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Better known to the ao3-reading world as Back in the Day, which was part 1 of Keeliethompson1's series, Faithful Compass, all of which is now deleted from ao3. Because it's now available for purchase! So of course I bought it, because this is my favorite series by this author.

Buy it here on Amazon.

My review:

I imagine that I'm one of many folks on this page who've read an earlier version of this story and wanted to support all versions of this universe and all endeavors by this author. And to you, I think that my review goes something like this: after all this time, I still really love this story and the journey that these characters are on and LT Brady's original take on an early imagining of these two iconic characters.
 
John Watson who's young and soft, long before war and life have hardened him up, before he's learned to take command of situations, is easy to love, I find. Ridiculously sweet and horribly naive. Although ultimately, I must admit that I'm personally a total sucker for the character of Sherlock, and I relate enormously to his compulsion to protect John (even from himself). I've long been fascinated by this Sherlock and all his idiosyncratic sharpness (and moments of softness). None of that has changed, and that's what I'm here for, all the ways that they find each other and get together.
 
But to readers who may have never come across this story or this author, I've been thinking of what might be useful to go into and it's been throwing me for a loop. I would guess such readers would come from one of two basic places: an interest in an LGBT story and an interest in a Sherlock Holmes story. So I'll direct my comments in two different sort of directions.
 
 
*
 

I think fans of LGBT romance who aren't big Sherlock Holmes fans will enjoy this story enormously. Because if you squint, they're very close to being original characters, given the university setting and age lowering. This particular John Watson isn't terribly much like the John Watsons you might know from Arthur Conan Doyle's 60 stories, from Jude Law in Guy Ritchie's films, from Martin Freeman in BBC Sherlock (and definitely not Lucy Liu in Elementary). He's SO much younger and...I don't want to say dumb, but he's an innocent. An innocent with a drinking habit anyway. He's only 20-21 in this story and he's just got *so far* to go before he's the Watson you've heard about in those other stories, the competent army doctor who can take command in emergencies and warzones (and Sherlock, when the situation calls for it).
 

And Sherlock in this story is also similarly removed from the contexts you usually find him in. He does definitely do the deductions you learn to expect from any Sherlock Holmes in any universe, but he's not an actual consulting detective -- not yet anyway, due to the timing of this particular story. He's only in his 20s as well, and he's just not *the* Sherlock Holmes from any of those franchises; he hasn't found his calling. He's committing crimes more than solving them, which I find delightful if I'm honest. But what he has found -- is John. And that's the story that I'm here for. I find this coupling to be full of fresh possibilities, and their sexual tension, burgeoning feelings, control issues, and substance abuse paint a rich story even without any kind of mystery or crime-solving (although there is that as well). The emotional throughline of Sherlock in this story is one of my favorite things about it, even if (and especially if!) it's actually experienced through John. It's a wonderful feat of writing, and LT Brady does it all the time.
 

This being a romance and all, I do think that explicit-rated fanfiction will often *not* fade to black as much as this story does; if you're looking for sex every chapter, then you should probably keep on moving. Which isn't to say that there isn't explicit sex here, but it's the setting, story, emotion, and struggle that are the main event, and less so crazy hot banging on every surface in London.
 

*
 

For fans of a very canon-focused Sherlock Holmes...I thought about you a lot during my most recent reread, to tell you the truth, and I'm still not sure what to say. To like this story, you must be open to them getting together sexually and romantically (in case the summary doesn't make this obvious), which means interpreting all the tension between them as sexual, for a start. And you must be open to John Watson being something of a happy-go-lucky college kid who gets sloppy drunk...not even sometimes. A lot. And that may stretch the imagination if you're used to picturing him as a stodgy Victorian who smokes pipes in front of the fire and constantly ejaculating (*ahem*) his amazement at Holmes' deductions.
 

