Berkeley Musings
It's my fourth morning in Berkeley, CA. 3 down, 16 to go.
My bladder woke me up, and when I went back to bed, I found myself tangled up in threads of anger. A stupid, petty thing happened to my IV Werewolf. I really did not expect how much envy and anger would be directed at me- for nothing more awful than (*gasp*) making the fourth Rank, after seven years of play. Seven years. Yet I still can't possibly deserve it, I guess.
I'm waffling between being just as petty in return, rising above and focusing on my own thing, or an option C which feels like a good middle road.
But as I lay there at way-too-early, seething about a small rp thing that shouldn't bother me, I found myself taking a mental step back. "Why are you so angry about this? What else is pissing you off?"
The answer to that opens up a big old can of worms. The simple answer is "everything". I wanna be home. It's 10am over there, and I oughtta be in my clawfoot tub, the memory of Coyote's goodbye kiss still fresh on my lips. Laying in the hot water, looking forward to dinner with Coyote or happy slappy fun time with Tiger, or all sorts of other shenanigans, with either.
But I can't vent to anybody, because I feel so self-conscious. Who gets to complain about three weeks in California, at the end of winter? Who gets to complain about nummy Mexican restaurant dinners, getting to cook giant flat-iron steaks, getting to eat the freshest vegetables and fruits?
Before I left, I didn't know how to talk to friends about this trip. Because no matter how I prefaced it, how much I emphasized I'm playing chauffeur and chef to my recovering father, as soon as I said the word "California", their eyes would fill with envy.
God. Take my place, any of you.
That's a good idea, actually. See if I can sneak off to attend an Episcopalian service somewhere. That might restore me, reset my pain and longing. Make it more bearable.
I got to talk to both Coyote and Tiger in separate Skype sessions yesterday. That does make it better. But, you know, there's only so long they'll actually talk to me, sooner or later their attention will stray back to the video game or Craigslist-scouring that they were doing before.
It's just that, I'm a plant that's got her roots interwoven with two others, and I've been temporarily ripped away. I'm doing my best to buck up. I'm doing my best to make do, savor what contact we can manage with all our diverse schedules and the time change and . . . *sigh* I wanna be spooned.
I will be, in 16 days.
The thing is, I feel like I'm still being treated like a child. Which I am! Remember how alternate career-minded me would've been on the first plane out when she'd found out her Dad had a stroke, and been able to be in the hospital to hold his hand?
Alternate career-minded me would totally be here now, too: she'd be staying in a nice B&B nearby, and would've flown Coyote out for one weekend, and Tiger out for a random bunch of weekdays.
Even as I type it, I can't even believe that fantasy. Coyote? Dealing with a full day of airplane travel, then have to do it again two days later? He'd be a mess, a giant ball of stress. He'd hate it, and hate me for putting him through it. Tiger? Take him away for four days now? How the hell can he continue his apartment search if he's all the way over here? What about his jobsearch? What about the packing and such?
Still, though. Most lovers travel together, and here I am alone here, again. What's a vacation? What's a honeymoon? Supposedly, Coyote and I will get to take a small vacation from money his parents inherited. As the months and years pass with no sign of that, I have to give a chagrinned mutter: I'll believe it when I see it.
I haven't yet reached out to hoopdiver or my kinky pal Darby. I know I should, but it's so damn hard to predict when I have free time. I've half-heartedly written some kinky events into my calendar, but I don't know if I'll get to any of them. It's a struggle to even find a normal munch- most everything here costs money, lots of money. A typical party costs $25, a munch (wtf?!?) costs $5. I have some money, but I don't want to spend it all on admission fees.
I also haven't come out as poly to my Dad. Maybe I'm warming up to it, maybe I'm losing my nerve. Hilariously, his short term memory is so bad right now, I might well have to come out several times. Or try a few times, see that it won't stick, not bother coming out to Mom? I don't know. I fear they'll just feel anxious about the stability of my marriage, no matter how much I emphasize that this is not a new thing.
On a lighter note, I think the Kava Kava I've been taking occasionally to combat my anxiety is having an unexpected benefit. I've been flirting with two women(!) back home, and they've been receptive. Like, I think I'm about to open my FetLife messages to an acceptance of a picnic-date receptive.
I don't know who this person is, who can so calmly and naturally talk with someone she likes over tea. Or who can not hear a reply for a week (notification fail) and not be absolutely resigned that the lady had withdrawn her interest.
I don't fully expect either of them to pan out, but I'm doing my best not to declare either over before they can begin. I'm rather taken with the younger one. I'm less certain if the older one and I will mesh, but I think it's worth a try.
And the anxiety-monsters who usually say "IT WON'T WORK!" in loud, booming voices are fairly quiet. Watching something on TV, gardening, alphabetizing their records. They've got better things to do.
