xnera

Or a listy, for that matter.

Things to do:

1. Clean the house.
   
2. Throw out garbage.
   
3. Wash laundry.
   
4. Wash dishes.
   
5. Knit stuff.
   
6. Crochet stuff.
   
7. Write a post.
   
8. Go through your clothes.
   
9. Balance your budget.
   
10. Pet the cat.
    
11. Read a book.
    
12. Watch a movie/tv show/anime.
    
13. Play a video game.
    
14. Listen to some music.
    
15. Bake something.
    
16. Get some coffee.
    
17. Take a walk.
    
18. Color!
    
19. Get the mail.
    
20. Listen to voicemail.
    
21. Upload photos.
    
22. Cry.
    
23. Go grocery shopping.
    
24. Make a scrapbook.
    
25. Dance.
    
26. Redecorate.
    
27. Paint.
    
28. Go downtown.
    
29. Go to a museum.
    
30. Learn Japanese.
    
31. Play music.
    
32. Stand up.
    
33. Look at pictures of butterflies.
    
34. Write an email.
    
35. Do puzzles.
    
36. Figure things out.
    
37. Come up with other ideas for this list.
    
38. DON'T. GIVE. IN.
    

When you sign into Final Fantasy XI (an MMORPG, for those that may not know), a message reminds you not to forget your family, friends, school and work.

I failed to heed that message. For nearly two years, I have turned my back on my life and those around me and embraced a virtual life, instead.

As a result of my actions, I've made a mess of my finances, my home, and my mental health. My self-esteem is shattered; my relationship with my family, strained.

Additionally, I have not been here for all of you. I have not been here to rejoice in your happiness, share your sorrow, cheer you on, laugh with you, and love you. And for that, I am truly sorry.

I am here now.

I walked away from FFXI a week and a half ago. It took me many months to get the courage, but I finally did it.

Now I do the hard work of learning to live again. I'm really, really scared -- but I think I can do it. No, I know I can. Every day I can see my confidence returning: slowly, oh so slowly, but the signs are there.

If DW/LJ are no longer your primary home(s), I would love to know where you reside these days.

So, I have a desk from Ikea in my library. ( It looks like this: )

When I painted/redecorated the library, I got rid of my old filing cabinet. It was in pretty bad shape and wasn't easy to use (lateral file with deep drawers; it'd tilt over if you pulled the top drawer out.) So, the plan was to get some EFFEKTIV file cabinets and place them to the left of the desk's bookcase, running along the wall underneath the window.

The plan was to get two of this combination, though with prettier doors. Slight problem though: The total height of the unit is 37", and my window is 36" from the ground. Also, the depth is 16 7/8", but the depth of my bookcase is only 15.5". Which means that the file cabinets are slightly too big. Meh. I could use them anyway, and build up the windowsill some so it's flush, but it's not what I envisioned, you know?

Then my brain got out of whack. Time passed. Now that things are better and I've been wanting to clean things, I'm thinking again about what I can do for file storage.

While looking for some paperwork, I pulled out a magazine box from my EXPEDIT bookcase. And the lightbulb went off: I don't really need a proper file cabinet, because I don't go into my files that often. Thus, quick access is not necessary.

So now the plan is to get another EXPEDIT bookcase -- the same one that's used in my desk -- but I'll lay it on its side instead. It'll be 31 1/8" in height, which will fit nicely under the window. And then I can use boxes and bins for storage. The LEKMAN box comes in clear, which would be great for yarn storage. :) There's also drawers and doors available.

I think this will work! Can't get this anytime soon, of course, given my current financial state, but I wanted to write it down before I forgot about it.

Calming music is much appreciated when you have the double-whammy of anxiety + ADD. Really helps with the focusing thing.

Sometimes, though, it's not calm you need. When your to-do list contains a googolplex of items, you spilled coffee on your shirt, the cat is hacking up hairballs, the mortgage payment is due, and you're working on the boss fight of spreadsheets?

That, my friends, is when you need some battle music.

(slight spoiler for FFX at that link re: spreadsheets, btw)

( kinda long so I'll be nice and cut it )

Things are amazing.
Things are horrible.

Sometimes I am grinning madly.
Sometimes I am wiping tears from my eyes.

I am, above all else, ridiculously, insanely proud of myself right now.
I am, at times, hearing the whispers of low self-esteem.

