Café Miao

Today I went to a cat cafe, the first of its kind in Copenhagen (and, I think, all of Denmark).

It's called Café Miao, owned by Miao Hansen.

It was heaven.

"Lego is a girl who is 6 years old. She loves the tall scratching post, and hates to be hunted. Purrsonality: loves to cuddle people but is a little reserved towards cats."

"Stoffer is a boy who is 6 years old. He loves rolling around on the floor and sleeping, and hates to be scratched on his belly or carried around. Purrsonality: likes to get scratched on the head."

"Panter is a boy who is 3 years old. He loves sniffing shoes and hates noise. Purrsonality: talkative, dominant, jealous."

Granted, it's a simple place. The decor is simple, and it gives it a bit of an unfinished feeling. The menu is simple, but the hot chocolate and ice cream I had were delicious. But really, you're there for the cats.

Here I am getting acquainted with Lego:

She's really sweet but lazy in the heat—understandably so.

Keep hydrated, Lego!

Panter is a handsome devil, but not quite as social as Lego. He let the customers love on him for a bit before trying to get some peace and quiet.

I just wanna boop that widdle nose!

Stoffer came out for a bit (against his will), but if you wanted to pet him, you had to work for it.

Soon he disappeared back into the pussycats' private lounge after hanging out here for a bit, tempting me.

Åse, the newest addition, spends all her time on this top shelf, getting a feel for her new home.

Before we left, I got a little more time with Lego.

I heard they're getting two new kitties on Monday, so I have a feeling I'll be back next week! ;)

"...Mother Mary calls to me..."

Sometimes, especially when I'm having a rough time, I miss church.
No, not quite. I miss the idea of church. I miss what I always expected church to be.

I was raised Christian, and it's still ingrained in me to turn to God when I need help.
Now if only it would actually help. It's always been--at best--ALMOST enough to help. Of course, then I'm left with a nagging hole that feels not just empty like before, but like a vacuum. It's like God and the church and the fellowship I was supposed to find there was all a tease and it feels like a cruel trick.

I'm so happy for those that ARE fulfilled by God and the church and all that can come with it; it sounds amazing. I got a taste of that at the Unitarian Universalist fellowship in Corvallis; you could believe anything you want and be whatever kind of person you were and live whatever lifestyle you love and they would not just accept it, but celebrate it. There, "God" was in the love we gave to each other.

And then I moved. Ten years later, here I am, searching for peace of heart and unconditional love and acceptance and coming up short. I feel like I should be able to find it in myself, but...

Ah, well. That's what kitties are for, right?

Edit: Oops, the lyrics in Let It Be are really "Mother Mary comes to me". I like my version better. ;P

Home

It's been so nice to spend time at Mormor's house before leaving for Denmark. It is comfort. It is love. It is home.

On my way to Israel, we had a stop at the Copenhagen airport. I felt the pull of my family's country. It felt like home, and I didn't want to continue to the next flight.

This time I get to leave the airport and go home for the first time.

We leave for the airport in an hour.
But first thing's first... Time to watch General Hospital. ;)

OMFG ROLLER DERBY

LAST NIGHT FISH TOOK ME TO SEE ROLLER DERBY FOR MY FIRST TIME AND IT WAS AWESOME

/capslock

...breathe...

But seriously, yo. It was really cool. Watching kickass girls from MY town beat kickass girls from somewhere that isn't MY town, I felt the closest thing to patriotism I've ever experienced.
It was the Axles of Annihilation (of the Rose City Rollers) vs the Wasatch Bone Crushers, and we won 263 to 101!

BAM!
photo from http://regularman.smugmug.com/

At first, I was pretty confused, because everything happens really fast and there's a lot going on. Luckily, Fish is a derby ref, so he patiently explained everything to me! I caught on, and by the end I mostly followed it. I had the important parts down, anyway. ;)

#601: Slay Miserables - you will find her portrait in the encyclopedia under "fierce"!
photo from http://www.flickr.com/photos/funfrank/

#4 (from the other guys): Squid Vicious - adorable and FAST!
photo from http://regularman.smugmug.com/

#808: Yoga Nabi Sari - also adorable and FAST!
photo from http://regularman.smugmug.com/

After the bout, I was crazy, pumped, and giggling like a maniac.

