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Of sorts, I suppose.

I wonder if anyone else is as tired of my saying/blogging things like "I've been a bit down recently..." or "I haven't been doing as much ___ recently" or "I'm not sure what's the matter...". Hmwell.

It's true, though; I've been malaisey the last week or so.

One weird thing is, if intermittently, I've been actually working on that whole loan consolidation I've mentioned needing to do for the last year. Like, I'd say the forms are actually about 80% done.

It's probably still contributed to the recent downiness. Forms--for all their eventual straightforwardness--can outright overwhelm me conceptually. All the various bits that need knowing & doing. Not to mention it reminds me of this whole sticky mess of debt I've got, which, despite this consolidation putting some serious & badly needed reins on, still feels out of control and terrifying.

So, naturally, instead of working on the loan stuff or looking for jobs or working out or drafting the poem, I've been binging on naps and porn and computer games. They're all so much easier to handle (or seem to be...), even if in giving in to the temptations I'm inevitably giving myself over entirely for some indefinite hunk of my day.

But I'm struck by the sense of satisfaction when I do work on these things--the loans, the poetry, the workouts. Specifically, I think, it's satisfaction in actually doing what I say I'm going to do. Usually that "eludes" me--ie, usually I say it just to make myself feel better, to reassure myself that I might actually be a responsible person, to stop the worrying if only for a moment (for that's all the time it takes for some indecent temptation to step in...)--but, if occasionally, I've actually followed up on what I've said I was going to do.

And that feels pretty awesome. In addition to the feelings of relief from dealing with problem X or acknowledging trouble Y, it feels so grown up, so responsible. Which isn't something I often permit myself to feel, apparently.

That's something I seem to be getting better at. At the least, trying and taking pride in it. Hopefully I can manage to remember how much better it feels to do the things I want or need to do than it feels having avoided doing them--however briefly, shamefully gratifying the Avoiding felt.

Yeah. Let's keep trying. Things seem to go so much better when I do.


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This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

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Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…