angela_n_hunt: (Me 2014)
Magician Waits

Magician Waits - Tarot Apocalyptica - 11-2016
This one is very similar to the portrait, but has a completely different feeling for me. Also, apparently my idea to avoid water at all costs for the Waste? Yeah, that went out the window...

I have only done the usual color correcting on this one.
That's it.

That's the shot.

It wants to be a book cover so badly.

Also, at this point, I had ditched the fucking flash. It was just pissing me off so much because I was having to make do with the on-camera pop up flash, and that fucker always blows out way too fucking hot.

Did I mention that my external flash unit failed before we started shooting? Yes. The fucker failed.

So, this is me remembering all of my long gun training and getting super steady with my breath and using my knee under my elbow as a tripod. Like you do.

I fucking love it.
* * *
Yes, there's actually more...

I had a whole new batch spawn sub thoughts about how I just don’t bounce back from things anymore. The body is just so slow to recover.
I fucking hated it. I continue to hate it, but I am coming to some kind of detente with reality. We'll see how it goes.

Then there's today. Anger is still right there under the surface. I’m having more stairway conversations.

Today, I’m going to try and draw an angel. I’m going to draw it on the tablet and see how it goes.
Spent the morning daydreaming/troubleshooting the High Priestess. Thinking about how to make the dress for Cristi without it being perfect on a dress form and that’s all fucking right. I just have to get it constructed. Dress form could be months from now if ever. It’s all good.

Though, I gotta get me the Brother sooner than later though. Being able to do embroidered keyholes for the Imperator??? EEEEEEEE. But whatever. We’ll make due.

Because I hate putting in buttonholes. They are the worst.
angela_n_hunt: (Me 2014)
It's not just for businesses.

Today I feel sad. There it is. There's a lot of paperwork involved in transferring a business and closing out contracts and filing compliance with the state. If there's a silver lining, it's this. It's not sending me into the hole and I don't feel overwhelmed. Yay better living through chemistry. Yay therapy. I'm moving slowly and methodically through my tasks and as I hit moments where I don't feel well...I stop. I don't push through. I rest.

Very different from the way I used to do things.

Another silver lining is that I had a huge perspective shift in the middle of the night when I did my usual mid-sleep cycle wake up thing that I'm currently doing. The anxiety? It's just energy. It is, in fact, possibly my main engines coming back online. But more importantly, it's just a feeling. It's not forever. I don't have to know why I'm feeling what I'm feeling. I just have to be as kind as I know how to everyone around me and especially to myself. The constant dissection of myself and my, at times, non-existent motives because my primary user liked to interrogate me like a criminal, so I started doing it to myself?

Bogus. It has done nothing but hurt me and disappoint me. Made me feel a failure and worthless. That's not the sign of a good tool. That's the sign of dysfunction. And where I would have asked before, "Why the fuck did I think that was a good tool?", a) who fucking cares? and b) well, actually, I know the answer to this one. Programmed by my abusive mother.

Except (and here we go back to marathon mantras), it doesn't fucking matter.

Now, matters.

No. This is not the life I wanted. This is not where I meant to go. And that's okay. If Beyonce can fail spectacularly, so can I. It's not fun, but whatever.

And what's funny is I've had my own advice sent back to me multiple times from multiple loved ones. Apparently, I am very wise. I should listen to myself more often.

So I strip down. I get lean. It's a good thing.

My shoulder is aching a bit today after doing my morning arm undulations. I've drafted transfer papers. The morning has been quiet. Isis kitty has kept me company on my desk.


Here we go.
angela_n_hunt: (Who watches?)


We are like dwarfs on the shoulders of giants, so that we can see more than them, and things at a greater distance, not by virtue of any sharpness of sight on our part, or any physical distinction, but because we are carried high and raised up by their giant size.

- Bernard of Chartres, 12th Century scholar

On Friday, around six in the evening, my uncle by marriage, Albert “Bud” Wheelon, died.

I don’t know how this is my life, some days. Growing up in the shadow of my own father, a giant in his field, and then marrying into a family with giants of their own. Possibly it’s the only way it could have happened. For I was never intimidated by Bud. I had grown up with men and women just like him, because of the peripatetic orbit of my father’s work and career. So when my husband first introduced me to his family, I was, frankly, not impressed.

It took time for that to happen. And when it did…

Bud wasn’t just a giant. He was humble and erudite and fucking brilliant, and in short order, I loved him and continue to love him with a fidelity as close to the love for my own father as can be possible. He was kind and gentle, but with a core of titanium that you could just feel. You didn’t want to play poker with him. His Game Face was that good.

He did enormous things in his life. Youngest and first Deputy Director of Science and Technology for the Central Intelligence Agency. The second Mayor of Area 51, responsible for wrapping up the U2 program and making OXCART go, a project that we all know better as the SR-71 Blackbird, a plane that I was obsessed with as a child, a project that dear friends of my father worked on in direct capacity as engineers and fabricators, and which Bud oversaw to great success. The only civilian who ever got to *ride* in her, a fact that I was insanely jealous of, because he got what I had always dreamed of.

Because of him, we got the KH-9 HEXAGON which some will know as the Big Bird satellite. Because of him? You now have Google Earth.

They don’t make people like Bud anymore. Except that I think maybe they do. But they are not held in the esteem that they once were. I think that it is people like Aaron Schwartz and Edward Snowden and Chelsea Manning who are his intellectual heirs. I think that, like my father, Bud’s legacy is both a challenge and a burden and a call to action.

I think that I am ridiculously grateful for my own history, because faced with this challenge and duty, I do not find myself quailing. I find myself bracing my feet and nodding. And saying only one thing:

Rest well, sir. We have the watch.

Originally published at ANGELA N. HUNT. You can comment here or there.

angela_n_hunt: (Default)
Today was one of those perfect days that you hear the cliche about. Y'know the one. The one where they tell you that you'll treasure the moment forever as a parent.

Yeah, well, the cliche has some validity.

Today, the Mouse and I went to go and buy birthday giftage for the Ant.

The Mouse was better than gold. We held hands. She was polite to clerks and other shoppers. We conferred over gifts, she picked out the gift paper and at the end? Yeah, okay, we went to McDonald's. And I bought her a Happy Meal.

And at one point, she leaned her whole body into mine, chewing on a fry, and let out the most contented sigh I have ever heard another human being make in their life.

Looking around, I saw we were the only ones. Other parents and other children were there, but they all seemed either tired or in a hurry and harried.

Yet here we were.

And in that moment, it was perfect. My little girl leaning into me. Silly bad food. And that sigh. We'd found wonderful presents that weren't expensive but would have meaning for the Ant (or so I hope). We hadn't spent a lot of money. Mostly we had spent time with each other. We'd oohed and aahed over pretty things in the windows with no need or desire to buy, walking hand in hand.

But in the end, it was that moment, sitting with our fries and our sodas that I'm going to treasure.

Because it wasn't the stuff that was really important. It was the time that just the two of us had shared together. And yes, in that moment, I absolutely loved my life.

Chalk one up for the McD ad folks.


angela_n_hunt: (Default)

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