Kava Kava, I love you.
My bladder woke me up, and when I went back to bed, I found myself tangled up in threads of anger. A stupid, petty thing happened to my IV Werewolf. I really did not expect how much envy and anger would be directed at me- for nothing more awful than (*gasp*) making the fourth Rank, after seven years of play. Seven years. Yet I still can't possibly deserve it, I guess.
I'm waffling between being just as petty in return, rising above and focusing on my own thing, or an option C which feels like a good middle road.
But as I lay there at way-too-early, seething about a small rp thing that shouldn't bother me, I found myself taking a mental step back. "Why are you so angry about this? What else is pissing you off?"
The answer to that opens up a big old can of worms. The simple answer is "everything". I wanna be home. It's 10am over there, and I oughtta be in my clawfoot tub, the memory of Coyote's goodbye kiss still fresh on my lips. Laying in the hot water, looking forward to dinner with Coyote or happy slappy fun time with Tiger, or all sorts of other shenanigans, with either.
But I can't vent to anybody, because I feel so self-conscious. Who gets to complain about three weeks in California, at the end of winter? Who gets to complain about nummy Mexican restaurant dinners, getting to cook giant flat-iron steaks, getting to eat the freshest vegetables and fruits?
Before I left, I didn't know how to talk to friends about this trip. Because no matter how I prefaced it, how much I emphasized I'm playing chauffeur and chef to my recovering father, as soon as I said the word "California", their eyes would fill with envy.
God. Take my place, any of you.
That's a good idea, actually. See if I can sneak off to attend an Episcopalian service somewhere. That might restore me, reset my pain and longing. Make it more bearable.
I got to talk to both Coyote and Tiger in separate Skype sessions yesterday. That does make it better. But, you know, there's only so long they'll actually talk to me, sooner or later their attention will stray back to the video game or Craigslist-scouring that they were doing before.
It's just that, I'm a plant that's got her roots interwoven with two others, and I've been temporarily ripped away. I'm doing my best to buck up. I'm doing my best to make do, savor what contact we can manage with all our diverse schedules and the time change and . . . *sigh* I wanna be spooned.
I will be, in 16 days.
The thing is, I feel like I'm still being treated like a child. Which I am! Remember how alternate career-minded me would've been on the first plane out when she'd found out her Dad had a stroke, and been able to be in the hospital to hold his hand?
Alternate career-minded me would totally be here now, too: she'd be staying in a nice B&B nearby, and would've flown Coyote out for one weekend, and Tiger out for a random bunch of weekdays.
Even as I type it, I can't even believe that fantasy. Coyote? Dealing with a full day of airplane travel, then have to do it again two days later? He'd be a mess, a giant ball of stress. He'd hate it, and hate me for putting him through it. Tiger? Take him away for four days now? How the hell can he continue his apartment search if he's all the way over here? What about his jobsearch? What about the packing and such?
Still, though. Most lovers travel together, and here I am alone here, again. What's a vacation? What's a honeymoon? Supposedly, Coyote and I will get to take a small vacation from money his parents inherited. As the months and years pass with no sign of that, I have to give a chagrinned mutter: I'll believe it when I see it.
I haven't yet reached out to hoopdiver or my kinky pal Darby. I know I should, but it's so damn hard to predict when I have free time. I've half-heartedly written some kinky events into my calendar, but I don't know if I'll get to any of them. It's a struggle to even find a normal munch- most everything here costs money, lots of money. A typical party costs $25, a munch (wtf?!?) costs $5. I have some money, but I don't want to spend it all on admission fees.
I also haven't come out as poly to my Dad. Maybe I'm warming up to it, maybe I'm losing my nerve. Hilariously, his short term memory is so bad right now, I might well have to come out several times. Or try a few times, see that it won't stick, not bother coming out to Mom? I don't know. I fear they'll just feel anxious about the stability of my marriage, no matter how much I emphasize that this is not a new thing.
On a lighter note, I think the Kava Kava I've been taking occasionally to combat my anxiety is having an unexpected benefit. I've been flirting with two women(!) back home, and they've been receptive. Like, I think I'm about to open my FetLife messages to an acceptance of a picnic-date receptive.
I don't know who this person is, who can so calmly and naturally talk with someone she likes over tea. Or who can not hear a reply for a week (notification fail) and not be absolutely resigned that the lady had withdrawn her interest.
I don't fully expect either of them to pan out, but I'm doing my best not to declare either over before they can begin. I'm rather taken with the younger one. I'm less certain if the older one and I will mesh, but I think it's worth a try.
And the anxiety-monsters who usually say "IT WON'T WORK!" in loud, booming voices are fairly quiet. Watching something on TV, gardening, alphabetizing their records. They've got better things to do.
Kava Kava, I love you.