I'm more confident in myself and my abilities than I've been for the past year.
I'm worried that I'm going to burn myself out and crash yet again.

I know exactly where I'm headed.
I have no idea what it looks like.

I needs it. Mental illness is flaring up and I've been having a devil of a time getting things done. So I am behind on work. Which I need to catch up on today. Except that I am anxious about it for a whole slew of reasons, which means it's really frakking hard to get started.

I'm getting started, though. Go me! But yeah, could use people checking in on me to see how it's going.

Cute and/or funny stuff would be appreciated as well. <3

edit: Cryptic listy of things that need doing:

1) Fifteen
2) Word
3) Boxes
4) Timesheet
5) Checklists

I come offering Dreamwidth codes. Feel free to take one; if you do, I'd appreciate a comment so I can cross it off the list.

( naked coeds under cut! )

About two months ago, Dreamwidth became my posting client. When I want to update my journals, I go to Dreamwidth's update page, type my entry there, and have Dreamwidth crosspost it to LiveJournal. Due to recent events (*cough*Driving Revenue*cough*) I am becoming more and more interested in making Dreamwidth my permanent home, eventually. I have a long post brewing in my brain about that, which I'm hoping to post sometime this week.

So anyway, there's this three_weeks_for_dw thing going on, in which people post content exclusively to Dreamwidth. You can see some of the stuff people are posting at the Latest Things page.

I'm not quite ready to jump ship fulltime to Dreamwidth yet, so I won't stop crossposting to LJ. However, for the remainder of the fest, I'm turning off commenting on the LiveJournal versions of the posts. Testing the waters, so to speak. If you don't yet have a Dreamwidth account, you can use one of the codes above to create one (or via the dw_codesharing community, if the ones above have all been taken). If you don't wish to create a Dreamwidth account at this time, then you may still comment on the posts using OpenID.

This post (and the next, which will be LJ-only as it is a poll) are the last posts that will have commenting enabled on LiveJournal, for at least the next two weeks. I may re-enable LJ commenting after three_weeks_for_dw is over; we'll see when that time comes.

Lunette is coming out with a new color: the Lunette Diana, a very, very pretty shade of green. Reminds me of spring.

I currently have a Lunette Selene size 1. I luuuuurve it. Been thinking about getting a size 2, though, for the end of my period as it can be difficult to reach the size 1. I'm thinking I'll wait until the Diana gets FDA approval here, because OMG SO SO PRETTY!!!

And it's been almost a year since I've been a menstrual cup user (first used my Selene on April 4th). Still ridiculously happy with it. <3

(I realise this post probably sounds like an ad. I swear it's not meant to be. Just an enthused fan, er, enthusing.)

I posted this on LiveJournal about a week ago. I've decided I want it posted here, too, so here it is.

1. the child's birthday

Once upon a time there was a child who had the best birthdays ever. There were mounds of brightly-wrapped presents and relatives with smiles making a fuss and birthday cakes and slumber parties. Once they had even gone to McDonalds with all her friends. And not just any McDonalds. but the one with the huge playground inside.

( But she hadn't had a birthday like that in ages. )

Finally the Friday came when they would go out for dinner. The child stood at the window, nose pressed to the glass, watching the cars pass by. One two three four five silver cars. Surely the next would be theirs?

She had counted up into the twenties when one finally slowed down and turned into the drive. The child spun away from the glass and bounded down the stairs. The wait was over!

She skidded to a stop as the mother opened the car door. "I'm sorry, we can't go out today," the mother said. "I forgot that we promised your sister we'd go to a baseball game with her and the kids." She ruffled the child's hair. "We'll go out some other time. I promise."

The child nodded. What else was there to do but nod? She stood and watched her parents drive away. And then she went back upstairs and hugged her cat and cried.

2. part of that world

The high-schoolers sat in groups of twos and threes as the bus jostled its way down the street. They were chatting and laughing, talking about boy friends and girlfriends and god that teacher was so unfair, wasn't she? Their chatter was a cacophony that made the adults frown and give disapproving looks, flicking their newspapers open to read the headlines and the Dow and the obituaries.