In a way, I think it might be helpful to be an adherent of the bumbling Watson characterization that's popular in some adaptations, because there's arguably a straighter line between that idea of Watson and this John than there is between, say, Martin Freeman or Jude Law's considerably snarkier and sharper (and more mature) John Watsons and this one. But ultimately, I think you need to be a big fan of John Watson to get into this story; you need to accept his unsuspecting, disarming brilliance as what draws Sherlock Holmes to him, even if it's not something you necessarily got from the books. But if you can picture Sherlock Holmes meeting a limping army doctor who was down on his luck, with no money, perhaps a bit of a gambling habit and a danger streak, and him saying "yes, this one, I would like to keep him," then you should see that all the more clearly that when this Sherlock does the same with this John, even against his own better judgment. If you can read that initial meeting in the 19th century as something star-crossed and romantic, then this is a beautiful reimagining of their relationship, just with gay clubs and unhealthy uni food thrown into the mix.
 

I suspect canon fans will also delight in seeing certain characters and references revealed, and a very imaginative delving into Holmes' cocaine and opium use (heroin in this case), which is never delved into enough and not often imagined in a modern context.
 

*
 

P.S. I'm attaching photos of the physical copy of the book I purchased in addition to the Kindle ebook. It probably shouldn't have surprised me, but the physical thickness of it took me aback when I first opened up the package!

Pictures of the physical book under the cut )
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Hi there! World! Utterly unbetaed opening of a fic below the cut. I know, sudden, right? I don't know what I'm doing, but I just felt like writing a thing. I got 2k through it, and that's...what's below the cut. It probably desperately needs a beta, because I know already that I've:
  • abused the shit out of some em-dashes
  • over-relied on italics, as always
  • written about foot stuff when I'm really not at all about foot stuff, so I'm probably fucking that up
and have further committed these other acts that deserve their own warnings:
  • John and Sherlock are both cisswapped to be female
  • John's name is still John
  • this is set in their 20s, with John fairly early in her medical training (residency maybe) and I know nothing about residency training
Good lord, I don't know. Anyway. Here. Betas welcome. My brain's started to continue this story, but if you think I should continue it...I don't know, maybe say something. >.> 

Basic premise: John and Sherlock enter into a friends with benefits sort of situation, which is one-sided (Sherlock gives John orgasms, because of course it's convenient). An excellent setup for pining and misunderstandings and also sex; we'll see if I can manage to do anything with it. Last edit addendum: no actual sex below the cut. This is all setup.

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Barely a week ago, I learned of this convention happening right here in NYC called Book Con. It's in Javits Convention Center, which is the largest con space in the city (where NYCC is held), so I knew it'd be a fairly large con. Still, programming-wise it looked like a smallish con...and strangely encompassed so many genres. None going terribly deeply. And I had a comp day at work to burn, so I took my Saturday midnight-8am shift off and took myself to Book Con, something like a date with myself.

I livetweeted the experience starting with my fretting about wardrobe choices at 2am, if anyone should be curious. I promise I got to more substantive stuff than talking about buses and selfies. If you get to the end and it's about Yuri on Ice, I messed up the threading and I continue here toward the end of the Rainbow Rowell panel. If in doubt, start with this tweet as I was leaving and work your way backwards (up).

This was a different experience for me, I will say. I went to three panels: Rainbow Rowell's, Janet Mock's, and Margaret Atwood. On some levels, it felt like a familiar con-going experience, because it was a fairly female-dominant space, albeit in Comic Con's physical footprint. I asked gentlespirit/221bnyc's Jen who I met there (randomly; not planned) and she agreed with me that it seemed like a 2:1 ratio for women to men. I wondered if the men felt that on some level--outnumbered or the tiniest bit insecure. Not because I wanted them to feel that way, but just out of curiosity. Does it become something they notice in public spaces they occupy? I just don't know the answer to that. But I know in the female experience, we share a lot of the same thoughts, sizing up a space. Clutching our keys late at night on the way home. I don't know what it's like to not feel aware of certain things.

