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June 7th, 2019

Hoo boy!

Gods help my sleep and my sanity, but I have discovered that DuoLingo does Navajo! It doesn't pronounce anything in Navajo, and I've had to figure the grammar out without any actual lessons, but by gods I've learned more in the last several hours than I did in the year prior to that.

Also, thank goodness it hasn't asked me to spell any of these words yet, not the least of which reasons is because half the accents on Navajo, I have no clue how to find on my tablet.

For anyone wondering why I'm bothering with Navajo: several characters in my Ravenstone story speak and/or understand Navajo. Because they're either Navajo in whole or in part, or because they're family to someone who is. (Dalia, for instance, is half Navajo and half Black.)

This was cross-posted from https://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1448639.html
You can comment either here or there.

More mourning

Last Wednesday, I was having a pretty good day, thought I'd been fine for the last week, emotionally. But on my way to the salon to get my hair dyed (mix of "pink" and my previous color), I needed to listen to some music that was calming, what I'd been listening to before hadn't been working, it was making me more anxious, not less.

Normally, my go-to for that need is anything by Gary Stadler and/or Wendy Rule. They do fairy themed music. My favorite is "Fairy Nightsongs." It's light, airy, tinkly, but mysterious music. I love it.

The thing is... Lily introduced me to that music. (You know, the friend who died, who I've been mourning.) Which I had forgotten about, temporarily, until it started to play. Then I remembered. The music gave me an image of the first time I heard that music, at Lily's house, with Lily. Thirty seconds into the song, I was starting to cry. In public! I *never* cry in public! (Not since like, third grade at least.) The only person I, as an adult, have ever felt comfortable crying in front of was Lily. I have a hard enough time crying in private (I can count on one hand the number of times I've cried in the last decade, prior to Lily's passing, and not use every finger), and it rarely lasts longer than 30 minutes when I do, which is what made my three-hour crying jag the night she died so unusual.

Now, my public crying was silent, and I was doing my damnedest to hide it and to stop it. Because, you know, growing up a closeted trans girl and getting bullied for any sign of not being a manly man who mans in a manly way, I learned that crying is something shameful to hide away where nobody can see it. I know better now, but old habits learned from trauma die about as easily as Rasputin was rumored to have done.

(That song was off before the first minute, BTW, but it didn't help much. The floodgates had already been opened.)

Anyway... so yeah. I'm not fine. Just the old habit of burying my real feelings so deep even *I* don't know what they are, up to its old tricks again.

This was cross-posted from https://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1448805.html
You can comment either here or there.

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