Dangerous, but not wicked. Sinister, but not malicious. That's the sort of demoness I desire to be. I wonder... how attainable is that? I suppose the only way to know is to try.
I enjoy embodying peril, horizons ripe with ecstatic agony. Inflicting it on the unwilling, however... frankly, I find that far less fun than searching out the sort of crazed perverts who want the sinful twists I'll vivisect into them.
[Alternative Title: "What I Did This Summer."]
[Alternative, Alternative Title: "How I'm Learning To Give Less Shits."]
Working off of the characterization I provided in the previous "Librus Talks" thoughtpiece, I am once again introducing this by basically saying "Yeah, anxiety and trauma sucks."
The above post is from a mentor/teacher figure in my life (who actually is a teacher), Talen Lee. Odds are if you're seeing anything I make, you already have heard about him, as I've incessantly followed him around since my introduction to The Internet. But if you have not: well, firstly, check out his blog, and secondly, the above quote can be appropriated to him. The actual quote comes from an entry regarding a fandom's reaction to a Star Trek characters' sexuality, and while it's more about how "canon" in terms of full-scale major IPs is sort of a mess not worth arguing about, it rounds off in regards to how this extends to your own work and... well, something I've been introduced to calling The Panopticon.
... I'd write this on my actual website, but it's sort of in a weird limbo phase right now (that has only been enhanced due to the events disclosed here). So here we go! Witness my deep, personal thoughts and feelings, Eggbug...!
Took a late night walk around 2:30 AM to try and keep my oddball shift's sleep schedule intact. I work 9 PM to 5:30 AM, assuming no OT, and I actually prefer the shift much to the surprise of all of my coworkers who hate seeing the sun rise before getting home.
Went to explore the memorial of a supposed landing site for the Vikings where basically a rich guy in the 1850s/60s trying to add historical significance to Boston decided he found the remnants of an ancient/legendary Viking city. He built a monument to it, and then they dismissed him as a loon. Today, there's more evidence that it may have been possible, but nothing definitive and much of the evidence for it appears to be inconclusive or outright forged. Wikipedia actually doesn't go into as much detail as this podcast I listened to about a month ago here.
Anyway, this place is both walkable for me now and very close to where I was living my depression was probably at it's worst, fun! I got a little lost on purpose and found a nice little spot, probably used for fishing, along the Charles that was so incredibly serene, and so incredibly close to my dorm at Brandeis where I was going through it. Having this place to sit at and decompress would have been helpful, it was maybe a 5 minute walk from my old dorm. Cue self-criticism because I could have done better by myself, cue flashback to my ex telling me I should spend more time exploring Waltham rather than immediately skipping town to be with them at every opportunity. Yknow, downward spiraling just like the good ol' times. Thankfully much less severe than before because there was no deadlines looming.
And then I had the realization that, in the state I was in, I couldn't have appreciated finding this spot then like I was appreciating it right now. I wasn't going to make the most of my time doing anything then and I probably would have rushed back home anyway to procrastinate. I was too stressed tf out about potentially losing my scolarship n shit. Maybe it would have helped, but also, and perhaps more importantly, I owe nothing to my past self. Fuck that loser.
And then, having successfully thwarted my inner demons, I went to the tower to do some lighthearted trespassing for good measure. I realized that it being open dusk till dawn wasn't just to avoid vandalism and shit. The view is not good at 4 AM. This story is worse now that I haven't ended it with comedic self-flagellation.