The teenager sat alone, watching. Always watching, never a part of things. I'm an alien , she thought. They are human, and I am Other. I don't belong. In that moment on the bus she really, truly believed that, believed that she was from someplace Not Here. ( Just a bubble on the bus, taking up space, separate from everything else. )

Occasionally the teenager would speak. Life is passing me by, she'd say. The others are going to parties and meeting boys and experiencing so much and I'm not, she'd say. I'm not part of that world. I'm afraid. I'm afraid that someday I'm going to slip into my little world and never return.

The posh woman would try to get her to talk more about this, but the teenager would go silent again. Because how could she talk to this woman, in her business suit and nylons in her plush office overlooking the lake with her coffee and Pollock? This woman wasn't from her world. She wasn't from a world the teenager had every been to, or cared to visit.

And as much as the teenager feared her life passing her by, in truth she liked her inner world better. In her real world she was having adventurers and laughing and learning and being kissed by boys. In her real world she wasn't wasting her parents' money or making her sisters angry because she didn't do her chores again or making everyone sigh in that way they did. In her real world she was safe.

3. I need you to care about me.

The college student paced around the basement, crying. She stomped and wailed and beat the pillows and the couch, and every once in a while she'd stare at the ceiling. Check up on me, she'd think at it fiercely. Check up on me. Come see how I'm doing. I need you to care about me.

But nobody ever came. Why would they? Since she got her bedroom in the basement, she had withdrawn further and further, until she was spending most of her time down there, only venturing forth for meals and visits to the bathroom and to scritch the dog. She didn't even need to go up there to watch TV, because she had her own TV down here.

And so they learned that she wanted to be alone. So they left her alone, and as time passed they learned not to think about her at all. They'd go through the motions, telling her of when they'd all be going out for a family dinner or to visit relatives or that one of them was sick and needed to go in the hospital, and they'd always be surprised that she didn't already know, they thought she knew, they thought they had told her, didn't we tell you this already?

But they hadn't.

And so she'd cry--not about them. About school and friends and finances and papers due. She'd cry and stomp around the basement and think fiercely at the ceiling CHECK UP ON ME, but no one ever came. And so she'd cry some more, but this time she was crying about them and how they never seemed to care.

4. there's just me.

The woman sat in the chair and looked down at the floor and played with the keys on her lanyard. But unlike that office with its Pollock and coffee where she couldn't talk, here she could. Here, she was safe.

( And so she talked. )

"I get up and do work and eat meals and go to bed. The only time I go out of the house is to do errands, and come here. I'm not a part of the real world."

"What is the real world?" the therapist asked.

"Having friends. Going out. Calling family. Paying bills and keeping the house clean," the woman replied. "But that's the real world for everyone else. It's not mine."

"What is your real world like, then?" the therapist asked.

"There's nobody," she said with a sad smile. "There's just me."

5. love me. need me.

She cried and she prayed and she begged. "Love me," she screamed at the world. "Say that you love me. Tell me you need me."

Whispers came: laughter on the wind, all too fleeting. And there were words, too, words such as "strength" and "inspiration" and "are you okay?" and "is there anything I could do to help?"

This isn't what I want, she thought. It isn't want I want, it isn't want I need. It's not enough.

The laughter was good. She liked laughter, and needed it. And she liked being inspiring: it was her touchstone, after all, her truth behind her What I Want to Be When I Grow Ups. And she liked having people who understood her crazy mind, and enjoyed the same things she did. Those were all good.

But it wasn't enough. She wanted more. And so she sat on her couch and scritched her cat while tears rolled silently, slowly, down her face.

"I'm mourning," she realised. "How long have I been mourning?"

Months, the answer came. Perhaps years.

6. retreat.

I want to take a retreat, she thought.

A friend said maybe that wasn't such a good idea, because hadn't she been complaining about being lonely, and a retreat would cut her off even more?

Yes, I know it's nonsensical, she thought, but I need this. I need to go away.

Because she had learned that to go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow(*). It was only when she retreated that she could gather her inner strength and make those giant leaps she needed to make.

And so she turned off the computer and closed the door to the library, retreating, and became a singularity.

7. fly.

( It seemed as though he had been falling for years. )

Every flight begins with a fall, the crow said. Look down.

"I'm afraid..."

LOOK DOWN!

