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It's now legal, it can now happen.

We haven't planned on a date to do it - we were tempted to make sure we got in asap, but it felt like jinxing it - like if we made plans then we were just asking the powers that be to knock us back. Planning seemed too hopeful and I'm leery of hope

But it's here, the law has changed, it is in reach and we have so many decisions to make - on when and exactly what we will do to commemorate this - whether to go full on ceremony (and if so, does that remove the ceremony we had? Do we have two? Which one should we count for any kind of officialdom? All these little questions and poking we have to work through caused by the confusion of the broken laws)

The law has change and it's going to happen - and I don't think that will sink in until I have the paperwork in hand.
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 And this is accompanied by the insomnia of doom. Which is very very irritating.


Because of a weird quirk of Sparkiness, sleep deprivation is also accompanied by the hyperactive libido. This is not a good combination


The UK has had our first "Black Friday" thanks to shops copying online retailers who are, in turn, copying the Americans. We are all reminded that copying the Americans is never a good thing.


Despite these.... distractions there have been lots of preparations for the 3 stages of the Holidays:


Stage 1: The Family, where I realise that a terrible apocalypse wiping out all humanity does actually have it's good points.


Stage 2: Good Friends: where I realise that some people surviving this apocalypse is not necessarily a bad thing, though we're all very inept at killing zombies (but we will have immense fun doing it


Stage 3: Beloved and I: where I realise that reducing the entire world to our silent house would be a wonderful wonderful thing



All stages require immense amounts of baking and freezing. In years past I used to cook a ridiculous amount and then spend all January trying to find more and more creative ways to use up the leftovers and resolving not to cook/bake/construct so much for the next year. But the last few years I've found more and more people eating my food in vast amounts so even greater preparations are needed


F have kindly volunteered to test all food in case it's poisonous. She's a generous, self-sacrificing soul like that.


At the moment this has meant everything that can freeze and cakes and puddings that will nicely preserve and age and get even better (full of boooooze) as well as vast and vats of soup to freeze because Beloved has become enamoured of soup. I don't know why he is enamoured of soup. I'm not even sure I understand enamouring of soup. I'm pretty sure being enamoured of soup is illegal or should be. I also have a creeping fear that he will suddenly decide he doens't care for soup any more (as is his wont) and I will have oceans of soup and nothing to do with it.


Also the enormous ham (which Beloved got as part of his much-to-be-regretted meat haul) was too big for my biggest pot. Yet Beloved insisted I not cut it up because it was so impressive (I think this is Silly as a bigger ham rather than 2 small hams simply means less yummy yummy glaze, but I humour him constantly because I a) love him and b) enjoy telling him he's being humoured). Cooking a ham in a pot that is too small for it proved to be an... interesting experience.


Beloved wants to try layering a boozy fruit cake with boozy cream. I told him no. I fear he may try it on his own.


Beloved wants a BBQ next weekend. In December. Yes he does. F agrees. We may need the booze ocean we have acquired


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 Things that annoy:

 Metal handled pans. Why why why would you make a pan handle conduct heat? Isn’t that one of the most ridiculous design ideas in the history of the world? Isn’t that up there with chocolate teapots and fireguards?

 Metal handled pans that are also supposed to be oven safe – so you put said pan in, say, a 200oC for that handle to get stupendously hot.

 But what really really really annoys is that, despite the aforementioned ridiculousness of metal handled, oven-safe pans, if you firmly grasp said handle, after it comes out of the oven, with your own bare hand you really have no-one to blame but yourself.

 And that’s really really annoying because that kind of screeching pain of quite nasty burns over the entire palm of your hand and fingers really really REALLY demands you scream at SOMEONE. Screaming at one’s self is not sufficient.

 On the plus side, I didn’t spill dinner.

 On the minus side even an hour after the burn, removing my hand from a bowl of cold water or an ice pack was quite painful – to an extent of not being able to keep it out of water for more than 5 minutes before being quite willing to murder a rather large number of people if they were stood between me and that water. This was not a productive way to spend the evening.

 Thankfully, it has reduced to being merely excruciatingly painful so I am not forced to keep it stuck in ice – but typing one handed is vexatious. Typing two handed is… unpleasant. The cold water is still nearby to top up.

 What does surprise me is the relative lack of blisters – I mean, there’s a lot of redness and several blisters all over my hand –but the blistered areas are no more/less painful than the none-blistered. The blisters seem to be quite quite random.

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 Thankee to everyone sending good wishes for this weekend, I managed to escape most of my usual angst by being ILL WITH THE NINJA DEATH FLU!


Honestly, this was the stealthiest disease ever. Here I was, healthy and fine, ready to actually go out and be social. Yes, I was not only strong enough to go outside without worry but I was *gasp* almost eager to do something vaguely social.




And then the DISEASE HIT. And it was like being hit with a sledge hammer. My nose became the evil volcano of erupting snot of doom, gushing like the Niagara Falls of mucus. That was unpleasant.


