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Fangirl shrieking

Sooooo I have tickets to see My Chemical Romance in L.A. for October 24th. I get to hang out with

cass404 and see our cupcakes of bombast, which is a vital enrichment activity for the two of us.

NOW WE HAVE TICKETS TO THE HALLOWEEN SHOW. Yes, the Stroppy One is packing me off to L.A. for a week. Well, actually a handful of days, because the rest of the time I'll be staying with Cass elsewhere. But since I'm going to be in L.A., that means staying with and hanging out with some very dear friends. In other words, late October is going to be AWESOME.

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Also speaking of fangirl shrieking, here, have the latest Vampire Lestat teaser trailer. Which has some shots of shrieking fangirls, so I feel validated.

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talking about fight club

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Last night we watched the movie Exit 8. We went in pretty much blind, only knowing that it was about a subway concourse and exits turning into a maze. That description doesn’t do it justice. It was a clever use of pretty much one set, and it’s unsettling as hell. Especially if you’re someone who deals with anxiety, hyper-vigilance, and control issues.

Afterwards, I was trying to explain to the Stroppy One why the movie freaked me out so badly, touching on the anxiety, hyper-vigilance, and control issues. He was quiet for a minute, then said, “Holy shit, your control issues are worse than mine! Different AND worse!”

Yes, dear. Because my control issues are built on hyper-vigilance and yours aren’t.

Anyway, Exit 8 is a good movie, but a little difficult to watch.

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my childhood spat back the monster that you see

Therapy seems to be getting harder. Which is good, because that means we're getting to the blackberry-like roots of some of my issues. A few years ago if you'd told me I was a perfectionist with control issues, I would have laughed in your face. (The first time I mentioned this revelation to the Stroppy One, he said, "You didn't realize this about yourself because you were comparing yourself to me. Of course you didn't think you were a perfectionist with control issues". Which, okay, he's got a point.)

My parents loved/still love me, and did the best they could. That doesn't change the fact that, as per yesterday's very helpful, very hard therapy session, I didn't really have a childhood after about age five. That I spent the rest of my "childhood" and adolescence being an adult and being a "good kid" so I wasn't a bother and was worthy of attention. That I parented up. Therapy was so hard yesterday that I tapped out of work for a few hours so I could cry everything out of my system.

So. Circling back to that Fall Out Boy lyric that's the title of this post? I've been thinking of getting it as a tattoo for a few years. Last night, while telling the Stroppy One about some of the things from therapy, I mentioned that the urge to get that tattoo increases with every week. He sighed, then said the unexpected of "Where do you think you'll place it?" Unexpected because he's been against me getting this tattoo since I thought of it, but even he sees the cathartic value of it for me. My Council of Advisors are split on if I should get it, but I'm giving it serious thought.

Hey, did you know that sometimes, if you've had the Brain Raccoons since childhood, you fall into thinking perfectionism is a substitution for hope? Wow did that statement hit me between the eyes. My therapist is awesome, but doesn't pull any punches.

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talking about fight club

We're the therapists pumping through your speakers

(FOB lyric, but this post isn't about them.)

tl;dr: my psyche is a wonderland of land mines, thank goodness I had a cathartic concert to go to after therapy.

Tuesday night was the Florence + the Machine concert, which was a hugely cathartic event that I absolutely needed. On the way home from the show it dawned on me that in some ways FOR ME, F+tM are more "grown-up" catharsis music that better fills the Emilie Autumn slot. EA is (apparently) the music of "welp, time to fall apart for a bit", whereas F+tM are "I feel a little fragile and stressed, but not quite Pete Wentz lyrics levels".

Anyhoodle, I learned that the songs "Everybody Scream", "Sympathy Magic", and "Free" in concert make me cry. I expected that of the first two, but not of Free. Links to lyrics provided in case folks want to guess which parts hit me hard, because my psyche is not subtle.

One of the reasons that I absolutely needed the catharsis: Tuesday is therapy day, which I remembered two minutes before my appointment. My awesome therapist and I were talking about the deep rooted belief from my childhood in which I need to do everything perfectly for everyone, because that's how I'm worthy of affection and love. Y'know, a normal way of thinking. This somehow led to me telling her some of the family jokes from my childhood: I was picked up from the second-hand children's store but they lost the receipt and couldn't return me; how when I was around eleven Dad joked that one of his very rich Arab customers wanted to buy me as a bride but Dad was holding out for more camels; and the classic I didn't know my real middle name until I applied for my driver's permit because my parents committed to the bit of substituting "Veg-o-Matic" for my real middle name.