Derby, you've got a new fan.

Stabilizing.

Things are getting better. More importantly, things are feeling better. (Sometimes things can be fine but not feel fine, and that's just as bad as things not being fine, although not quite as bad as things not being fine but feeling fine anyway. That's just dangerous.) I'm not feeling quite as much self-hatred, although I did struggle with some paranoia this morning. I got through it though.

I wish my sleeping schedule would normalize. I bet that would help.
It probably doesn't help that I haven't been sleeping in my bed.

This is where I slept last night:

I know you're jealous...

Usually all of those pillows and blankets stacked up on the right are spread out a little more, either piled into roughly the size and shape of a bed or strewn across the entire apartment for sit-your-butt-down-anywhere Roman lounging. I had stacked them as compactly as possible to make room for my massage table yesterday, but I still insisted on sleeping on that thin strip of cushions rather than my queen size bed. I will likely do the same tonight.

-----------------

So! I got a very exciting piece of mail today!

I got my first letter from Diego, the child in Guatemala that I am sponsoring.

"Hello Dear Miss Wiebenson,
Thank you very much for choosing me as your sponsored child. I hope this letter finds you healthy along your family. I want to thank you for all you have done for my support. Your support is so useful for me. I have overcome many economic situations to live happy. Let me tell you that I help at home. I close with so much love.
Diego Felix Gonzalez Suar"
Or at least that's what the translators say it says. ;)

Also, he drew me a picture!

The next 8 years are going to be awesome.
I'm going to work on my reply tomorrow. :)

Angry depressed ranting.

I just had the following conversation with myself, out loud:
"Do your taxes, Martha!"
"No! I don't wanna!"

You see, I'm experiencing this right now. Also this. It's a bad combination. I am managing to do the very basics to not get fired/evicted/kicked out of writers' group, but that's pretty much it. I am sure I'll get my taxes done on time because my fear of the consequences of not doing so is I'm sure greater than the dangerous emotional cocktail I have going on that's making me fail at life right now.

Oh god, I smell smoke.
And apparently I'm paranoid.
Back to it, Martha!
Shut up, they'll think you're crazy!
Seriously though, I smell smoke.
It's probably not the apartments burning down.
Shut up.

I don't know how much my current emotional state is due to brain chemistry or how much it is just the self-inflicted trials of life getting to me.

There are people who love me and care about me and I know everybody fucks up sometimes, but it doesn't seem to matter. I'll get self-abusive mentally and physically, which just makes me feel crazier and like nobody should love me or care about me because I'm just too much goddamn trouble. I feel like I should just go away. I don't mean suicide, necessarily. Mostly just social suicide. Stop talking to people on the internet or in person. Just go to work to make money to live and go home. If you don't interact with people, you can't hurt them and they can't hurt you.
Just barely exist until you don't.
I was crossing a street... yesterday? day before? I don't know anymore... and I didn't look first. It was no big deal; I knew that street almost never had traffic. But still I scolded myself for a moment until I realized that I kind of didn't care right then that I didn't die. I knew it was selfish and stupid and that I should care about the pain it would cause other people if I died; you know--those people I mentioned who love me and care about me and DO care whether or not I get hit by cars.

I still smell smoke.

I don't even know what I'm getting at, here. I've already thought several times about just erasing all of this, but now that I don't have someone dictating what I should or shouldn't say or feel, I'm going to try to get back to this being unfiltered expression because that's what this whole thing is supposed to be for.

It's really ironic; I have a mental block about keeping a journal, because I have never had a private journal remain private. Someone always feels like they have the fucking right to look in it for whatever reason. No thoughts to myfuckingself. Can't keep a journal but I'm fine making a public blog. Whatever.

I hate self righteousness.

I need a hug but I don't feel like I deserve one.

I don't smell smoke anymore. I guess someone put the fire out.

Good riddance.

