glowtide

Peggy
December 31, 2017

so, new years eve party. pretty good. things done:

kissed an otter after he stonedly declaimed his willingness to be my tool for refining raw chaos into power
talked to a fox (i think?) who had, like, actual moments in Rita she had *memories* about
publicly warned some folks that there is a magic spell at the end of the printed copies of Rita and told them its general intent (you wanna know? ask me at a party when I’m stoned enough to let the Magician speak)
sent a perfectly terrible wish to a genie
buried my face in a tiger’s tits
then the ex and i left at ten because we are old people who can only take so much social at any one time, especially when baked off our asses

and now food, and probably stoned snuggling in the bedroom some time after that

many thanks to the folks at the blazewing eyrie who hosted the party, it was wonderful as always ???????

dream fragment: maternal visitations

Peggy
December 31, 2017

Nick had brought back a cold or something from the flight home, and I’d caught it. So we were both sleeping pretty fitfully.

I dreamed that various dead women related to me were coming to my door. Most notably my mother and my father’s mother. All dressed in white, bright against the dark night. And you know that thing where you see someone coming through the window and try to get out of sight so you can pretend you’re not home? I did that.

Then I woke up and wanted to poke Nick to make sure he was still alive. But I could barely breathe. Couldn’t talk, my throat wouldn’t move.

And then I woke up for real and cleared my sinuses out. I’m glad I wasn’t stuck in a half-awake state barely able to breathe for a while, that would have been a hell of a nightmare.

Time For A Good Book

Peggy
December 29, 2017

A few days ago I was in the space of wanting to draw and having no desire to work on big projects, and no other ideas. So I asked on Mastodon.

“Kalinda.” “Kalinda.” “Naked in a coffee house.” “Kalinda TFing someone.”

I didn’t feel up to an actual TF scene so here’s a snake lady naked in a coffeehouse. With sensibly-sized boobs, and with absurdly oversized ones, because I felt like drawing big cartoon titties.

big cartoon titties version, absurdly huge cartoon titties version

If you are curious, the book is part six of the Penwiper Saga, “The Curious Adventure of the Gyrobicupola”.

181

Peggy
December 28, 2017

Stepped on a scale for the first time in a week or so last night. One eighty one, it said. Ugh, I said. So there I was this morning upgrading my ass from yoga at the Y to an exercise at the Y and holy fuck I sure did loll uselessly around the apartment for the next couple of hours after.

But that walk home. Ah, that special lazy, sinuous strut of a body that has just had every major muscle given a decent workout. I miss it.

New year’s comin’. Depending on how you count, maybe it’s already started – more and more part of me feels like it has, once the winter solstice passes. I don’t make formal resolutions, they’re fragile things, easy to overpromise and then never go back to the first time you slack off. But if I did, this year’s would be two things, I think: get back in the comics-drawing groove, and get back into shape.

I’m working on them both already.

the inevitable, really

Peggy
December 25, 2017

Lying in bed, reading a book. I come to the end of the first part and put a bookmark in it. I think of the books I took from my mother’s place, each with a bookmark lingering in them. Stories she never finished? Stories she finished, stuck the bookmark into a random place, and never got around to putting back on the shelves? Stories she never would have finished anyway, the bookmark merely a testament to how far she got before deciding she’d given that story all the time she was willing to give it to get good? I’ve got books lying about the apartment with bookmarks in them for all those reasons.

And thinking about that, a wave of sadness and loss sweeps across me.

Christmas was her birthday. I didn’t really think about it today. Mostly I just watched the birds eat the food I’ve been putting out for them lately, and puttered around the apartment aimlessly. Put off washing the kitchen floor still sticky from yesterday’s hastily-cleaned-up accident with the shattered bottle of sugary drink; ate sparingly. Wanted to go out but not in the cold and snow that covered Seattle last night and today. A typical celebration of the Winter Family Togetherness Holidays, much the same as I’ve done on Thanksgiving or Christmas most every year for most of my adult life, not much less fanfare than Mom and I gave to those holidays after Russell died. If she was alive, I would have called her to wish her a happy birthday; we would have talked about the trip I’d probably soon be taking to visit her, carefully timed to avoid the rush of people traveling for the holiday. But it’s been long enough since her death that the habit of calling her every week or two is faded. And that, too, feels sad and melancholy.

Mortality. Fuck it.

