I’ve been keeping busy and that’s good,

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I’ve been keeping busy and that’s good, I’ve gotten a lot of things done, but I’m really just not feeling like a good and competent version of myself, so that’s a bummer. 

I’m wavering unproductively between working on that challenge thing that’s due June 30th, and getting Chapter 5 knocked the rest of the way back into shape for Wednesday. As usual, I have the whole chapter done except oh now I need to follow up a new plotline and oh I think I didn’t tie in another loose end and right, right if I want to pursue that other plotline I need to start folding it in now and it turns out, having something written ahead of time is not actually the same thing as having it done, because there is always more. 

And I don’t really feel equal to any of it, but it is better to keep busy than let that sink in. 

So anyhow. (Also I haven’t been in a gay nightclub since I was 19 and I hadn’t expected this news story would upset me so much but wow, has it ever.) 

If anyone feels like sending an ask or a reply or something, I could stand for a little something to come back to. I don’t know if I’ll be on DM, I’m going to probably be trying to write and I can’t do that and page back and forth to the messenger window very well.

I would take prompts but I have such a list of things I’m supposed to be working on. *frets* 

I will definitely answer any ask about BB-8, although I may stick answers in the queue because I am weirdly self-conscious about answering things too fast.

And I have comments on AO3 I ought to be answering but for some reason I’m having trouble with that, like i have to save them or something? Sometimes it’s hard for me to find those kinds of words; I think I feel like I’m being insincere or something. If I can’t understand why someone would praise my writing it’s hard for me to thank them for it. (I don’t know how to explain that either. Like, I get that people like it, but also, everything is terrible and I am the most terrible thing of all, so how could that work?)

(so, cut for whining, because maybe writing it out will help; tw body image bullshit especially.)

My sister is coming from Georgia with her kids tomorrow, flying in to see me– staying with my dude’s mother, who lives a quarter-mile away alone in a giant house, and is the reason this is possible, because my house has no space and my sister has three kids. Flying to Buffalo, then renting a car, and we’re going to see Niagara Falls and assorted other sights (and eat ice cream, since WNY has excellent food all around), and then they’re driving East on Thursday, and I’ll follow on Friday. Next week should be a good time, though it’s a slaughter week so the farm will be busy and I’ll mostly be working, I expect. And I don’t know where I’ll be sleeping on Saturday night, but all the other nights will be fine so I’m sure we’ll work it out. The yurt is nearly ready to set up but I don’t know if we can get it up immediately, which we’d have to in order to sleep in it on Saturday.

Apart from that, I’m just feeling gross. 

It’s been wonderful and productive to get so much sewing done, but it just keeps hammering home to me that #1 I’m a crazy hoarder that I even *have* all this shit, and #2 Jesus Christ I’m an enormous human. And that latter thing should be pretty value-neutral but in our society it is not. Holy shit. I made a utility apron out of an old pair of jeans, and to make the apron extend from back-of-hip to back-of-hip across the front, I simply opened the back of the waistband. 33″ across. That’s. That’s a medium-to-large person’s entire pair of pants, just across the front of me. (My hips measure 50″ at that point. I am no longer in “but you’re not fat!” territory; I am solidly A Big Person.)

I dunno, that just really made me feel weird and shitty. And like. What’s the point of trying to make anything look “flattering” at that point. And most of the time I can be defiant about that, but sometimes it just squashes me flat to the floor in a big old pile of grossness. My god. My god, I am an enormous thing. Other people who I objectively know must be about this size look fine, but I am not other people, I am me, and I am gross and terrible, and everything is terrible. 

I’ve been trying to clean my house, and actually it’s sort of been going well– it’s not like my house doesn’t look like a crazy hoarder lives in it, but actually you can tell where I have been working slowly and intermittently for months and months, and if I keep working slowly and steadily I could actually stand to have people over. I’m hoping that dude’s mother somehow magically does not want to come along when my sister inevitably wants to see my house, because she is very much an everything-in-its-place kind of person and in ten years of living a quarter mile away she has never come over here and neither of us have ever mentioned that; I expect she’d quietly have a heart attack on seeing the state of the place. You can walk through all the doorways, though, and large swathes of it are actually *clean*, if cluttered. 

