So, those of you who follow this LJ are at least passingly familiar with the SCA (my medieval reenactment group). I've been fairly inactive in the last two years... my Ph.D. is one obvious reason, as is Rob (its difficult to jaunt away every weekend when you're happily dating someone). The real reason- I've been going through the struggle that many SCA heavy weapons fighter eventually makes... whether to stay in armor or not.

I love heavy fighting. It speaks to me. And I'm good. I worked, and I sweated, and I bled to get good, but I'm good (sorry can't use the past tense yet). I'm not the best, but I'm damned, damned good. I've been recognized on the field of battle, the only NON knight, by the prince of another kingdom. I've been recognized by my own kingdom and by the knight who took me as a squire.

Someone once told me that I reminded them of that Heather Dale song, "One of Us," and I've had many women come up to me at Pennsic and Gulf Wars and tell me that they had been watching me for years. Rooting for me. Just happy to see someone out there, playing, who took so much joy in it.

The darker reality is, I've had at least three concussions and I've been diagnosed with a degenerative genetic nerve condition. Armor is heavy and will greatly increase the likelihood that I end up in a wheelchair. I got my last concussion with a light knock to the head- not anything that should have impacted me that greatly. And so I've spent the last two years making the difficult decision to put my heavy armor away.

I've been lost, in a lot of ways, because of that. It defined a lot of my purpose in the SCA, a lot of my strength. And loosing that community, loosing that sense of self was devastating. I'll never be called into court for fighting again, never enter crown, never put myself on the truth path to knighthood. Its been hard- to have so many friends tell me that while it was inspiring to watch me hit those walls, while they never would have said anything, that maybe, probably, this was for the best.

Best to fall now, when my knees can catch me.

Best to fall now, when I know who I am.

But it doesn't feel like a relief.

I'm starting to take up fencing, to try to fill that gap. Holding a rapier still doesn't seem real to me, and I spend half of practice inappropriately staring at the heavy fighters, just wishing that I could go back. But I can't.

I hope one day I love fencing as much. Right now, I'm using it as a way to find my way in the SCA again. To give some purpose to this game I have spent so much time with. I have some great people helping to teach me and I'm thankful for their patience. For the fact that no one pressures me when I decide I'm not in the mood to fence that day- not because its hard to fight, but because its hard not to fight the "right" fight.

I got to do some slow bouts vs. drills yesterday and it was great. It was almost exciting again. But I would step or weave and fall back into patterns from heavy fighting and it was like a gasp, to understand both now much I had learned, and how much I would unlearn in this process. For every habit that I spent years bleeding for, I'll spend months untraining. And I'll never, ever, get to go back. 

Its the end of the world as we know it? Unlikely... I feel like the Byzantine might have known more about that than the Mayans. I have had both much and not so much excitement in my life of late. Jobs! Travels! Cooking! But, mostly, working. A little lonely since I don't see many people, but, mostly, working towards that end goal of a cruise on the Mediterranean in May. Which is to celebrate finishing my PhD. I want the cruise more right now. :P

In the true tradition of LJ... a small bitch-fest.

People are NOT supposed to live in winter-places. Especially ginger day-walkers like me.

Evidence of this:
1. House-gnats. The south does not have them. Mosquitoes, birds, and other bigger more bitey things eat them. Even if you DO happen to get them, everyone has tons of pesticide sprayed into their house routinely and THAT kills them (for better or worse). Here, I'm on my third summer/fall of infestation and I can't wait until it freezes JUST so I can open all my windows and kill them.

2. All my hair falls out. For reals. As soon as it gets cold, ginger scalp rebels and large chunks of my hair falls out. I don't go bald, but it is... disturbing.

3. My skin hates me. Like, I can't wear clothes (even loose fitting cotton, with scent free dermatologist friendly soap and laundry detergent) without getting weird rashes, or red irritation, and in general the feeling that I am living through a civil war. I thoroughly blame the lack of freaking humidity outside. Like, THOROUGHLY blame it. I MISS things not made solely of cotton.

4. I am trapped in-town. Even if I'm not trapped, I have to watch the weather 24/7 to make sure I don't drive into a snowstorm of just epic enough proportions that I slide off the road into a ditch. Again.

5. Everyone talks about the weather, constantly. Even me. At least when it is 100 degrees for six months out of the year you don't have to freaking talk about it.

I teach for the online version of Penn State, World Campus, which (for worse) is an independently operating department that does not play nice with all of the other departments whose classes they (sometimes) manage. This, for many reasons, results in inefficient bureaucratic humor. The latest:

1. I received an email from my friend who works as a liaison between World Campus and the College of Communications.
2. She is requesting information about my Spring 2012 course, on behalf of World Campus. Little things, like the textbook and syllabus.
3. My course for the Spring has been COPY AND PASTED from the last TWO times I've taught it, as it has been for the last 5-6 years.
4. I have NO control over the course content (which I bitch about constantly as it is awful), the textbook, even the order of the lessons.
5. World Campus controls everything, dictator-style.
6. So I have to... copy and paste my old info into an email sent to a person in the College of Communications so... she can send it to World Campus. Who already has it.

7. What?

I already missed the deadline on the grounds that I thought the entire process was hilarious AND a waste of my time but got a "prompting" email reminding me that yes, this is a real thing. It took me half an hour because I had to stop every step and go through the mental process of why this is necessary all over again.

