Why, hello, LJ.

Been awhile, hasn't it? Several months at least. And there's a reason for it, in a way, one that may not make too much sense at first glance.

I have been doing better than I have in...I don't even know how long.

I haven't self-injured in over a year. Have maintained surprisingly stable relationships with my family and Ben. Have my anger and disproportionately exaggerated emotions largely under control.

Most of this is due to DBT—I just graduated from my first run-through of the program, a gruelling eleven-month endeavor that required me to undergo a complete transformation regarding old habits and damaging coping mechanisms. But my God, has it worked. I can go for days, even weeks at a time without letting my BPD rule me. I know what to do in a crisis. I've gotten better at handling interpersonal relationships. And overall, I just feel...more human. More in control of my life, my emotions, everything in my life that used to seemingly exist solely to destroy me.


It's a good feeling. I can honestly say that I'm happy, and I'm doing well. I went back to St. Joe's, full-time and everything, and scored Dean's List this semester. One of my professors has planted a seed that has me thinking about grad school at some point in the distant future. Ben and I are seriously talking marriage. My life has direction, purpose, all that good stuff that I never thought I'd ever have when all I could think is that I'd be dead by sixteen, twenty-one, twenty-five.


So. What does this have to do with Livejournal? Well...I've had this LJ for five years. Had it through some of the worst times of my life—through an abusive reunion with my father. Through a disastrous breakup. Through two suicide attempts, three hospitalizations. Through countless self-injury incidents. Through an endless stream of angst and overwhelming self-hatred.

It's where I was. It's where I never want to be again.

I won't delete it—I can't. As with my childhood, damaging though it may be, it's still my history, the story of my life, the worn, dented building blocks that have formed what I am today.


At the same time...I'm afraid of that history. I'm afraid of sliding back into an established pattern. As such...I won't be posting here anymore. I'll keep this journal as a kind of frozen testament to what I was, what I'll spend the rest of my life fighting to never become again.


I'd be remiss if I didn't thank those of you who have stood by me for the past few years, who have supported me and weathered my emotions and self-destruction and, in many ways, by listening, by supporting, by giving me an outlet for consuming emotion, have enabled me to make the changes I've made. All of you have in some way supported and helped me in my darkest hours. If you're still on my friendslist this late in the game, rest assured that at some point in time, you have said or done something, maybe several things, that I cherished, that sustained me in a moment of crisis. Maybe it was something innocuous that you don't even quite remember, a throwaway compliment, a shout-out, a greeting, a friendly comment when I needed it most. When I needed you, whether you knew it or not, you were there. There are no words to describe how thankful I am for that, how thankful I will always be.


I'm not leaving LJ entirely—I've been playing at what began as my fic journal, bri_ecrit, and has become a sort of lighthearted fandom effort with occasional interludes about my continued collegiate education and the like. But it's not what I established here. It's not five years of hurt and angst. It's something lighter. In a way, it's my second chance. A fresh start.

And I would love to have you there with it...but I leave that entirely up to you. If this is where we part ways, I sincerely wish you all the best, and I thank you for your years of support and friendship.

Until the day we meet again
Sweetheart, goodbye, auf wiedersehen
Auf wiedersehen, my dear

My luggage took four days to get here. I'm still mildly jet-lagged. I'm getting depressed. I'm worried about retaliation from my father for some medical bills. And I've just gotten my very first dose of plagiarism.

I'm going to stuff myself full of cookies and beat the shit out of demons in DMC4.

Am finally back from Canada.

Know those hellish storms that pretty much shut down the Eastern Seaboard on Wednesday? Yeah, guess who got fucked over by them while waiting for an MSP->PHL flight to depart?

Ended up spending the night in Minneapolis. Since the flight cancellation was weather-related, all we got from NWA was a hearty "fuck you" and a five-dollar breakfast coupon (at least I argued with the ticketing agent until he relented and changed my 2:15 pm departure to a 7:20 am flight through Boston the next day). I ended up calling the Sheraton and booking a room (never go to the Sheraton in Minneapolis; the rooms are shit, they nickel-and-dime you for EVERYTHING, and the rates are exorbitant). Made sure my bag would be held, kicked around until the shuttle arrived at 10:30 pm, went to the Sheraton, checked in at the front desk, then proceeded to make a beeline for the bar and have a rum screwdriver, four Fuzzy Navels, and a cheese pizza.

