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In life, there are many questions and few answers.  There are those who would have me believe that nothing is certain, that everything is subject to change.  I will challenge these people.  There is one thing that I know.  I know it with all the certainty of a tautology.  If I know nothing else, I know that this one thing is and always will be, and I know it because you have told me.
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I am trying to believe it, but it is still profoundly difficult..  I really don't know how to take it.  Some people seek honors and accolades, but what has been bestowed upon me is greater than any I can imagine.

I have been told that I am possibly the most significant positive influence in the life of the person who is the most significant in my own.
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My emotion is going ballistic.  It is a fire that burns fiercely, only increasing in intensity.  It is a fire that burns without consuming, only causing searing pain.  It affects not only me, but also the most important person in my life.  This cannot continue.  As much as I fear losing the creativity that is awakened within me, I must take action.

I have made an appointment for an evaluation, five weeks from now.  I will do whatever is necessary to stabilize myself.  I know that I will not lose my book because it is lost already; I can only reclaim it.  I will not lose any more to this.
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It is finally time.  I am finally trying to write the book that has been in me for at least ten years.  I am only working on the introduction, to sort of set the tone for what I want to eventually say; but even at this early stage, every few sentences, I have to stop to cry.  This is not an easy thing to do.  I am setting to paper that which is myself.
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When one truly loves another, it is not a love for what one would have the other be.  It is not a love for that to which one would reduce the other, in order to secure the other's favors.  When one truly loves another, it is a love for the one who would turn their back and walk away, were it deemed necessary.  This is when love ceases to be hormones and heavy breathing.  This is when love ceases to be husbandry.  This is when love becomes a responsibility, a responsibility to the one who is loved, to be loved as who and what they are, a responsibility to be borne gladly.
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Know me.
My spirit is unbroken.

See me,
And feel the one that you scorned
Knowing you for that which you are
And that which you are not.

I am here.
You have not conquered me.

I stand before you,
Knowing that you rejected me
Not in superiority to me
But in fear of me.

So as you shall fear, fear not me.
Fear, instead, yourselves.

For as you return to dust,
My memory will live on
In the minds and hearts
Of those who love me.

10 April 2012
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At times in our life, I shall surely fail you.  I am human, and prone to error.  It is mine to see to it that these errors do not become choices.  But of all of the things that I may do, there is one thing that I shall not do.  As long as I live, as long as I love, I will never deny you.

With all that I am, with all that I might ever hope to become, I love you.

This is my pledge.  I pledge this upon my life.  I pledge this upon my honor.  I pledge this upon my memory.

Sunt tibi anima mea.
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We got off the phone four hours ago.  My heart is still beating half out of my chest.
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A hand by the telephone, waiting for it to ring
Giggling, giddy
We're teens again
You make me feel so good
Please, let's not let this end
Even through the worst of times
As long as we live
Let's keep this alive


Mar. 26th, 2012 06:38 am
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Not as a stone
But as a leaf

Almost floating
Dancing in the breeze

Sometimes soaring
Sometimes turning earthward

Journeying a great distance
Never coming to rest

Now I know
Why it is called "falling"
dclarion: (Default)

That tortured soul. I remember you. Ridiculed and derided for what you were, for what you felt and how you felt it. I remember you. Kept in isolation, wanting only to love and to be loved. I remember you.

You lived a long time ago, but I remember you. You live on in me. Each tear you shed then, I feel upon my cheek now. I wish that I could talk to you, help you find the courage and the strength to break the chains that bound you.

I remember you. How can you help me find what I might be able to have in the time I have left?
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Some background information for those who might not know:

Weasel is Winston's Special Friend. Winston and Weasel have had a Meaningful Relationship for, perhaps, seven of Winston's nine years.
For virtually all of her life, Miranda has been She Who Hates Everything That Is Not Miranda (with the possible exception of my lap).

Today, I saw something that floored me. Winston was out of The Studio, doing Winston Things™. Miranda was keeping watch over Weasel while Winston was gone.  How do I know this?  Miranda was on a hair-trigger, the slightest sound causing her to spring to DEFCON-2.

This is not the Miranda I know.  Deb, we need to talk.  Whether directly or indirectly, you are having a profound effect upon my crew, perhaps as profound as the effect you have had upon me.

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My "father" turned 87 yesterday.  The event passed with no message from me, no wishes for another great year, only because he doesn't want to hear from me.  I am so greatly saddened, not as much by the fact that he doesn't want to hear from me, but by the fact that he never wanted to hear from me.  He wanted to hear from his expectation of what I would be, and when I was not that, it was over.

I hope that you are happy, sir.  You have St. Ann, who, for whatever she may have been in life, can do no wrong now.  There is comfort in living a fantasy.  May you find comfort in yours.
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Beware, my Lord!
Beware lest stern Heaven hate
you enough to hear your prayers!

-- Anatole France

I have a decision to make.  The tears that have burned my cheeks have kept the memory alive.  It is mine, now, to find the strength to act and the wisdom to act honorably.
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It's been a while.  A lot has been happening, very little of it to me.