Bran looked down, and felt his insides turn to water. The ground was rushing up at him now. The whole world was spread out below him, a tapestry of white and brown and green. He could see every thing so clearly that for a moment he forgot to be afraid. He could see the whole realm, and everyone in it.

Finally he looked north. North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks.

Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live.

"Why?" Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling.

Because winter is coming.

Bran looked at the crow on his shoulder, and the crow looked back. It had three eyes, and the third eye was full of a terrible knowledge. Bran looked down. There was nothing below him now but snow and cold and death, a frozen wasteland where jagged blue-white spires of ice waited to embrace him. They flew up at him like spears. He saw the bones of a thousand other dreamers impaled upon their points. He was desperately afraid.

"Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" he heard his own voice saying, small and far away.

And his father's voice replied to him. "That is the only time a man can be brave."

Now, Bran, the crow urged. Choose. Fly or die.

Death reached for him, screaming.

Bran spread his arms and flew.

--A Game of Thrones, George R. R. Martin (grrm)

8. advancing.

November. A month had passed since the retreat had begun. No, more than a month.

"I'm not ready," she said. Not ready to tell my mom how much she hurt me, not ready to burst the bubble, not ready to step out of the inner world, not ready to find the boy, not ready to tell (and to let) people check up on me, not ready to have others there, not ready to love and be loved and be needed, not ready to fly. I'm not ready.

No one ever is, another part of her answered.

She opened the door to the library. The retreat had ended.

(*) Another grrm quote. The full line: "To go north, you must go south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."

1. the child's birthday

Once upon a time there was a child who had the best birthdays ever. There were mounds of brightly-wrapped presents and relatives with smiles making a fuss and birthday cakes and slumber parties. Once they had even gone to McDonalds with all her friends. And not just any McDonalds. but the one with the huge playground inside.

( But she hadn't had a birthday like that in ages. )

Finally the Friday came when they would go out for dinner. The child stood at the window, nose pressed to the glass, watching the cars pass by. One two three four five silver cars. Surely the next would be theirs?

She had counted up into the twenties when one finally slowed down and turned into the drive. The child spun away from the glass and bounded down the stairs. The wait was over!

She skidded to a stop as the mother opened the car door. "I'm sorry, we can't go out today," the mother said. "I forgot that we promised your sister we'd go to a baseball game with her and the kids." She ruffled the child's hair. "We'll go out some other time. I promise."

The child nodded. What else was there to do but nod? She stood and watched her parents drive away. And then she went back upstairs and hugged her cat and cried.

2. part of that world

The high-schoolers sat in groups of twos and threes as the bus jostled its way down the street. They were chatting and laughing, talking about boy friends and girlfriends and god that teacher was so unfair, wasn't she? Their chatter was a cacophony that made the adults frown and give disapproving looks, flicking their newspapers open to read the headlines and the Dow and the obituaries.

The teenager sat alone, watching. Always watching, never a part of things. I'm an alien , she thought. They are human, and I am Other. I don't belong. In that moment on the bus she really, truly believed that, believed that she was from someplace Not Here. ( Just a bubble on the bus, taking up space, separate from everything else. )

Occasionally the teenager would speak. Life is passing me by, she'd say. The others are going to parties and meeting boys and experiencing so much and I'm not, she'd say. I'm not part of that world. I'm afraid. I'm afraid that someday I'm going to slip into my little world and never return.

The posh woman would try to get her to talk more about this, but the teenager would go silent again. Because how could she talk to this woman, in her business suit and nylons in her plush office overlooking the lake with her coffee and Pollock? This woman wasn't from her world. She wasn't from a world the teenager had every been to, or cared to visit.

And as much as the teenager feared her life passing her by, in truth she liked her inner world better. In her real world she was having adventurers and laughing and learning and being kissed by boys. In her real world she wasn't wasting her parents' money or making her sisters angry because she didn't do her chores again or making everyone sigh in that way they did. In her real world she was safe.

3. I need you to care about me.

The college student paced around the basement, crying. She stomped and wailed and beat the pillows and the couch, and every once in a while she'd stare at the ceiling. Check up on me, she'd think at it fiercely. Check up on me. Come see how I'm doing. I need you to care about me.

But nobody ever came. Why would they? Since she got her bedroom in the basement, she had withdrawn further and further, until she was spending most of her time down there, only venturing forth for meals and visits to the bathroom and to scritch the dog. She didn't even need to go up there to watch TV, because she had her own TV down here.

