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( Русский язык )

8 days. Still freaking out. Or maybe I've turned into a Luxan and bleed clear. Who knows.

Well, it's Bele Chere today, which either means I have filing to do or I'll be so busy out front I won't have time to freak out. Either way is good. There will definitely be spoiling myself with street festival food of dubious health quality and origin at around lunch time, because Bele Chere comes but once a year. If there's running into my old friend again I may scream. This week has been topsy turvy enough.

In contrast to that, if I'm lucky and/or clever, there will be Dresden Files/Anita Blake fanfic going up soon. Those of you familiar with both books may snicker at the concept behind it, those of you who are not, um. Trust me, the idea of those two guys working together is morbidly hilarious.

Argh. Argh in general and argh in some specific ways. But, off to work a bit early now to try and dodge the damn traffic. So hopefully the day will become less arghy.

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( Deutsch )

Okay. Now that we've established that it is damn well not likely that I am pregnant, or not without the help of a deity anyway...

(I take a moment here to give Loki the side-eye.)

... what in the name of Blood and the Mother is going on with my body. I am regular. I have been regular for years by now. I have very few PMS symptoms, most of which are annoying at worst and solved with a single over the counter dose of pain medication. In general, apart from minor complaints about mess, sensations, and cramps/headaches/bloating that happen to most women, my body has never given trouble like this before. So what the fuck changed? Seriously, body, shape the hell up before I start stabbing you with things. Probably blood-drawing-testing hypodermics.

And yes, I talk about this stuff in public. Not very often, but more because it just doesn't bother me that often. This irks me. It is irksome.

The Bele Chere street preachers are out. They're irksome, too. I was coming back from grabbing a soft-serve cone and they were telling a group of three or four young women in tank tops and shirts (because, dude, it's hot out!) that they were dressed to cause lust in men's minds and therefore sinners and going to hell. He used a word I can't think of right now that starts with A and means lascivious and tempting. And I really, really wanted to tell him, look, just because you can't control your lustful thoughts doesn't mean the rest of us can't. Stop yelling at people and we'll stop calling you a nutbar. I didn't, because getting into an argument with those guys is kind of like yelling at the waterfall to flow up the cliffside, you'll scream yourself hoarse and look like an idiot. But I really wanted to. I'm not sure I'd even call them Christians, most of the Christians I know are nice folk. These guys are just ... afraid, I think. Afraid of Hell, afraid of sin, afraid of things they don't understand like women's bodies and women's minds (they're all men, whether cis or trans I don't know, but they all look like men) and because they're afraid, they have to control it all with shouting and damnation. It's sad. And annoying.

Right. And that's enough messing around with thinky thoughts. It's been an odd day, and tomorrow there might be even less online because of being in the front of the store most of the time, but we'll see how busy it actually is. I started a knitting project I can keep at the front of the store, though. If nothing else, I can have that for when it gets slower and quieter. But now, whistle practice! Because I need to make sure I really do know that tune by muscle memory (O'Keefe's Slide, Anna).

Also, I need a better source for pennywhistle pictures online. Hmm.