Decisions

It would seem that the only time I blog these days is when I’m miserable. Don’t ask my why though, I just never get round to it other times.
Anyway, as those of you who know me on Plurk will recall, I’ve been having more trouble this autumn with local youths. It’s got me to the stage that I really can’t take living here any more. I can never relax in the evenings, I don’t sleep properly. Added to a job I can’t stand in a call centre, and it all makes for me being one stressed out girl.
So, I have all but decided to change, and go to London at the new year, and stay there. Money will be an issue, as will finding a new job, but it can’t be worse than this.
So, decisions need to be made soon. My job needs 4 weeks notice, so time is running out on me. I feel sick.

A while

It has been a while. August since my last Plurk, and things do happen. I’ve just not felt like writing, which probably says more about me than I’d like. Still, it is life, of a sort.

Freya came back. She came back days after I got the split. You  probably can’t imagine how I felt. Or maybe you can, I dunno. I’ve felt guilty as hell since. I wanted to go back, but it was too late, I think for both of us. We’re still friends, I hope, and in time, who knows.

Sometimes it’s too hard to bear, other times I rejoice in the freedom and new friends. Mostly, I am numb.

I stay home, I look to the past, and I am most certainly not the party girl I was once. But, the wheel turns, and what was dead lives, what was old is young again, and I remake myself.

Tonight I am heading to London, to friends who’ve always been there for me. Maybe even some new ones… and you never know, maybe Freya. I can hope.

But if not, I have a new family in SL. So I’ll be fine.

Tonight, I cry

Tonight is the night I give up about 5 years of my life. Tonight is the night my heart beats it’s last and becomes yet another piece of stone. Tonight is the night that my soul dies.

I’ve waited… I’ve wept… I’ve been a pain to some of my closest friends.

Last weekend was my 7th rezday. But last weekend was when I realised Freya was never coming back.

I’ve put our shared land (as much as I can) up for sale… If she ever comes back, I’ll split it with her.

Tonight is the night I asked Governor Linden for a divorce.

Tonight, I hate myself.

Tonight, the world changed… and not, whatever you say, for the better.

I got a linden home… where I am now, will be there…

Whatever…

I hurt

I really hurt a lot. My heart is lost and I don’t know where to turn.

I have decided to wait before I decide, certainly to my own rezday and maybe to Freya’s which will pretty much mark a year of no contact. Nothing will ease the pain, the guilt the feelings of betrayal (although I feel that goes both ways)… but it may at least help my sanity.

A very painful dilemma

We’re nearly half way through May, and it’s been a long time since I have been able to make contact with Freya. She’s not logged into Second LifeTM since last year, and it’s killing me. We’ve been an item for over 6 years, and that’s no easy thing to give up… in SL terms, it’s a lifetime.

Lately, I am embracing my submissive side, and becoming a living doll in SL. I’ve found a wonderful Mistress who treats me well, and plays with me as a toy. She’s also very devoted to her partner in SL, putting her before me, as she should. (If she didn’t put her partner first, then I don’t think I’d have stayed.)

Sooner or later, I will have to make a choice. I love them both, and I put Freya above everything. But I can’t wait for ever. On the other hand, I am covering some of her tier, and if we part, she loses that and probably loses her home. I would feel a LOT better if only I could talk to her to discuss selling some of it… at least that will minimise the damage, But it’s been 5 months. I went to Freya after my previous partner had been missing for less than 2.

So I have a dilemma. Whatever I do, people are going to be hurt. And I think I will be hurt either way.

I should really be thinking of myself. I have my transgender treatments to consider and I can’t afford to waste money on someone who’s not there, but… it feels so much like betrayal. I love my Freya. I love her more than I love myself. I love her more than life.

I feel abandoned!

I am a doll cast into a corner, a slave who grew old and ugly. My heart aches. I miss her so much.

I need … I need attention…

Someone please, tell me what to do, because I am so lost in emotion right now.

Spring update

It seems ages since I blogged anything here, so I think it’s time for an update, on a few things at least. I am kind of assuming that someone still reads this after a 2 or 3 month gap.

Anyway, it’s March 2nd. Last month was Freya’s 6th rezday – and she missed it. In fact, I’ve not seen her online anywhere since then either. I miss her loads and I hope she comes back soon. It’s not the same in SL without her (even if she thinks she’s boring). More, I hope she’s alright. Maybe just busy in RL.

On a personal and RL front, I’ve now been on my pills for 3 weeks. There’s no obvious effect yet but it’s early days and I’m watching closely. Work continues to be a pain in the arse. I seriously need a new one, and soon before I crack. If anyone knows of something, let me know – I’m almost desperate enough to consider LL!

I’ll be in London again soon, for 10 days over the May bank holiday. It would be nice to meet any fellow SLers who are in town then, so get in contact (here, SL or plurk) and we can sort something out. There’s lots of time. This means you, Locum and Vint!

So anyway, here I am on another frozen day in Cardiff, depressed and lonely again. Even SL doesn’t help. I log in and stay at home chatting in IMs. Last night, even someone tp’ing in was enough to drop my frame rate to 1 or lower and send sim-ping up to 5000 or so. Certainly enough to make me freeze and get unresponsive.

Someone come and take me away from all this, please.

Winter Solstice

Today, around these parts at least, is the shortest day of the year. Last night, the longest night. It is also our first day of snow this winter, and a fairly heavy fall of snow we had too. Certainly enough to keep me home from work.  I wouldn’t have dared to risk it on my bike, and the buses were cancelled. Who knows what the afternoon will bring.

Though, as always… it does look nice.

Remembering

Before I start, this is not a Second Life post. Just thinking as I get older.

I’m not usually one to get sentimental on rememberance day, I don’t even wear a poppy. I am completely against war in all it’s forms. But, as I think, I wonder how many of those poor souls lost in wars past and present felt the same way, and yet went anyway? There’s no way I can understand their reasons, no way I can know what was in their minds.

The world wars are what we think of today for the most part and that is fitting of course. They went to defend us all, to fight to protect their country. Some went because they wanted to fight, some went because they thought (or were persuaded) that it was the honourable thing to do, some were drafted. I can only assume they all were scared at some point, and yes, they were all heroes no matter what side they fought on.

This is a poem from the first world war, by Wilfred Owen. It’s not pretty, but it does evoke emotion…

Dulce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime…
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

A view of the trenches if there ever was one, but fortunately that is no longer the case in war.

I heard on the news yesterday that since the end of the second world war, there has only been one year where no British servicemen have been killed in combat. I suspect most nations have a similar statistic. How can we justify this?

Today’s wars are even worse though, we send our brave men and women out to far places to fight for oil or in the name of some nebulous “war on terror”. But no matter what the war is for, they still go, mostly without complaint. They are still killed or maimed, but now they aren’t defending us the civilians, or their country. Now they are fighting for the reputation of polititians.

This does not sully their sacrifice, but it does speak volumes about those who sent them. And so, completely unlike me…

For The Fallen

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

To those who went, for whatever reason, Thank you. You did what I could not do.

You can be anything you like – except transgendered …

… or so we would be lead to believe.

I am not quite blessed with the right words to do this topic as it deserves, so I’m going to link to the blog of someone who can. Please read Peter Stindberg’s words carefully and take them to heart, and vote on the jira.

Next time, it could be your group.

** Linden Lab have seen and acted upon the offending article and have corrected it.

A sidhe in a virtual world