greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,
greygirlbeast
greygirlbeast

The problem is, of course, the humans.

Yesterday. Like a bruise. Like a smudge. Like a stain. I don't know. While I was trying to get my LJ entry posted, fighting the headache and fear of The Red Tree, the wireless decided to go belly up (second time since we've been here), and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. By three o'clock, it was evident that no writing would be done, and that I was becoming far more than merely agitated. I was, in fact, livid. Over more things than I can here list, but let's pretend it was all because of the damned wireless (both the router and modem were fine, the trouble was on the service provider's end of things). Spooky ordered me to get dressed, shoved some pills in my mouth, and dragged me downstairs to the car.

We headed towards Tiverton, in eastern Rhode Island, across the bay, because I need a new athame, and there's a witchcraft shop over there somewhere we'd not checked out. It's even harder to sit in a car when one is livid than to sit at this damned desk. I plugged the iPod into the cassette adapter, and closed my eyes and listened to Radiohead (Hail to the Thief), while Spooky tried to follow the very questionable directions the shop owner had given us. I closed my eyes and listened to the wheels of the car, to the regular, metronomic pulse of pain behind my eyes and Thom Yorke. At some point, I realised we should have reached Tiverton long since, and asked Spooky where we were. She replied we were someplace called Warren, heading south towards Bristol. Which was wrong. Not the way to Tiverton at all. Getting lost in Rhode Island is just stupid. As in, almost impossible. So, I said screw Tiverton, and we headed west again, back through Providence and then down to Wickford. Now, Wickford is a beautiful town, situated on an inlet of Narragansett Bay. All antique shops and tall sail boats. My nerves were calming a bit, though the pain wasn't going anywhere.

Spooky wanted to check out a shop there called The Grateful Heart. But, as it turns out, the place was much more airy-fairy, fluffy-bunny Paganism than anything Wiccan. Still, I needed sage and frankincense (having used a great deal at Beavertail on the Soltsice), and I thought just maybe they would have the athame I'm looking for. The clerk asked if she could help me, and I asked where the athames were kept. She looked at me with a very confused expression. "The what?" she asked. And, I swear to gods, I almost said, "Are you fucking with me?" She blinked a few times, and I said, "Double-bladed dagger, black handled...?" She blinked again and said, "Oh, yeah...those." They didn't have a single one, and I'm still not sure she knew what I was talking about. But it's the sort of place that does aural photography (yes, that's what I said), so what can you expect. I read over a chart explaining the meanings of all the various colours of auras, displayed next to examples of their fuzzy aural photographs. They were all good, all happy. No bad auras. I threatened to have mine photographed, and when they told me that whatever colour they randomly assigned me, whatever happy fucking colour —— orange, purple, red, periwinkle, salmon, avocado —— I'd say that just couldn't possibly be right, not with me being a serial-killing mass murderer who eats baby foetuses and all. Spooky wouldn't let me. Killjoy. I do not have a happy, shiny aura. I refuse. On general fucking principle. I did pick up a small sculpture of Morrigan, however, that I'd been wanting. I desire to know the colour of the Morrigan's aura, please.

We tried to visit another shop called The Herb Wyfe, but it was closed. Probably for the best.

A quick stop at Whole Foods for groceries, then back home, where we still had no internet. There was a Cox truck on our street, messing around with the lines, but by the time Spooky got down there, it was gone. She called Cox, to see if there was an outage in our area, but she was told that information could only be given out to the account holder (our landlord). What the holy goddamn fuck? This inspired a new wave of anger and headache, and Spooky fed me another Valium. I fell asleep on the sofa, after finishing Chapter Three of the Triassic book. I'd tried to start Chapter Four. I awoke almost an hour later, and Spooky fed me spicy stir-fry (beef, with white mushrooms, pea pods, tomato, garlic, ancho chili, ginger, Tellicherry black pepper, cayenne, galangal, lemon grass, paprika, red curry paste, basil, and cilantro) and iced tea.

I did a few hours of Second Life after dinner. I was very hungover (still am), and the rp was touch and go. Mostly, I have realized that, once again, I'm spending far, far too much time in SL. At least in Atlanta, I had an excuse. Boredom. That excuse doesn't work here. So, cutting back as of today. I can has SL (Ceiling Cat says so), but only just so much. I did, however, get a couple of good shots of Labyrinth, the godthing that exists now in the space where Nareth once existed (NOT WORK SAFE). They're not as good as the photos that blu_muse takes, not even close. Not even as good as Spooky's screencaps (she's getting good). Anyway, that was the train wreck called last yesterday. May it rot in hell. Photos (clouds from Spooky's birthday) and screencaps behind the cut. Oh, and any comments on the new Sirenia Digest would be very welcome today. Oh, and a big thank you to omegamorningsta for playing "Want" (Recoil) and "Destroy Everything You Touch" (Ladytron):











The hot one on the left is Vish.



You can sort of get some sense of Labyrinth's rather vast wingspan here. And her lousy posture. Ancient cosmic voids personified as vampires are allowed to have lousy posture.

Tags: games without frontiers, lost days, not-writing, rhode island, second life, the red tree, wicca
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