But anyway. It was still a different feeling from other cons I've been to. Fan-run cons like 221B and Gridlock--cosplay is everywhere, sexuality and transness and openness, inclusivity, just seemed rampant even though the outward active purpose of the con is for Sherlock Holmes. Seattle felt different to me; some cosplay but the setting was just far more academic in setting. Still fun, but that lack of a hotel lobby thing is enormous and makes the entire con. And my pro-run con experiences are also quite different; cosplay is obviously everywhere at Comic Con, and I think I remember a ton at Pax East when I went early on. (Haven't been able to get tickets since.) This time, I think I only saw two people at all who were cosplaying--one as a Handmaid and one as Newt Scamander. I saw a few queer haircuts but it wasn't nearly as openly Alternative as the fun-run spaces. So that was one difference. Not an enormous one, I suppose, but sort of a unique middleground among the different cons I've been to personally.

I also had a strange sense of not quite understanding what people were about. People were so interested in grabbing free stuff left and right. Okay, sure, free stuff, but this was...a different thing, man. A couple weeks ago, I wondered aloud on Twitter (as one does) about an article on Amazon's subtle change to the way they sell books, because I couldn't quite envisage these random books in the world that weren't paid for to at least the publisher. Where did they come from? Did ARCs and galleys and random review copies sent out into the world actually cut into the profit of the original publisher? It was hard to imagine the numbers.

Not so much anymore. I spoke to a very nice lady at the booth for literary merch store Obvious State, and she told us that the industry con that happens just before Book Con is basically a looting free-for-all if you turn your back for one hot second (and often if you don't). And it's industry people doing the taking. Some of it could be innocent and all--there is a ton of free stuff and samples and previews and ARCs and galleys everywhere, but a lot of it is also taken outside of con hours, and by the arm-full and more. Things that are obviously set up in a store format (heavy duty canvas totes that retail for $40+ with tags on them) and not in a huge pile with a note on top that says "TAKE ME." She definitely emphasized that Book Con is not that way, it's the industry-only con that is essentially anarchy, and that you could leave the booth for lunch during Book Con days and not suffer losses beyond a pause on sales. I was kind of skeptical about that, but I mean hey, that was sweet of her to say.

But to get back to the not terribly grokking things. I truly don't get the grabbing of any random ole book. It almost makes more sense to me that people would eBay them (and apparently some of the industry people were definitely doing that), but I wouldn't just...pick up random books I had no knowledge about. Barely a sense of the genre or anything. I'm reminded of a Clueless quote where Cher says to Dionne, "you see how picky I am about my shoes and they only go on my feet." Well, um, books go in my brain. I don't intend on taking a random book home only to RL-backbutton out of it in chapter one, and then have that book collecting space in my hoarders-level apartment. That's not good for literally anyone.

Well. Anyway. I suppose to each their own. Maybe I  am the weirdo. 


Here are some pics from throughout the day behind the cut.

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I'm still low-level interested in poking my head into other cons though. Maybe just to appreciate the home turf even more? It's interesting to see how different cons are organized and run, what cultures they grow, whether on purpose or not. It's a weird business to be in, looking for your own people, one's tribe, looking for that weird little connection to folks over specific things, specific loves. I rather like that space, even if I often feel like I'm just passing through. Conversant. Although it's slightly a thin line. It can also feel like being the only one not in love during spring.

I might look into Geek Girl Con as something I could do. I'd probably go to Dragon Con but it's always held on a weekend that's a vacation blackout at work. There's PodCon, which is new this year, but that's during the worst month in the whole year to travel. Mid-December? Gross and a half, and cross-country too.