My energy crashing like I’d just run 3 marathons while juggling elephants while singing opera and wearing cement shoes. It was not good. It was very not good.


But the worst element was the sledgehammer to the gut. No, really – it isn’t a sharp pain, it isn’t a twisty pain or a burny pain. It just felt my whole abdomen was one huge nasty bruise (it wasn't, but it felt that way) with the joyous side effect of EVERY position hurting and not having the energy to move but having to move anyway and then moving not actually making anything better.


This all came along in the period of 2 hours much to Beloved’s shock and F’s incredulity


In fact while I was convinced the end was nigh, cowering in bed making a positive art form out of self-pity, F arrived at the door and loudly declared (F does everything loudly. Low volumes are for people whose voice and ideas are not wonderful blessings to everyone within a 5 mile radius of them) that I was definitely faking to try and avoid the evils of socialism


One of the terrors of illness no doctor will tell you about is a bellowing F bursting into your bedroom while you’re naked, cowering in bed and feeling like death. It’s a terrible terrible thing to face.


Of course afterwards she had to be stopped from running down the street ringing a bell and yelling “UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN!”. Also no painting red crosses on our doors. I heard Beloved and her have a spirited discussion on the subject


Of course, Beloved, seeing me suffering so badly, naturally hid as far away as he could. Loving and supportive through the worst of my mental illness moments, but the minute anything germ related rises its head he will hide in the basement (we don’t have a basement, but he would dig one so he could hide in it).




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 Some people probably know Steam had a summer sale


It was a very good summer sale. 


So many shinies. So very many shinies. I had my usual conflict - I see a shiny. I sensibly tell myself that I don't need said shiny. I don't want said shiny. I don't have time to play the shiny. So I will ignore the shiny


Then I spend the next several hours doing nothing but obsess over the shiny, staring at the shiny, checking the shiny every 5 seconds, until I finally give in and buy the shiny


This time was a little different because I rarely had to perform the last step - because Beloved had got there before me. Naturally, since he is irresponsibly buying a megafuckton of games on Steam that he will never play and this is Irresponsible and something I would Never Do, I confronted him ready to Shame Most Cruelly


He does have a good excuse - having seen my constant agonising over not buying these he has decided that I waste far more time, energy and productivity than I would actually lose if I just bought them in the first place.


He is SAVING me from MYSELF. Oh what a saint he is. And there is absolutely NOTHING self-serving about this excuse, of course


Needless to say, these excuses do not work. Especially since we know, oh boy do we know, that Beloved has absolutely zero impulse control when it comes to shinies and credit cards (do I need to mention the BBQ again? Because the BBQ is totally relevant here).


So now we have a gazillion games I do not have time to play and he does not have time to play. I haven't actually had time to play any computer game. But we have them, taking up hard drive space. And they're caaaallllling to me. 


See, for this you have to understand the Sparky brain. The Sparky brain likes - no - NEEDS things to be complete. This is why when I start reading a series of books I have to finish them EVEN IF EVERY WORD IS AWFUL. The incompleteness nags at me. As to how this affects me with computer games?

I have Civilisation V. I have played it several times. I have played as the Moroccan, Greek, Assyrian Songhai, Hunnic, German and Celtic Empires. What is the connection? Their leaders are in alphabetical order. No, really. The next one is Casimir of Poland.


This is how my brain brains. It cannot be healthy


And now I have games. Games that haven't been played. Games that need to be played. Games with Steam achievements that now need to be filled. They're calling to me...


Of course this is helped a lot by Beloved reading my Steam library aloud, reciting achievements I don't have and, occasionally, just saying "plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay meeeeeeeeeeeee! Plaaaaaaaaaaaaaay meeeeeeeeeee!" in a ghostly voice. 


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 I’m having a drunken musing about some of my GBF problems, including some of the people in my life who try to treat me as a mascot, or a toy or feel a desperate need to get close to me to be their bestest friend so they can be one of the cool crowd.

It’s annoying. And many of them are annoying for the usual reasons of fetishism/privilege/dehumanisation and general annoyance that comes with straight privilege and causes me headaches.

 But there are a couple who surprised me because I though, to a degree, they had more sense (and, to be fair, they generally behave better albeit still annoyingly). I, for a long time, put it down to the fact that it’s amazing how good people can be at hiding their prejudices and it can shock you at the worst times making no-one truly safe (case in point, friend I complained about lately in long complainy post I mean to go into more detail on when I’m not drunk and typing drunkenly on a tablet while laid on a drunk Beloved who is, indeed, drunk).

 But there is another element (not to friend-I-complained-about-and-is-no-longer-friend, but to others) to these generally clueful people. It comes to not understanding what being “out” means to everyone.