At least the bar was full of other stranded travelers who'd had flights to JFK and PHL cancelled; we all laughed and joked and passed around the peanuts for awhile. The bartender was really cool to all of us, too. I tipped her really well then proceeded to wobble slightly up to my room (I don't hold my liquor well; to be fair, I'm not supposed to be drinking at all on my medication, but fuck that, I really needed a drink. Or five).

Off to the airport by taxi at 5:15 am, only to learn that I'm on fucking standby for my MSP->BOS and BOS->PHL flights. I hadn't slept, I'd already had to fight for both a better flight and a hotel room (the first three I called were booked solid), and this was the last thing I wanted to hear when all I wanted to do was be home curled up in bed with an ice cream sundae and Golden Girls reruns. I hit up McDonald's for breakfast (two hashbrowns + reg. orange juice = the limit of my $5 breakfast coupon, FFS), then talked to the gate attendant, who told me I'd have to wait about half an hour before they'd know if I had a seat or not.

Yeah, that was fun. As it turns out, the attendant found me seats for both flights, but for that half-hour I was roughly two seconds away from screaming at the top of my lungs out of pure and utter frustration.

MSP->BOS went fine; I got a little sleep. When we got to BOS...holy shit. If there are any Bostonians on my FL, I apologize wholeheartedly, but your airport is the single fucking most confusing airport I've ever been in. I had to go from Terminal E to Terminal A, and by the time I got there (roughly two days later, by my estimation), I wasn't sure I was even in the same state anymore. Slighly exaggerated, of course, but goddamn, that was a long fucking walk. And they made me go through security again. Sigh.

The people were also monstrously rude. Again, any Bostonians on my FL, feel free to shoot back by stating that the people at PHL are quite possibly the rudest people on the planet. I can't disagree with you.

Anyway. We were lining up to board for the BOS->PHL flight, when lo and behold, the threatening stormclouds in the distance produce a cloudburst with lateral winds and a hard, soaking rain. And we had to board on the tarmac. Of course. They wouldn't even let us go until the rain had died down a bit, at which point we ran like hell to our plane: a CRJ-50, which has a full length of approximately three feet. Seriously, that plane was tiny. Fortunately, it was only an hour-long flight into PHL.

Where my luggage was of course conspicuously absent. Of course. I'm still waiting for it; with the huge backlog they must have (the airport didn't even reopen until late yesterday morning), I'll probably be lucky if I get it back, period, let alone in a timely fashion.

At least I made it home yesterday evening. I changed my clothes, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and have been more or less asleep ever since. I could be asleep as I'm writing this. Hey, I dozed off for a few minutes at the gate while onboard my plane in BOS; when I woke up, the flight attendant was announcing that we'd leveled off and drink service would begin shortly. I slept right through taxi and take-off. You never know.

So the most interesting thing that's happened this trip thus far is the incident in which I very nearly punched a historical re-enactor at Fort Edmonton Park in the face.

Yeah.

Shocking, I know; I'm usually so sweet and demure.



The incident:

(Ben, Mike, Rebecca, and I absently wander into the saloon/pool hall in the 1905 section of the park.)

ACTOR: Oh, my, it's a good thing we're usually closed on Sundays; we don't usually permit ladies in the saloon.

(Rebecca laughs, moves on with Mike.)

BRI: *disbelieving snort, arms folded* Oh really? I bet I can drink your ass under the table, bitch.

BEN: *sighs*

ACTOR: *stares*

BRI>: *defensively* What? I'm from New Jersey.

I ended up striding out of the saloon ranting about how much it pisses me off to be told I can't do something just because I'm a woman. I indicated that I would never have survived during that time period, which led to a minor bit of dialogue with Rebecca:

REBECCA: Oh, I totally could have lived here, with the fancy hats and dresses...

BRI: *deadpan* I probably would have been a prostitute.

REBECCA: *bursts into disbelieving laughter*

BRI: Well, hell, if that's what it takes to get a drink around here.

In other news, Ben and I are semi-fighting about our horrible break-up this time last year, I keep getting sick, and I've lost my purse.

Something is very, very wrong when I find myself longing for my home town on a trip up North.

I miss Maggie.

Hey, kids, want to know what's under all the soft, colorful fluff and fabric of those oh-so-adorable toys that clap and talk and sing?

Answer: no. No, you really don't.

