the seamstress

She stared at her fingers.

Shiny orange metal stared back at her.

The copper bits mocked her, taunted her, shouted her fears.

The silence of her workroom was suddenly thick and oppressive. For the first time she wished she had bought that old radio when she saw it in the shops last month, wished she had something to take her mind off of her 'healed' hands.

She turned off the lamp and left the room, hoping to forget all about the life she just lost.




Her fingers smelled sharp and tangy, a burning reminder of her disability.

Most days she managed to suppress her dreams, her desire to sit at her worktable and carefully stitch fine beads to a bodice, the drawn out shing of her shears through rich muslin and smooth silk, the quiet ache of her neck after being bent over the pattern papers for hours. She had closed that door and locked it, choosing instead to nurse her still-recovering joints with slow weaving.

She paid the neighbor-girl to wind the warp and thread the heddles for her and sat about with the window open, slowly working the treadles and moving from a loose cotton gauze carefully up to a plain linen, a fine silk, a thick brocade. And though the work was familiar, she found herself longing for the new metal bits in her fingers to wear down enough that she could at least begin a simple tapestry.

But the joints were still stiff, the metal too foreign for the flesh left between to properly grasp a needle of any size.




The day she sold her finest brocade for only a little under her old prices was the day her index finger had finally bent enough to properly grip a thick tapestry needle.

She used the money to pay for her shears to be sharpened, and bought a small cake at the local bakery in celebration.

The next day she managed to embroider a simple tree silhouette on a bit of linen.

She cut apart a few strings of beads and restrung them, just to prove she could.

That night she polished the metal bits to a high shine.

And as she laid down to sleep, she finally allowed the dreams she had kept at bay to creep in, trickle in, flood in.

She fell asleep smiling.


--
parts of a floor loom

Hazy: 1

The first time I smoked anything was in early November 2009.

It was a rather chilly night in DC. Yasha and I were hunkered down against the wall of 9:30 Club, waiting for the doors for a Wolfmother show. At the time, Yasha was a smoker, and he had brought a couple Camels to smoke while we waited in the cold. He had handed me one, which I stuck in my back pocket while we went from the car to the line with our whole roast chicken dinner, and I promptly broke it when I sat down.

After we ate he lit the remaining cigarette with my lighter, because apparently his didn't work very well. He smoked most of it, and we talked. When it got down to almost the filter he offered the last of it to me. I've never been very good at resisting things, so it was with very little persuasion that I took it.

The first drag I didn't really inhale, just kept the smoke in my mouth.

The second one sent me reeling. I coughed the smoke back out for almost ten minutes, and remained rather light-headed for a while after.

I ended up walking a few blocks to Starbucks and getting a hot chocolate and to clear my lungs out. It took longer than I expected, and when I was on my way back Yasha met me. He was worried when I didn't come back.

That concert remains my most violent one. I rode an early Greyhound bus back to Richmond for my 10am Biology lab, and came in bruised and sore and exhausted. It was still incredibly fun.

----

I've started a short series of all the 'exciting' things I've started doing. This one isn't very excitingthough, probably because I skipped the concert and the actual smoking part was short and boring. Upcoming parts will deal with things that are illegal for me, due to my age and country of residence. They were still fun though.

that missing week

The skipped week, because I forgot.

day 12: whatever tickles your fancy
Gosh, I love tea.

day 13: a fictional book
"Fool Moon" Jim Butcher, Book 2 of the Dresden Files

day 14: a nonfictional book
"Napoleon's Privates: 2500 Years of History Unzipped" Tony Perrottet
(I haven't read this yet, but I certainly hope to. I'll probably wait for the paperback...)

day 15: a fanfic
"Trials" semebay
fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
summary: After an argument, Matthew goes missing. Plagued by nightmares of being trapped in darkness, Alfred realizes he was the victim of a serial killer and sets out to find him.
(I just made that summary up, because for some reason bay managed to either delete the thing or set it to 'friends only' or something. But it really is fantastic.)

day 16: a song that makes you cry (or nearly)
"And So It Goes" Billy Joel
(And that's because it was part of a very good original yaoi story I read a couple years ago, and the double meaning of the song itself and it's meaning within the story gets me crying every time)

day 17: an art piece
Dave Chihuly

Bike Rides

day 18: whatever tickles your fancy: riding my bike

It was 9:12am when she put her poor wheezing laptop to sleep and mentally sorted through her drawers for what to wear. She quickly got dressed, selecting her old beat-up and doodled on all stars. A quick pass of makeup to hide her lack of sleep, a stop by the sink to refill her water bottle, and she was out the back door.