Because, of course, being gay is a big big big, super big massive secret, right? So if she’s in on the BIG SECRET then that must mean she’s one of my closest of close friends, right? Because it’s not like I would ever tell a near stranger that I’m gay!

But I view being gay as basic biographical information for me – it’s not a secret, just about anyone who knows me knows I’m gay. A casual acquaintance will know I’m gay.

So she thinks she’s my bestest friend ever because I trusted her with my biggest secret. I think she’s a person I met once or twice who has a poor sense of boundaries.

 It’s not an excuse for the overwhelming majority (displayed by general behaviour) but for this odd blip of behaviour from an otherwise apparently decent person it may be the key

 Of course, there follows the “I’m sorry, we’re not actually friends, sorry you got the wrong impression” conversation which is AWKWARD. Hallmark should really make a card “You think we’re friends! I don’t really like you – sorry!”

 Or maybe a cake? Chocolate with “I don’t like you very much! Take a slice and go away!” written on the top?

 (It could go with my “You’re my husband’s friend, not mine. I have better taste.” Victoria Sandwich).

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 A fuller post will be posted later


The last few weeks have been chaos with more chaos and extra chaos. Actually it's getting on for months now

We had family drama then family socialising then more drama from the socialising topped with more socialising and relatives all over the place and you're not allowed to kill any of them


We had the work drama of DOOM due to 3 colleagues all not working for different reasons (hiatus, pregnancy, leaving to another firm) and NO-ONE TELLING ANYONE ELSE ABOUT THIS and the SPs again proving that they may be bloody excellent lawyers but they're bloody shit organisers which created WORK LOAD OF DOOM.


A 52" 3D television turning up in my living room then being dismantled for reasons I cannot even begin to fathom. Beloved was involved. Things became complicated. A fish tank broke. 


Various things conspired to completely destroy the lead we'd built up on Fangs for the Fantasy just as the busy Autumn season starts and I know, hiatus is fine, dropping some of the schedule is fine - but my obsessive-zomg-you-do-this-or-you-have-FAILED does not agree.


A person who thinks she's a great friend of mine but I considered to be a moderate friend has kind of reinforced why I was never close to them. They're a source of great drama and stress and worse they ARE a big-uber-good friend of F who now feels torn and it's a complete minefield of emotion and badness


Beloved's parents said something pretty tasteless and hurtful to Beloved and then tried to explain themselves by being even worse but it basically boils down to they don't think Beloved and I should ever ever ever think of having children for reasons-that-are-totally-not-homophobic-honest-but-really-are and they're now playing they we're-totally-not-going-to-resolve-this-we're-just-going-to-not-talk-about-it which works FINE if you're arguing over whether Aunty Pearls vase is more hideous than a mutilated cow's arse, but is rather inadequate when the topic is "would we shun our grandchildren". It's causing some fallout beyond that because Beloved was still living under the rather naive delusion that his family had fully accepted him; which is kind of odd because it was kind of blatantly obvious that, no they hadn't but at the same time it's easy to convince ourselves of something we want to believe


Freaky note writer is still writing freaky notes but that's kind of background noise


It also meant that everything I mentioned here just kept happening. Endless human contact, endless people needing something from me, endless social events and never ever alone has frankly eroded me down to a very brittle, fragile state. Still I cling to the positive - I may be brittle and fragile and fraying at the edges and needing to tip-toe desperately around my teetering sanity but I HAVEN'T shattered. And yes, that's an achievement, that's progress. Beloved isn't and doesn't shatter, he quietly fumes, loudly raves or just decides "well that's done then" and just abandons huge segments of his life, no matter how invested he is in it - it's a rather terrifying element about him. He will decide a thing, a hobby, a job, a person even a close friend or loved one is no longer a source of goodness to him and... they're gone. End of. Erased. I'm both impressed and quietly freaked out by his ability to do that


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 The last few weeks have been immensely busy, mainly with work but also with an annoying amount of socialness which has kind of left me wanting to hermit.

 There are some people who see an introvert and decide it’s time to make me be all social which will then make me HAPPY and JOYFUL and SUNSHINEY WONDERFUL

 This combines annoyingly with my mental illnesses to have lots of really helpful people pushing me to get out more because this will magically cure me. More sunlight! More company! More loud, noisy crowds doing loud, noisy crowd things! If I’d just get out more and have fun why I wouldn’t need therapy or my pills or to swing great big axes at people’s heads.

 Of course, my social phobias and general dislike of people, anxiety and fear of people especially in large numbers combines to make this the very opposite of help. I think I actually prefer the “have you tried eating X” crowd who think all my problems will go away if I just eat enough vitamin c or goji berries or whatever miracle cure du jour they’ve scanned off the arse end of the internet to the “just socialise and have fun” crowd.

Of course, the badgering at me to get out more wears down my dealing-with-crap reserves until I agree to shut them up – and then go, deplete reserves further and find myself less up to a long fight about why I don’t want to go out YET AGAIN

 “But you have fun when you go out!”

