Meg, Thy Name is Macropod

It seems that about half of the wangsting that goes on in The Daemon Forum is about forms – which makes sense, the form being one of the most publicly noticeable aspects of a daemon. People always want to be settled, want to have a “cool” form, and somehow see settling as necessary to fitting in or whatever (not the case!). There are also the various camps on whether or not settling actually happens or not. Proponents of the “no-settling” group theorize that no one can be the same personality their whole life, and that the daemon’s form will change according to those shifts.

I belong to the other group. I do believe that daemons settle for one’s whole life, though the age at which this happens varies according to the individual. I feel that there is a core part to the personality that will never change, which makes us recognizable to others even after years of separation – this part is represented by our daemon’s form. I dislike that people seem to think that a settled form is limiting or constricting; rather, I feel that one will settle in a reasonably fitting and comfortable form and proceed to grow into it, reinterpreting and exploring as is needed. Points of an analysis that didn’t work before may do so in the future, and other points may be seen in a different light. A settled form should feel right, your whole life. If you become “de-settled” or the form doesn’t feel okay anymore, than you either weren’t settled at all or you had the wrong form.

Jamal and I have been settled for over a year, and although for the first few months he was a Grant’s gazelle, after a little while it stopped being so comfortable. I knew I was settled as something similar, but gazelle wasn’t it. Jory suggested yellow-footed rock wallaby and it stuck. Wallabies and gazelles inhabit the same ecological niche and have many of the same habits, but the details of yellow-footy fit much better than the gazelle. And so we’ve stayed.

However, there have been points and features of the wallaby that didn’t fit me when we first found it. One of those that particularly bothered me was that I see most macropods as being pretty laid-back and relaxed, while I’ve always been a little high-strung. I shrugged it off though and forgot all about it until recently.

I’ve been dealing with a lot of drama online and off, an unusually high amount. I suddenly realized, though, that it wasn’t bothering me as much as it used to. Instead of anger or hurt, my reaction was to shrug, chuckle, or just go, “Uhh, okay.” Drama-mongering, shit-talking, and general human foibles simply don’t irritate me as much as they did, say, two months ago. I’ve matured a lot in this time – to the point where I’ve grown up a little more, and grown into my settled form a little more. After I let go a lot of my stress and hurt and pain I was feeling, learned to chill out and not worry about it, I just…relaxed. Completely. I can just sit back now, crack a grin, and not feel ruffled at all, a sort of sarcastic zen that I've incorporated into myself without even noticing. To me, that’s definitely a marsupial quality, and my own little proof for my theory.

Exam time is harrowing for most people, but it always seems to be a touch more hectic with a daemon on hand. Probably because they don’t put up with any “Oh, I’ll do it later”s. We always seem to argue the most when it comes to assignments and such, his sensibility warring against my positively appalling tendency to procrastinate until I have no choice but to engage in frenzied working or fail.

Today was fairly bland. I slept in late, because I’m a lazy bum and happen to like sleeping in late. Also my current job often requires me to get up at six-thirty in the morning, so whenever I can catch some extra snooze time, I take it. After realising that, whoopsie-daisy, we’ve gone over our bandwidth limit thereby reducing the internet speed to an agonising crawl, I decided to make pancakes. Because I like pancakes. And to my utter delight, I actually managed to pull off a decent batch. Note for the future however: that recipe needs more sugar.

Then it was off to alternately studying, and mooching on the internet. I’m preparing especially for my history exam, because if I do well on this last thing, I reckon I can get a seven for the subject overall, and I really, really need those higher marks to boost my GPA. Killy naturally started up a lecturing spiel every time my concentration lagged, and I at least managed to organise my notes, and brush up on a bit of ancient Greek, industrial revolution, and Cold War.

After the internet threw a hissy-fit YET AGAIN I gave up in despair for a bit and went downstairs to wash up. Washing up is my particular chore, and I hate it with a passion. If I can somehow dodge it, if only for another day, I will. Drives Mum up the wall. Hence my dear daemon’s astounded stare as I almost willingly trudged to the sink and proceeded to completely drench myself and the floor. I’m a bit dangerous when it comes to household activities.