My therapist stared at me in a horrified manner, and then said, "Those aren't funny". Upon discussion and deep reflection, I agree, because the first two reinforced that programming of I need to be useful and helpful to be loved, and the third kinda-sorta did the same because 1) it was a "joke" at the expense of who I thought I was, and 2) saying my middle name was the name of an appliance? See the first two jokes.

My therapist agreed that my parents weren't deliberately doing those things, that they did think they were jokes, and would be upset if they realized the cumulative effect they had on me. But damn, that was a difficult session. No wonder I cried at "I find no worthiness in virtue / I no longer try to be good / they didn't keep me safe / like you told me that it would".

Wheeee!

This weekend we're going to The Herbfarm for a super-fancy multi-course dinner. This is for a delayed joint celebration of the Stroppy One's 60th birthday (!!!) and Princess Tickybox's (the eldest godkid) 21st birthday (!!!). I love love love The Herbfarm, and 100% believe it's an experience worth having. I recognize that we're super-privileged to have gone as many times as we have; if you told me in my younger years (including up to my 30s) that I'd go for an insanely fancy & expensive meal not just once, but multiple times, I wouldn't have believed you.

Related to going to The Herbfarm: I rewatched The Menu, because while The Herbfarm isn't as pretentious as the restaurant in the movie, it's similar. (Plus The Menu has become one of my favorite black comedies.)

Also related to going to The Herbfarm: I found this tutorial to turn a necktie into a fancy jabot, and now my replica Hannibal "murder tie" is in a form I will wear more often. However, I didn't use a glue gun, but carefully stitched the layers. Because wearing that tie to The Herbfarm is *funny*, dammit.

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Day two of horrible migraine, now with the exciting new symptom of sensitivity to noise. Whee?

This comes with a side of anxiety, because I don’t trust HR or upper management anymore. My manager is great, but she’s not the one with ultimate power over things. If I’m okay tomorrow, I’m going to have to work late to hit some deadlines.

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In happier news, the Florence + the Machine concert is next week! Which means it’s time to figure out an outfit! Right now I have no idea, but it’s something to think about while I’m languishing on the couch.

In which I am an unobservant idiot

We went out to dinner last night at an upscale steakhouse that has an Argentinian theme. My steak was delicious, but I misread the menu and thought the steak came with fancy mashed potatoes. No, that was an option, but the standard is polenta. And because I haven’t had polenta in YEARS, I didn’t realize what it was until I’d eaten about a third of it.

I immediately took an interrupt med, which helped keep the migraine down to a mid-range level. I took all the preventative things when I went to bed; when I woke up at 5-ish to go to the bathroom I felt okay. Then the alarm went off and everything was awful. So I have tapped out from work and filed my intermittent leave claim.

God, the polenta was delicious. :: weeps ::

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SON OF A BITCH

June 2, 20206
NYC

AMC & AMC+ Present: The Vampire Lestat: One Night Only - LIVE

Lights Down. Volume Up. Fangs Out.

On the final stop of the band’s decadent North American tour, The Vampire Lestat transforms the Beacon Theatre into a cathedral of chaos. The night kicks off with the exclusive premiere screening of The Vampire Lestat—your first hit of the myth, the menace, and the music.

Then the one and only Lestat de Lioncourt hits the stage.

In full rock‑god form, Lestat unleashes a live musical performance soaked in swagger, spectacle, and immortal excess. This is part screening, part concert, part temptation—designed to shake the walls and leave the faithful wanting more.

One night. No restraint.

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This is one of those times that I'm sad I'm not an actual big-name influencer, because you just know some of those types will be flown out for this.

Eldergoth Nostalgia

Or to quote Rasputina, "The scene is never what it used to be".

I had a lovely, wistful sort of dream the other night in which

solstice_lilac gave me an old compilation tape she had made long ago. (In the dream) I had a full stereo system with a tape deck that magically produced fantastic-quality audio, and I immediately played the tape. It was 120 minutes of gorgeous ethereal swirly goth music. I woke up with the melancholy realization that 1) I couldn't remember any of the bands on the dream tape, and 2) they probably didn't exist in the real world.

But oh! It was lovely while the dream lasted.

The infrared scope of pointlessness

(Thank you, Fall Out Boy, for providing post titles.)

I'm currently at THREAT LEVEL: BANDOM, which is different from me just deciding to listen to the bandom playlist. Mostly because it's an early sign (warning?) that my stress levels mean I'm starting to hit the "Pete Wentz gives voice to deep emotional truths in all of his lyrics" stage, which is entertaining but a little worrying. In other words, it's a super early signpost for the road to Crazytown.