I had both a Teddy Ruxpin and a Talking Story Magic Big Bird when I was a child, and frankly, they were terrifying enough when fully-assembled that the idea of compounding my mental scarring by examining what lurked beneath their molded plastic exteriors never crossed my mind. Leave it to tech fiends (so, Benjamin, you do realize you're indirectly responsible for this).

(Dubious thanks to my fellow author Freya Sacksen for the link.)


---


Taking off for Edmonton on the 29th (yes, again). I'll be gone until July 17th. Gives me time to catch Ben's birthday (July 6th) and my very first Canada Day (July 1st)! I'm told it's not exactly a big deal, but, hey, there will be fireworks, or so I'm told. Besides, I miss Edmonton—it was nice running all over southwestern Canada this past trip, but Edmonton's my home away from home, ya know?

Besides, I haven't dragged Ben to West Ed in months, and that just will not stand.


---

Odds & Ends:

- Scored my first SSS combo in DMC4. Am completely awesome.

- Have been spending countless mind-numbing hours reading fanfiction. Love it. (On a related note: am still popular over at FFN. WTH, readers.)

- Am very nearly done my baby animals cross-stitch after several months of painstaking stitching. Will be strangely sad to see it finished.



SCIV comes out in about a month and a half (or so they say). Until then, I've got DMC4 to keep me company. I'm off to continue my attempt to beat the game a second time; stand down, Sanctus, you bitch, your holy ass is mine.

I finished DMC4 on Thursday. I'm not ashamed to admit that it made me cry—in a good way. Oh, Nero, you are such a brilliantly well-rounded character. I can't for the life of me understand the people who insist that he's "flat" and/or "static". Unless they're a little hazy on what those words mean in the context of characterization (hint: they do not apply to a conflicted orphaned half-demon hybrid with identity issues and a compelling soft side carefully-concealed by brashness and bluster). And his storyline with Kyrie? Painfully, painfully sweet. Then, of course, there's Dante being made of 57 varieties of awesome. The game is just kick-ass on so many levels.

I'm trying to bribe Carly into playing it. We'll see how that pans out. Until then, I'm halfway through my second go at it. I think I may be the tiniest bit obsessed.

Gee, how unlike me.

---

Onto more serious matters. I know Father's Day is coming up; I keep getting e-mails from various retailers reminding me of special deals for the holiday. That doesn't really matter to me, for obvious reasons.

What does matter: tomorrow is June 10th. Three years of freedom. Three years since that day. I'm surprised by how bittersweet the whole thing is. I still don't regret my decision—I know it was the right one. Still, there are moments when the memory causes something of a dull ache in my chest, and I end up on the verge of tears.

But oftentimes, it's those moments when I almost believe in my own strength, because I know remember how difficult it was to take that step, but I took it nonetheless. It almost makes me proud.

I'll probably try to keep busy tomorrow, just so I don't dwell on things and inadvertently sabotage myself, but I really think I'll be okay. Because I'm stronger than this.

Well, my thumbs are bruised and sore, my right wrist is all but screaming, and I'm strangely exhausted.

I know at least one or two people in the audience are somewhat confusedly in the gutter. The correct explanation, however, is that I'm gaming again.

Relatively light gaming, mind you, at least by the standards of most of the hardcore gamers I know, but gaming nonetheless. For our two-year anniversary, Ben decided to give me a PS3, and it is made of pure awesome and win. I've spent an hour or two on GTA 4, but the big draw? Devil May Cry 4.

Why have I not indulged in the sheer badassery of this franchise in years past? I mean, there is no other way to put it; this game doesn't just glorify the Rule of Cool, fifteen seconds into the opening it's made it its bitch. Plus it's got great characters, an engaging storyline, awesome visuals, and I don't have a tendency to die every five seconds (as per usual), although Dante as Mission 10 boss? Part of me just wanted to curl up in the corner crying for my mommy. Brutal.

My mother's probably beginning to worry about my mental health. She made the mistake of switching laundry in the middle of the aforementioned boss fight and shot me a concerned glance after I started screaming, "GODDAMMIT DANTE YOU MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD STAND STILL!"

If she were a gamer, I doubt this would be an issue.

After eight hours of gameplay today, though, I finally decided to take a breather, mainly so my currently un-calloused thumbs could get in a little recovery time. I ended up sitting back and watching all the cutscenes again, because they're gorgeous and I'm a dork.