Life sure is crazy.

I've been going through changes. Moving to Portland was a huge step for me toward trying to make my life MY life. I've been doing new things and getting back to old things and generally trying to take better care of myself.

Things didn't go the way I knew they should have.

I was supposed to get out of the unhealthy relationship I was in.
I did, but it took way too long and it didn't happen the way it should have. I'm still kicking myself about it.

Looking back on that relationship, I'm scared. Note to self: if someone has to work that hard at convincing you that they aren't manipulating you, when it seems to you and everyone else that they are... they are.
I think it's pretty common knowledge that I was not perfect in that relationship. I did a lot of stupid things that hurt quite a few people.
But that's just it... it was stupid, not outright manipulative. I had crazy boundary issues, it turns out. And I would panic when I got caught making stupid mistakes and I would then lie to try to save my ass. These are stupid things that just cause more trouble.
But again... "stupid"... not manipulative to control situations and people and achieve a certain end, and certainly not mean.
I have had it wished on me that I be with someone like me. (To clarify, this is meant as a bad thing.) I think in that scenario I would be very understanding. I know how much it hurts to mess up and disappoint your partner and yourself. The difference is the heart behind it. I want to be better. I don't want to hurt people. I would recognize that in "someone like me" and try to help. What I can't handle is my partner being truly manipulative and spiteful and mean... things like calculated statements and actions meant to drive barbs into my most sensitive feelings... things like being "led from behind", causing me to make decisions that I had to say I came to on my own when really I didn't feel like I had any other choice... things like what I experienced over the last several years and just took... because I was the bad one and I deserved it.
I've gotten a bit better. I'm better with boundaries and I'm better with honesty and I'm better with thinking things through. I'm still not doing great at those things, but definitely better. Maybe I just needed better motivation. Maybe I needed different environment.

I have a lot of work to do still, and I'm still being stupid and hurting myself and others. I am grateful to see that I am changing a bit, though.

Moreover, I'm grateful to be able to start putting the last several years behind me. I think that's helping a lot.

So good riddance.
On to bigger and better things.
Hopefully I won't mess those up.
Hopefully I haven't already.

God, I'm scared.

Tattoo!!

So yesterday was my birthday, and I got a freakin' tattoo! I've been wanting it for a while now, and I decided it was time. I went to Xavier Darling (who really is quite darling; I loved him immediately) at Black Hole. It didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it was going to. I didn't cry or faint; my hands got clammy but that was it.

The scene.

The stencil.

The process. (The ink was a mix of deep red, light brown, and black, and the stencil was purple. This combination of factors made the process look much gorier than it was. No worries. :) )

The final product.

Damn straight, small but mighty.

Get out the time machine...

You know how sometimes people ask silly questions like "if you could go back to any point in your life but retain the knowledge you have now, what would you do"?

I was thinking about that tonight.

I would go back to 15. I started dating when I was 15, and that's when everything went wrong.

This probably won't make sense to people who don't know me very well, but I bet you can get the gist:

I would go back and tell 15 year old me that even though I'm allowed to date now, I should wait until I find a quality guy rather than dating the first guy that would have me. I would say, "Pay attention to your feelings. You hate Travis. Don't date him! Wait for Jonas. He's sweet."

Then when dating Jonas, I would tell myself to not break up with him, but to communicate about how I feel so maybe things can get better.

Then, if life still progressed the way it has, I would tell myself to stay the fuck away from Tino. From there, I'm sure life would be MUCH different.

Speaking of which, May 11th this year will be 10 years since Tino raped me. This really brings home to me that I was such a child at the time. It makes me sad. Of course, all rape is sad.
You know the good thing about this year, though? On May 11th, I will be in FREAKING DENMARK. With any luck, I won't even remember what day it is.

Life is horrible and beautiful. Both aspects make me cry.

Whisper Of The Heart

Tonight at writers' group I will receive feedback on my first submission to the group. I submitted a short story about being nervous about writers' group, and then as something extra, I submitted the first three chapters of my novel that I'm putting on hold to write the cooler one.