For some reason, I then decided to play the piano. I stopped taking lessons at the end of last year, after about nine years (and only second grade in exams, shut up I was lazy when it came to practise as well). To my utter devastation, almost a year away from it somehow completely took away my ability to even play a C major scale. However, task memory kicked in after a little bit, and I’ve mostly managed to recall one of my favoured pieces; a slightly advanced version of My Heart Will Go On.

And that was about it! Not the most thrilling of days, but not full of pain and anguish either, so I guess it will pass.

I didn’t want to go in. I’d had enough of clinics and doctors and emergency situations. It was just a migraine; it was something I could handle. I didn’t need a doctor or a roommate or anything. I was fine on my own and without help.

It’s your third migraine in the past 24 hours, she said. I knew exactly what she meant by that. She meant You need to go in. She meant You can’t torture yourself just to spite your roommate. And I just sighed and reached for the phone. I texted the roommate to tell her that I’d go in if it wasn’t better by noon. Of course, it wasn’t.

The lights and the sounds and the smells of outside were horrible to my head. I internally grumbled, pretending to blame it on Mar. If it weren’t for her, I feigned, I wouldn’t even be going.

I got checked up and poked at and asked a million questions until they decided they wanted to give me some drugs and keep me at the clinic for a few hours. I was taken to a little room with two beds. It reminded me terribly of going to the nurse’s office in elementary school. Except in elementary school you weren’t given cups with pills or shots of pretend serotonin.

After she gave me an injection of Imitrex, an anti-nausea pill, and some painkillers, the nurse turned off the lights and left me alone in the room, saying she’d be back to see how I was doing in twenty minutes or so, and that the anti-nausea medication would likely make me tired.

I really didn’t want to be there, but Mar sat at my feet and that somehow made me stay. The injection site still stung horribly, and I was beginning to feel the tightness in my neck and the burning of my face that always comes with Imitrex. The injection was worse than the pill, and my head hurt almost as badly as the first time I tried the Imitrex.

Just be still, said Mar, The nurse said it would be over more quickly with the injection. I just wanted to go home.

But then my migraine started to get better instead of worse. And as that happened I started getting woozy. The bed felt like it was moving, like a car; when I closed my eyes I saw round mutli-colored spidery shapes flashing. I realized my halucinations, however, and whimpered.

It’s probably just the anti-nausea medication. It will wear off soon. So I laid down, and before I knew it I was dozing off. That’s when my roommate started texting me. She’d said she would pick me up, but now she was telling me to find another way to get home. I whined again, not wanting to take a taxi and yet not wanting to walk on my own. Forget her, Mar said, She’s not worth your time like this.

I could hardly disobey, as the medication was still making me feel very weird and sleepy. The nurse came back in, gave me some graham crackers, pudding, and naproxen, and said I could go once I finished them all. I sat up and worked quickly, wanting to get out of there. Pace yourself. Remember how nauseous you were before? I sighed, and resigned to eating more slowly. Then I downed the pills and started to put my boots back on.

The journey back home was interesting, even though the walk wasn’t far. I told my roommate and my mother that I was fine to walk home; my roommate unwilling to pick me up as she was across the city and my mother having no way to do so. I didn’t want to take a damn taxi. I felt a bit lightheaded and stumbled a bit, but it was an oddly aware lightheaded. I stood for about five minutes waiting for a train which basically doubled the trip time. When I finally got home I collapsed onto my bed, and then remembered that my time at the clinic made me miss my biology lab.

Don’t worry about that right now! Get some more sleep. I complied. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

Eternal

The text was like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut: “You need to stop sending me creepy stuff. im tired of feeling bad and i just want to do my work.”

Creepy. I guess it’s official then, I’m a creepy ex.

My body was shaking, shaking, and that little luminescent phone screen blurred as I pulled it away from my near-sighted eyes. Creepy. So that’s what I am now, for asking, for wanting to hold you up to honesty and morality. A creep.

I started to hyperventilate, chest heaving and fingers twitching. Jamal sat up by me and reached out gently to touch my leg, but I jerked away, suddenly furious. “Don’t touch me,” I hissed, flinging open the garage door and slamming it behind me.