I really am glad I'm getting a chance to put my PS3 to work instead of having it languish until July 31st, when Soul Calibur IV comes out (incidentally, what the hell is with all the fours?). Don't get me wrong, when SCIV hits the shelves, I am there, but it's nice to have something gaming-related to do in the meantime.


Sometimes I wonder if Ben ever sits back and contemplates whether or not he's created a monster by getting me back into gaming. Then I realize that he's probably too happy having a gamer girlfriend to care. Oh, Benjamin. *tsk*

Bam.

Yes, yes, I know spiders aren't insects, but I couldn't resist.

And oh, how terrifying that would be if it were true.


This week's pearl of wisdom from the extended family: interracial marriages are a Very Bad Thing. Not because of the race issue, because black people are nearly just as good as white people, of course (why, my relatives know plenty of "good" black people, as they're quick to point out in situations such as these—you know, when they look sweet and down-to-earth and all Middle-American but that's just because the white sheets are on backorder), but because they are so Fundamentally Different.

Oh, and because "they have speckled children". Direct quote.


It bears repeating: these people are lifelong Democrats. Democrats who live in a traditionally Democratic state and pay lip service to equality. Democrats who have also on multiple occasions loudly proclaimed that they will vote Republican before they vote for a black man.


You can't pick your family. Despite all my bitching and moaning, I don't think I'd even have the heart to trade them in if the option presented itself. I don't hate most of them. No, on days like this, I'm just deeply, bitterly disappointed in them all.

Back from three weeks' vacation in Edmonton (with trips to Invermere, BC; Vernon, BC; Banff & Canmore, AB; and Drumheller, AB). I was all over the place. Lakes, prairie, mountain, desert...southwestern Canada has some seriously varied climates, let me tell ya.

Ben and my two-year anniversary was on the 9th; I got him a Seiko watch, he got me a PS3 (Soul Calibur IV, w00t!), and it is shiny and awesome. I'll have Darth Vader for SCIV. Sweet.

I have also learned that I can hold my liquor better these days, I don't mind long car trips, Flobots are made of win, and I should really apologize to my mother for ever being fourteen.

Also, I have been neglecting this LJ liek whoa. No suprise there, though. I've been kind of "meh" towards public expression lately; plus, my 'Net access up North was sadly lacking.


Still jet-lagged and tired; off to get some much-needed sleep, preferably several days' worth.

Dear Family,

So, after several years of being told to "loosen up," I'm doing just that. I spent a night in Atlantic City, dancing and drinking and effectively getting over my serious side. I've become significantly less snobbish; I freely read trashy novels and don't run screaming from the room when my grandmother turns on The Young and the Restless. I'm dressing in colors other than black and navy (I even bought a bold-patterned skirt to wear to BC), I've cut my hair, and I'm going out of my way to be less uptight and self-conscious.

On that note: as you've been continuously encouraging such a transformation for the past decade or so, can you kindly stop soundly mocking me now that I've finally started doing it?


No Much love,

Bri, who is becoming too self-conscious to leave the house

Pat Benatar last night. My mother actually ended up not going, since she listened to her back in th' day when my father was around and was afraid of being triggered. So Carly's friend Lisa tagged along with the two of us to the House of Blues in the Showboat Casino.

For the record: Pat Benatar still completely kicks ass. She's so tiny up there on stage, but she can belt it out and hit those high notes like nobody's business. A few people in the crowd were a bit subdued, but the rest of us were all on our feet and singing and dancing along (especially when she had us sing the choruses to "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" and "Heartbreaker"). We had seats up on the balcony but kept alternating between sitting up there and running downstairs to grab drinks from the bar and hang out with everyone down on the floor.

(Unfortunately, the only pictures we managed to grab in-concert were some seriously shitty ones on my cameraphone. They were insane about their camera policy at the HOB; we ended up having to run down to coat check before the show and store the damn thing so we could even get in.)

But yes. The concert was fucking amazing, and I'm glad I got over myself enough to stand up and enjoy it.


The concert was over at about 10:30 pm, which by Atlantic City standards is practically noon. We wanted to hit the Hard Rock Café for a bite to eat, so we headed down the Boardwalk to the Taj Mahal, where we chilled out by the penny slots on the floor and scored free drinks from one of the girls. It was my first time gambling, and I did okay—I came out $54 on top (I won thirtysome dollars on a five-cent bet. That was pretty cool). Carly won $34, and, well, Lisa lost $20. So I was the big winner, which I chalk up to beginner's luck and subsequently assume I won't win one red cent gambling for the next ten years or so.