Anyway. An odd place to end it, but needs must when the devil drives. Or, more to the point, when I have to see Wonder Woman again in a few hours so I  can make the podcast meeting in the evening.
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Well, I certainly hope that was useful for...someone. It's been a work in progress for over a year, although god knows it's only been sporadically worked on here and there. I was considering (and still am considering?) going to Scintillation of Scions this year and possibly shopping this stupid thing around. I don't know if I will though. Vacation days feel precious at the moment and it's coming up fast.
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The first fanfic I ever read was Sailor Moon. This was back in 1996 or 1997, I was 13, 14, and 15 in those years, and fanfic came in lemon or lime flavors (I chose lemon, obviously), was downloadable in plain text files (introducing me to markups like _this_), and listed nowhere particularly central. It was difficult to find and I don't remember anything about whether it was tagged. This is likely how the two fics that stand out to me from this time got into my hands, as they were one-sided Shingo and Usagi -- a younger brother wanking to thoughts of his sister -- and infidelity trapped-in-an-elevator Rei/Mamoru sex. But the fic thing eventually died down. Cybersex and roleplay and live interactions sort of took over my interests. And eventually I took my horny middle/high school self and threw myself at real life boys instead of online sex ed and the internet variety of prurient distractions. So I promptly forgot about fic from about 8th or 9th grade until...until I was about 30, I suppose.

But I guess fanfic doesn't exactly make a fandom. When the Battlestar Galactica reboot and Lost were on, my friends and I watched that religiously: we gathered at the house with the biggest TV, made it a weekly Thing to watch and discuss. The internet was well in swing, since this was 2004 onward, but I don't know why, all the conversations I had about both shows were offline entirely. Okay, maybe I wandered into an occasional AV Club thread or something. And I wound up owning two different Lost t-shirts somehow, though I can't quite remember how that happened. I was highly invested, let's say, to the point where BSG's ending fucked me up for years. I rather wish I was kidding. I was salty for years, I'm still salty, and it ended in 2009. If that's an indication of how invested I was. And based on my level of investment, I count it as a fandom for me, although my personal experience with both didn't include much community/online interaction. Game of Thrones is very similar even now, but slightly more interconnectivity, mostly on Twitter.

But none of the above was Tumblr levels of ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* Sherlock fandom at the height of series 2 hiatus✧・゚: *✧・゚:*  investment. The thing is, I think nothing has ever been that height for me. And I think nothing will be again.

Just before I fell down the Sherlock rabbit hole in 2012, I picked up fanfic again for the first time since Sailor Moon. It was Supernatural fic, and I didn't read too much. I mainly remember one or two AUs, like Cas being a professor and Dean being a college student. Or, it might've been the other way around. The show being as long as it was (I think it was seven seasons at the time, with 24 episodes per), I often watched the show while doing other things, which was pretty easy to do with two monitors. I definitely called it popcorn TV, and that's basically what it was for me.

And then during Hurricane Sandy, I binge watched and fell in love with Doctor Who, which was in the midst of its 11th Doctor run. I started with Nine and went absolutely weak for David Tennant. I watched many a mediocre movie because of that man. And strangely, although I think I've attempted to read a DW fic here and there over the years, I honestly got into nothing, no ships, and no fic at all stands out from my attempts. I think once I tried reading Ten/Rose/Tentoo and I just wasn't into it. I just...put it down.

There's something about fandom and fannishness that pushes past the flaws in a given franchise or the quirks of the writer or the tricks of a director. Meaning, despite the flaws that I can see as a critical consumer of media, I love it anyway, and am in fact rather inexplicably...insatiable for more. Maybe the Sherlock fandom was custom-built for that, given the long hiatuses and the fic culture of producing high quality prose. 

I just haven't found anything that pushes me past that outside of Sherlock. And it feels...a little lonely. I sort of wish I could find something else, but all ventures out that I've tried have been brief, unsatisfying, or both. (Some attempts in the last couple years: Captive Prince, Rurouni Kenshin, MCU, Check Please, RPF.)

Looking back, I feel like I matured as a fic-seeking, inspired-to-write, fully fledged fan in a particular moment in time, not (apparently) to be repeated. And that if I had come into the fandom in the s3 hiatus or, god forbid, now, post-s4...I'd not spend years out of my life with this much fic, sitting with these characters in 221B, watching every movie in the lens of a johnlock AU, sparing thoughts I couldn't even really spare for this fandom. But all that also might be the case if I hadn't met my husband when I did, or any number of other Important Life Relationships.

