Heh Heh

No End in Sight

Yes, everything you feared was true.

Because "Women Have no Freedom at All"

The protagonist of one of Portugal's most gripping courtroom dramas has died after almost 20 years in which she fooled everyone, including her live-in companion, that she was actually a male army general.

With her general's uniform complete with medals, Maria Teresinha Gomes cut a dashing figure as the respectable and charming General Tito Anibal da Paixao Gomes. What started out as a costume for the 1974 carnival, knocked up by a tailor in Lisbon, soon became the defining aspect of an invented personality. The general was only occasionally seen in uniform, but even in his civilian clothes he had a distinguished martial air about him that was enough to convince almost everyone.

I love that women are still "getting away" with this. I'm not so hot on the idea that it's still more often than not a necessity in order to ensure one's freedom more than an innate impulse to pose as a man.

Who thought my MA dissertation could look so sexy?

Just applied for this job (despite the fact that they want me to have a Swiss work permit. heh. Honestly, I love applying for all these UN-related jobs in Geneva. It's a real kick to my ego, even if nothing ever comes of it).

It inspired me to open up my MA dissertation for the first time in years and pull out a chapter to use as one of my writing samples.

Hot *damn* that dissertation looks fucking sexy when I get to use it to apply to jobs where it's actually, you know, relevant.

Wow

I just asked our graphic designer to send me a PDF copy of the final versions of the last two brochures I've been working on. One is a Services Proposal we prepared to give to another financial services company to pitch a partnership with them and another is a trade show brochure advertising our franchising opportunities.

OMG they look great.

And I totally wrote all of the text for these, yo.

I think 27 isn't a bad time to finally become a real writer.

One for the Road

Writing Challenge of the Day

How to make bit characters interesting who are loved and adored by your secondary character but who are going to get killed in about, oh, three chapters.

I mean, I know *he* likes them quite a lot, but, you know, *I* don't want to get attached, because then they'll try and figure out a way to live.

AND THEY MUST DIE.

THE PLOT DEMANDS IT.

I really gotta stick to this plot thing if I want this damn book done by October.

Dammit.

Oh Gawd

I just received an email from our mailroom guy addressed to "Mrs. Hurley."

Oh gawd.

Holy Crap I Just Totally Laughed Out Loud at This

This week must be even longer than I thought.

Hurdles

Why is it I find it so difficult to write happy family scenes? I mean, I actually had quite a wonderful, happy childhood. It's not like I don't have material to draw from.

I think I just don't find happy childhood scenes all that interesting.

Today's Song, Stuck on Repeat

The National - "Slow Show"

Standing at the punch table swallowing punch
can’t pay attention to the sound of anyone
a little more stupid, a little more scared
every minute more unprepared

I made a mistake in my life today
everything I love gets lost in drawers
I want to start over, I want to be winning
way out of sync from the beginning

I wanna hurry home to you
put on a slow, dumb show for you
and crack you up
so you can put a blue ribbon on my brain
god I’m very, very frightening
I’ll overdo it

Looking for somewhere to stand and stay
I leaned on the wall and the wall leaned away
Can I get a minute of not being nervous
and not thinking of my dick
My leg is sparkles, my leg is pins
I better get my shit together, better gather my shit in
You could drive a car through my head in five minutes
from one side of it to the other

I wanna hurry home to you
put on a slow, dumb show for you
and crack you up
so you can put a blue ribbon on my brain
god I’m very, very frightening
I’ll overdo it

You know I dreamed about you
for twenty-nine years before I saw you
You know I dreamed about you
I missed you for
for twenty-nine years

You know I dreamed about you
for twenty-nine years before I saw you
You know I dreamed about you
I missed you for
for twenty-nine years

(hot damn I'm finding some great sounds via Whiskey From a Wire. Bless Nick for posting that link. I'm completely addicted)

So

Is it Friday yet?