After we'd gambled and grabbed our free cocktails, we ran over to the Hard Rock Café, where we paid upwards of $60 for a round of drinks and two orders of chicken fingers. The food was way overpriced, but the liquor's where they really get you (true pretty much everywhere, but even moreso in AC). Carly and Lisa were so proud of me for doing my first shot (what the Café called a "Red-Headed Groupie"—seriously, it's just a Red-Headed Slut with SoCo instead of Jager). Carly even videoed the event with her digital camera, because she is insane. Fortunately, it came in a free souvenir shot glass (a double, even), so I have a memento of the event. We'll ignore the fact that it wasn't really my first shot, just my first shot out on the town, because Carly just seemed so happy.


So, let's recap. Last night I went to Atlantic City, went to a concert that was not TSO, drank way too much, sang, danced, played slots, and basically acted so not like myself I'm probably going to have to offer up some kind of proof of identity re: authorship of this entry.

*insert incredibly dry, snarky observation of relatively mundane event*

There we go.


( A few pictures. )

...yeah, I do still have this account, don't I? Right.

I've been writing a lot lately, which means I've been posting over at my writing journal (bri_ecrit) a lot more than over here. My life's also been exceedingly dull for the past few weeks, but hey, that's par for the course.

Rundown of the slightly less boring parts:

# Booked my next trip to Edmonton: Apr. 29 - May 22. I'll be spending some time in Victoria with Ben and his family. I've never been to British Columbia, so it should be fun to see what the next province over is like.

# On break from DBT until April 21. Repeated practice of Distress Tolerance skills has proven useful.

# (More for the writing journal, but hey) Finished/posted my seventh Soul Calibur one-shot to FF.net. My stuff's been quite well-received thus far (especially considering I'm writing for a moderately unorthodox pairing), so yay on that front.

# March: in like a lamb, out like a lion. WTF, New Jersey, get back above freezing.


Off to write/cross-stitch/watch Arrested Development reruns/stare blankly into space.

So on a whim Carly and I bought our joint Mother's Day gift yesterday—a bit early, yes, but I'm going to be up in Edmonton for the second Mother's Day in a row (Ben and my anniversary is May 9th). My mom's a huge Pat Benatar fan, so the three of us are going to her concert in Atlantic City on April 12th. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited; Pat Benatar's such a guilty pleasure of mine. Besides, it gives us a chance to actually do something as a family once—and for Carly and me to hit the casinos. Awesome.


In other news, I've decided to stay at SJU. Ben graduates from the U of A next spring, and I don't want to still be in college for two or three years after he's done (that would also mean spending a few extra years here in South Jersey which just = no). I should be set to graduate from St. Joe's next fall if I play my cards right and keep working at my DBT skills. I'm all determined now. I mean, yes, I have to finish as an English major (*hysterical wail*), but...it's two years. It could be worse; I could have to start a new degree from scratch.

*kicks SJU* Why couldn't you just have a good French major program, you bastards? Merde.


On a positive note, my Soul Calibur fics seem to be doing pretty well over at the Pit. Whee.

Now if I could just get some of my writing confidence back, I'd be all set to kick some ass.

So Ben's currently on his last day in Quebec, where he was on the University of Alberta's team at the CS Games, a computer science/engineering competition...thing. The U of A team, named "w.r.t. Fish" for reasons Ben explained to me although I unfortunately wasn't listening too closely, were up against such schools as Harvard, the University of Rochester, and McGill (not to mention The College of New Jersey, which is the BEST SCHOOL IN THE UNIVERSE according to my family).

Ben tends to be really down on his mad computer skillz. He's not as good as the other members of the team, they all have so much more experience, he's so mediocre, et fucking cetera. It's about ten hours to Quebec on a good day; during a midnight phone call I warned him that I could be there in time to kick his ass and still make it to breakfast. I haven't really heard from him since they arrived on Thursday, so I just hoped that he'd gotten his confidence up a bit and gone out there to show the competition what he was made of.


He called me this afternoon: THEY WON. Against thirty other schools from the US and Canada, the ten-man U of A team, complete with SUPER AWESOME BEN POWER!!!11, won first place.