Yeah, often I do. Sometimes I do. Usually. But that doesn’t change the amount of effort and energy involved, nor does it mean that, at various points during the event, I’m going to have unfortunate brain melt downs (more on that later) or freaky mood swings or anxiety attacks or generally just be afraid ALL THE DAMN TIME and yes I can do that EVEN WHILE apparently having fun. And it’s DRAINING. Really tiring.

 Which means my social life, especially public social life, has a cool down (yes I use computer game references for mental illness). If I’ve revved up to going out last night, I am now out of social manna for tonight. I am /oom! And forcing it is going to create some freaky kind of mana-debt that most computer games don’t let you have because it’s a BAD IDEA, especially since I need to reserve some social mana for work (my sustained spells. Yes I can maintain this metaphor forever).

And then this weekend, with annoying birthdayness, my parents go to Wales to spend time with him for his birthday (our birthdays are close in date, albeit not in year) and he wants me and Beloved to come as well – so we can celebrate both birthdays AND my parent’s wedding anniversary at the same time.

 I can’t really say no to that. Even if Wales ALWAYS rains on me. Always. The whole country rains constantly. The second I cross the River Dee? RAIN! Full on, you-better-build-an-ark, rain.

 And it was fun – but even more draining and I’d have enjoyed it all a lot more if I weren’t running on empty before travelling to the vowel-deprived hills of Wales.

 So I am not Draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaained and tired and all kinds of grumpy and completely intolerant of just about any social interaction. And people don’t understand because I’ve had so much wonderful social FUN lately that Is should be buzzing and happy!

Also I caught a vile Welsh disease, I am now flu ridden and even MOAR grumpy

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 Beloved has bought me all the expansion packs for Civilisation 5.


I don't know whether to declare eternal love and a promise to accommodate any and all kinky requests forever (once I've finished playing) or to curse him out for destroying my time when he KNOWS i'm busy, damn it.


Can I do both?








Must resist.... muuuuuuuuuuuust resist the shiny. I have work to do! Work! No games! WORK!


Ah hell, I'm screwed.

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 I’ve not been around as much as I’d like lately and it stems from numerous reasons.

As alluded to in my post about the Great British Food Festival, I had a mental hiccough. Sadly, I’m bad around crowds. There are very few occasions I feel safe in a crowd of people unless I know most of them are GBLT (i.e. most gay bars and Pride – which is about it). I manage at work when I am forced among a crowd because that is in a formal and very familiar setting and my brain can easily recognise that beating down the gay guy in the middle of a court room is Not Done and may be construed as contempt and, at very least, the judge will be a bit huffy that you didn’t wait until you’re away from the court room to engage in such unseemliness.


Crowds get me on edge, even at an event I’m enjoying (including watching Beloved turn bright, burning red in the sun), I can’t relax, I do the full hyper vigilance thing and I’m prone to panic attacks. It’s exhausting, it’s migraine causing, it drains me for days afterwards, as the hypervigilance/nervous wreck elements last several days after the event. It’s also one of the things I have made zero progress on with therapy or pills. Crowds still destroy me.


I’m going to cling to the good in that, while I did after continued blllaaargle from crowd meltdown, I only had relatively minor(ish) blaaargle of self-hatred and anger and “ZOMG HOW CAN YOU NOT HANDLE THIS!? WHEN WILL YOU BECOME A FUNCTIONING ADULT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE A LEGAL PROFESSIONAL DAMN IT?!” Ok, maybe not that minor but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Technically. Or so I’m telling myself and I’m clinging to that otherwise I will have to have another Blaargle over the blllargle I’m having because I’m not functional enough to handle the first blaaargle. And that way leads to an infinite loop of blaargles which is just a nasty spiral down into a very very bad place.


Then there was a lot of work consuming my time, part of that is due to work always being hectic and partly due to my insecure need to prove I am actually an adult who can leave the house without someone holding his hand and will show everyone this fact by becoming stressed and snappy and even more huddled and hermitting, focusing on work and ignoring my brain slowly becoming mush. My coping skills are lacking still

 Beloved has been fielding – mainly with lots of lurking, occasionally reassurance without hovering, occasional interventions, locking up the booze (did I mention that I didn’t have the best coping mechanisms?) and pushing fun stuff and then pushing fun stuff that is ZOMG SOCIAL (starting with ZOMG SOCIAL but only with gay people relax damn it and moving on from there – unfortunately we may or may not have some huffy folks who don’t understand why they’re not in stage 1 of the ZOMG social stuff) including BBQs. He says it’s for mental health. I say he just wants to play with his RIDICULOUSLY OVERPRICED SHINY.


There is also ongoing issue with Fangs for the Fantasy and my determination (obsession? Possibly) in making sure there is no alteration of our schedule. This is keeping my hands full. Remember to click on the link and send Renee Get Well Moose. It is necessary for Canadians to heal, it is known.