There's something about that fannish insatiableness that's about appetite before you know you're hungry, too. It has to hit you, would-be fan, at just the right time. In an almost fateful sense, you have to be receptive to it yourself. And in that 2012-2015 period, I was. If that were to shift forward to 2015-2018, I doubt it'd be the same. What I don't know is if I'll be receptive again one day, and what will come along to fill it. Part of me can't imagine it.
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I've been writing this fusion fic of 13 Going on 30 for years. The earliest draft of this that I can find is from March 2, 2015. I work on it in pieces here and there, on my phone, in Google Docs, then Scrivener: March-May 2015 were big months, then September 2015, then January 2016, then July-August 2016. Now April-May 2017.

So. That is all to say that I was thinking of Westworld hosts, and I thought if this fic were a Westworld-esque robo-cyborg-host, I would be constructing it like this:
  • immense detail on the face, which is where the eyes generally start when you look at someone. If I spent the same amount of time tweaking the first 5k of this fic as I have on zero drafting the rest of the story, I'd probably have nearly twice as much written.
  • tiny solid pieces of internal organs, but nothing connected to one another; everything just jammed into the torso ungracefully. Thankfully, Scrivener lets me keep the pieces separated and summarized and movable.
  • half a leg. Or possibly two legs but separated from the torso. The fic is not moving anywhere, but it has the vague notion that it will at some future point in time.
(I never said this almost-blog would be interesting.)

Edited to add a quick snippet under the cut if anyone wants a few more minutes in 1989.

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This is the stupid fic I've been talking about for ages and how it opens. In theory.

I'm not sure where else to dump this many words -- nearly 2k out of about 23k written and this is literally less than half of what I've blocked off as the first chapter. I've tweaked this so many times, it's kind of sickening. Considering more still. My latest obsessive rewrite catastrophe-of-my-own-making is the crazy internal dialog Sherlock falls into between the time they exit the dorm and they hit the sidewalk. It's driving me nuts, so I'm just going to post this WIP here and think about it later. I need to zero draft out the rest of the story, not nth draft out the opening. Sigh.

-

April 1989


“John, did you know that a derivative of the monkshood plant is virtually undetectable as a toxin?” Sherlock asked, not looking up from his book. “I wonder if…hmm,” he murmured, thoughts trailing ahead. He was contemplating their window’s northern exposure.


Well, there was only one way to scientifically test that theory. Or any theory really. Sherlock added flower box to his mental shopping list and turned the page, fingers gliding over the long Latin names and detailed practical applications. Cosmetic, anaesthetic, accidental toxicity of course, and murders. His favourite.


Library books that John brought home were usually rudimentary at best, but this last one was a genuine medical reference. A pathology graduate student’s textbook in a sea of middle-grade rubbish. In other words, a library misorder if ever there was one. Sherlock was tempted to keep it and simply pay the fine.


“Sherlock.”


“Mm,” he answered.


Or pay John back for the fine, since it was checked out under his name. Technically.


Sherlock.”


“Mm.”


“Sherlock, I’ve been asking you for five bloody minutes if you want to get dinner. I know toxins are very important to you right now, but I’m bloody starving, yeah? Can you--” John scrubbed a hand over his face; Sherlock could hear it from the way his breathing muffled and unmuffled. Sherlock marked the page number. “I happened to spend my lunch period at the library—no idea why—loitering suspiciously around the publications again and ta very much but I’m a growing boy, let’s go.” John said it practically in a single breath.


Sherlock looked up, blinking. He glanced at the alarm clock, which glowed 7:15 in low cadmium red. He’d hardly looked up from the book since he got back from class, which was—oh. Hours ago, at this point. That explained his rather stiff neck at least. And the quality of light being darker now, grey and soft around John’s usual brightness.


Turning his attentions back to John, he surveyed the signs of recent exertion and even more recent steam on John’s skin. This morning’s clothes had carelessly been thrown back on after the very necessary shower that always followed afternoon rugby practice. Sherlock’s eyes lingered on John’s dirty blond locks, dark and curling at his temples where it clung to his skin. Still wet.


