The ships or their passing, the fog or its drifting
Aside from the rather significant action of voting, yesterday was chiefly marked by a supermassive headache, which is why it is much nicer that today was chiefly marked by celebrating my birthday with the rest of my family. First thing, I raked a giant pile of dead leaves in my parents' side yard so that my niece could run and jump into it with a cry of "CHAAARGE!" and then paddle around as if in a crunchy maple-curling wading pool. After that, my brother cooked steaks for dinner and my father made them a sauce with shallots and brandy and for dessert my mother had baked an almond-flour cake with mandarin oranges and whipped cream and candy corn and pumpkins, the latter of which I was completely not expecting. I am now in possession of paperback copies of Forrest Reid's Denis Bracknel (1947), Rodney Garland's The Heart in Exile (1953), Barbara Hambly's Dead and Buried (2010)—for which I had been unsuccessfully scouring used book stores for four years straight—and a CD of Anna & Elizabeth's The Invisible Comes to Us (2018). Also a fabulous red-and-gold-and-black dragon T-shirt that my niece heroically did not steal. She was scrupulous about making sure that I took home my birthday balloon—she clipped it carefully to my computer bag.
sholio has written me wonderful autumnal, everybody gets rained on Torchwood team fic for my birthday: "Stormwrack." As for National Coming Out Day, if people have not noticed by now that I'm queer, I don't know what else I could do, put it on my business cards? I'd have to get business cards. My brother took a picture of me with the cake.

It has been, actually, a really nice birthday weekend.

It has been, actually, a really nice birthday weekend.

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And now I want cake.
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Nine
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Look at that CAKE! It’s absolutely 1976-ly unironically glorious and celebratory and festooned with MELLOCREME PUMPKINS!
Birthday-weekend love.
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I was thinking this morning how grateful I am that there can even be a thing like National Coming Out Day. It seemed so impossible when I was a kid--back when one had to heavily code one's writing, and even then, for years and years there was that awful sense of "They will never publish this."
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Kind of how I've felt about it for a while now. I mean, that doesn't mean that people always connect the dots, but at this point I don't know that I feel like that's on me to address.
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I was just reminiscing with my mom about how I used to jump in piles of ginkgo leaves when I was little.
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P.
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what a beautifully autumnal cake! ( ´▽` )ノ
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Woo, DEAD AND BURIED!
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Jumping in huge piles of leaves is the number one pleasure of autumn from my childhood. Hurray for the giant leaf pile!
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*if people have not noticed by now that I'm queer, I don't know what else I could do, put it on my business cards?*
Yeah. I took the line of "well, there are screaming queens; I'm the mumuring bisexual."
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