I'm freaking out and trying not to freak out.

The movie Whisper of the Heart acts as wonderful encouragement to me when I'm trying to write. I should just have it playing on repeat in my apartment.

"No one should expect perfection when they're first starting out."

[offers a geode] "Take a look."
"It looks like a rock."
"It's a special kind of rock called a geode. Hold it close to your eye and look inside." [holds a light behind the geode to illuminate the crystals]
"Wow, look at that..."
"Those crystals are called beryl; there are pieces of raw emeralds deep inside them."
"Aren't emeralds worth a lot of money?"
"Sure, but they need to be cut and polished first. When you first behind an artist, you are like that rock. You are in a raw, natural state, with hidden gems inside. You have to dig down deep and find the emeralds tucked away inside you. And that's just the beginning. Once you've found your gems, you have to polish them. It takes a lot of hard work. Oh, and here's the tricky part: look at the crack in the geode. You see that big green crystal there? You could spend years polishing that and it wouldn't be worth much at all. The smaller crystals are much more valuable. And the may be some even deeper inside that we can't see, which are even more precious."
"What if I look inside myself and I don't find any gems? What if I'm just a rock? ...I'm going to try anyway."

"I'm glad I pushed myself. I know myself better now."

It's time to admit it.

I've recently stopped writing my novel. I still plan to finish it; I'm just so much more excited about my other idea for a novel.

Also, as much as I hate this, I was looking over some questions to ask yourself about your writing. I did great with most of them, but when I asked myself, "Why should the reader care?" I couldn't come up with anything. Still can't.
I realized I'm being stubborn; I have the mentality of "I like it so everybody else should too!" I think this is just because I like the WAY I'm writing it. I think, to a point, all aspiring writers really like their writing style. We're told to get rid of our ego, but what's the joy in writing when you're supposed to think you aren't good enough?

Anyway, with my other novel that I have now started, I feel confident in my answers to all of those questions. So, I'll work on this, then come back to the other and see if there is any way to salvage it.

Superpowers and Handicaps

It's interesting how little things can affect you so much.

When I'm walking around listening to fun music on my ipod, I sing along and dance and I don't care who sees and hears. If I try to be that carefree without the false invisibility and security and ego boost my headphones pump into me, well... it's a different story.
I know it's just a mental thing, which means I coils conceivably get over it, which would feel like a superpower all on its own.

I've also been acutely aware lately of my actual physical handicap that I can't do anything about: my eyes. Just in case anyone doesn't know, I can only see out of one eye at a time, which means I don't have stereoscopic vision (ie: depth perception, I don't see the world in 3D,  I can't tell how far things are away from me).
What all that means is that the only way I can really KNOW something's place in space in relation to me is by touching it (which is called proprioception).
I notice problems from this the most at work, when I am draping/undraping an arm or leg. If the client decides to "help" by lifting their limb themselves, if they lift it out of my grasp, it's like I am suddenly blind. I have no clue where the limb is or where to put the sheet or anything. It's really frustrating. :/

Money well spent...

The other day I was walking around downtown. As I passed several stores, I looked at the window displays, thinking about things I wished I was able to buy.
Someone on a street corner addressed me with a big smile, and I thought for a moment that maybe we'd met and I just didn't remember. I stopped and greeted him, and it turned out I didn't know him. I figured he was taking a survey or collecting signatures for a petition or some such thing.
He was with Children International. He didn't show me pictures of teary-eyed children in rags, and he didn't tell me any sob stories; I didn't need them. He told me the facts: what most of the countries they work with are in need of, what their organization does to help, how the supporter's money is used, etc. He told me that sponsoring a child was $7 per week and asked if I could afford to / would like to sign up to sponsor a child and help give them a better chance for the future.
I thought about it, and I realized that $7 per week is easily covered by one bad tipper per week. I thought about all the nice things I'd wanted (but didn't need) to impulse-buy. I decided that this would be a much better use of my money.
So I signed up.
You can choose the gender, age bracket, and country to select your child from. I chose "no preference" for all of them, and checked the box for choosing a child on the emergency list.
So, I would like you to meet my child, Diego Felix Gonzalez Suar. He is 11 years old and lives in Guatemala. I will sponsor him until he graduates from the Children International project when he is 19.