Sherlock snapped shut the book.
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con·cil·i·a·to·ry
kənˈsilēəˌtôrē/
adjective
  1. intended or likely to placate or pacify.
    "a conciliatory approach"
    synonyms: propitiatory, placatory, appeasing, pacifying, mollifying, peacemaking
    "a conciliatory gesture"

The year didn't get off to a good start. I personally blame the nearly 63 million people who voted for Agent Orange, because, um, have you seen the news this week? But that isn't my point just now. My point is -- the year started with a sense of loss and mourning and anxiety. Everyone rolling up their sleeves for an impending, inevitable, unavoidable fight. And not some scuff or barroom brawl. Not something brief with the sharp potential for violence, although that's always in the cards. I mean a long, intractable...Fight. Maybe the term "fight" is a bit of a misnomer, because wars are long but battles end; struggles are endless but fights are temporary. You can get yourself geared up for a fight, but a struggle...that's hard.

I promise I'm not actually here to talk politics. Not US politics anyhow. Or. Well, not presidential politics. I'm just setting the scene.

I watched Dear White People this weekend. I binged it in one sitting and it's excellent. The internet recommends it highly too. Its ensemble cast presents a rare and wonderfully nuanced look at the way that different Black people in the show respond to and live with racism. I certainly grew to love all the characters in their own ways, and I was very fond of Coco. Colandrea. She goes by Coco.

My non-Black POC take on Coco is this. Early on in the season, she seems to be ashamed of her Blackness, all too ready to ingratiate herself to upper crust white people (one of their names is Muffy for god's sakes). She seems most willing to erase, or forget, or try to forget "who she really is," you know, before you get to know her better. And then you learn how ambitious she really is, how smart, how bone tired she is of the argument with other Black people, with friends, about being woke or not woke -- because none of that matters when police will shoot you regardless. And she has firsthand experience with that in her life, so it's a painful subject that cuts deep.

She copes with the world as it is, with the energy she has toward the work she can rouse herself for. I understand that, even if my own energies are elsewhere. She's trying to chip her way into the opaque upper echelons of the world she's in with Black people and everyone else, and it's hard, if not antithetical, to do that and to protest systemic inequality at the same. Difficult to fight the same ladder you're trying to climb. Coco, who's a climber, is layered and strong and she's very different from me. I love her as a character.

But politically, I don't find myself aligned with her. On a personal, visceral level, it takes too much out of me to do that Work. To smile and to keep your facial muscles smooth when a microaggression manifests out of thin air to remind you that you are different. Even the act of bracing oneself, tensing all those muscles for the slap that never comes, it's a lot. It's a Lot. And there are days I'm less prepared for it than others. This week's been a trying one for that.

Something else that happened over the weekend: an all-male Sherlockian organization voted to let in non-males for the first time in its 77-year history. It was one of a handful (perhaps four?) of boys clubs left standing in the US. My understanding is that organizations often wait for founders to die before taking these votes, out of respect. When this particular vote happened, it was unanimous. 

Responses have varied; if you're reading this, you probably well know. Congrats! So proud! all the way to wtf guys, it's 2017, did you want a cookie? It's the responses to the latter sentiment that have, from afar, managed to wear me thin. On a thin week that only got thinner. In a thin year. And I'm not in the comment threads myself, so I'm really just rubbernecking and getting tired in my heart over internal things, things I'm seeing in my circles. I can cop to that. And so I know that some comments have been deleted for being uncivil (unclubbable?), and I know that I'm coming to it from a place of unrest to start with. But. I also know where I am on the spectrum of comments, of sentiment, and know that my feelings cross that line between jerk and non-jerk (a line I had no part in drawing). My feelings are censorable. Maybe not amongst my immediate friends, but certainly not polite amongst many who aren't.

And truth be told, I don't feel terribly civil. I don't feel congratulatory. But neither do I want to get into an argument to change hearts and minds; I'm pre-exhausted by just the thought. You can't make people like you or invite you into their club. This is a thing I've heard before, prior to this week. It's a legal argument on the one hand -- private clubs aren't subject to laws the way public organizations are. It's a social one on the other -- being loud and obnoxious won't make anyone in an ostensibly social group want to socialize with you. Or so the logic goes. So if they do something that was wholly in their power to never do, it's a net good in the world. Be happy. Be grateful.