I thought of picking up one of those books taken from her place, after she died, to read tonight. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t feel like I wanted to dig into the feelings I knew those would stir up. But here I am lying in bed with tears running down my cheeks, wishing she was still alive.

Winter solstice is passed, here comes 2018. I guess.

ass

Peggy
December 22, 2017

A candid admission, with the excuse of maybe still being a tiny bit tipsy from the Mastodon meetup I was at tonight.

Every now and then when I am walking down the street I see a magnificent ass. Maybe it’s a man ass. Maybe it’s a lady ass. Maybe it’s an enby ass. Maybe it’s a fat one with a glorious jiggle. Maybe it’s a tight little square of muscle. Maybe it’s a perfectly curvy one. There are a lot of ways an ass can be magnificent and I’ve probably had my eye caught by all of them over time.

And for a brief instant a part of me wants to grab that ass. To squeeze it, to caress it, to cup its beautifulness with my fingers. To savor it with my touch.

But because I am a civilized adult, I do nothing. I continue on my way to wherever I am going, and let the owner of this magnificent ass get on with their own business. Unmolested, unworshipped, undisturbed.

Anyway. It’s bedtime. I’m gonna take my own ass to bed. And maybe I’ll ogle it in the mirror first. Because ass.

Rita: The End

Peggy
December 16, 2017

Today, I took the last high-tier backer’s copy of the Rita omnibus to the post office. And then I did this.

Time to get rid of the Finder sidebar shortcut to the project directory. Time to close the virtual desktop I’ve kept all the project’s windows on for something like five years. Time to move on.

I dunno what I’m going to focus on next. Absinthe? Drowning City? Parallax? Right now I mostly just want to wait and see what kind of feelings I have about finally being done with the biggest thing I’ve ever made. I feel like I should be relieved, or proud, or delighted, or something, but I’m just kinda empty.

Maybe I’ll just take some porn commissions for a while or something.

Always Say “Yes”

Peggy
December 14, 2017

Some days are productive days. You get shit done, you’re out and about, you move projects forwards.

Some days, you just sit around all day masturbating, and eventually draw your fursona with absurdly oversized tits while hitting the bong a lot.

Today was the second kind of day.

(click for the full NSFW image)

the dream of a pregnant unicorn

Peggy
December 13, 2017

This morning I dreamed that I was talking with Dana, who was presenting as a ten year old girl. She told me she was pregnant and challenged me to guess who by.

I woke up as I was starting to explain why I was ruling out her husband.

the dream of my first home, crumbling

Peggy
December 6, 2017

Now and then, I dream about the house I grew up in. It’s been happening less often over the years; I lived there for the first twenty-five years of my life, but it’s been about twenty years since I left for good. I don’t think I was ever inside it again; my mother moved out into an apartment before I came back from California for my first visit.

Last night, it was falling apart around me. I tried to close and lock the back door and the lock halfway sheared out of the door. The ground beneath the place was clearly shifting and it clearly wasn’t long for this world. Clearly. Nothing else of import happened in that dream; a lot of the time when I dream I’m there I’m afraid of Something coming to get me and need to make sure the doors are closed, draw the blinds in my room lest They see me. But this time? Just an old shell of a place, falling apart.

Which is a thing it did already. When Marie-Jeanne sold it, there were cracks developing in the ceiling between one corner and the other of the house, as the concrete slab it had been built on was sinking unevenly. Not a good choice for building in a swampy city at all, really. I visited it when I came back the first year after Katrina, and it was still standing, but somewhere between then and now it’s been torn down and replaced with a two-story building. The trees in the front and back are gone, too – the little ones my family planted when I was a kid out on the servitude, the pine in the front yard, and the big sycamore tree that dominated the back yard. The only remnant is a bent line of wire fence between that plot and the one behind it; I think it’s probably the same one left over from when I was a kid.

The house on the plot behind it, and the one next door, are still the same houses that were there my whole life. But the single-story mustard-yellow one I grew up in is, indeed, gone, and has been since at least 2007. Street View won’t go any earlier than that, when it shows the lot with the two big trees but no house; the next image is 2011, when the new place is starting to go up.

The last time I dreamed of it, Mom was there, but we kinda knew she was really dead. This time it was just me. Me and entropy. I wonder if I’ll ever dream about the place again.

oh god the little strip mall up on Chef Menteur Highway is a Wal-Mart now.