He sounded so happy on the phone, too (even though they got a free round of drinks that was totally wasted on Ben, since he doesn't drink; fuck that, I would have demanded to drink my Fuzzy Navel out of the trophy Stanley Cup-style). I absolutely hate to be one of those people who go on and on about their relationships, but...goddammit, I am immensely proud of him. Yay Ben! :)

*runs off to play "We Are the Champions*

In case you guys haven't already seen this disgusting bit of misogynistic tripe (written by a woman, no less), prepare yourselves: "We Scream, We Swoon. How Dumb Can We Get?" by Charlotte Allen, she of the Independent Women's Forum--that lovely conservative think tank that basically believes that feminism degrades women because it gives us choices and sexism is just all in our pretty little minds because we really are stupider and weaker than men, silly!

A few excerpts:

"Depressing as it is, several of the supposed misogynist myths about female inferiority have been proven true. Women really are worse drivers than men, for example."

"The theory that women are the dumber sex -- or at least the sex that gets into more car accidents -- is amply supported by neurological and standardized-testing evidence."

"The same goes for female fighter pilots, architects, tax accountants, chemical engineers, Supreme Court justices and brain surgeons. Yes, they can do their jobs and do them well, and I don't think anyone should put obstacles in their paths. I predict that over the long run, however, even with all the special mentoring and role-modeling the 21st century can provide, the number of women in these fields will always lag behind the number of men, for good reason." (Does the phrase "institutionalized sexism" mean nothing to this woman?)

"So I don't understand why more women don't relax, enjoy the innate abilities most of us possess (as well as the ones fewer of us possess) and revel in the things most important to life at which nearly all of us excel: tenderness toward children and men and the weak and the ability to make a house a home." (...!!)

I'm so angry as to be rendered speechless, and I think I might kill something, so I'll link to some rebuttals that are far more brilliant than anything I could hope to come up with:


# Feministe.us

# Feministing

# Jezebel

# Smart Bitches, Trashy Books (where I first heard of this drivel--I love SBTB)

Someone needs to take away my keyboard. That's three separate one-shots, each written at an ungodly hour, within the space of two weeks. Hey, Raphael/Cassandra? Seriously. Stop being so damn compelling.

Now if I could just get some modicum of confidence back and believe that I'm a half-decent writer... :\

( Cut for some angst and introspection. )


On a lighter note, there's a kick-ass Star Wars exhibit in town at the Franklin Institute, and we (Carly, James, Ben, and myself) hit it up on Sunday. I saw a similar exhibit at the Smithsonian when I was in the sixth grade, but it was nice some of the props and costumes again (Darth Vader seemed so much more intimidating when I was eleven...).

I know most of you don't care, but for the curious: my sister's gallery of the day at her Flickr account.

( And one or two shots for the hell of it. )


ETA: I knew I was going to forget something--a meme from most of my FL.


Reply to this post, and I will list three things I love about you. Maybe/Probably more than three. Then, you could repost to your own journal and spread the love, if you want to.

Nice to see that there are so many pro-choicers on my FL. I'd hoped for a more diverse showing, but then, I hear enough pro-life arguments by virtue of living in an overwhelmingly conservative era (yes, I know, "New Jersey is conservative?" South Jersey, gentle FL. More's the pity).


In other news, I have finally written my first Soul Calibur fic. I still have no idea if I like the end result or not, but at least I finally got that plot bunny resulting from Cassandra's destined battle in SC3 out of my head. The dialogue in its entirety (yeah, SC's not exactly known for storytelling):

CASSANDRA: So you don't think what you're doing is wrong?
RAPHAEL: Stupid girl. Have you anything else to say?

There is a story there, dammit.

According to Cassandra's storyline in SC3, she starts out by trying to free Raph's mountain village from his crazy-ass plan to infect the world, but then that all kind of falls by the wayside because of Tira's fucking annoying spiked hula hoop and child abduction, Zasalamel's big-ass cogwheels, and Siegfried's emo whining (at least that was my impression). I'd rather skew it a little bit and examine what might have happened between her and Raph at some point in the story.

Yeah. I ship it. I'm not apologizing. I have a weakness for self-absorbed, potentially-tortured villains (*cough*Leonard*cough*) and fierce heroines. That and fictional male blonds. I don't get it, either, and Ben, reddish-brown-haired as he is, isn't all that crazy about it until I remind him that I also have a weakness for green eyes, which he does have.