Part of me just can't brook with it. The smile muscles don't want to move, I don't know what else to say (despite being in the middle of trying). I feel as stiff and cranky as if I'd been nicely catcalled. No, you can't make people like you, can't make people invite you, accept you, befriend you, but repentance and an apology doesn't mean mean you're entitled to smiles and forgiveness either. (Assuming there's an apology in there; to be honest, I haven't seen one in this particular context, but take that from someone who gets everything second and thirdhand.)

And here's where I really start thinking about abuse and apologies and conciliation and smiles and the line behind which I'm looking directly at Coco, who's climbing up that rope that I think looks janky as fuck. Even if it takes a long time for someone to stop doing something bad, don't shame them when they do. It only makes it more difficult for them to convince their friends of the rightness of the cause, because then they're damned if they do and they're damned if they don't.

Maybe they're just...damned? Yeah, maybe that's accurate.

I have...so very little patience for this, as it turns out. I keep thinking of abusers and forgiveness and you can't make someone like you. You also can't demand forgiveness when you've done wrong, but you do what you can to earn it. The point isn't forgiveness, the point is understanding and regret and corrective action. Doing the right thing is the right thing to do. If that's not good enough, maybe you're not being very good, whatever your reasons. Maybe you didn't know before; but then you did. And when was that, was that this week?

If you need coaxing and cookies to do good, and you can't handle apologizing if you don't get forgiven for doing bad, you need Cocos in your life to do all that Work; I don't have the energy for it. I don't have it in me to be happy about steps in the right direction. Someone out there will. Lots of someones. Cocos who have worked it all from the inside all this time, Cocos who are ambitious and smart and can't be arsed to picket and yell, who constitutionally find it better to do and react how they do, instead of reacting how I do. 

I swear we (mostly) all want the same thing, but between here and there is a gulf of frustration about method and tone and gatekeeping and every kind of policing. And me, with my meandering, ridiculous thoughts (sorry). I don't think I'm made for fighting or peacemaking. Not this week.

Also, hi. I don't really blog. I just wanted to write...something.

My tweets

Apr. 3rd, 2017 12:02 pm
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Apr. 2nd, 2017 12:02 pm
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Apr. 1st, 2017 12:02 pm
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Mar. 31st, 2017 12:02 pm
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Mar. 30th, 2017 12:02 pm
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My tweets

Mar. 29th, 2017 12:02 pm
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  • Tue, 14:00: https://t.co/9G45i4BCut
  • Tue, 21:12: I just realized that seltzer reminds me of flavored Chapstick water.
  • Wed, 01:41: In today's edition of Straight People or Serial Killer https://t.co/ixTiUsfbQV
  • Wed, 02:41: I keep dress-shopping online to look for something for the California wedding I'm going to next month and I keep fantasizing about a maxi.
  • Wed, 03:25: RT @gentlemanabroad: Ollie from 'The Thick of It' is directing the remake titled #NastyWomen starring Anne Hathaway and Rebel Wilson https:…
  • Wed, 03:29: RT @Fusion: "He has told me how much he wants to be home with us." 13-year-old Fatima Avelica's father was detained by ICE while taking he…
  • Wed, 04:03: RT @DavidYankovich: Trump is the only man I have ever seen who looks arrogant even when he prays. "Dear God, I'm great. You should be pray…
  • Wed, 05:08: I just told a woman "O as in Oblivion" because she wasn't getting O for Oscar.
  • Wed, 06:17: RT @BerlinSandra78: Hiya, I'm looking for a ticket for #AndrewScott's #Hamlet @AlmeidaTheatre for 6th, 7th, or 8th of April. Can anyone hel…
  • Wed, 07:03: Is it normal to consider cosplay possibilities when shopping for dresses? Yellow could go to Molly or Morton salt girl...lavender Janine...
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