So one of the extensions of my interest in media and its impact on society is that I read and watch and in general consume atrocious amounts of low quality media. I watch reality tv. I read gossip blogs. I spend hours looking up strange medical disorders. Rob is baffled by this behavior. As he puts it, "I know you're brilliant, but if I didn't know... well, I would judge you. Harshly."


Case in point, this morning I spent half an hour exclaiming over the disorder craniopagus parasiticus, or more commonly known, parasitic twins. When one twin is born attached to another but not fully formed (ie: an extra head, an arm, some other bits) and move somewhat independently from the main body. Creepers, right? Then I watched the first episode of a new reality tv show documenting people getting quickie married in the French Quarter in New Orleans.


I is an adult.


Promises.



I just like bad media. :P

So Jane figured out a version of bunny alchemy today.

1. I moved her food dish to the corner she likes to make smell like her butt because she figured out how to block up the cage floor and kept rolling in it.
2. She popped all over her food dish as a result. It now smells like her butt. But is empty.
3. I gave her a new bowl and filled it with food.
4. New bowl was not bolted to the floor so she promptly picked it up, tossed her pretty princess hair, and spilled everything.
5. She had one old food bowl. It was empty. She had a new food bowl. It was empty.
6. She picked up the new bowl and deposited it in the old bowl.
7. It didn't smell like her butt. So she peed on it.
8. I cleaned the "new" bowl out and then put food in it.
9. She dumped the food out and...

BUNNY ALCHEMY!

CMT (Charcot Marie Tooth Disorder) is so weird... I always have difficulty telling if I'm having a flare up, mostly because I currently lack the constant nerve pain my father has. I'm okay with this, but I've been utterly exhausted (sleeping 10+ hrs a day) and unable to type correctly. I thought it might be my keyboard but I did a typing test and scored 70 wpm at 96% accuracy when reading and typing. I think my dexterity when I need to think/create and type is much diminished though.

At least I don't have shooting pain up and down my limbs this time around.

I was a bad adult and finished a fanfic story I've been working on writing for about 6 months today instead of grading. Yay? :)

I am sorry in advance for the continued abuse I will accidentally heap upon you for the rest of our joined lives. One of the reasons CMT people are clumsy is that our feet "drop" or our toes point down as we walk. Many of us roll our feet naturally as a way to remedy tripping over things like leaves, twigs, pennies on the ground. Unfortunately, this method doesn't work as well on stairs. I ATE it going up the three small steps to my apartment tonight.

Landed on my right knee with enough force that I spent 5-10 minutes screaming and rolling around on the ground in the hallway. Thanks to heavy fighting I know about where my pain threshold is- a few concussions, cracked ribs, permanent nerve damage due to impact trauma... this hurt about as bad as the permanent nerve damage (which is fucking AWFUL) which is somewhat reassuring because I'm hoping I just hit a nerve plex and bruised the kneecap.

It is swollen and hurts but doesn't seem unstable and has been holding my weight ok when I hobble around the apartment to fetch more ice and vicodin. We're going to ignore the soft popping noise it made a few times, and the crunchy feeling to the cartilage, until tomorrow when I can do something about it (ie: get my third set of x-rays for the year).

On the up side, vicodin makes me strangely productive. I wrote 7 pages on my dissertation proposal and sewed together the hood I promised Malcolm about a year ago. I'm not sure I'm 100% happy with the hood- it seems big to me, but then, I'm smaller than most people and hoods are nice when they fit a little big. Also, if I obsess and redo the whole thing I'll probably never get it done. Next time I bust a joint and have a pain meds night I need to get Christopher and Morgen their viking hats done, which I HAVE redone 10 times.

At least at this rate I won't look like a kiss butt (which I hate, since I'm NOT good enough to get paid and sincerely just sew for people who need the help, or who suffer to let me practice my sewing for them as a "thank you" for being genuinely nice people) since they'll probably be done with being the crowns before I manage to make the hats.

It is 4 am and time for another pill, some more ice, and student grades! Because grading on pain meds is... fun? More fun?

I am considering doing something stupid.

I am considering starting a Facebook Page/Group urging consumers to boycott companies that produce advertisements that harm women. I am just so ANGRY right now I can barely see straight. I vented my rage at Twix a few months ago and am STILL angry at them. Klondike Bars have also earned my ire. And tonight I stumbled across a Sony Ericsson ad so offensive it actually made me physically sick.

http://youtu.be/qKnr8gdoxI8

The part that really got me was when she called herself a hussy and then screamed "take it" as she threw a grenade at herself.

WTF is wrong with marketers? Have they forgotten how to do MARKET RESEARCH? JEEZE.

So I've been nervy about cell phones for upwards of 2-3 yrs now. I've been looking at radiation guidelines for awhile and kind of made myself ignore my gut instinct because, thanks to my OCD, my gut instinct often resembles this: *PANIC* *FLAIL* *RAIN OF TOADS, RAIN OF TOADS!*

Of course, now the WHO has classified cellphones as a likely carcinogen on the scale of lead, or exhaust fumes, and I am annoyed at all those drearily long phone conversations I had with the damn phone pressed up to my head for HOURS at a time, until it grew hot. With brain radiation. Awesome. Just freaking' awesome. Now, I will spend the next 10 yrs convinced that every headache is some sort of brain tumor. Because, you know, RAIN OF TOADS!