I'm almost done with my Trig class. Tonight's the final. I was too worn out to work yesterday, so I spent the entire day alternating between studying and reading Mindstar Rising. I finished the latter, and got enough done on the former that I think twenty or so minutes of refreshing myself right before the exam should suffice. I need to put together a notes sheet, though.

Before class I also have to run by the library to drop off my (unfortunately unread) books, and by the bookstore to pick up the Pre-Calc book for next quarter. Starting 30 June I'll be in class from 1730-1950 Mon-Thur evenings. Am I nuts? Probably, but it's only for six weeks, so hopefully I can keep my head together and get things done.

Grass Valley was fun as always. Al ran an extremely amusing sequence for myself, Harold, Chrisber and Marith. As much as I like having tons of PCs (and I do, because with eight-ten players the range of potential relationships is very broad) it was nice to be doing something in a small group. Being away from 'home' meant that none of the PCs had an advantage in contacts, so everyone got a chance to do some talking. Harold proved that he really is thinker/talker, and Chryse got a chance to show that she's not always compelled to act like a rebellious teenager, which was a plus.

This weekend is alternate Sunday, which means Harold will be having dozens of people over to play board games and antagonise his dog. I think I am scheduled for Nexus, but if I can manage it I want to go play Die Siedler or Roborally, or some other sort of game which doesn't involve being someone else. Roleplaying is my drug of choice, but it can be tiring. I want to hang out with my friends and laugh hysterically without another voice in the back of my mind demanding attention.

I sound nuts, I know. I'm not, really; it's just that my brain is easily moldable when I want it to be . I find it very simple to slip into other personas, and while I have no actual identity confusion -- I know I'm roleplaying -- there's a reluctance to make those other viewpoints go away. It's fun to slip into a character's mind when I'm doing something intensely boring, like sitting through staff meetings. Why banish that awareness?

But, on the other hand, it's wearing carrying that around. Which is why I hope that I get to go to Alternate Sunday and be silly.

I was late into work today, partially from having vivid dreams, partially from simply being worn out. I'm not sure why, really. The dreams were interesting, though. I was reading a short story about a girl who got in over her head by trying to watch aliens give birth and nearly got eaten alive. She got out with the help of another set of aliens who apparently felt maternal towards humanity. Unfortunately, this girl had the brains of a turnip, and instead of actually getting *out* she went and partied with the first set of aliens, ending up in a bad situation of torturing some human men to death. The story ended with the human girl trapped on an alien ship, alone and in tears, knowing that she's going to come to a bad end and feeling stupid for not accepting help when she had it.

It was a cool story, but disturbing, and bits of the aliens giving birth were occasionally mirrored by another (apparently parallel) dream of Susan and Sheryl having gotten pregnant in sync again, and thus giving birth around the same time in a hospice up in the woods of Grass Valley.

I also dreamed that I was reading Ophelia's diary, and that she'd broken up with Derek. The entry even went into details about how she hadn't spoken to him for a week and was glad about it, realising now how she'd been trapped and oppressed and so forth. It was sad; it seemed so clear that she was really miserable because of the breakup, and all the oppression stuff was just pointless ranting to try to hide her real feelings.

A very text-heavy night of dreaming.

Having read Gabby's rant, I checked out After Dinner and was ... not impressed. It wasn't bad, but I didn't find it at all interesting. I wanted to, I really did, but it seemed so contrived. The few articles I read were all written in a fuzzy, air-brushed style that gave me no image of the person shaping the words.

This is why I prefer diaries. Specific diaries, the ones which make an effort for honesty and aren't afraid to be self-centred. The diaries written by people who are trying to crystallise their own emotional state rather than those trying to evoke particular emotions in others. They're not playing to the audience -- they are the audience, and while they may succeed in making their readers laugh or cry, it's only because they were laughing or crying as they wrote. When I feel a connection to these people -- and it doesn't happen often -- it's an honest one. I feel connected because their attempt to shape events into meaning has in some way intersected mine.

Am I jealous of the web-clique, of Alexis' long descriptions of her friends and their relationships and their trust? Maybe a tiny bit. Most of my friends aren't on the web, and they don't read this diary, and I'm not sure I want them to. Most of my friends are private technical geeks who would rather have a root canal than write about their emotions, never mind putting those emotions up for everyone to see. And they're my friends, and I honestly wouldn't change them.

And yet. And yet. It'd be nice to have those links, those friendships. I was so damned lonely throughout most of my life that even when I became one of the 'cool people' I couldn't relax. It took me ages to realise that I was in the PernMUSH 'clique' of administrators and kick-ass roleplayers and people with their heads on straight. When I realised it I was able to enjoy it, although all too soon (it seems) I was aware of the downside of a clique; back-biting, irritation, narrow minds ... everyone wants you to stay inside, to stay on their level, and if you try to branch out in new ways they pull you back down as hard as they can.

Even now, with real friends who like me for the right reasons, I still feel a need to claw my way into any apparently worthwhile community. I still feel like the twelve-year-old who had nobody to talk to. I still feel like I need to prove myself by 'getting in'. I'm mostly over it now, I know. After all, in the time it took me to write this I identified how I was feeling and realised that it was ... silly. So now the impulse is gone, and I'm sitting back thinking instead about how glad I am to have a real community of my own.

Sure, they drive me nuts sometimes. Sometimes I have to remind people that I need time to myself. Sometimes I have to tell people they're demanding too much. But it works, it really does. They don't hold that against me. They just back off and let me catch my breath.

Oh, Alexis? Not that you'll read this -- but I'm not slamming After Dinner. I'm not trying to drive people away. What makes you think Gabby is, either? Can't she be stating her opinion without an agenda? I can't speak for her, of course, but when you go on at great length about how every slam of your magazine draws more people to you -- what makes you think anyone cares if their slam gets you interested readers? People who like what you do are going to like it. People who don't like what you do aren't. If I help people find your work who are going to enjoy it, great for them. This doesn't hurt me any.

My left wrist is singing a shrill pain song, so I'm going to go to class now.