A Little Something for the Space Pirates

The Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics has announced the discovery of a mass of crystallized carbon formerly known as star BPM 37093, now known as the biggest diamond in the galaxy, fifty light years away from Earth in the constellation Centaurus. The diamond is estimated to be 2,500 miles across and weighs approximately 10 billion-trillion-trillion-carats – a one, followed by 34 zeros.

Do You Ever Get the Feeling...

That you're just way too sensitive about certain personal push-button topics?

I suppose that's to be expected, but I'd love to be stone cold enough for stupid stuff not to bother me so I could speak about it rationally.

Or even, at this point, make fun of it.

Because really, at this point, it's just all really fucking funny.

Today's Song, Stuck on Repeat

Bikini Kill - Rebel Girl (boy, that video is hilarious)

That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood
She's got the hottest trike in town
That girl she holds her head up so high
I think I wanna be her best friend, yeah

Rebel girl, Rebel girl
Rebel girl you are the queen of my world
Rebel girl, Rebel girl
I think I wanna take you home
I wanna try on your clothes oh

When she talks, I hear the revolutions
In her hips, there's revolutions
When she walks, the revolution's coming
In her kiss, I taste the revolution

Rebel girl, Rebel girl
Rebel girl you are the queen of my world
Rebel girl, Rebel girl
I know I wanna take you home
I wanna try on your clothes oh

That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood
I got news for you, she is!
They say she's a dyke, but I know
She is my best friend, yeah

Rebel girl, Rebel girl
Rebel girl you are the queen of my world
Rebel girl, Rebel girl
I know I wanna take you home
I wanna try on your clothes

Love you like a sister always
Soul sister, Rebel girl
Come and be my best friend
Will you Rebel girl?
I really like you
I really wanna be your best friend
Be my Rebel girl

I'll Just Type a Little Faster

One of the toughest things to deal with, having a chronic illness, is how many other things that that one illness affects. I went a really long time before getting diagnosed doing a lot of harm to myself. I was, effectively, dying, but it was taking me an incredibly long time to do it. I hear other stories from people about type 1 diabetics who just felt really thirsty and were losing weight for a couple months, and because they were younger, it was one of the first things people tested for, and viola, yes, there it is: congratulations, you’re dying.

It was the shovel to the head, yes, but it wasn’t four days in the ICU.

And with me, I went such a long time; seeing one doctor after another, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me (and I’ve read of this happening to other t1s diagnosed after 25. Once you’re in you’re 20s, people are less likely to test for it when you come in complaining about, say, thirst and yeast infections), and in the meantime, a lot of stuff was breaking down. My doctor told me that the reason it took me so long to die is because, yes, I was in such good shape. My body was slowing moving through all of my defenses, slowing burning through and shutting down systems one at a time until I finally went into seizures.

There are things already that I know don’t work as well as they used to. There are things that work a lot better now that I’m not dying quite as quickly (mmmm insulin). But to some extent I am, in fact, dying. Oh sure, we’re all dying: I’m just going to do it a little bit faster than most other people, and that’s a tough thing to come to terms with, especially for “I’m a kick ass brutal woman Kameron.”

It’s hard to say, now, but I’m doing everything I should be doing and my numbers are good and I’m not using expired insulin, so why am I having all of these problems? And it’s like: because it’s a chronic illness. It’s an immune disorder. It’s not one thing. It’s not like some kind of localized disease that eats your foot and stops at the knee. It gnaws at everything. Everyday. And some days, when you’re not looking, it gnaws more quickly than others.

Sometimes I get melancholy about it. It’s such a strange thing, when you look death so close in the face and then spend every day that much closer to it. I think about all sorts of things, about how all of these moments, each moment that I’ve gotten after getting sick, is like a stolen moment. It feels like something precious and extra. Even during my worst days, that feeling is still there. That feeling like I’ve died already, like this is yet another new life. Another incarnation.

But in this incarnation, things are a lot harder. I recognize that and I’m dealing with it, but sometimes, I know, I despise it for being so hard. I get angry and hopeless and scared and I wonder if all these stolen moments are worth it. It’s a silly, fleeting hopelessness.