My stress levels are high because a) being out with food poisoning last week meant that I lost a lot of traction on work projects. I knocked off a few of them on Friday, and today is about nagging multiple PMs to give me the information they promised to provide LAST week. The more things change and so on.

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I can also tell my stress levels are high because I've been looking at blog posts/watching videos about Whitby Goth Weekend in the UK to decide if I want us to visit Whitby on our UK trip, and I keep rolling my eyes at the steampunk folks. Which is unkind and mean-spirited of me, but the romantic and vampire goths want our damn top hats, frock coats, and jabots back, dammit.

I've decided against Whitby, because my research has shown that any of the things related to Dracula are, well, kind of silly/tacky. (Part of the book is set there, for those who haven't read it.) Also, I'd much rather go to Glastonbury and roam the witchy and eccentric shops.

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Guess who is contemplating adding even more talismans to the 24/7 necklace stack? No, I don't know why I feel that I need to, but whooo do I.

If anyone was thinking of buying TJ’s chicken soup, DON’T

(The container from the refrigerated section.)

I had some for lunch Monday, felt unwell and had a lot of problems sleeping, then woke up early suffering nausea, chills and a fever, excruciating muscle pain, a bad headache, and overwhelming fatigue.

I did the right thing and tapped out on Tuesday and Wednesday with the hopes of being back to work today. The overwhelming vertigo and inability to think clearly killed that idea.

I am, of course, worrying about 1) the massive chaos I’ll return to, and 2) that’s three sick days that aren’t part of my intermittent leave, how does that look to management, something something job security?

ugh.

I get the message ...

But I don't know if I'll actually follow through. You see, for the past week and a bit, no matter what tarot or oracle deck I pull a card from, they all have the same essential message: REST, GODDAMMIT. You know, that thing I'm terrible at, even tho' I encourage other people to do it.

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I wish the Stroppy One was more interested in wandering through thrift stores and antique malls. I always explain to him that it's not about buying things, it's about window shopping and finding really weird things. But no, he's not interested. Drat. (Tho' I do need to look into taking the occasional Tuesday or Tuesday early evening off, because that's the day of "senior discount" at the local Discovery Shop and Value Village, and hell yes I want to take advantage of that.

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Tuesday was "wake up with a pray for a coma" migraine, as in I tapped out of work the moment I was able to focus my eyes on the Slack app on my phone, then passed out for a few more hours. Then went downstairs, had food and coffee, took meds, and spent the rest of the day drifting in and out of sleep.

Which means, of course, that today is the rebound migraine; it's not overwhelmingly painful, but oh, the brain fog and vertigo. And I have two different sets of release notes that need to be cleaned up by the time I log off tonight, whee.

One good thing was today was migraine Botox day, so that'll take care of one breed of migraines. But that meant I lost time during the work day, and there's those release notes, and everyone who had rush projects last week are off at a customer expo this week which means no one is getting back to me with review notes and UGH. It's only Wednesday, but this week has been forever.

I can't think of an appropriate bandom lyric

- During one of my recent thrifting outings I found a copy of The Velvet Room, a Zilpha Keatley Snyder book I don't remember! With a fantastic pink cover, no less.

- Remember me mentioning that the neurosurgeon back specialist referred me to the targeted physio side of his team? I hadn't heard from them by last Friday, so I called, went through the labyrinth of call options, and finally spoke with someone who could schedule an appointment. The earliest they could find was June 11th. I'm unhappy, but the Stroppy One is LIVID. We started this process in Nov./Dec., and I've gotten some suggestions but no real help. I'm going to see if I can speak to someone about what will be discussed at the June 11 appointment and if we can make sure I get the targeted injections in my hip at that appointment, because ...

- We're going to the UK at the beginning of July. This means a lot of walking, and we want to make sure that I'm not in pain the entire trip. I'm still going to bring a fuckton of muscle relaxers with me.

- Related to the trip: During our last visit, Thea mentioned her mobility scooter and how it's made all the difference for her being able to do things. This prompted the Stroppy One to very gently bring the up the possibility of me renting one for the length of time we'll be spending in Edinburgh. I said that I understood that it could help me and we should look into it; I sat there for 10-ish minutes getting more and more upset, then burst into tears and said I didn't want to be that fat American on a disability scooter with no obvious disability. The Stroppy One said he understood and that he had been expecting me to have a freakout over that exact thing. (!!!) So that's a thing we need to discuss more, and hopefully I won't have a complete meltdown.

