June 8th, 2011

Rainbow || Rainbow northern lights.

(no subject)

TLDR: I drank, didn't read. I've written quite a bit in my writing life. I had an awesome high school English teacher and it was his birthday. I was a weird student. High school graduation > college/uni graduation.

This evening I did not read fanfic, because I got a little tipsy (a lot tipsy) and didn't want to keep a pen in my hand at that point. It also felt nicer to snooze in-and-out on the sofa while listening to Jacqueline play a video game, Roberts play a computer game and John puts about online with various other characters appearing at random. (Pirate mentioned that he should write on my face, thinking I was asleep; I surprised him by announcing that that would probably end badly. He argued that he had many sharpies; I countered that I probably had more colours and more patience. He laughed and left.)

Instead I spent the evening calculating how much I've written. As in, the entirety of my writing folder. Which has been open and active since 2005.

I have written around 823,000 words of creative writing (novels, stories, poems, songs, prose, fanfic, things like that; not any academic work). At least, the stuff I've got saved - more floats around on the Internet or in folders, but I think no more than 10,000 words. I was curious how close to 1,000,000 I was.

It's less than 120,000 per year, though - and with NaNoWriMo taken out (which I do every year), it's around 68,000 - so another NaNo-and-1/3rd-or-so. But at least if I keep going at this rate then I will definitely hit 1,000,000 words before I'm 25.

(I would like to state that many of these words are not usable and no one but me will see many of them as they were written entirely to keep myself sane and not to possess any semblance of reasonable quality.)

It was interesting to take a look at my writing folder in more depth than the usual scan-to-find. It needs a lot of organisation since I have multiple copies of stories in different folders and the like. I also checked the 'current works' folder and found stories I couldn't remember writing at all that I may be able to finish. Even scanning, I could see how my writing has changed from age 15 to now - interesting to spot!

Soon enough I should have a count for how much I've written since April. I think this year won't turn out to be such a bad writing year after all; I thought it would be since I had the dissertation and final exams. I also have three fics to write before September...because the first thing a person should do once she has freed herself of deadlines is willingly step into more. *Groans.* :Þ

And that, my friends, is all I am willing to do with numbers today! Numbers be gone!

Today (yesterday, really, since it's past midnight) is/was Mr. Dufault's birthday. (He was my 9th-, 10th- and 12th-grade English teacher). I made a FB update about not having summer reading (finally) and how I'd spend the summer reading, which would make him proud - and also Happy Birthday (in my own phrasing). He always hated summer reading; he thought the students who would normally read would be forced to read books for school over books they would normally choose and the students who didn't read would often not do it or use online notes (or hurriedly read in the days before school/the first days of school and not score well). He let me read Silent Spring and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy one year, I think, even though they weren't on the list. He told me that a good essay on the books would give him enough information to know how well I had grasped the material, despite not having read Silent Spring. I was grateful. Ah, that man, that teacher. I remember in early high school Veda was always the writer in class; I looked back on it and projected jealousy. Now I recall that I used to write two sentences for every vocab word assigned: one would be part of a fanfic story (and better written); the other would be a simpler sentence just to prove I grasped the meaning of the word. I was hiding my writing. :B I was a silly student! (Or the building incident: "name a building that is a proper noun...Nick!" "The Unitarian Universalist Association Headquarters." "Most students would just say 'The Prudential' or 'The White House', but not our Nick!" Or how I used to write dark sentences for most of the vocab words on tests; they were always sarcastic and he loved them.)

(I go off on tangents about him, I know!) Mainly I realised that he would like this post. He told me that I had to Keep Writing and that I wasn't allowed to Not Write, even as I was headed off over the arts-science chasm to a science discipline (and over the puddle to England). So I'm still writing.

He's going to the Aggie's graduation tomorrow. I'm thrilled to hear it. I'm also thrilled to remember him. Good teachers. *Smiles.* Good teachers - so exciting and wonderful! They stick in the mind. It's nice to remember Aggie graduation time (and pre-graduation time) given that this year my graduation won't be so personal. America seems to do graduation better, even in high school. At least better than Uni. Reading.


"The bluebird sings a lullaby; the firefly gives a light; the twinkling stars are candles bright; sleep, Faeries all, Good <*u>Night</u>."
[Elizabeth T. Dillingham; "A Faery Song"]
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Rainbow || Rainbow northern lights.

(no subject)

This post contains TMI. If women who don't constantly wear bras, are willing to talk about most anything and are learning to love their bodies (non-sexually) offend your sensibilities, I would suggest not reading. (I also have to express curiosity as to why you might be reading my journal in the first place; there's no fic here...)