As usual, it was warmer than she expected. Mentally shrugging, deciding the wind would make her light sweater useful, she shuffled back through her awkward key ring for her bike key. She slid the U-lock out from the heavy chain on the deck post, locked it again, and dropped it over the handlebars for transport. She heaved the bike around to the stairs, propping it against her hip, balanced on two steps, and re-gripped it for control as she let gravity take it down the stairs.

Wheeling it out the yard and to the back drive, she mounted, checked for wily cars, and pushed off down the slight slope to the gravel drive. She briefly contemplated reaching back to click on the red tail light stuck in a pocket of her backpack, but just as quickly dismissed it. Instead she focused on avoiding the potholes in the gravel. She gently gripped the rear brake, then the front one, slowing down enough to glance for cars on Gilmer before turning down it, pausing briefly where it crossed Clay, and continuing up. She clicked up one gear, paused at Marshall. She allowed a moment to enjoy the clear morning.

She came to a stop at Broad. While waiting for traffic to clear for a straight shot to Laurel, she put one foot on the curb and shuffled the opposite pedal around backwards to almost the apex of it's cycle. Resting that foot on it in preparation for the moment of movement, she looked around again. Pedestrians turned the corner next to her. Cars lined up at the light, but she couldn't get through. She glanced at her watch: 9:22. She had time.

At last traffic cleared enough for her to shoot out onto the main drag. That morning, it seemed, the cosmos was in alignment and she didn't have to stop in the middle of the intersection. Angling her body into the turn, she rounded the corner onto Laurel, standing up a bit to make it up the slight hill. At every such turn she smiled to herself, remembering the rushing wind, the screaming fun and edge of terror to riding behind her parents on their motorcycles.

She inhaled deeply as she passed the Panera, catching a slight hint of baking before remembering to pay attention before she accidentally went careening through the next street and possibly into a car. The light at Grace was red so she slowed, keeping to the curb, glancing around for cars. She came close to a stop as a car went down Grace, looked around again, behind for any cars looking to pass her, and pushed off again. It always seemed to be Laurel that was the most fraught with peril, rather than the busy Broad.

She hugged the curb as she glided through the Franklin light, passing her old dorm and the handfuls of other students on their way to classes. Glancing behind again, she swerved around an inconveniently parked SUV and slowed again as she came to the cathedral and the strange light configuration in front of it.

Avoiding a couple other students, she leaned through the turn onto the little drive that led to the Compass, wind whipping the ends of her sweater around her sides. She shook her head to clear the bits of hair from her face and slowed down for the home stretch. She clicked back down a gear and jumped the curb to the bike racks. Spotting an free space, she slowed to a stop and awkwardly dismounted. She was suddenly winded, panting hard. She tried to control it as she swung her bike around and locked it up.

Her mood damped slightly by the prospect of English, she entered the library and descended the stairs to her basement classroom.

She couldn't wait for the bike ride back.

----

yeah, i'd completely forgotten about these. so i skipped a week. and yes, this is exactly my bike route from my house to my morning class.

days 7-11:photos

rather than attempt drabbles about photos, i'm just going to put all 5 of them here.

day 07: a photo that makes you happy: a Mark Jenkins street installation


day 08: a photo that makes you sad/angry: the suicide of Evelyn McHale by Robert Wiles


day 09: a photo you took: from my 90s birthday party


day 10: a photo taken of you over 10 years ago: no such thing exists on the internet. sorry...

day 11: a photo taken of you recently: from a trip to Belle Isle a couple weeks ago, by Emily S

day 06: whatever tickles your fancy: the future

She was kind of terrified by the prospect of her future.

This stemmed, at least partially, from her lack of life goals.

In high school, her greatest ambition had been to turn an old VW Microbus into a traveling darkroom. Her photography teacher had told her about one year on a field trip to Washington DC, the photo students had set up a tiny portable darkroom on the Mall. It was a refrigerator box with red cellophane over a hole in the top. They developed small pinhole pictures.