Anyway. As a further testament to my insanity, I've actually claimed the R/C pairing over at 30_nights. It took me awhile to decide between all of those "x number of prompts" communities, but I finally came to the conclusion that something themed around darkness and night would suit my SC pairing of choice just fine.

Well, to be fair, I haven't claimed a thing. At least, this journal hasn't. I finally created a writing journal (bri_ecrit) to keep the number of posts like this to a minimum, especially since I have, like, one person on my FL who even knows what I'm talking about, and nobody wants to have to wade through thirty random prompts about a pairing they've never heard of. So there's that.

I really am looking forward to it, though. Goddamn, it's been a long time since I've written anything substantial.



Okay, Ben arrives tomorrow (shit, have I even mentioned that he's going to be here 'til the 26th?), so I have some cleaning to do. I like being well past the one-year mark in our relationship--I don't really even clean anything, I just kind of shove it into the closet and hope nothing's been sitting around long enough to have developed sentience.

He also forgot about Valentine's Day, so he can just clean it himself when he gets here. Harumph.

Because I haven't posted a poll in a long time, and I've had a lot of time to think while bedridden with this stupid wrenched back.

I will not be voting in order to maintain objectivity (like you guys don't know where I stand, right?), and I've attempted to write the poll in as neutral a tone as possible. Comments explaining/expanding upon your answers are entirely welcome. (I'd also love it if you guys could send some friends over for a quick run-through, but while I'm at it I'd also love four million dollars and a pedicure.)


Poll #1138106 The Big Issue.
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 17

For statistical purposes, what is your sex?

Where do you stand on the abortion issue?

Under which circumstances would you feel an abortion is justified?

Which of the following restrictions on abortion do you feel are acceptable?

I can't help but think less of a woman when I learn that she's had an abortion.

Whether or not I personally agree with it, I believe abortion should remain legal.

I would vote for a presidential candidate whose views on abortion differed from my own.

I would knowingly enter into a relationship with someone whose views on abortion differed from my own.

And finally: there is a scenario in which I know I personally would have an abortion.

Mainly done because my sister told me she was sick of looking at Michelle Pfeiffer, but whatev, I suppose it was time for a change nonetheless. I have yet to decide if I actually like said change, but, well, at least it's different. Headers are still a magnificent pain in the ass, though.


I have a bit more free time, since I've once again taken medical leave from SJU in order to focus on my DBT skills (I'm taking online classes at one of the local county colleges in the interim). It's quite nice to be able to devote so much time to applying what I've learned in group; I've spent pretty much the entire week comparing and contrasting different distress tolerance methods. There's one that involves using different emotions—such as listening to stand-up when you're extremely depressed—that I was pretty much dead sure would be a complete failure, but surprisingly it's worked far better than anything else I've tried. I don't care how sad or anxious you are; listening to Eddie Izzard describing an elephant as "a big upside-down squirrel" should at least help you crack a smile.

I've also been taking time for myself where I can get it. So far that's just involved a hell of a lot of recreational reading and finally getting a chance to watch Howl's Moving Castle (brilliant film, go watch it now, dammit it's Miyazaki, of course it's amazing). I read the original novel, but, much like Stardust, I actually preferred the film version. That's twice in a row that's happened—if I were still the same haughty and snobbish girl I was a few years ago, I'm sure I'd be horrified.


Ben'll be here in two weeks, just barely avoiding the whole Valentine's Day nightmare. That's fine by me, since that means we can just go out to dinner like we usually do without having to battle insane crowds. Maybe I'll finally be able to find a medium steak somewhere in South Jersey... *grumble*

If nothing else, I'm sure the weather will be a nice break for him. We're having a bit of a heat wave here, sitting at 50 F (10 C), whereas I'm told Edmonton was battling -40 F/C wind chills last Monday and somehow managed to have a high of -18 F (-28 C) on Wednesday. I cannot begin to articulate how thankful I am that I left at a time when the coldest temps were around -5 F (-20 C). Fuck Edmonton being "Canada's most dangerous city" because of the stabbings, I'm more terrified of the cold!


Hm. I was in a pretty cranky mood before writing out this entry. I'll make sure to write that down in my Distress Skills log.

Off to grab some lunch-slash-dinner. Super Bowl Sunday and all that, so I have the house to myself. Kick ass.