So I’m a little absent, a lot busy, a little hermiting and also being very very very carefully managed.  I am fighting conflicting urges on the management: 1) ZOMG HOW DARE YOU I AM NOT A CHILD?! 2) ZOMG I NEED MANAGING I FAIL AS A FUNCTIONING HUMAN BEING JUST LOCK ME UP NOW (these 2 can exist at the same time, the mentally ill brain doesn’t have to make sense) and 3) JUST LEAVE ME ALONE TO CRAWL IN A HOLE WITH NO PEOPLE EVER!



My head is an annoying thing to live with at times.



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 Firefox has been giving me all kinds of grief lately, fighting with Flashplayer, eating computer performance and generally being a nuisance.
I applied my usual tech support methods. I swore at it. I frenziedly clicked the mouse. I swore at it some more. I restarted the computer. I swore at it some more. I turned off the computer and went and read and pretended I didn't want to use the computer anyway, so there. I then swore at it some more. I even *gasp* reinstalled stuff.
None of it worked. I know, I was shocked too.
So I poked Beloved and insisted he do the magical arcane computer thing. I assume sacrificing a goat was involved (this is how you make computers work, yes?)
And I came back to find my computer no longer has Firefox. It has Chrome.
This is why I don't ask him to fix things. Now things are Changed. I don't like Change *huffs in a corner*
Also, we're decorating. Which is probably silly since we've also kinda-not-idly discussed moving
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I am tired and worn from the fallout of sheer bullshit that happened last week.

 We had a case, it was long, it was complex and it was clearly going to be something that wasn’t going to get resolved for many many months. Fair enough and the customers were moderately decent people all things considered and only making it a little harder than it had to be. But they moved, to Birmingham, and since we’d only started what promised to be a long haul process all parties decided it would be better for them to find a firm in Brummie land.

 Case leaves my hands and is passed on to Arsehole the paralegal to work with said Brummie firm, to transfer various things that need transferring, get any local documents or resources or information, ensure copies are certified et al.

 And it’s out of my hands. Completely.

 In fact more than completely because we need a little history for Paralegal Arsehole here

 I’ve mentioned him in passing in the past, he’s the nephew of Senior Partner #2. We hired him because he had this very important qualification of being a relative of the boss; we certainly didn’t need another paralegal.

Read more... )


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Trying to get an even keel and settle I spend the whole day with Beloved trying to find some kind of balance in my brain. When there’s a knock at my door.

Now, controversial it may be, but I have absolutely no compunction about call screening or not answering my door when I’m not up to it. And after some Unfortunate Incidents, people don’t get keys to my house any more, no no they do not.

So I was quite content in ignoring this banging when we heard yelled:

“I know you’re in there.”

There was a pause while we both considered who this could be and how irritating the visit could be. When we heard:

“If you don’t answer I will lay siege to this place! I shall tumble the walls and salt the earth to the sound of gnashing teeth and the lamentations of your women!”

Ah F. Yes it could only be F. You can’t ignore F. F won’t be ignored. Ever.

Beloved:  F, I don’t think we have any women to do any lamenting.

F: What, Sparky wouldn’t be able to cook for me. That would make me lament!

Beloved: Does that make you our women?

F: I tend to think of myself more as a wench. Don’t you think I’m an excellent wench?

(someone outside answers)

 Beloved: F… are you asking out neighbours to rate your wenchiness?

 F: Your next door neighbour thinks I’m a Grade A wench I’ll have you know!

 Sparky: ye gods, let her in before we have to move.

 Alas, even the Awesome Wenchiness (her words) can't work miracle cures, but at least extreme emotions are not without basis with her around.


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I’ve had a couple of days of pure bad-brain based emotional roller coaster. Incredible highs of glee for no damn good reason, followed by epic crashes of the darkest, bleakest depression imaginable – again, for no damn good reason. Random laughter, random tears, random rages – it’s exhausting and ridiculous and so damn embarrassing.  I need to poke my doc because this is unliveable, I’m not fit for public. Or private.

 The worse thing is that even while the emotional brain is swopping around like a humming bird on crack, my logic brain is sat there screaming at me that none of it makes sense, the emotions don’t make sense, just ignore them, ignore them – WHY CAN’T YOU IGNORE THEM YOU SILLY CRAZY PERSON!?!

And it’s beyond humiliating not being able to because I feel like someone sent down to central casting for a crazed Malkavian and I showed up as a perfect match. That’s just embarrassing. Beloved has been in full mad person management mode which must be exhausting.

 I used to be much better at handling the epic mood swings, I’m pretty sure (actually, Beloved tells me I really really wasn’t – but self-delusion is all). I think a combination of the truly irritated logic brain and sheer embarrassment is helping ride the waves a little more.