In college, she abandoned that idea - or at least the darkroom part, she still wanted the bus. She changed focuses, from photography in high school to textiles in college. And she realized that she had even less of a guarantee for a job after graduation. She developed a somewhat pessimistic - realistic, to her - idea that she would be working at a coffee shop or other similar food venue, while attempting to sell her craft online. She even finally registered on Etsy, though she hadn't even thought about putting anything up for sale.

She worried about everything. Her teeth kept getting cavities, what was she going to do about a dentist? Where would she live? Who would her doctor be? Would she even get a doctor? Who would hire her? Would it pay enough for some tiny hole-in-the-wall apartment? Would she even be happy? What about insurance? Would she ever afford a car?

Surprisingly, she never thought about any possible relationship, as nearly everyone she knew must be. She had come to terms with her unique situation, even if she hadn't actually told anyone about it. She kept meaning to tell her best friend one of these days, but had a feeling she would be too nervous to tell him. Somehow, it was different from letting slip casually that, yeah, she had a girlfriend. But her summer fling had added a new perspective, and things made more sense. She didn't even want to think about what her parents might say.

For the moment, though, she was focusing on the next two years. After she graduated, or perhaps the semester before, she would take the time to figure out her life beyond school. Because she certainly wasn't going to stick around for four more years.

----

this got away from me a bit, so i had to end it...

Half of You

day 05: your favorite quote: "I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as much as you deserve." Bilbo Baggins, Fellowship of the Ring


----

i can't come up with anything to say. i may just leave this...

Keys to the Kingdom

day 04: your favorite book: "The Keys to the Kingdom" Garth Nix, 7-book series

She loved reading. In the last couple years, with her growing internet addiction, she tended to read more online than in printed form, but she loved it nonetheless.

The problem, however, lay in picking a favorite. She read so much, of nearly everything - but not romance, never romance - it was just too hard to pick one book she liked more than all the others. She didn't even feel right in resorting to her usual defaults, since she hadn't read any of them in so long, had read many, many other things since then.

At the moment, though, of the 5 most recent books she'd read (or was reading), she would have to say her favorite was "The Keys to the Kingdom" series by Australian Garth Nix. The seventh and final book had finally been published in mid-March, and she had torn through it in a matter of hours (spread over three or four days, but it was the fastest of her recent readings). The end had left her stunned, not entirely in its brilliance, but in the manner in which it was reached. She really was sad to see the series end, considering she had been reading it as it was published for five or six years.

However, her summer reading list was growing. She expected her favorite to be replaced relatively quickly. After all, she was still working her way through "Life, the Universe, and Everything", and "Storm Front", soon to start "Darkly Dreaming Dexter" as well. She hoped to make it through the rest of the Hitchhiker's books by the end of her summer classes, and to make a decent dent in the Dresden Files. Dexter would have to wait, as she had mistakenly gotten the second book, instead of the first, despite knowing what happened after watching the TV show.

Hopefully, though, the list wouldn't grow much more. 19 and two halves was a lot to read before the fall semester started, after all.

----

fuck, i love books. i'm currently reading 2 right now, and i really do hope to read all of that at least this year. wiki links ahoy!

keys to the kingdom
hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy
dresden files
dexter

also, since i wasn't home for this past weekend, i've got to catch up. so three more to come.

Lost

day 03: your favorite television program: "Lost" ABC

It amazed her that the original reason she had started watching "Lost" was because she had been in the throes of her 'Lord of the Rings' obsession back in 2004, and Dominic Monaghan was one of the stars. She had heard about it on a LotR fanboard, and vowed to at least watch the pilot. It seemed interesting enough...

Six years later she can't get enough. She's worried she may go through withdrawal when the series ends in mid-May.

But for as much as she loves the show to pieces, she knows that not many other people do. Even friends who watched it with her when it first premiered have stopped because the show has taken countless turns into the strange and confusing since then. She doesn't even bother mentioning it to her best TV buddy; she knows it makes little to no sense anymore. But she just can't help it.

She thinks it might partially be a curiosity - or a burning need - to see how Carlton and Cuse end the monster of a series.

But it's also the characters and the overall style of the show. Since the very first scene of the pilot, the opening eye motif has been carried throughout, and she sometimes finds herself trying to guess who's eye it is this time. The flashbacks were essential for character development in the first three seasons, and something that no other show (that she knew of) did. The flash-forwards of the fourth and fifth seasons, and the new flash-sideways's of this final sixth have been something altogether new and compelling.

