kaberett: Overlaid Mars & Venus symbols, with Swiss Army knife tools at other positions around the central circle. (Default)
Hello! You are a person! You are probably lovely! I like people!

This journal ends up being a bit of a mix of Srs Business (rants; things I've learned from counselling; &c), fannish & scientific joy, linkspams, & misc life updates. I tag fairly compulsively, though not always helpfully; I use content notes; I aim to maintain this as a safer space, and appreciate (but do not expect!) call-outs when I mess up.

I like it if you introduce yourself when you subscribe, but it's definitely not required. Probably 30% of this journal is access-locked; I give access very readily. Fanworks are always public; AO3 is the canonical place to find my list of works. I'm very happy for you to link to anything that's public, and I'll be even happier if you let me know you're doing it. :-)

Welcome!

permanent wishlist -- care & feeding () -- contact info ()


[archiveofourown.org profile] kaberett -- at the LashBlog -- [ravelry.com profile] kaberett -- BPAL.org -- kabe@rett.org.uk
kaberett: Photo of a pile of old leather-bound books. (books)
Interestingly, this is one of the relatively few things my father got right in bringing us up - for values of "right" that do not include "actually expressing it well or compassionately", in that he tended to phrase it not as "intent isn't magic" but "intent doesn't matter".

I think this plays into some of what I've been working through. To use the treading-on-toes example, how badly something affects me has two components: the direct physical effect ("someone trod on my toe") and my emotional response ("and I'd repeatedly told this specific person that it's currently broken, and trusted them to be careful of that" has very different impact to "and they're a stranger on the tube").

Intent can't fix the direct damage (it isn't magic), but can be taken into account in modulating the emotional response of the person suffering it (intent can matter). However, whether it matters and how much it matters is entirely up to the person damaged: it does not automatically absolve the person who caused the damage.

It's about agency and respect and all that good stuff.
kaberett: A series of phrases commonly used in academic papers, accompanied by humourous "translations". (science!)
Yesterday was immensely frustrating - the machine behaved beautifully Thursday, I was all set to get data yesterday, and then there was a two-second power cut at 1am and it's spent the subsequent 24 hours sulking and is finally finally finally giving me numbers that look as though they'll be usable - culminating in forgetting to take my bedmeds last night, which means I'm starting to get withdrawal symptoms. (They tend to start 12-18 hours after a missed dose, and involve going weird and light-headed and fuzzy. They're trivial to get rid of - take another tablet - but unfortunately there are reasons I take my psych meds at night, viz, they do a pretty good job of knocking me out; and I'm not sure which of "crashing out" and "brain zaps" is worse given the work I want to get done. So I am playing it by ear a bit, and if I decide it's necessary I'll split tonight's tablet, take half of it now, and catch up this evening.)

In any case, this means I'm going to be babysitting the mass spec today, if all continues well. What this means in practice is that I'm going to have very brief bursts of activity interspersed with a lot of sitting around by myself in a cellar, ergo it's time for: any questions answered.
kaberett: a watercolour painting of an oak leaf floating on calm water (leaf-on-water)
[The Accompanist]

Early nights and early mornings lend themselves to me
with a wry kindness about their eyebrows
tactfully not asking
what it is I'll have to sacrifice
to keep up with the interest.

I spend them
in cellars and in futile arguments
on crises of the flesh and of the faith
(not that either I or they discriminate)--

-- and in exchange, the reasons that I do:
quiet contemplation, data fresh from the machine--
moments spent in sitting with the sunlight and the trains--
and most of all because the child I was, made brave
by learning that the wide wild world had space
even for them (even for them!),
prefers to pay gifts forward than to try to make amends.

The music that we play in company's the richer
for the daring of the sharing of our lives.
kaberett: Photo of a pile of old leather-bound books. (books)
Do you like Night Vale? Do you like inexplicable creepy shit in small-town southern US?

Go read Bleeding Violet by Dia Reeves.

Seriously, I cannot understand why the first I heard of this was it rocking up as part of the Humble Ebook Bundle just gone.

It is smalltown Texas. The Mayor is creepy and wrong. There are hidden doors, and keys made out of bone, and a very high body count.

Your protagonist, Hanna, is sixteen. She describes herself as biracial, bicultural, and manic-depressive. She is bilingual in Finnish and English. Her mum's an island girl.

The boy she ends up hanging out with is Latino. He is also bilingual, in Spanish and English.

Together, they fight crime inexplicable creepy shit, and meanwhile the Bechdel test gets passed every few pages.

Meanwhile, it's a book about abuse and parents and families and critique of the medical-industrial complex from the perspective of my personal is political and teenagers negotiating (complicated, not always happy) sex lives and trust and duty and survivors' guilt.

It has content notes for mental illness, self-harm, suicide, public executions, abusive parents, discussion of child sexual abuse, rape and torture (off-screen), involuntary commitment to inpatient psychiatric care (off-screen), and drug use. It's probably also worth flagging up that a slur used for newcomers to the town is "transy": it's short for "transient" (and this is made explicit) but I still flinched at it.

