of dollars into destroying, and killing, and leaving waste and misery in our wake.

Terrorists are made from desperation. So let's unmake desperation.
holly_evolving: (steampunk can can)
My body has been through some shit.

Illness, injury, abuse. Both inflicted by myself, and by others.

For a long time, I hated my body. Even when I was barely over 100 pounds, I felt there was too much of me. I still sometimes feel the urge to escape the burden of my own flesh.

One of the things that has helped me, kept me anchored into myself, is tattooing.

So far I have about 14 hours under the tattoo machine, spent a couple thousand dollars, sat with several artists. These beautiful things I seek and find and brand into my skin, make a part of myself like talismans, each represent in their own way something I value, something I love and aspire to.

The crab is for the zodiac sign Cancer, a symbol of compassion. The holly is for strength. The stitched golden heart is a reminder that I heal. The penicillin allergy warning both protects me and reminds me that my skin can speak for me when I cannot speak for myself. The sun and moons on my shoulders lift me up and remind me that change is constant. The constellations keep my family at my back. The hyena spots are strength again, and courage, and the bonds of community. The foxglove tells me I can heal or harm, depending on how I'm used. These are a story in art that I am still writing. I will get more and more ink - the work of a lifetime.

The pain of tattooing has helped me to develop a new relationship to pain. Sometimes it hurts to get what I want; sometimes I have to earn it. Not all things will come easily. But I can choose to endure. I can choose to be stronger than pain.

I will spend the rest of my life building a self that I love, from the inside out and from the outside in. These beautiful things have helped me to love the skin that bears them.


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