Time is (not) on my side.

The centre of my universe leaves home in three days to go back to the US for 6 months. I won't see him again until Christmas.

I didn't even know that a human could feel this much pain and still be alive.

The game "Dead or Alive" feels so ironic right now.

Sometimes I wish I could control my thoughts and emotions better. Anger and words and tears spilling out without filter and I wonder if I'll ever be stable again.

It's almost 3am. I should be tired, but middle-of-the-night heart-to-hearts and fears and old hurts&hates haunt to the point of insomnia. Shackled in my brain to incidents I should be over but I can't seem to get there because there are sudden reminders and everything suddenly hurts again like I'm back in that day.

I cried for two days. I'm not done crying yet. I have nightmares about it: about discovering the end of something which, if it had continued, would have meant losing someone so important to me that it barely bears contemplating, and yet....

And yet I can't stop contemplating it.

It makes my teeth hurt and my chest clench and my blood freeze but it's still always there, at the back of my mind, ready to trigger at a moment's notice. ignorance can be bliss, but then I was never ignorant. Only ever fooling myself.

I don't want to think any more. I want to forget it like I've forgotten everything else that passed through my malfunctioning memory. I want to erase the past and make a better future. I want to make everything better but I can't and that kills me more than I can even say. All I want to do is make it better. That's all I want.

I can't even do that right.

Ես ատում երազելով մասին, դուք այժմ, քանի որ, երբ ես արթնանում եք այնտեղ չէ.

We are family...

Do you know what it is to find one of the people you are closest to in the entire universe, cosmic sibling and best friend, after almost two years of conscious searching (and over 25 years of subconscious searching)?

Do you know what it is to have them feel the same?

Have you ever loved someone so intensely that you ended up sobbing because the emotion was too great to contain?

私は、あなたが最愛の人の男の子を愛してる。

私は永遠にあなたが大好きです。

If all the world were paper...

There's so much change going on in the world. HCR has passed in the US, which means maybe one step closer to no more children dying because their parents couldn't afford the treatment. No more people refused help because they have a jumped up 'previous condition', like the crime of being a woman. The 'best healthcare system in the world' shouldn't involve people being turned away from hospitals because they can't pay for life-saving surgery.

We have more and more states understanding the concept of equality for LGBTQQI people - slowly, and some states are going backwards (Virginia, anybody?), but one day it will have to happen. The battle for civil rights never ends, it merely takes on a different face.

But there's a part of me that wonders if a big part of this change is pop culture. The whole point of punk and hardcore bands is to undermine authority and the status quo in the loudest way possible - a great big 'fuck you' to the establishment. And don't get me wrong, sometimes you need someone to shout, but sometimes...sometimes a whisper is more effective. A popular TV show which somehow manages to make things normal which had been hidden before.

My (only living) Grandmother is 88. She grew up in a working class family in the south of Scotland. She's not academically educated (although she's smarter than most people I know). She married a farm worker towards the end of the Second World War.

My Grandmother talks about how racists are abhorrent. About how discrimination is a terrible thing. And as we were watching one of her soap operas - a British soap called 'Emmerdale' (formerly 'Emmerdale Farm') - she was explaining who the people were. "He's quite a busybody. He's taking care of that laddie. The laddie thinks he might be gay, but he's not sure. That woman has just come back into it - she locked the vicar's wife in a church and set it on fire."

Right in the middle of that, as if it was nothing: "The laddie thinks he might be gay, but he's not sure." Not said with any kind of tone, not spat out as if it was disgusting. Just a matter of fact statement. He thinks he might be gay, but he's not sure.

Soap operas have a history of dealing with controversial issues and, often, normalising them. On 'Coronation Street' there is a woman (her name escapes me; I don't watch soaps) who was, at one point, outed as being transgender. There are no disgusting 'sh*m*le' jokes, and any time I've seen it I've never heard the T word. The fact that she is transgender is not something that is made into the butt of the joke. She is simply a woman, who is in a relationship with a man, and who co-owns a café.

Part of the reason people take discriminatory standpoints is fear of the unknown, passed down from their parents and passed on from their friends. But a child seeing this (who hasn't been indoctrinated) may not even twig that there is anything that their parents might not consider to be normal, because it's just...not a big deal. It's just a fact.

And it's things like this, that pass by almost without comment, that leave me with a little bit of hope. The more visible we make things like this, the less of a problem they'll be for the younger generations. Or at least, that's what I'd like to think, anyway. Maybe I'm just being naive.

"Know what's written above the fountain you're drinking out of."