And in spite of all that I read it in one sitting and want more now. I am this close to e-mailing the publisher and suggesting they get Cecil Baldwin to read an audiobook version, because that is the best way I can think of to get it a much wider audience which it deserves.
kaberett: a watercolour of a pale gold/salmon honeysuckle blossom against a background of green leaves (honeysuckle)
for JJ, because how couldn't it be?

It's not the watching
of any one particular sunset
that's the thing:

it's finding time to breathe the steam that rises from your mug
to feel the warm seep into your cupped hands
to scribble in the margins of your day:

if every one's an island, then so what?
an island isn't ever watertight.

we're leaky vessels. so
drink your fill of sunlight--
and then go about your life.
kaberett: A drawing of a black woman holding her right hand, minus a ring finger, in front of her face. "Oh, that. I cut it  off." (molly - cut it off)
I'm going to be dropping my citalopram to my summer dosage a week on Monday, so the 28th of April.

If you spot me going a bit wrong and I don't seem to have noticed, I'd massively appreciate you pointing it out, but t'isn't any of your jobs; and I'll be self-monitoring with PHQ-9 all else aside.

(ps thank you to everyone going "what the fuck" about my GP; I think I'd got into learned-helplessness mode about the entire situation. I have Done Some Preliminary Investigation into potential replacements.)
kaberett: a watercolour of a pale gold/salmon honeysuckle blossom against a background of green leaves (honeysuckle)
250g butter
250g sugar
3 eggs
50g sachet coconut cream powder
250g self-raising flour
zest of 1 lemon
zest of 1 lime

Mix together in the obvious order; bake at ~180degC until done. Fills a standard loaf tin nicely.

For an experiment designed to use up the sad citrus in the fridge, I am really pleased with this. To my astonishment it's great even without the lemon-lime-mint drizzle I was planning I kind of got distracted by the new Debian install on my main machine and forgot I was boiling syrup and it er
kaberett: a patch of sunlight on the carpet, shaped like a slightly wonky heart (light hearted)
It is light outside when I wake up for early starts. It is light while I eat breakfast, when I walk over the road to the station. I sit on the District line with sunshine through the windows: it's above ground between home and work. There's some clematis and - a plant I know only as "abominable potato weed", sorry[1] - growing enthusiastically in a garden that backs onto the platforms.

Breakfast was apple-and-pear juice, a beautifully ripe satsuma, and a pear and hazelnut muffin made for me by CN Lester because of the boything.

I finished reading Saladin Ahmed's Engraved on the Eye (free collection of short stories; it's fantastic). I turned to [personal profile] alexconall's poetry collection Lavender Blue (and other poems) (also available for free), discovered it's dedicated to me, and promptly burst into happy tears on the tube at 7am.

I got in to work in good time, via the gingko coming out outside the Royal Albert Hall and a string of beautiful I-believe-military horses being trotted down Exhibition Road. I've started my columns, and so far they're running nicely. I'm wearing Fils de Dieu and continuing to adore it. I'm reading Audre Lorde's The Black Unicorn in lab, and it's fantastic.

Today is pretty brilliant so far.


[1] It's not Lycianthes rantonnetii or Solanum rantonnetti ("Royal Robe"). Hmm. Looks like this var. "blue potato bush", but none of the other photos for that search term are quite right - it's definitely got the pointier petals that point back upwards, and the flower clusters. - ah ha! Solanum crispum 'Glasnevin', there we go. [ETA for interest -- my initial search term was "potato weed purple flowers" and that was the chain of results I followed to get an answer. :-) ]
kaberett: A stylised potato as background, overlaid with a list of its applications. (potatifesto)
Things the tiny corner shops just over the road from my flat carry, apparently routinely:
  • garlic Lurpak
  • a flavour of innocent fruit juice that neither of the enormous 24-hour supermarkets on my way home does
  • Kidderton Ash
  • Little Black Bomber (not wildly over the odds)
  • live yoghurt
  • Swedish crispbread
  • rose water (ditto at neither of the big supermarkets)
  • string
  • sink plungers
ET CETERA.

I am not entirely sure I understand London.
kaberett: A drawing of a black woman holding her right hand, minus a ring finger, in front of her face. "Oh, that. I cut it  off." (molly - cut it off)
I think my absolute-necessaries list for GPs is:
  • not actively prejudiced about LGBT+ folk
  • willing to respect that I'm a scientist with a strong background in pharmacology
  • willing to genuinely collaborate with me on my healthcare, with the levels of trust (both ways) that that implies
  • not phased by medically complex patients
... and basically I just wish there was a mechanism by which I could interview GPs in the same way that I interview prospective counsellors -- the key point, of course, being that I want an NHS GP and have a private counsellor. Also, I really miss my old gynae.
kaberett: a watercolour painting of an oak leaf floating on calm water (leaf-on-water)
Huh, apparently I haven't actually recced A Litany for Survival here, at least not any place I can find it readily? So let's start with that.