 At least one advantage is that Beloved knows his way around my bad brain chemistry and isn’t trying to calm down the hypers or cheer up the sads and we have our old pattern of “oh look you appear to be having a bugnuts moment, let’s pretend it isn’t happening until it passes, or ruefully acknowledge it in a vaguely embarrassed way” kind of like if someone’s flies were undone or they had spinach in their teeth.

 I’m quite sure therapy blokey won’t endorse that as a coping mechanism.

 Put this down as reason #90796 that I need my pills, I guess. It is pretty cheap entertainment though - after all, how can you be bored like this?



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So, being on twitter and generally avoiding facebook, I generally get to see a lot of memes that have lots of pithy information in a short phrase. Some of them really work, are really witty and really clever.

And some of them set my teeth on edge. These are some that get on my last nerve
Everyone is Born/Inherently Bisexual
I get it, the idea that there are a lot of people with minor or even major attractions to the same sex but also have attraction to the opposite and so ignore the former is definitely a possible.
But while there is certainly a lot of question as to exactly how many people there are out there who are various degrees of bi or pansexual, everyone is not bisexual and doing so creates an erasure that is every bit as unacceptable and annoying as prevalent bi-erasure. Aside from anything else, combatting bi-erasure with the idea that actually everyone is secretly a member of their identity doesn’t strike me as ideal either since it’s another backward form of erasure (after all, if everyone is bi, then why use a word to define anyone as bi?)
As a gay man, I am attracted to men. I am emphatically NOT attracted to women and it’s one of the many many many annoying things that give me headaches when, for some bemusing reason, straight people try to find the one woman somewhere, somehow, in whatever situation that I would willingly have sex with. There isn’t one because I’m gay, not bi.
I’m not Gay as in Happy, I’m Queer as in fuck you
I’m all for us ditching some of the happy. I think we, as a community, have been so desperate for acceptance for so long that we have more than a little problem with fawning over any straight person who is willing to say even remotely nice things about us. Time and again we give headpats and cookies and praise to people who have done sod all and we really need to stop that shit.
I saw over the weekend someone describe the situation as this: Someone breaks into your house, beats you up and steals your shit – then they begin to give you your stuff back slowly, item by item. Do you say thank you and praise them?
This is the situation of GBLTQ rights and it’s something I’ve said before. We are not being given or awarded our rights. Our rights are being wrongly denied, not generously given.
So I’m all for some anger. We definitely need some more anger, some more of that fuck you, which I certainly have. I am angry, I am furious – and I am gay.

Read More

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I’ve been absent over Easter, that’s pretty much been intentional on my part. Not just because I like to do my own ceremonies in private, but also because this is not a holiday I enjoy and certainly not a holiday I feel comfortable sticking my head over the trenches for.

 Like many religious holidays, this is one where you can guarantee that the media is going to stick some microphones in front of a priest/vicar/bishop/other holy bloke and then repeat/reprint his words for the entire nation

 The holy words of holy blokes are generally pretty hateful. The organised churches of this country (and the vast majority of the world) have made no secret of the fact they’d rather I drop dead tomorrow and never miss a chance to launch another attack against us whenever more publicity comes their way. Whatever messages apply to whatever holidays, the one that is repeated on all of them is that their god loathes GBLT people.

 After years of hateful holy rhetoric that has only intensified as we fight for legal equality, I’m running on empty. Faced with a holiday of trying to play dodge-the-Christian on TV, the internet and more I decided to opt out of all of them as much as I am able and had a few days of silence, not answering the phone and not speaking to people. I particularly clung to Saturday where I went all day seeing and speaking to only GBLT people – I had knots untense in my muscles I never even knew I had.

 The problem I’ve found is, especially in the people around me and in my family, that Easter is one of those holidays where nominal Christians suddenly remember Christianity and put on 8 new layers of temporary religious gestures – and end up saying, supporting and doing shit that offends, angers, worries or scares me.

And, the sad thing is, overt displays of Abrahamic religions already worry and frighten me; I often regard them the same way I would bright colourful markings on a snake or hornet – be warned, here lies something that wants to fuck you up most royally. It’s become a reflexive flinch and doesn’t make for a quiet or easy time of life when there are religious holidays about and someone’s dug Lord Carey from the pit, AGAIN. C’mon isn’t there a limit to how many times you can raise the same zombie? Someone check the Monster Manual.

 So, I stayed in, I battened down the hatches and I relaxxxxxxxxxxxxxed. It reminds me how many months it’s been since I last had peace, I may have to do this more often.


sparkindarkness: (Default)

Been away several days and lo not slept for one of them. It seems I can't sleep alone any more.

Now that? That sounds all romantic and twee. Awww cannot sleep without the man I love, awwwww, how lovely, hearts and flowers and rainbows sweet sacchirine crap.

It is not! It means I am dependent on another person to have a good night's sleep (always an unlikely event anyway). Another person who persists in sleeping deeply whenever I have insomnia (regularly. And, yes he does it on purpose). Another person who MOVES during the night. Seriously, how can anyone sleep so deeply yet still explore every damn corner of the bed with flailing limbs at the same time?

