I ponder what she'd want from me—
I know one part is wit,
which I possess, debatably;
I stole her store of it.
But what else of my character?
To be an Imogen
the men would have me—artless, pure,
beneath a father's pen.
I don't think I'd be so unwise
to be cast in her play,
to move before that woman's eyes
as I do anyway—
But they are drooped. She is long-dead
and so are many more.
I pluck hairs from her resting bed
and other corpses for
my wicked, hoary majesties,
my poems, mortal, light—
look all around these lines. The breeze
breathes dust through storied sight.
Look for romantic ingenues,
and you may painted find
their flesh embalmed, with added hues
that never crossed a mind.
My eyes come not from Cymbeline—
the eagle plucked them out.
I found some pearls, incarnadine
dyed in my husband's doubt.
I ponder—do I do enough
for women with my arts?
Stroll through their graves, unpack their stuff,
dissect their carrion hearts,
decayed and crumbling in my palms—
do I do right by them?
Past undegrading them with balms,
I paste on pomp and gem.
—"Do It for Her (Self-Aggrandizing Self-Portrait as Imogen)" - a poem written 2/16/2024
I live for the dynamic of "Both Goldenloin and Blackheart are very smart and competent in their respective fields but they are also both very fucking stupid"
I've started watching lock picking lawyer videos when the Horrors get too much because a major anxiety thing for me is always needing to know where my exits are and I find it unbelievably reassuring to see someone very calmly explain how locks work and how to bypass them in under 5 minutes. The downside to this is I don't know where my lock picks are and it's really stressing me out because now I desperately want to practice
me: you're in the home stretch of this fic, don't borrow trouble
me: i will not borrow trouble
me: i will not borro-
me: ok i'm going to write this entire dialogue in iambic pentameter
the underappreciated star of my family’s gift exchange. when you press a button on the bottom he plays the melody of “aura lee” and yes it sounds awful
oh - when my nephew was here he also told me that my mother said medication doesn't have any effect on hunger.
hahaha that's so fucking funny, I'm gonna scream :)
(was just reminded of this because I feel like I'm starving. because of my new meds. when without them... I don't really feel hungry until many hours after I should have eaten.)
living with people who Walk Extremely Fast while needing time alone in the shared house spaces to do your basic selfcare/starting-the-day routines + having Trauma around being seen even fucking existing in shared spaces, including a long-ongoing and hefty dose of it from said people themselves, is a living hell actually. especially when they insist on constantly leaving doors wide open that would normally mitigate the house being a fucking panopticon and also give you like two seconds' warning that they're entering the space so you can brace yourself or leave. Hate