That, and they give her another look at Charlie, who remains her favorite character even though he was killed in the finale of season three, as he might have been if the plane never crashed.

Now, with only a handful of episodes left, she is on the edge of her seat, spending an hour every week simultaneously terrified, confused, excited and hopeful. However it ends, she knows it will be amazing.

And then she will spend a week over the summer watching all six seasons straight through.

----

i seriously can't describe how much i love this show. you have no idea.
seasons 1-5 in 8 minutes 15 seconds

Boondock Saints

day 02: your favorite movie: "Boondock Saints" 1999, Troy Duffy

For years, she had professed her favorite movies to be the "Lord of the Rings" saga. The sweeping epic was a feast for her then-young mind, instilling in her a strong desire to visit New Zealand. The plot points were balanced by the battle scenes were balanced by the rolling landscapes. But nothing brought more chills to her spine than the lighting of the beacons.

However, upon recent reflection, she discovered the Oscar-winning films had been supplanted by a much smaller cult film.

It always seems to be the beginnings of things that suck her in, and violent vigilante justice was a far cry from a wondrous fantasy realm.

"Boondock Saints," which had seen a resurgence in popularity at the end of the last year with the release of the sequel, was frequently described by her to be "gratuitous violence with Irish accents." It had been largely a flop when it was originally released in 1999 to a one week run in five theaters, it had grown over the next decade into a huge cult favorite. But that wasn't why she liked it.

It wasn't even the accents, which she openly admitted were sexy.

It was the silly brotherly antics, the bartender with turret's, the real Italians and Russians, the violent gunfights, the fiddle-laced soundtrack. It was the sweeping opening scene, the subtle (and not so subtle) religious undertones, the documentary ending, the hint of a past with a promise for the future. It was the hotel massacre. It was the courtroom speech and a cross-dressing Willem Dafoe.

----

not as good as the first one. i had a hard time articulating any specific reason i love that movie. i just do. the sequel was also pretty good, but it had a more convoluted plot than just 'there are bad men that get away with bad things, so let's just kill them.'
the opening scene
the hotel massacre
the trailer
also, the lighting of the beacons

lucid dreams

day 01: your favorite song: "Lucid Dreams" Franz Ferdinand [the original version, not the 'Tonight' album version.]

The opening riff is what gets her every time. That heavy rhythm and syncopation just sucks her in.

But it's the constant drum beat that keeps her there.

Every time she hears it she has to tap it out on the closest hard surface, or just in the air if nothing presents itself. It's one of the few songs that makes her wish she could play the drums. She doesn't even focus on the lyrics anymore, so much as the rhythm Paul lays down, hard and steady. She fancies herself quite the air-drummer, at least as far as this song is concerned.

Only recently has she begun to notice the bass line beneath the layers of Alex's vocals and guitar, Nick's guitar, and Paul's strong drum. But then, it's always the bass that blends the best.

----






me, air drumming to the better version. seriously. it's terrible, but i couldn't help myself. the sound is out of sync with the visual, and i messed up a couple times, but whatever. i fucking love the drums in this song. and the opening riff is my best friend's ringtone.

blank 30 days meme

day 01: your favorite song [4/13]

day 02: your favorite movie [4/14]

day 03: your favorite television program [4/15]

day 04: your favorite book [4/16]

day 05: your favorite quote [4/17]

day 06: whatever tickles your fancy [4/18]

day 07: a photo that makes you happy [4/19]

day 08: a photo that makes you angry/sad [4/20]

day 09: a photo you took [4/21]

day 10: a photo of you taken over 10 years ago [4/22]

day 11: a photo of you taken recently [4/23]

day12: whatever tickles your fancy [4/24]

day 13: a fictional book [4/25]

day 14: a non-fictional book [4/26]

day 15: a fanfic [4/27]

day 16: a song that makes you cry (or nearly) [4/28]

day 17: an art piece (drawing, painting, sculpture, etc) [4/29]

day 18: whatever tickles your fancy [4/30]

day 19: a talent of yours [5/1]

day 20: a hobby of yours [5/2]

day 21: a recipe [5/3]

day 22: a website [5/4]

day 23: a YouTube video [5/5]

day 24: whatever tickles your fancy [5/6]

day 25: your day, in great detail [5/7]

day 26: your week, in great detail [5/8]

day 27: your month, in great detail [5/9]

day 28: your year, in great detail [5/10]

day 29: hopes, dreams, and plans for the next 365 days [5/11]

day 30: whatever tickles your fancy [5/12]

i didn't write this, i found it. i'm hoping to write little drabbles, or longer 'fics', for each one.

homework

It was six o'clock and she should really be starting her homework.