Words, words, words!

I've been bombarded by words lately! This is no bad thing.

I've been writing, although I haven't written much since something a bit traumatic happened two weeks ago.

Luckily, I had other people's writing to read and proofread! It acted as a bit of a "reset button". I feel ready to write again.

One was a vampire book by my friend Duncan; vampires aren't usually my thing, but I am enjoying this one, even though it's making me a little freaked out waiting at bus stops after dark. ;)

Otherwise, I have weekly submissions from a writers' group to read. Last Tuesday was my first time there, and I gotta say, I was intimidated. I always get nervous having people critique my writing, and the other members were pretty blunt to that week's writer. Not rude, but definitely blunt. She was noticeably nervous, and hadn't submitted since July. She kept putting herself down. I feel like I'm going to be like that. I decided with the prompt from Sunrise that my first submission will be a comedic short story grossly exaggerating my worst fears about writers' group. Hopefully it is well-received and will serve to gently let them know that I'm fragile.

Also, I want to start a club or something advocating the correct usage of words. I get so tired of words losing their meaning to people and being used when it really isn't appropriate.

What A Wonderful World

This morning my iPod alarm finally worked the way it was supposed to. For the first day in what will hopefully be a long string of days, I awoke at 6:45 to Louis Armstrong singing What A Wonderful World, followed by guided breathing meditation, followed by another round of What A Wonderful World.

It is a relaxing, positive way to start the day and I highly recommend it. I was more awake in the continuing morning, and felt better than usual throughout the day, with a few awesome bursts of creative inspiration. I may have even had less pain.

Suspense VS Predictability

How much foreshadowing is right?

I want to build suspense in my book and have a big twist at the end, but I started the book making it pretty clear that there's something up with the character that will have the twist.

I tend to worry when trying to make foreshadowing that the reader won't pick up on the subtle clues that are meant to increase their curiosity. However, I don't want to make it so obvious that the climax is... well, anticlimactic.

In my favorite old (1908) book, The Lure Of The Mask, there is a plot development that is pretty dang obvious. When the truth was revealed, rather than being shocked, I had the small but satisfying "I knew it" experience. Is it better to make the reader feel good about seeing what was coming or to give them the thrill of the Big Plot Twist?

Mortified.

Mortified is a really good word. It's a good word in general -- very colorful and strong. It's also a very good word -- perfect, in fact -- for how I'm feeling right now. My heart won't stop pounding and I'm nauseated and I wish I could just erase the last 24 hours from existence.
And no, I don't want to talk about it.

WTF, Snidely Whiplash?!

So, for some reason I was just thinking about what it would be like to be run over by a train. I think it started by my idly thinking about suicide. (No, I'm not suicidal, I just think about methods sometimes because I'm sick in the head I guess.) I was picturing lying down on the tracks, and would you put your head on a rail? Would the train slice right through you or would you die from being pushed/dragged along by the train? I imagined what it would look like to see a train coming right for your face. I imagined the mess. Then I remembered Dudley Do-Right from Rocky and Bullwinkle. The villain, Snidely Whiplash, is always compelled to tie women to train tracks. After picturing what would happen, I'm horrified by the thought of someone being murdered like that. And does Snidely like to wait and watch? What a sick bastard!

One of these days...

One of these days, I really have to unpack my books. It's just such a daunting task... exciting, but daunting. Maybe I'll do it after work tomorrow.
Yeah, yeah, "tomorrow"...

It's just, I'd rather write. Or read. Or write. XP
All of my time has been taken up with either writing or working or sleeping. I realized today at the end of my work day that I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the previous day. Oops.

And now I'm temporarily too sleepy to finish this post. :/

Working title!

So today with the prompting of my friend Aviel, I came up with a working title for my book!

Playing Games

Woo, this calls for more ice cream! I think I should take him out for sundaes at Back To Eden for the inspiration. ;D