Y'know, I should have been looking forward to several days of deep, restful sleep without the elbow-jabbing, blocked-drain-snoring, Everest-climbing, selfishly-having-good-sleep-while-I'm-wide-awake sleep monster next to me! But noooooo I am cursed to NOT be able to sleep in peaceful, blessed solitude; I'm now dependent on the sleep demon and his annoying "oh you're wide awake at 4:00am? Let me sleep like a blissfully, well rested saint next to you and mock you with my perfect circadian rhythms! AHA!"

Beloved accuses me of stealing the romance from things at times. The well rested are not allowed an opinion. Also, I can too blame him for his perfect circadian rhythms.

Of course, my diva immune system being what it is - absolutely impenetrable if its every whim is catered to, but go a couple of days with irregular food and sleep habits and it strops off in a huffy - I now have the lurgy. of course, this could be due to whatever evil poisons Beloved has brewed in the kitchen while I've been gone (he claims he did all the cooking. The pizza boxes in the bin tell me he's a liar, a dirty, rotten lying liar who lies. But still, he probably made sandwiches in there and, yes, he can create a disaster with a sandwich).

I, of course, blame Beloved for the lurginess. He claims it's love withdrawal. I am threatening to spread the love - and am most eager to do so, if he stands still long enough for me to breath on him.

Of course, being ill, you can expect me to handle this with my usual stoicism and enduring fortitude. Let the whining commence!
sparkindarkness: (Default)


Yes, I’m actually going to make some this year. I normally don’t bother because, well, why make promises you know you won’t keep so you can break them later and feel bad about it? What is this, emergency guilt reserves? “Hey, I don’t think I’m going to feel guilty enough in, about, mid-February, so I’m going make some promises I’ll break and ensure a bumper crop of guilty and feeling like a failure!”

 Besides, when I make ritual decisions to set my life on a new path, I do that at Imbolc.

 But this year I’m making some resolutions to CONTINUE. This fits my definition of Yule, celebrating life and self as it is in a defiant fire against the dark. That sounds like a cop-out, but these are things I need to continue that I know I will stumble on – because I already am doing.


So, I Resolve:

 To keep healing. I’ve made immense progress in putting my shattered mind back together this year, I want to keep going, no stopping, hiding or running.

 To keep the upper lip wobbly. No stiff-upper-lip enduring situations that are hurting my healing. No enduring what I can’t endure, no tolerating what I shouldn’t tolerate. I will ask for help when needed, not hope someone notices I’m drowning and throws a life line. I will remove myself from situations and places

 To not use booze as a not!coping mechanism.

 To wear my hair more as I want it in non professional settings. And stop playing they “should I cut it?” game.

 To remind Beloved of his many many flaws. At length. It’s good for him.

 To not feel ashamed for withholding trust, friendship or my company. I have no problem being suspicious, but I view it as a character flaw, which I need to work on

 To stop doing things and going places I know are going to annoy me, it’s like a scab I can’t stop picking, it’s silly and ridiculous.

 To not use my hermit tendencies and lack of trust as an excuse to avoid people I do trust and to hunker down and hide. In fact, I resolve to go out more. No, really.

 To remind Beloved of his many many flaws. At length. It’s good for him.

To remember that the family tree has thorns as well as flowers - and it needs to be less spikey before I climb it

 To not argue with someone who isn’t listening, to not repeat what I’ve already said (they ignored me the first time, what makes me think they’ll listen the second time?)

 To have fun and not feel guilty for it – nor feel I need to be “productive.”

 To scream at my damn ISP on a regular basis. In fact, let’s widen that so it sounds wiser: to stop ignoring things and hoping they will improve. Including the ISP. Which is still shit.

 To stop trying to multitask.

 To remind Beloved of his many many flaws. At length. It’s good for him.

 To avoid ALL online games, all gaming Apps, all MMOs, all browser games until I show I can handle them reasonably without becoming ludicrously hooked on them to the point when I’m playing without even enjoying them.

 To not have huge long absences on the blogs, twitter, or elsewhere.

To answer the damn emails, damn it. And no-one believes the whole “oh I didn’t get that email, that’s why I didn’t respond” excuse!


 Did I mention reminding Beloved of his flaws? Because I really need to do that.


sparkindarkness: (Default)


 Friends of mine had dramas that needed support. Beloved had to mine through some annoyances – he didn’t need support (I admire his strength that he rarely needs support, or perhaps his low concentration span that he is easily distracted from whatever’s troubling him) but since he’s always been my foundation and anchor I insist on being there to provide the support he doesn’t actually need.

 Work has been – yeah, the usual – and sleep has rounded up the insomnia in a row. And I went to Wales to see my brother which was a necessary break, but was also tiring (and wet. Very very wet – more on this later) and infected me with the dreaded lurgy.