She was a little hungry, but having actually eaten lunch that day she decided to put it off.

She surfed the internet, catching up on the threads she missed while in class. An interesting discussion on fandom, another on pairings. Oh, look, a new chapter in her inbox.

--

It was seven o'clock and she should really be starting her homework.

But this link in a review was interesting, and her best friend back home was sharing the official footage of him running a red light. She was hungrier than before, but she didn't get up.

--

It was eight thirty and she should really be starting her homework.

She opened a pack of toast-cheez peanut butter crackers. Oh, Woot is having a Woot-off. And where can she find other albums by the Morning Benders? Oh, this isn't downloading, there's no one seeding right now.

--

It was eight forty-five and she made an attempt to start her homework.

She opened to a fresh page in her graph paper/math notebook, sketched a diamond, inscribed a narwhal curled within. She changed the dimensions a bit. She decided to go to Rite Aid and finally get that plunger to finally fix that clogged toilet.

--

It was nine fifteen and she had forgotten about her homework.

The toilet was too clogged, the plunger wasn't enough. She would email maintenance about it, and mention the hole they had left in the side access that prevented her from getting her bike out. She washed her microwave pot and made Spaghetti-Os, added way too much sprinkle cheese and shredded cheese. She opened the four-pack of Red Bull, intending to crack down on her homework.

--

It was ten o'clock and she really was starting her homework.

Shortly after laying out a quick diamond-pattern, she opened the Red Bull.

--

aaaaand it was at about that point that i focused on actually doing my homework, as opposed to writing about not doing my homework. this won't be finished, and that's okay. i finished the project around 3 and went to bed. and here's what i did:

hair

Most of the time, she really liked her hair.

Her bangs were her favorite part. They were angled in such a way that they were shorter over her left eye, where her part was. They swooped over to the right, resting on the hinge of her glasses so that throughout the day they sort of crimped and curved to fit the shape her constant head-tossing forced them into.

She liked the bits right in front of her ears too. When she put her glasses on, she would hook her fingers up under the temples and pull those sections of hair down to fall in front of her ears and frame her jaw. Before she got a hair dryer, she would wait to do it until her hair had dried, so the bits would end up curved outwards from being forced behind her ears from her glasses.

She liked the color. Most of the time, that is. She had been dying it various kinds of red since tenth grade, and it had been so long since she'd really seen her natural hair color she was convinced it was an unflattering color. All she remembered of it was it was dark brown and boring. Once she had bleached her hair and dyed it bright orange, but that had faded to a kind of dried wheat and her roots had grown out. She liked to forget that hadn't happened, it had looked so strange.

Currently, her hair was a dark auburn. She liked how no matter how much she dyed it, her hair retained its natural highlights. She wasn't sure if it was just her hair, or if it was because she preferred natural dyes to the chemical ones.

She liked how it was cut, for the most part. If there wasn't a need to keep it the same until August, though, she knew she'd have someone cut it different, just for the change. Her bangs sloped down on both sides at different angles to a bob that hovered just above her shoulders. And every time she blow dried it, or washed it, she fretted over the length. The style was fine, it was the length that was getting bothersome. It hadn't been quite that long since the last time it had been brown. She would frequently feel the need to pull it back into some semblance of a ponytail, which more often than not ended up as a blob of hair held haphazardly up with an elastic. Recently, during a particularly boring math class, she had french braided her bangs from her part down the right side of her head and behind her ear. She wasn't sure if it looked right, but it served its purpose.

But mostly she liked how, when it was smooth and slightly curled from her new round brush, it would fall just so and she'd see someone that wasn't quite her but someone more.

note on the future

sometimes i get the urge to just write stuff. like, random descriptive ideas that never end up anywhere and i never really mean for them to go anywhere. i just get ideas in my head and feel the need to expand on them.

so, i think that's what i'm going to put here. those random descriptions. rather than cluttering up my regular blog, i guess. hope that makes sense...