A Litany for Survival )

from Walking Our Boundaries

The sun is watery warm
our voices
seem too loud for this small yard
too tentative for women
so in love
the siding has come loose in spots
our footsteps hold this place
together
as our place
our joint decisions make the possible
whole.
I do not know when
we shall laugh again
but next week
we will spade up another plot
for this spring's seeding.


from Eulogy for Alvin Frost )

Snippets

Apr. 12th, 2014 10:13 pm
kaberett: Photo of a pile of old leather-bound books. (books)
Junot Diaz:
You know how vampires have no reflections in the mirror? If you want to make a human being a monster, deny them, at the cultural level, any reflection of themselves.


Tomas Tranströmer, various:

from Baltics (2)
A new breath of wind and the place lies desolate and silent again.
A new breath of wind, sighing about other shores.
It's about war.
It's about places where citizens are under control,
where their thoughts are made with emergency exits,
where a conversation between friends really becomes a test of what friendship means.


Read more... )

Elementary

Apr. 11th, 2014 10:39 pm
kaberett: Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson sit side by side, facing forward, heads slightly tilted towards each other. (elementary-faces)
So I've had a good but very long day, and then friendperson came round and I went "actually I want to be horizontal in the dark" & abandoned friendperson & housemate to one another's company and watched last night's Elementary, and, um, wow.

Spoilers. )
kaberett: Toph making a rock angel (toph-rockangel)
(At some point I think I probably need to put together a post that just contains the first lines of anecdotes that make people pull the "you just said what" face when they suddenly become relevant. Like "the time I taught the daughters of an oil sheikh how to ride", or "the time I broke a hammock with an opera singer", etc etc etc.)

Anyway, the point is, I have to a few of you now mentioned The Time I Found A Meteorite Under My Desk.

It is quite a nice meteorite. It is about the age of the solar system, i.e. about 4.6 billion years. You can tell this by looking at it.

Read more... )

Not excellent images by any means, but what they do show is that this lump of rock has beautifully developed Widmanst├Ątten patterns. What you can't see is the black crust around the edge of the meteorite, acquired on entering the atmosphere.

Entertainingly, this lump of four and a half billion years old rock does not, in point of fact, have any identifying information on it at all. It damn well ought to at least have a sample number on it - it probably came from a museum collection before it found its way down the back of my desk - but it doesn't.

So there we go.

-

Apr. 10th, 2014 05:31 pm
kaberett: A drawing of a black woman holding her right hand, minus a ring finger, in front of her face. "Oh, that. I cut it  off." (molly - cut it off)
I think the controlled fall I took from my chair at the dining table to the floor twenty minutes ago (& still no signs of wanting to get up) 1. validate my decision to not try leaving the house today and 2. particularly validate my call that spending at least half an hour standing up handling HF would be a Very Bad Plan.

Meanwhile, still no news from the dwp.

Gratitude

Apr. 9th, 2014 08:33 pm
kaberett: Toph making a rock angel (toph-rockangel)
Yesterday I woke up at around 6; by 6.15 had started to worry that I was this awake without my alarm having gone off and checked the time; and at 6.20 decided I wasn't getting back to sleep and might as well go into work. So I did, and I got a lot done, and oh but it is light at six, and the air was crisp and lovely as I made my (grouchy, limping) way up Exhibition Road; I was in lab by 7.30, whereupon I started the process of drying beakers, weighing out rock powder, and faffing about with HF. That I was quite so underslept and quite so ill goes a long way towards explaining why I had a Minor Incident (but no exposure; deets in a locked post). But! I got more Science Progress done than I'd even been hoping to manage, which puts me in a really good position for next week; and then I printed off and posted some documents for [personal profile] alexseanchai; and then in sunshine and relief I made my way home and ate apple cake my housemate had Produced (as if by magic!) while packing.

And then I got myself onto a train - in, still, the sunshine; you might be spotting a theme here - towards the dwelling of Those Two People; and upon arrival I took the gentle wander up the hill and smiled with delight about all the cherry blossom, and also about the fact that everything is getting ready for Holy Week: the forsythia and catkins are all exactly as they should be.

Upon arrival I was greeted by That Fucking Cat. I was, in fact, accosted at the top of the stairs, and required to scritch her. Including her belly. (She does this utterly bizarre thing of rolling over onto her back, looking appealingly at you until you scritch her belly, and then closing her eyes in bliss and not attacking your hand at all. The closest she comes is very gently bracing a back paw against your forearm, claws carefully and delicately sheathed. It is bizarre.) That One Lady ended up glancing over from the sofa to see why I was taking so long to actually make it into the house proper and say a proper hello, and then burst out laughing.

Obligatory image of the terrible animal. )

Read more... )

It's amazing how productive I can be when I'm avoiding sewing and hoovering.

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kaberett: Overlaid Mars & Venus symbols, with Swiss Army knife tools at other positions around the central circle. (Default)
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