Haptalaon @haptalaon@pagan.plus

When I was in my early 20s, I lived in a room with clutter all over the floor, too anxious to buy storage; and one of my friends - who turned out, in the fullness of time, to be evil - helpfully nudged me into like, shopping for one of those basics clothing rails; but I couldn't stop thinking of what I really wanted. Anyway, I remember them saying "just get a clothes rail, you've got your whole life in front of you to collect 'pieces' ". I found an affordable 1940s wardrobe, with embroidered handles and a key and little metal tubs inside the doors labelled 'camphor'; I learned how to assemble and dismantle it myself and lugged this gorgeous thing (that deserved a better owner) from house to house to house; and that promised time has never come, that rest-of-my-life where I will collect nice furniture. It's a stupid thing to care about, in a way; but to be surrounded by persistent ugliness and cheapness is oppressive and it wears you down.

Weird, unnameable emotions about having been so close to disaster-poverty for so many years - and then somehow, through compromises and luck, be abruptly out of it and like contemplating buying some absolutely beautiful furniture, the sort of furniture which says "I will never be homeless again, for see! I have furniture 'pieces'"; and this weird dual sensation of looking at it like on the one hand, oh god I've had enough, I just want to treat myself and be in a space which says Permanence; and on the other, feeling the expense burning a guilty hole of "but what if things get bad again?" and a second guilty hole of "you know people are struggling, and that should have been shared"; because this is how so much horror is justified, from the largest scale to the smallest: "it's ok if i do this because i deserve it, and i've earned it, and that comes above what we owe to one another, and that comes above the material needs of people in danger - who aren't my responsibility, and I really do deserve this wanton luxury"

anyway, ive bought a 1930s grandfather clock

One of the nice things about queerness is deciding what things are going to mean; for example, the discomfort at the gym about maybe being looked at, vs the subversive queer pleasures of going to the gym specifically to look and be looked at. I've got my headphones in, I'm pretending it's 1970-something, pretending what I really want is everybody having a peep.

Arghhh got bit by the dog again arghhhh he is a hard fluffy butt to love

Project update: I've put my trousers to one side. To do this well - even in the cheap fabric - I need linings and stay tapes and there's no point in half-assing it. So I'm going to try and finish my previous art-project expense first, and let that be the justification for buying materials for this.

Reportedly, taking testosterone drives your libido into overdrive (or at least, makes it into a male-pattern libido that's intrusive and prominent, instead of the subtle strangenesses of a female libido), and it's one of the first side effects to come up. Unsurprisingly, I haven't been looking forward to this.

But I've been two weeks now, and I'm sort of sitting oddly with - it couldn't be, surely - because that's yet to occur, and I feel so settled and good in my body and good in my soul.

My relationship to asexuality has always been fraught; i've identified in and out of it a lot, responding to whether or not i feel like that's the best framework for explaining what's happening for me. But I'm wondering if, by some bizzare turn of events, getting my hormone balance right is the thing that allows me to settle affirmatively into an asexual place - despite the tendency of T to give one a teenage horn. Not going to speak too soon, but absolutely Fascinated.

That said, I've found myself quite desperately missing tumblr recently; the specific tumblr vibe, being around people sharing their arts and crafts, the people I was in-proximity-to (who feel like friends, but are not friends, but were nevertheless people in my life for a long time). It's sad, I miss it like a place I no longer go - maybe like missing a bar; but like, having had this thought I immediately spent like, nine solid hours archive-binging, and did not eat or sleep and *that's why I'm not the fuck on tumblr* (and it also brings out the worst in me over time, just oversharing and discourse). But maybe it'd be nice to be somewhere familiar and around familiar things again?

I hate how "bodied" sewing is, like you've got to stand! and move! and flex! and exist within your skin! repeatedly at different stages. Nightmare.

I'm having the same problem with The Lighthouse as I had with The Terror, because I keep thinking "oooh that looks nice and cosy, tiny house with bunks in an isolated location" 😂

(but then, I do watch The Shining as a comfort film to pretend I'm in the hotel for a while, so...)

Pros&cons: real fabrics
> Professionalism
> It'll look more authentic
> I can try real techniques
> expensive

Pros&cons fake fabric:
> I have the stuff right here today
> I can use real fabrics for my v2 at lower risk
> I...really don't like the authentic pattern, I think it looks bad; but maybe it looks better in wool? Or maybe it just looks bad and I need to trust my eye?

I now have a pattern for Victorian men's trousers! Next step, aside from writing it up for others, is to decide whether to do a v.1 in wool & real interlinings, or a v.1 in whatever fabric I have around...

Dear gender diary, 72 hours on HRT and today I have discovered that water has a taste. It is horrifying. One must suffer for beauty.

Oh man, dog trouble at bedtime again :/ he gets too stressed and tired to go into his box and just becomes a bitemonster.

Taking stuff that changes your neurology is so freakin weird, like you can suddenly feel this extra capacity which previously you had to be fiercely protective of; but you have none of the habits to make use of it. It's like...maybe...maybe I don't have to spent the whole day on twitter? Maybe I could...leave bed? and you suddenly feel like a dormouse awakening in the springtime, anxious about the light outside your leaf-pile.