There's a reason I avoided getting involved in politics or charities for so many years. There's a reason why I keep my ditzy demeanor, even though it means that I am being consistently underestimated and undervalued. There's a reason why I force myself to be shallow, when everyone else is striving to be deep. This reason has recently been brought into sharp relief.

When River Tam was at that government school, in Firefly, they stripped her amygdalae. I feel like mine aren't quite stripped, but they aren't quite not, either. Once I start thinking about something this emotionally taxing I can't stop; I think and I think and I think and I write it out but I can't always get rid of it and it hounds me for days. Everything in my life suffers for it and I can't quite get anything done because my brain is so full of deep thoughts. Theories and details and patterns that if only I was studying I could write thesis upon thesis based on them. As it is they're simply things inside my head that make no sense, or rather too much sense.

The problem with having a high level of intelligence is that you can never quite escape your intellect. It sounds like bragging, but it isn't. It's a cry for sympathy, because too often I would rather be one of those people who doesn't think about anything but their next pair of shoes and the most recent issue of OK Magazine than someone who has so much insight about poverty or gender/sexuality politics or politics in general. I'm the ideas girl, which means I can't not have ideas, which means I can't not overthink things in great detail, which means I can't not connect the dots between a-and-b-and-c-and-d-and-e and finally ending up with something that would work but who would listen to me? I'm in no position to propose these things.

I'm in no position to change the world. All I can do is try.

If you lived here, you'd be home now.

Last night's escapades with insane people, hysterical women, loud banging noises at 1am and then 2 hours later, and eventual police intervention makes me almost tempted to look for new lodgings. I love my little flat, but I hate the building. The woods are full of fairies, but the suburbia is full of drug dealers.

It's times like this that I get heartsick; torn between two courses of action, neither of which will make me particularly happy. It's as though I'm always searching for the thing that will finally make me feel like I'm home, but until then everything feels like a temporary stopping point. I've lived here almost two years and still haven't hung most of my pictures on the wall; university flats had everything up within a week. Maybe it's because I'm living alone now. Maybe it's because there's something about this place that just doesn't feel quite right. Maybe I'm just ill-equipped to deal with real life and grown-up responsibilities. None of those options are particularly appealing, because they all, ultimately, mean some kind of change has to happen.

I think I know what I want; but then, this used to be what I wanted.

It's not a side effect of the drugs....

I try not to care what people think of me, but of course I do. Everybody cares, and people who say they don't are either lying or more comfortable with themselves than 99.99% of the population. Maybe even less.

I wonder what people think when they look at me; the assumptions they make about me. Right now, I wonder what they would think if they saw me sitting here: short-ish brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail with strands hanging over my face; glasses with thin, black, metal rims that have seen better days and are slightly bent from falling asleep in them too many times; two rubber music-band bracelets - one red and yellow, the other camoflage; a white gypsy top wth purple flowers; red sweatpants, less stylish and more comfy; big furry slippers; no make-up; round face; jewelleryless... All of these things make up my appearance, but none of them define me. People look at me, and they think: Girl. They think: straight. They think: somewhere between 20 and 30. They think: a little chubby, not terribly stylish, a little geeky. They think: big smile, big laugh, dramaqueen, happy.

It's amazing how wrong people can get it when they assume. And it frustrates me, because I feel as though I have to be constantly explaning who I am. If I had surgery to become a total androgyne; if I wore rainbows everywhere; if I walked around with a pensive look...maybe people would get it. If as soon as I met people I asked that they call me by non-gender-specific pronouns, if I showed them pictures of ex-girlfriends, if I could physically manifest internal tumultuousness, then maybe people would understand me better.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm a sellout because I'm so much happier not to rock the boat, to let people assume that I fall under one of the heteronormative 'normal' categories unless it specifically comes up. I won't deny it, because for me, I shouldn't have to make a big deal out of it, because no-one should assume things in the first place. But that's not how the world works, is it? Sometimes I wonder if it's worth taking a stand, once and for all, just to clear the air. To stand up for who I actually am, as opposed to who they assume I should be.

Of course, I probably won't. But a person can dream.

You can't title love....

Every spring a craving is awakened in me. As soon as I see a Japanese cherry tree, my soul yearns for the blossom. I don't feel complete until I have some in my hands, in my hair, through a buttonhole. It started when I moved to Edinburgh for university 7 years ago - Edinburgh has squares within the city which are lined with cherry trees - and the first time I saw one a part of me was filled with longing.

