The White Queen

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Tonight’s post title is courtesy of a friend who remarked it should be my new nickname after I made a joke about cocaine and these are the sorts of people we are.

They are now regaling me with gifs of Mr. Tilney in Northanger Abbey.  Oh, mercy.

My dear friends have definitely been a source of comfort today after some edginess and spikiness that I can’t dwell upon because it does me no good.  They’ve been buzzing and via Twitter’s private messaging system, we have convened our witch’s coven and decided that we need to go and bay at the moon together and will be doing that in Seattle some time late spring next year.  All of a sudden, I feel an infinite quantity of hope.  Those ladies make me feel so delightfully delighted and maybe all of us will travel from all corners of the globe to meet again and break bread and sing songs (oh, god, I’d never, but some of them can sing) and I will probably be the only girl who would travel to Seattle – and possibly Vancouver and Portland – and not eat fish.

There is a woman from the old job who would probably shit a brick if she knew I went to Seattle where she now lives and didn’t tell her I was there, but it might just be too much cognitive dissonance to have to button up my sailing mouth and turn back into the sort of girl I was as she knew me.  This is also a woman who has sat and read my book of poetry with her husband and discussed it with him.  However, if I don’t mention it, I won’t be allowed to share pictures and talk about it with people on FB because shit spreads.  It would come back to bite me because she’s only invited me up there a half-dozen times.

Plus the sister may come.  I have to work that whole thing out…in terms of cognitive dissonance and otherwise. Make sure there’s room at the inn, but I do want her to have a proper vacation again.  We’ll see.  Flights are pretty cheap if I dare risk Expedia again to make use of my $100.00 coupon I sure better still have.  Nice to think about.

I have also been thinking about old posts.  I have dared to go back through them, culling them for any lines I am proud of for a purpose I have yet to decide.  It did inspire me to drive this morning and I am planning at the least to drive tomorrow morning as we have to do some insane tasks like going to collect a fur coat and possibly endeavoring to collect crepe paper.  More driving.  More, total, now.  No regression.  No accepting fear as normal.  Instead, we have to start pushing past the typical fear and remembering that I have been the kind of girl to go blazing down the street blaring Liz Phair.  Fuck, I need to go find my copy of Exile in Guyville and scream it.

 

 

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