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Sep. 3rd, 2016

I want a story about him as a little kid. With James and Sirius or not.

Saying that, any Remus is wonderful really.

Jul. 14th, 2016

I've had a bit of an issue over this whole Brexit thing. I am still struggling to sleep and I keep crying. I can't specify what it is I fear. I think instability. And isolation. I hate to think that we will be abandoned and loathed by the rest of the world. And also just lack of control. I didn't vote for any of this and yet I don't know how long I will be feeling the impact of it.

I need to sort myself out, for myself if not for my family and friends. I WILL.

Jun. 29th, 2016

I'm taking advantage of the calm I feel right now to post again about Britain.

It has been a very rough few days. I expect I don't need to tell you that the ramifications of leaving the EU are catastrophic. Our politicians, who are not as stupid as they seem, are all afraid to actually start packing their bags, as it were, but also afraid to tell 52% (supposedly) of the public 'No'.

I've been pretty downhearted about it, along with so many others. I have no other ancestry apart from English and Welsh so I can't get another passport. 5 million British people have Irish ancestry (hey, these islands aren't that big) and the poor Republic of Ireland is getting overwhelmed by panicked people assessing their chances of emigrating.

I'm not leaving. Whatever happens the country will need people to care for its sick and disabled and this is my calling. Things are bad for the disabled here. They might get worse. I need to stay.

Hopefully of course, the universal understanding among educated people that this is a massive fuck-up (sorry) actually means we'll sort things out. But who knows? We're in total instability here.

I hope Americans learn from this. Don't vote for something you don't actually want. Your compatriots will find it very hard to forgive you.

Anyway. I've been reading Les Mis. I took a break from obsessively reading the news (or rather, various commentaries on how to feel) tonight because it's depriving me of sleep and giving me RSI, and ended up writing a fanfic about Marius.

I identify with Marius. I felt like something died when my country voted Brexit. At the point where I am in the book he's very comfortably thinking that he will too. But I know he doesn't die, and neither does France.

And I won't die, and hopefully neither will the United Kingdom.
Those of you I've known for a while will know I am very into being a European citizen. I have been enthusiastic to learn languages since I was a child. I am fluent in French, I speak, say, intermediate Spanish (I haven't learned formally for years so I've lost comfidence), I've studied German to A1 level and I'm starting Portuguese and Italian.

I have worked in France and Spain. I've made friends from Ireland, France, Spain, Germany, Belgium, Italy, Poland, Lithuania, Bulgaria, and others. I. LOVE. EUROPE.

I was really hoping before I went to bed that the British public would see through the Leave Campaign's lies and realise that leaving the EU would not fix our serious problems with housing, education and health, and that cooperation is always better than isolation. It really seemed, especially after the tragic death of Jo Cox, that the mood was changing.

A lot of my generation felt strong ties to Europe. It has enriched our lives, especially coming from a country which does not care about our interests and in which a large proportion seem to be convinced it's still 1949.

Anyway, we were outvoted.

I haven't cried yet but I have felt like throwing up over the course of today. I'm heartbroken. I feel something more than shame. I feel disgraced to think that the Europeans I have loved and those I have yet to meet will assume I don't want to be associated with them.

The only thing that is cheering me up is the thought of aggressively pursuing my lifelong dream of pursuing a French man.

Maybe you think I'm being dramatic and ridiculous. Maybe I am. Well, it's been a long day.

Now for the love of God, let's not let Trump win too.

May. 24th, 2016

Coming up to four months. Still no work. I have been for five or six interviews no but no luck.

My positive thought for the day: At least I have no husband or children!

That's not usually my positive thought but things can really turn around.

May. 5th, 2016

Got an opportunity to be published in my writer's group's anthology. Being still unemployed, I have plenty of time to write.

So, suddenly my confidence is going 'Oh ho ho ho, are we sure any of this work is good enough? Really?'
I got made redundant from my job, and it has been nearly two months since my last day. I went travelling for three weeks, which was wonderful, and now I have been back for four weeks.

And I'm doing job applications, all of which are taking at least a day so I can make them as good as possible - but I haven't heard back from a single one of them. Not a 'no', just no reply.

So I get that good old feeling of 'Why aren't you doing more, how have you wasted so much time?'.

I suppose it doesn't matter if companies don't reply. If you don't get paid, your time isn't valuable, so why should they care about wasting it?

I did my teaching qualification so I wouldn't be in this position again. But my last position teaching was so horrible - I was working all the hours God sent, constantly under pressure from my manager, no formal support unless taking my hours counted, etc. - that I fear doing that would be compromising my mental health.

So it's a rock and a hard place for me, at the moment.

I also just hate the SHAME of it. All of my friends have jobs. I feel embarrassed to appear in front of them with still not even an interview achieved. I wonder what they think of me, you know, am I a loser now?

It's amazing how quickly you can go from a confident and happy person to a miserable, insecure one when you don't have a job.

Oh yes, and I wanted to do more writing, but lately I have focused more on job applications. But as I said, I got no replies, so writing would have been better.

Are you a machine?

Name: carnivalgirl
Title: Are you a machine?
Rating & Warnings: PG, some non-graohic and brief references to institutional violence
Summary: A young man in a Victorian sanatorium wakes up to a beautiful day. He would not want to be a machine. Except for certain times in life. 541 words
Note: prompt: Are you a machine? This one has a bit of a backstory. My writer's group had a prompt to 'Write your character in another historical era'. As the protagonist of my novella has Asperger's Syndrome, I thought it was possible he might have, in the 1800s, ended up in an asylum. After going some research I was pleasantly surprised to find that not all Victorian asylums were brutal, some were much more humane, as also features in a Sebastian Faulks novel that made a strong impression on me, Human Traces. I based his behaviour on what mine was like as a child, and if I hadn't had the chance to go to school or have support . I thought of Elizabeth as a loving sister, and whatever means she had, she would use as far as she could for him. So I write a story for that prompt, and then a continuation for this prompt. I wrote this quite quickly, so I apologise in advance for any inaccuracies or issues.


Are you a machine?Collapse )

Oct. 18th, 2015

I am still seeing the guy I went on that date with. Though I am not calling him my boyfriend yet. I'm hoping things can be nice and slow, because I'm really not confident at this sort of thing. I've been rewatching Miranda lately and finding representation.



He took me to his favourite comedian last week. It was OK but some of the jokes were offensive to me and I don't know if I should have said something.

It really bothers me actually. This comedian was making jokes about how everyone loves learning disabled people (who he called retards, of course) and they get to lead comfortable lives in their pyjamas.

I have seen this attitude in real life as well. The idea that people with these disabilities are spoiled as they have people to take them to the beach and restaurants and bowling in the middle of the week.

Yes the rest of us don't get someone nice taking us to the beach most of the time. But here's the thing. I can go to the beach if I want to, because I have a job that lets me pay for it, I can use transport independently to get there, I can make myself my own food to take with me, and all that time, I can keep myself safe without someone having to supervise me. Really, who is the privileged one?

I have been doing some writing lately too, mostly of my project for work, but also a little piece based on a prompt set by my writer's group. It was to put your characters in another historical era. So I did that with the characters of Social Change, and I will post it shortly.
I have been going to a writer's group in real space since February, and that has been really helpful in forcing me to spend time on writing. So far I don't think I have really pulled off anything fantastic yet but I am enjoying their prompts. At the moment we are doing a similar thing, writing the same character each week in different situations.

As for my novella, I am having a lot of thoughts on it. I wanted to expand it and make it into more of a story of a time as well as a single person, but whenever I try to write in the protagonist's expanded universe, as it were, it never comes off right. So it's a bit trial and error.