But like. I’m not hosting dinner parties. I wouldn’t have anywhere for people to sit anyway. 

I am tired of being fragile. I am really trying, y’all. Several times earlier today I had to delete rants about how terrible I was because they just sounded melodramatic, because they were, they were stupid, but I was utterly sincere. It’s very annoying and stupid and gross and it’s not fair to the rest of the world but there it is: I am gross and everything is terrible. Ugh. 

Your BB-8 headcanons are my favorite. I love thinking

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I have, moldering in half-finishedness in my gdocs, a whole prequel story when BB-8 was not quite brand new but pretty new, and Iolo Arana gets to go home with Poe on a school break, and it’s almost all Arana’s POV and it was kind of a struggle for me to make it not entirely about BB. 

I don’t know what format to ever publish this thing in, but know that it exists, and someday I’ll put it up. LOL.

[from Poe and Arana on a passenger ship enroute to Yavin 4, second-last year at the Academy: note, at this point BB-8 hadn’t discovered neutral pronouns, so most everyone calls em “he” and is unaware of any other option; some characters might call em “it” but again, since ey hasn’t specified a preference, nobody’s doing it to be mean.]

Poe gave a short bark of shocked laughter and almost fell off the chair, and it set off the litter of xeno alien-lings behind them, who set to yammering and shrieking, and Iolo and Poe wound up fleeing the room to get away from the unholy din, and also the wrath of the parent-xeno, who did not appreciate the ruckus any more than they had.

“If it’s that big a deal,” Iolo muttered as they fled, “stay in your goddamn pod.” The accommodations were reasonably comfortable if you weren’t claustrophobic. Fortunately Iolo and Poe were really used to being in one another’s intimate spaces; their pod was a pair of chairs that folded down into bunk beds, and a very flimsily-divided fresher compartment that had a toilet and a sonic shower and not really an actual door.

“I don’t fuck that many xenos,” Poe pointed out.

“Yeah, but the suction-cup marks,” Iolo said. “That story is gonna see you into immortality, see if it doesn’t.”

They crammed themselves back into their pod, and Poe’s astromech woke up from recharging and did the incredibly annoying beep-filled recalibration routine it was so fond of. “Hey,” Poe said. “I got an idea.”

“What,” Iolo said.

“Not you,” Poe said, and BB-8 squeaked and whirled and generally got even more high-strung, which Iolo really didn’t need. But Iolo came along anyway, because he was bored. Poe’s big idea was to go along to the ship’s engineers and beg them to let BB-8 talk to the ship’s computers, and it was amusing just watching him turn on the charm.

“Well,” Poe explained, tipping his head a little, one toe turned in slightly, hands behind his back like a child, “so the thing is, he’s a one-of-a-kind experimental prototype, is the thing.” He gestured very slightly with one hand, bending his knees just a little, bobbing and then returning to a pose that leaned his hip against the doorway. It was kind of a master class in being appealing. “He’s a collaboration between the Naval Academy and Industrial Automaton– you know, they make most of the astromech droids the military uses?”

“I’ve heard of Industrial Automaton,” the ship’s engineer said dryly. She was human, fiftyish (Iolo was estimating wildly; if she were Keshian he’d say she was a hundred and ten but you couldn’t just divide in half, it didn’t work that way), steel-gray-haired and dark-skinned and skeptical, but she was watching Poe appreciatively. His attempts weren’t in vain.

“I figured,” Poe said, gesturing a little, “of course,” and he shook his head, rolling his eyes a little at himself, with a dazzling smile. “Well– their monopoly is such that there have started to be problems because automated defense systems can use the same algorithms the astromech AIs use, so, for example, pirates know how to evade or jam astromech targeting systems, and so on. So BB-8, here, he has a unique new type of learning AI, which means he’s more flexible.”

