dotsandlines

I am perpetually on the edge of opening a Tumblr account. But a) I don't know whether the Yahoo buyout killed it, and I'm actually only seeing the ash-covered remains of its glory days; and b) I don't do graphics all that much.

I think some people use words on it, though. I've seen some words. There's this nesting comments thing that I don't quite understand, but I saw some words that were not contained in an animated GIF. A couple of times.

I've seen enough neat things to have a pool of people to follow, so that's a start.

I'd better not do it just now, because I have been in a not-particularly-great place, and I'm likely to get frustrated. Later, though, maybe.

I just finished a two-month-long class which was enjoyable, but which threw my exercise schedule completely off the rails. That, and a few other straws on the camel's back, led to one of those not-fatal but constantly-gray moods. I've acknowledged it and started to make course corrections - like getting the routine back in stone and making a point to do at least one thing a day that is satisfying and creative, rather than just reading the internet and playing Minecraft. Evasive action, captain.

Haaaa, got a positive YouTube comment from the band that I used in my Spice & Wolf AMV. So happy to not be sued.

I had sent it to our friendly neighborhood con, but they haven't announced the finalists yet. I would love to pay back the not-suedness by having the song earwormed into the brains of several hundred nerds at once.


...so where was I. Con preparation is going all right. Trying to make things for the Alley. Generally doing OK.

Personal life is pretty meh; I got the distinct feeling that the gaming group we'd been sporadically attending was a bad match for me. (When an entire roomful of people drops a lively conversation to stare at their shoes the second you arrive... it's a bad match.) It's a bummer, because I did enjoy the games, but life is too short to be around people that make you censor yourself. I never asked anyone to censor themselves, but they seem to think that my presence demands it. And so that's the end of that.

Uh anyway, making things, reading a really melodramatic book that is taking forever (curse you, Kindle $2.99 sales), catching up on Archer on Netflix, and writing a very little bit. That's March so far.

I have to admit this year that I enjoy Platonic Valentine's Day. Normally-way-too-bright red and pink color combinations, cheap candy, cupcakes, cheerfulness. All good. It's the overpriced roses, packed restaurants, girls-are-supposed-to-all-want-diamond-jewelry, consumerist, "once again, let us remind you that you fail at performing your own gender" version of VDay that irks me.

(Just cut most of my hair off again, so I feel this particularly keenly at the moment. I prefer it this way and think it suits me, but I also feel that expressing my tomboyishness is one of the things I tacitly agreed to give up in order to marry the person I married. I feel as though I'm going back on the deal, having my cake and eating it too.)

Anyway.

Big dinner out tomorrow with a bunch of friends-of-acquaintances. I go nearly every year because This Is Supposed To Be Fun, even though it stresses me out. I've decided to focus on the fact that the restaurant - a Brazilian churrascaria, a.k.a. All of the Roasted Meats* - is freaking awesome. I strive to ignore the social awkwardness of being the random neighbor/stranger in a group of unbelievably tight lifelong friends. Even if I don't say a word, I want to not care because of The Gourmet Experience.

In summation...cake... barbecue. Uh...I'm not even hungry. Thank you, goodnight.


* They do this on the first Friday of Lent every year just to be contrary. There's a fair number of ex-Catholics in my orbit. Sorry.