And I’ve been working on a post that has been dragging for a while but is damn hard to write so saps my energy and leaves me all BLARGLE without getting it finished.

 So I’ve been away for a little bit, or on shallow posting.

 I meant to come back today and start blitzing things but ran full tilt into a “gay men have a tradition and culture of preying on underage boys” and decided to step back again and instead chase out some of the alligators before leaping back into the pool.

 I’ve pruned my flist, my RSS and blocked a few people on twitter (not so much of people I was following but of people who were being retweeted by people I was following and I wanted to go without seeing them in my feeds) and blocked a few IPS on sparkindarkness and a few other places. If I drop off the map somewhere I was previously present, it’s because I’ve left.

 It feels rather refreshing. I try to do a good clean out at least once every three months, I’m overdue.

 I will be getting to my now much shorter backlog shortly.

sparkindarkness: (Default)

Friday evening I had to pick Beloved up (his car is dead, again. I honestly have no idea what he does to his car – beats the engine with hammers I think) where he had decamped to a pub (Beloved doesn’t do waiting – which inevitably means if he’s ever waiting for you he will go do something or go to a pub and then you end up waiting for him). If there’s one thing I dislike more than straight pubs, it’s being in a straight pub when I’m driving so can’t drink. And if there’s one thing I hate more than that it’s being in a crowded straight pub when I’m driving so can’t drink.

 So I was sat there, drinking something caffeinated and dropping not-so-subtle hints that Beloved and his friend J need to finish their drinks so we can leave when one of the loud and not entirely sober group of older men next to us makes a comment about a paedophile who has been in the news lately – his comment including several anti-gay slurs, accompanied with general nodding. The group of not-entirely-sober younger men not far away agreed rather loudly and made many disparaging comments – about gay men not paedophiles (thank you homophobic media for constantly conflating the two).

Then group number three made jokes and more jokes and jokes tinged with violence and then…. Jokes which weren’t even jokes at all but were rather menacing.

 It’s at this point Beloved and I decide we did not want to be there. It was also at this point that J decided she wanted to speak up.

 There followed a brief whispered argument in which we said if we wanted to commit suicide we’d make the choice ourselves, thanks; and we didn’t appreciate her nominating us for Gay Martyr to Hate Crime #7889675764746 and #7889675764747. Counter of needing to speak, to reject this crap while we pointed out we also would like to remain in once piece and I already have enough scars and a trick knee, I don’t really need to add to the collection – and if a pub full of violent homophobes realised we were gay, we were the ones spending the nights in the hospital. And we left, refusing to argue any more, leaving her the choice of speaking up without us in the room, following us, or arguing with our rapidly retreating backs. She followed.


But the car journey that followed was less than pleasant and contained an awful lot of me counting to 10.  But she was in full on lecture mode about the need for visibility, how these opinions need challenging, how gay people should be able to go anywhere and feel safe yadda yadda yadda “I totally need to yell 101 stuff at gay guys who won’t play grand heroic martyr for me” with a side order of how brave X Y Z gay person was who stood up loud and proud at the Westboro Baptist church flamethrower and bible verse convention. And a firm belief that everyone was just talking shit and would totally have backed down if they’d been called on it., they were egging each other on and a reality check would have probably embarrassed them.


I dumped her on the pavement outside her house in ringing silence after Beloved (for once – and thankfully because I don’t like telling his friends when they’re being arseholes) was the one to snap and adamantly refuse to listen to another damn word and turn the radio up high when she tried to continue.

 Needless to say this lead to a rather shitty feeling Saturday. Between logic and guilt – and always that sense that, yes there are some fantastically brave, heroic people out there past and present who have rose above far worse than this; but it’s not failure not to be a damn superhero. There’s no shame in trying to be safe and you don’t make a safe space by spilling lots of blood somewhere until it mystically becomes safe and, even if it does feel shaming or like failure or cowardice, sometimes you have to run. The first rule of any overwhelmed force is picking your battles. I’ve been beaten before, and burned and had bones broken – it doesn’t solve anything. There’s not a mystical amount of pain we can suffer that will suddenly make things better, a number of hospital hours you can clock up to gain an achievement.

 And the police? I can see it now – I’ve seen it before - “your mouthy friend was giving them attitude and they retaliated let’s file it in the big section entitled ‘no-one gives a fuck’”. It’s not like they particularly give a fuck about anti-GBLT violence anyway – especially not when someone gives them a gold plated “they were asking for it” excuse (an excuse that applies to anything from “brushed past him in a crowd” to “held eye contact too long” to “look at what he was wearing!”)

 Shouldn’t be that way? Yeah – “shoulds” are all very well and good, but “is” is what we live with.

 The weekend has been brought to you by lots of booze, lots of cake and lots of angry baking and curtains that haven’t been opened for several days, because sometimes the world needs to stay out there.




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April 2015

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