Setting the Scene: Kiwi, by the fridge, reading Harry Potter fanfic out loud. Mark walks in. Kiwi inspects herself to make sure she is viewable to semi-public (this step probably should have happened sooner). She finishes making couscous.
Kiwi: "I seem to have taken the time to apply socks, shoes and clothing but not a bra. I apologise if my breasts offend you."
Mark [who is gay]: "I love your breasts."
Kiwi: "All's good then. Although I feel as though I'm disillusioning the household."
Mark: "Huh?"
Kiwi: "Out of thinking that large breasts actually stick up near one's chin without assistance." [Kiwi sits down, crosses her arms and eats her food.] "Instead it's more of a boobquake."
Mark: "Boobquake? Like, seismic waves?"
Kiwi: "Precisely. Butterflies, you know."

This, in my mind, attaches to three things I have been contemplating lately.

1. I am not fat.

I mean, media-wise, yes, I may be considered fat. But since when have I appreciated or assessed my value based on the stick culture, anyway? I've just been letting it sneak in. Size (qualitative rather than quantitative) is defined by the beholder which is, in my life, me. I declare that I am not fat. So today I took out my jeans and cut them into the jean-short-cutoffs that I have been too afraid to wear for fear that I Am Fat - but a) I could be fat, wear them anyway and still be attractive and b) I've decided, again, that I am not fat. I'm never going to have my mother's tennis-toned body or my brother's I-sprint-even-when-I'm-drunk lanky form. I'm always going to have flesh and curves and muscles and fat.

2. I like my body, and that's what matters.

I'm always going to have flesh and curves and muscles and fat - and stretch marks and hair and scars, too! My body is unique and interesting. It's also mine. Thus if I like my body, that's good enough, and I can present it however I want. So today I am wearing a tight-enough shirt, jean-short-cutoffs, a hoodie tied 'round my hips and my Docs - and that's fine. It isn't fair that I wasn't wearing certain things (like cut-offs) out of not wanting to Offend Other People. Uhm. It's my body; it's my choice. I apparently didn't see that logic before, when I was so worried that my weight or any other feature would offend other people and thus should be hidden. Also, I choose to live abstinently at the moment, so it's not even as if I have that incentive to make sure people like looking at my body. Which is strange to me anyway. I like all sorts of bodies; I would hope that the people I like (sexually or otherwise) would see my body fitting within the sorts of bodies they like. And if not...it wasn't really going to work out anyway!

3. I'm a virgin and that's completely okay.

My third and perhaps less related point. I'm sick of the virgin-whore (or in modern terms prude-slut) dichotomy. It doesn't work. People first judge me, by my clothing and sex-positive conversations, to be a slut. Sometimes I get slut-shamed - alright, fine, whatever, slut-shame a virgin, that doesn't frak with the system or anything. Then they find out I'm a virgin and I get shamed for being a prude or "well why haven't you lost it yet?" or "you should go lose it - just go lose it" or assume I haven't found anyone willing to sleep with me. Wow, you're fast with your label-gun, aren't you?! I haven't had sex myself, but you'll find there's nothing about sex or nudity that is going to shock me or offend me (so long as everything is consensual - but otherwise I would put it under 'rape' and not 'sex'). I haven't "lost it" yet and don't plan to go out and "just go lose it" because I'm not ready for sex right now. Yes, I've had people willing to tumble with me. First year I had a rather attractive girl staying in my bedroom over night tell me she had toys and would I please like to hook up? I told her I had homework - which I did, and was up all night doing. My priorities haven't been sex/romance/intimacy/dating/anything of the sort. It's beginning to change somewhat, but I'm still not ready, and I still have a lot of mental barriers when it comes to sex for myself. I'm not a paint-me-black-and-save-me-or-shame-me slut/whore and I'm not a paint-me-white-and-hold-me-up-or-malign-me prude/virgin. I'm a person who believes in the radical notion that sex is fun and pleasurable and there to be enjoyed (with consent and certain safety), but has not personally had sex. I'm a sex-positive abstinent person.

I am a 21-year-old lesbian who has been out of the closet for 8 years and I am a virgin. And that is completely okay.

Conclusion: Some of these may seem self-evident or obvious to you. They haven't been for me. I'm sure I'll slip back into thinking I'm too chubby or that it's important that other people like my body (so I should hide it if they don't) or virgin-shaming myself by the voices I've collected in my head. I'll work equally hard to always land back in these three understandings with myself: I am unique and fine the way I am (hopefully someday I'll be able to say 'beautiful' and mean it); when I like my body, that's all that matters; it is perfectly fine for me to be a virgin and will be perfectly fine when I am not one (as long as I do everything on my own terms.)

Dear Stick World, I have big American thighs. But you know what? There's sure as hell enough muscle in 'em to hurt when I kick out. What are you going to do about it? I don't subscribe to your ideals so get the hell out of my brain. No love, Someone who has suffered under your impossible, commercial standards for far too long and is fed up. P.S. Your messages are all wrong. Fix them. I am done with your impossible, paedomorphic, dehumanising and demoralising standards of beauty. It takes all kinds. I'm done with your shit.

This brought to you by: Surrounding myself with pictures of real people of all colours, shapes, sizes and presentations (gender, sexual, subculture, more) and sitting there gasping at the beauty inherent in the diversity of human forms.


Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life.
[Rachel Carson]
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