And so they learned that she wanted to be alone. So they left her alone, and as time passed they learned not to think about her at all. They'd go through the motions, telling her of when they'd all be going out for a family dinner or to visit relatives or that one of them was sick and needed to go in the hospital, and they'd always be surprised that she didn't already know, they thought she knew, they thought they had told her, didn't we tell you this already?

But they hadn't.

And so she'd cry--not about them. About school and friends and finances and papers due. She'd cry and stomp around the basement and think fiercely at the ceiling CHECK UP ON ME, but no one ever came. And so she'd cry some more, but this time she was crying about them and how they never seemed to care.

4. there's just me.

The woman sat in the chair and looked down at the floor and played with the keys on her lanyard. But unlike that office with its Pollock and coffee where she couldn't talk, here she could. Here, she was safe.

( And so she talked. )

"I get up and do work and eat meals and go to bed. The only time I go out of the house is to do errands, and come here. I'm not a part of the real world."

"What is the real world?" the therapist asked.

"Having friends. Going out. Calling family. Paying bills and keeping the house clean," the woman replied. "But that's the real world for everyone else. It's not mine."

"What is your real world like, then?" the therapist asked.

"There's nobody," she said with a sad smile. "There's just me."

5. love me. need me.

She cried and she prayed and she begged. "Love me," she screamed at the world. "Say that you love me. Tell me you need me."

Whispers came: laughter on the wind, all too fleeting. And there were words, too, words such as "strength" and "inspiration" and "are you okay?" and "is there anything I could do to help?"

This isn't what I want, she thought. It isn't want I want, it isn't want I need. It's not enough.

The laughter was good. She liked laughter, and needed it. And she liked being inspiring: it was her touchstone, after all, her truth behind her What I Want to Be When I Grow Ups. And she liked having people who understood her crazy mind, and enjoyed the same things she did. Those were all good.

But it wasn't enough. She wanted more. And so she sat on her couch and scritched her cat while tears rolled silently, slowly, down her face.

"I'm mourning," she realised. "How long have I been mourning?"

Months, the answer came. Perhaps years.

6. retreat.

I want to take a retreat, she thought.

A friend said maybe that wasn't such a good idea, because hadn't she been complaining about being lonely, and a retreat would cut her off even more?

Yes, I know it's nonsensical, she thought, but I need this. I need to go away.

Because she had learned that to go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow(*). It was only when she retreated that she could gather her inner strength and make those giant leaps she needed to make.

And so she turned off the computer and closed the door to the library, retreating, and became a singularity.

7. fly.

( It seemed as though he had been falling for years. )

Every flight begins with a fall, the crow said. Look down.

"I'm afraid..."

LOOK DOWN!

Bran looked down, and felt his insides turn to water. The ground was rushing up at him now. The whole world was spread out below him, a tapestry of white and brown and green. He could see every thing so clearly that for a moment he forgot to be afraid. He could see the whole realm, and everyone in it.

Finally he looked north. North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks.

Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live.

"Why?" Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling.

Because winter is coming.

Bran looked at the crow on his shoulder, and the crow looked back. It had three eyes, and the third eye was full of a terrible knowledge. Bran looked down. There was nothing below him now but snow and cold and death, a frozen wasteland where jagged blue-white spires of ice waited to embrace him. They flew up at him like spears. He saw the bones of a thousand other dreamers impaled upon their points. He was desperately afraid.

"Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" he heard his own voice saying, small and far away.

And his father's voice replied to him. "That is the only time a man can be brave."

Now, Bran, the crow urged. Choose. Fly or die.

Death reached for him, screaming.

Bran spread his arms and flew.

--A Game of Thrones, George R. R. Martin (grrm)

8. advancing.

November. A month had passed since the retreat had begun. No, more than a month.

"I'm not ready," she said. Not ready to tell my mom how much she hurt me, not ready to burst the bubble, not ready to step out of the inner world, not ready to find the boy, not ready to tell (and to let) people check up on me, not ready to have others there, not ready to love and be loved and be needed, not ready to fly. I'm not ready.

No one ever is, another part of her answered.

She opened the door to the library. The retreat had ended.

(*) Another grrm. The full line: "To go north, you must go south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."