Because all I have to do is look out at the world, at all this, everything I’ve got, everything I’m building and rebuilding, and I feel so lucky; lucky and cursed, because I want so desperately to make all of these moments count. Each and every one. They’re so goddamn beautiful, and they go by so quickly, just slip right past you, while you’re eating dinner, turning off your computer, reading before bed. They happen and they’re gone, and that’s one less heartbeat you have to carry out the rest of your days with.

I feel now a lot of how I felt in South Africa. It’s this sort of heady, dizzy fear and joy; this drunk feeling like you have to burn through every moment so brilliantly, so brightly, because you’re not sure what’s going to happen next; around the corner, back at the house, in your car. You don’t know if this is going to be the last moment; you’re not sure if somebody’s going to snatch it away from you if you’re not careful. And oh, god, that feeling of uncertainty, of fear, of brightly burning moments, is overwhelming. Some days you’re not sure if you can do it, if it’s even worth going on, because of all that fear. Other days you cling to life with a fierceness that terrifies you. Not yet, you say. Not quite yet. Just one more breath. One more heat beat. Let me have just one more.

So I’m still stumbling blindly around, trying to figure out what’s wrong with me, what else this illness effected, what more I can do to stare down death another day. My hope is that at some point the worst will be over. My despair is that it’s true that I’m dying just a little bit faster than everyone else.

Which means, of course, as Asimov said: I’ll just have to type a little bit faster.

And live a little bigger.

Wishlist

This is the first thing I'm getting when I get real insurance coverage.

The more I hear about it, the more I love it.

Now I just need someone to cover that $800 up front and $345 a month.

I'm Sorry, This Still Bafflies Me

Titanic is still the highest-grossing movie of all time. It's made nearly 2 billion dollar worldwide.

If you look at the other movies in the top 10, they're all part of series: LOTR, Spiderman, Pirates, Harry Potter, hell, they even made a bunch more Jurassic Park movies.

But the thing is, Titantic is now 10 years old and nobody's really tried to make a huge rip-off. I mean, sure, you can't (thank God) do a sequel, but where are the people clamboring to make a gutsy-woman-leaves-her-crap-fiancee-during-time-of-major-action-catastrophe-and-finds-her-strength movies?

Sure, there's The Notebook, but again: it's her husband telling the story, and it's framed as being his story. You get maybe half the story: you'll get the romance part or the action part, and still, STILL, ten years later, we're not getting that strong woman's story from the woman's POV, the sort of silly fourteen-year-old-teen-girl fantasy story with the bad dialogue that I went to see 11 times (and which did, indeed, assist me in finding the strength to break off a bad relationship).

So if Hollywood's really so interested in making gobs of money, where are the Titantic knockoffs? Or have they just all been so bad that you don't hear about them? Or have they been half-hearted attempts that tell the guy's half of the romance or lose themselves in swarm and forget the action?

What's so scary about kewl action stories about women who actually wear actual clothes, have no-strings sex, and get to spit in their abusive fiance's face?

I mean, I would pay money to see that.

I would pay money to see that eleven times.

And, obviously, a hell of a lot of other women would, too.

(NOTE: though it does look like Kate and Leo are pairing up again after 10 years, which I find almost as surprising as the fact that nobody's made another woman-kicks-ass-disaster-romance movie)

How Far Could You Walk in a Day with a Treadmill at Your Desk?

Yeah. I love this thing. Honestly, there's nothing so mind-numbing and sluggish-making than 8 hours at a desk.

It's completely contrary to how I'd like to spend my day, but here I am, writing all day at work, and coming home, briefly spending half an hour on the elliptical, and then... sitting down and writing all night.

Not the best way to get around.

Too Old and Awesome to Read Harry Potter?

But you're going to read it anyway?

Why, the internets have provided a solution! Just slap on one of these handy-dandy book jackets!


They will make it look like you are reading something for OLD, AWESOME people!