One thing that I have been doing is turning on an audio recorder program while I talk to myself.  No, these are not the psychotic ramblings of a crazy cat lady, these are audio notes.  The story is this:

Yesterday, on the way back from a therapist appointment, I stopped into Lane Bryant to buy a pair of panties, wanting to take them home to test them for size and comfort of the style.  The store was devoid of customers, so I got to talking with the counter help, making no attempt whatsoever to hide who and what I am.  The conversation turned to my perspectives on the transsexual life, and at one point, I had one of those split-second "episodes", for lack of a better term, wherein I saw myself as an observer might, from the outside, so to speak.  I was all smiles, speaking rather animatedly about my life and times, in a style about halfway between an informal lecture and standup comedy.  I suddenly had the insight that I might want to carry a tape recorder around with me, recording myself during these "presentations", because I saw what I was doing as what I had in mind for a presentation I would like to deliver at a Mensa convention upcoming in September.  Once I got home, I didn't see anything that might serve the purpose, but I did check out a microphone and audio record program, finding them to work well for occasions when I might ramble on to myself at home.  By the way, the panties are perfect for fit and comfort; Lane Bryant has a customer for life.

So...  That was yesterday.  Today, I recorded about a half hour of rambling which was rather choppy, possibly due to the lack of an audience, but it was a start.  I'll transcribe it later.  Thus primed, I was babbling a little while washing a couple of dishes.  In comes Celia, circling and rubbing against my feet.  Perhaps, she liked the sound of my voice, although I know not why.  To my own ear, I sound more like a nerdy adolescent boy than anything approaching a mature woman; I need to work on that.  Horrible human that I am, I picked her up and cradled her in my arms.  A Brian Auger album was playing, out in the Studio, so I took her out there, settled in my chair and continued cradling the Celia-kitty while gently rocking.  After fifteen minutes or so of being inordinately comfortable, a pair of kitty eyes began to slowly close.  It didn't take long for those same kitty eyes to suddenly snap open, their owner looking around with an expression of "What?  Sleep?  Me?  No!  I'm a big girl!  Big girls don't do that!"  With that, she climbed out of my arms to take up her usual station, i.e. as far from DC as possible.

But, there it had been: A once-feral kitty, now happy and comfortable, asleep in my arms.  Thank you, Celia.
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It seems that Celia likes it here.  At least she doesn't mind when I make kissy on her.


Mar. 1st, 2012 06:28 pm
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My crocuses are up.  For the last three days, I've been trying to find the kinetic energy necessary to take pictures.  I have to do this soon.

Crying is not a recreational activity, but it might be reasonably good aerobic exercise.  The only problem is the headaches that come with it.

Looks like I have company on Saturday.  If I start the dishes now, I might get them done by tomorrow evening.

Trying to get Ubuntu Studio installed and working is driving me up a goddamned wall, but I have a trio sonata to finish and dedicate.

Moon Fever begins Saturday, and continues through November.  Consider this fair warning.

dclarion: (Default)
Often, I know that I should eat something, but just don't have hunger. This time, I thought that I'd try a new tactic: I filled my mind with thoughts of my Soul, and went digging through the freezer for something that might make an acceptable offering.

I hope that you like crustaceans, because I turned up half a bag of shrimp that more closely resembled a snowball. I set up the rice cooker with three portions of rice, then started digging through the spice rack. I decided upon pressing three cloves of garlic into some sesame oil, with ginger, lemon peel, and a bit of rice vinegar, sending that through a coffee-warming cycle in the μwave oven, then letting it steep while I went to work on the shrimp. I counted ten of them into the steamer, and let them steam away until they looked done, then into a bowl of cold water with them.

I wished for a few frozen peas and perhaps a leek, but alas, there were none to be found. So I went with only a small onion, halved lengthwise and very thinly sliced. I also cross-cut each of the shrimp once. I stir-fried the shrimp and onion in the oil I had prepared earlier. As I stir-fried, I got the idea to grind a bit of black pepper over the contents of the wok. Once everything looked done, into a bowl it went, while I went on to the next step.

Into the still-very-hot wok, I cracked three eggs, and scrambled them thoroughly. Onto that, I dropped the rice I had prepared earlier, and set about a very thorough stir-frying, with a small splash of soy sauce. Once that looked and felt done, back into the wok went the shrimp and onion, for a gentle warm-through.

The flavor was very light, almost ephemeral. Everything was there, the ginger, lemon, garlic, sesame, but it floated by the taste buds, rather than hitting them with a sledgehammer. I will definitely do this again, tweaking it a bit to see what happens, but I hope that it is a decent off-the-cuff dinner.

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I'm still exhausted.  My crying often tends toward screaming.  The neighbors must think that I'm having some really great sex.  I wish.

Marie, your question is not at all rude.  Over the last 23 years, I've been on nortriptyline, amytriptyline, trazodone, Zoloft, Paxil, and currently Prozac.  All I really need is a friend.
dclarion: (Default)
Ich will nur lieben und geliebt werden. Warum ist das soviel, zu erbitten?

May 2013

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