"But Jilli, you go out walking around, what makes you think you wouldn't be able to while on vacation?" This is true, but I generally don't do that every day, and when I do go out and Do Things, I usually end up taking muscle relaxers and pain meds when I get home AND spend the following day resting. So yeah, this is a big concern and the Brain Raccoons are determined to make me miserable about it. Ugh.

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Everything is making me tired and meh and/or anxious. Work, concerns about Erzabet, my stupid mortal shell, the ongoing dumpster fire of the world right now ... all of it.

- Erzabet did seem better once she had the steroids, so we are getting a new version of her nightly ear cream that will be steroids + the treatment for the hyperthyroid issue. According to the vet, she's "perfect on paper", so maybe the issue with her intestines was general inflammation. Don't take after me, Erzabet!

- I say that because I have learned that garlic is REALLY not my friend, and causes a huge amount of inflammation. Between that and tomatoes causing the same thing, I may no longer be able to indulge in Mexican or Italian food. I am full of woe.

- I had the appointment with the neurologist back surgery specialist, and he was very helpful. The upshot is right now there isn't anything on the images that shows I'd be a good candidate for back surgery. So the sibling team to his is going to reach out to me so I can start targeted physiotherapy with them for my right hip, and have injections of a cocktail of steroids, lidocaine, and painkillers. If those things don't help, they'll discuss it with the neurologist back surgery specialist to figure out what the next steps might be.

- Work is ... yeah. There are several things I'm stuck on because I'm waiting on other people or automated processes. I wouldn't be worried about this if it wasn't for the woman who's pinch-hitting for my boss (who is out for family issues) really likes continuous updates on all projects. The pinch-hitting manager was also the manager for two of the writers who were let go, so of course my anxiety has latched onto that.

- I'm having a difficult time to work up the energy to do any witchcraft-related work. I want to, but the brain fog and apathy have been crushing. I also want to start keeping a paper and pen journal; it's something my therapist has strongly recommended and I want to do it, but brain fog and apathy.

Wow, I'm whiny. I keep fantasizing about being medically ordered to take a week at the seaside like Victorian invalid.

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Yesterday some friends and I all felt well enough to actually carry through on a tentative plan we made! (All of us are some flavor of chronically ill and in pain, so this was kind of a big deal.) We went to a local pop-up "flea market". It was not a flea market in the traditional sense, it was a market full of vintage clothing etc. vendors. It was fun to wander through, but the only thing I bought was a back issue of Fangoria - a vampire special! At one stall I looked at a really pretty ceramic trinket box; I turned it over to look at the price ($20), and found the scraps of a Goodwill sticker still clinging to it. Yeah, no.

After we grabbed a snack, we hit two thrift stores and I Got Things! Two very pretty trinket boxes (a glass one with roses painted on the lid, the other is wood with mother of pearl inlay), three vintage gothic romances, a pajama set that is very Gothic Heroine in style, a candle snuffer, and a footed silver serving platter. We also found one of the most terrifying dolls I've ever seen, and no, none of us bought it.

Look, I'm a connoisseur of creepy dolls, and even I wouldn't want that thing in my house.

Because Leaving The House means proper clothes, I wore one of the Selkie-style blouses that the Madwoman in the Attic made for me. This style of blouse is possibly my new favorite wardrobe item, so it's a good thing I have ... um ... four of them already.

(Yep, I need to take the bust in a little bit. Simple enough.)

Of course, yesterday's outing has left me sore and headache-y today, so it's a good thing I hadn't made plans.

No. Do not want.

We took Miss Erzabet No Biting to the vet yesterday; despite her thyroid ear goo, she's lost weight, is still peeing and pooing everywhere, has been throwing up a lot, has been drinking a LOT of water, and has days of sneezing and being listless.

They drew blood, did x-rays, then gave her some fluids, vitamins, and steroids. The vet said that we'll have test results in a few days, but she has lost weight and just looking at her he's pretty sure there's something wrong. On the x-rays her kidneys looked smaller than they should, and her intestines "didn't look right", but he needs the tech to increase the contrast before he can make a diagnosis.

He used the phrase "be prepared in case of end of life procedures are needed". Not a phrase anyone ever wants to hear, and it sent me straight to my anti-anxiety meds.

For all we know, she'll be put on an additional med and she'll be healthy and happy for years. That's what I'm hoping for. Because while I love(d) all of our kitties, past and present, Miss Erzabet No Biting is the spiritual successor to my beloved Dread Beastie, and I'm not ready for her to leave.