Once upon a time, millennia ago, there was a young Japanese woman who fell in love with a man who wasn't her husband, and he fell in love with her too. One night they arranged to meet. The man brought the woman some blossom off one of the cherry trees, and they spent one beautiful, forbidden night together. At the first light of dawn the next day, the young woman dressed, picked up the blossom the man had given her, and stole back to her room before she could be missed. She never saw him again, but for the rest of that spring, and every spring following, she wore cherry blossom in her hair to remind herself of what it was to truly love. Her love for him lasted even after death, because some loves are eternal, and once forged can never be broken.

Aishiteru.

"So you're, like, half gay?"

It's so easy to forget that people will always assume that you're straight, so you have to actively 'come out' everywhere you go.

The world is clearly filled with fail, and needs to catch up kthnx.

Beware of the monkeys!

Or, at least, limit their access to screwdrivers.

One of life's perfect moments:

Falling asleep between two people who are so much a part of me I can't even conceive of myself without them.

Freckle, freckle....

Oh, mother, how pretty the moon is tonight
She ne'er was so pretty before.
Her two little horns are so sharp and so bright
I hope she won't grow any more!
If I was up there, with you and my friends,
We'd fit in it nicely, you'd see.
We'd sit in the middle, and hold on at both ends
What a wonderful cradle 'twould be.
And there we would stay, 'til the dawn of the day
And in the bright clouds we would roam;
We would see the sun set, and see the sun rise
And on the next rainbow come home.

Unknown

All the important things I ever knew, I learned from my mother. Except for my past, but then, she never knew about that. How could she? I don't even know if she was there.

"Everything turns into awkward turtle."

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to survive without caffeine. If maybe the agonies I had to spend during the four years without it was a blip, and maybe it won't really be like that. But then I spend more than a day without it and my brain gets wired, feels like my thoughts are on an express train that just won't stop. And then I drink enough caffeine (four shots of espresso topped off with hot water, cans of Red Bull, half a box of chocolate covered coffee beans, cup of coffee) and suddenly I'm Zen. It's like bullet time; my thoughts slow down so I don't feel like my brain is always racing to catch up, doubling back to understand what's going on in my head. It feels so good when everything quietens down, I can sit still, and the world feels peaceful.

Rachel can't be right about why, surely. It makes sense, but it's yet another label that I can do without.

"That's no moon!"

It's horrible to see people's work stepped on. You're always your own worst critic, and it's never great when something doesn't turn out the way you wanted it to. But to have people you trust simply take it and break it and make it how THEY want, without permission? That's a major betrayal.

It always makes me sad when this happens to people. It's happened recently. I don't know the person, but I read their blog, and I like their work, and they worked so hard on this particular thing. It makes me so mad that people would do that - would take something that was someone else's and change it, without permission, for money.


"What world is this? What kingdom? What shores of what worlds?"

You can almost see the wizard through the curtain....

I have so many names sometimes I don't know what to do with myself. Jinks (Jinx), Vj, Cj (Kittynip) - and J, Jay and other permutations of my actual name.

I don't mean to sound as though I don't like it. I do. There is something freeing about having so many names, from so many people. Some of the names I've given myself, but people choose to use them. Some, people have simply given me. Some names are only used by one or two people, and I like that, too.

Identity is a strange thing. Some people change their names legally, for various reasons, but sometimes because the name they were given at birth is not a name they identify with. I understand that - for many years I didn't identify with my name. Well, maybe not as strong as that. I didn't like it, and I hated my surname. I like it now, although I like some of my 'other' names better. Jin(x)ks and J/Jay are two of my favourites, but only a few people call me the former, and only one person uses the latter.

I think how we identify gender-wise has a lot to do with how we identify with our names. I identify more happily with my non-gender-specific, but still slightly feminine, names. I do like my own name, though. God is gracious.

Post gig highs are the best

I got robbed and punched in the face yesterday, and it was still one of the best days of my life. And, ironically, if I hadn't been robbed and punched in the face, it wouldn't have been quite as good.

I also made a shirt in preparation for the gig (Gym Class Heroes):



It doesn't look like that now - sweat+barrier+non-waterproof markers=mess - but at least Travis got to see it before it got wrecked. And he signed it. I love my life.

Counting time....

Did you know that Sanskrit-based languages have ninety six words for love? English, in some ways, is a woefully inadequate language.

In other news:
Plots and plans (and helping hands) can see me through the day.

A veil of what-has-beens.

I am currently plotting something which is simultaneously exciting, diabolical and terrifying.

There are few things more frightening than being spontaneous when you're the kind of person who never stops second guessing themself.

When your brain explodes in fireworks, there's only one thing to do.

I love my family and my friends. They're the most important things in the world to me.

But really? It's ALL about the music.