“Interesting,” the engineer said, looking like she hadn’t meant to be taken in by this at all but was reconsidering. Iolo amused himself trying to guess whether it was BB-8 or Poe who was more charming, as BB was doing one of his undeniably appealing twirl-selfconsciously-in-place dances that generally made people want to help him.

He’d learned it from Poe, Iolo noticed; Poe was shifting his weight a little, tilting his head, not as markedly as BB but undeniably similar.

“So the more data BB-8 gets access to, the more libraries he can build, the better his decision-making becomes,” Poe concluded. The engineer nodded thoughtfully, looking from Poe to BB-8, and Iolo saw her noticing the same thing, that the droid was totally copying Poe’s body language. Iolo knew then that whatever Poe was asking for, she’d grant, because her face did a strange series of contortions as she tried not to have an expression, and it was kind of like the mess hall lady in second year who could not stop giving Poe extra pastries. Same expression. “So I was wondering,” Poe said, “if it would be possible for my astromech to ask your ship’s computer a few questions and maybe read through some of its logs.”

The engineer looked a little bit resigned. “Well,” she said. “Some of our logs are confidential, of course.”

“Of course,” Poe said.

Later, Iolo said, “Your droid flirts just like you do,” and Poe tried to mess up his hair, and he elbowed Poe in the face partly by accident trying to get away, and they crashed down the hall and got yelled at by a crew member, and it was around then that it really sank in just how long four days were.

But they made it, eventually, even if Poe had to manually shut BB-8 down for four hours one night because the droid got so excited about navigational calculations that he wouldn’t stop beeping.

Productive evening #seamripper #makeyourown

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Productive evening #seamripper #makeyourown

... okay tumblr

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ineptshieldmaid:

bomberqueen17:

ineptshieldmaid:

I know I follow @bomberqueen17, but you don’t need to give me wall-to-wall recommendations for historical warplane blogs.

OR DO YOU.

idk man, following you has not led tumblr to suggest me ANY blogs about shields or maidens, and this makes me a little disappointed. 

That would be because I don’t follow any blogs about shields or maidens. I do follow medium_aevum and the like, though, i’d be surprised if it wasn’t trying to rec those to you.
I actually kinda like the sidebar recs. It’s interesting to know what Tumblr thinks of me (for the same reason I read my goodreads recs: 20% of the time they’re useful, 80% of the time hilarious)

I already follow medium_aevum and a couple related blogs, so maybe that’s it. (I wanted very badly to be a medievalist once, until The Incident With Y Geriadur Mawr, which I am sure I have told on here before, so. I still poke wistfully at it, but I was Not Temperamentally Suited.) 

I ignore recs like that on principle. Dude, though, pretty universally follows the recs and so thanks to Google Play’s I’m Feeling Lucky function we sometimes listen to really weird music. I turned on the I’m Feeling Lucky function precisely once and it opened up with a song I find actively offensive, and went hilariously wrong from there. Some of us just don’t have very good algorithm-able tastes, maybe.

I follow precisely one blog about warplanes, so I don’t know what else it’s recommending to you! LOL.

What BB-8's Really Saying in Marvel's Poe Dameron Comic - Exclusive Interview! | StarWars.com

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cicaklah:

deputychairman:

roane72:

bedlamsbard:

OH MY GOD

THIS IS THE SECOND GREATEST THING I’VE SEEN TODAY

I’M DYING.

I HATE YOUR MUSTACHE.

the only good moustache in the world is on Oscar Isaac and BB-8 knows it

Wow fanon we got something right for once!!

Refatshion outfit of the say– men’s

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Refatshion outfit of the say– men’s T-shirt with shoulders altered, cut off at natural waist, added salvaged T-shirt material waistband and scrap fabric and muslin gored skirt. Cut out neckline and hand-stitched raw edge with blanket stitch.
Penguin with a rocket pack: a good Monday daydream.

thebibliosphere: fancyoption: Never forget Oscar Isaac and...

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thebibliosphere:

fancyoption:

Never forget Oscar Isaac and Carrie Fisher kissing.

Okay but I love how it looks like they’re all just waiting patiently in line for their turn.