Dear 2026, DO NOT.

Shallow fashion ponderings

No matter what I do, my hair isn't returning to its previous thickness. I'm loathe to ask my GP for any of the prescriptions that are supposed to help with that because I'm already taking eight prescription meds daily, plus the "as needed" ones, plus around nine or ten OTC supplements, so I don't want to add to that list.

So! I've decided to return to wearing a hat any time I leave the house. I just refurbished my black straw top hat; it now has a large plume of black ostrich feathers, a large antique lace bow with an antique rhinestone buckle, and pink faux roses tucked around the bow. I'm still dithering about if I want to make it even MORE over-the-top by adding a bat chiffon veil that would trail down from the back of the hat.

I'm also refurbishing all of my wide-brimmed hats, as carrying a parasol while using a cane probably requires more dexterity than I have. Everything is getting more veiling, and I'm dithering about if I need to order a few more crow skull replicas.

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Thanks to some things rolling across my IG feed, I've learned about the world of Kitchener Style Essences, which supposedly help you learn "where your style and personality blend!" So a more elaborate version of finding your color season. (Good lord, Color Me Beautiful is still going strong. What a flashback to my teens.)

In October of last year, a "lost" essence was "found"/created: Oneiric. "A softer, more melancholic edge that merges mystery and muted darkness. Something that had never been fully acknowledged, at least not widely." Do you mean: Romantigoth? Doing more reading about it, why yes, they mean Romantigoth. But of course, the people who have latched onto it are quick to say it's not goth. Of course, what a surprise. But it's fun to read about, and is a source for more makeup inspirations.

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Speaking of makeup, let me direct you to this post on Tumblr, where an absolutely adorable young lady demonstrates how to do a ghostly and haunted makeup look for folks with darker skin. Perfection.

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Work yesterday left me incredibly frustrated. The ducks that are nibbling me to death have mutated to giant size and with razor-sharp beaks. Because I was so frustrated, I decided I needed to reread one of the most disturbing sets of Hannibal AU fics I've ever encountered: A Gifted Student and A Letter to My Abuser. They're gorgeously, awfully written. (If you decide to read them, pay close attention to the tags oh god pay close attention to them.)

A Letter to My Abuser is, in some ways, the harder read for me, because when I first read it I tried to figure out why I identified so hard with a side character; Ollie, so giddy to meet his literary idol, but forcibly warned/ran off by this AU version of Will Graham. When I read it last night, my brain went "ohhhhh, yeah, Neil Gaiman", and then I had to read some fluffy fic to scrub my brain.

I hope his victims get closure. And that they win the legal actions against him, because they deserve the money they're suing for.

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EDITED TO ADD: I used to subscribe to FKAHerSweetness' Ko-Fi, as she left Ao3 and only posted her fic behind a paywall. I eventually ended my subscription because as time went on, I didn't enjoy how she wrote Will. She writes AUs only, and more power to her, but they became something I didn't want to read.

I'm like a diamond on the inside / just add the pressure

(Thank you FOB/Pete Wentz for always providing entertaining song lyrics.)

Everything is ugh. My back is having one of its stretches of hurting and feeling fragile, so my life involves lidocaine patches and dipping into the stash of muscle relaxers and heavy-duty pain meds. I've been having an upswing in different types of migraines, and I suspect the main culprits are weather and stress. All I want to do is sleep, and my mood can generally be described by that Charles Darwin quote of "I am very poorly today & very stupid & I hate everybody & everything". With a large side of "meh". I really want a doctor to prescribe the historical treatment of going to the seaside for a week (with the appropriate servants to take care of me and bring me dainty treats while I sit with my feet in the ocean).

Today is particularly ugh, as we lost three writers yesterday and I need to cover their work while we hire new writers for those positions. (Yeah, read between the lines there and you can probably guess what happened.) Thankfully, I talked to my boss and asked how this would work with my current projects, and she told me that my number one priority right now is to focus on the writing/being a writer, and once those positions are backfilled, I'll go back to my Program Manager work. So at least I don't have to worry that I'm being held to two sets of different standards. But still, stressful.

Meh.

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One thing that's been entertaining me is going through my Tumblr archives - prompted by a post going around asking people how long they've been on Tumblr oh my god 2010 really?! - and finding a lot of fun content and a lot of pink & black eye candy. But I realized (a bit too late) that I shouldn't read my text posts from 2011, because that was the worst year of my life. Dear Powers That Be, that isn't an invitation to go "hold my beer!" and try to overshoot that. I don't need that.