He followed anyway. “Meg, listen—“

“No, get the fuck away. Don’t say it to me. Just don’t.” Whirling back I ran back inside and closed the door again, but to my annoyance he slipped inside at the last second.

“Dammit, Meg—“

“No. Just…stop.”

“Meg, I love you, and you’re not a creep.”

I broke down in tears then. Why, why, why. How can you think that of me? How can you love me when the one person in the world who’s supposed to love me thinks I’m disgusting? Jamal, I don’t understand you. Don’t say that.

He sighed and leaned back on his legs, his face uncharacteristically soft. There was silence for a few moments as I stood, hugging myself and sniffling. He glanced out the window and then back at me, eyes deep as canyons, yellowed fur glowing in a stray beam of sunlight. I looked down at him, scared for eye contact, scared that this one part of me could have the courage to say "I love myself", scared of what I don't understand.

"I just do," he sighed. "Unconditionally. Objectively. Always."

It's funny how the little things can keep you sane, and Brero is definitely one of those little things. A lot of my friends know about him - in that I have mentioned him in passing - but I don't think they think about him much. When they think of me, they probably don't think about my imaginary dog friend that I call my "daemon". I myself sometimes have difficulty remembering him. Or, to be more accurate, I find it difficult to project him and concentrate on other people at the same time. It's something that we have decided to work on together, because I'd really like to see and hear his comments about what other people say and do to me. When I was much younger, only 14 or so, I could see him easily while going about school, and talking to my friends. As I got older, though, my imagination became less practiced and I see him much less. As it is now, I tend to only see him and speak to him when I am alone in a room, or at least when I am not interacting with anybody. Our newest project is for me to try and remember to work on projecting him during more difficult situations - when I'm talking to people or busy concentrating on something.

So I started a new job this week, and it is TERRIBLE. I am a veterinary technician, and I left a very warm and positive veterinary environment in Nova Scotia when I moved out west. My new job is the opposite of warm in positive. In fact, I was horrified by the negative staff atmosphere and the complete lack of quality medical care provided there. They are hideously disorganized - they actually spayed the wrong dog on my first day there - and there aren't nearly enough staff around. Most of the working technicians are not actually technicians at all. They are simply lay people who have been trained up by vets and other staff. This is like having a big hospital full of nurses who have never actually been to nursing school. It's not uncommon in veterinary practices, because there simply aren't enough skilled techs to go around, but it only really works when the veterinarians are there to keep an eye on the staff and make sure they don't do anything incorrectly. That does not happen at this clinic. In fact, one of the quack techs has worked there for 13 years, is convinced that she knows everything about everything, and is constantly doing things that I would have been flunked for doing at vet tech school.

On top of it all, this woman is openly rude to the veterinarians, sometimes refuses to do the things that they ask because she says she "doesn't have the time", and she yells at me if I try and do something right, instead of doing it her way. You can imagine what a hellish work environment it is, and the only reason that I haven't quit is because the veterinary corporation that hired me only JUST bought this practice. The guy who hired me assured me in an email that they have big plans for this clinic and encouraged me to "hang in there". So I am trying, I really, really, am. But when you spend your WHOLE day repeating x-rays because your evil coworker won't let you touch two of the most important settings on the x ray machine ("Those settings have worked for me for 13 years, so just don't touch them." Oh, yeah, you have to take the same x-ray two or three times before you get it right, and everyone in the clinic thinks that this is normal. Leaving the machine at 10 mAs works REALLY well) and all the time feeling SO homesick for your old boss, your old coworkers... you really just want to take off your iron smock, say "I've had enough" and just walk out never to return.

I had job offers from the local emergency clinic, who offered me more money and would practice MUCH better medicine, but if I took that job I would never see Benn again, because we'd be working completely different shifts, and I'd be going to bed just as he was getting up to go to work. Besides, if the guy who hired me is right, and they do have big changes planned for this clinic, they probably need a couple of trained technicians around to make sure things are done right. So I am trying. But I hate it.

In the midst of all the running around, and frustration, and despair, and homesickness, and busyness... I would suddenly remember Brero. And there he would be, sniffing at my patients, growling at the evil coworker, or simply pushing his muzzle into my hand in sympathy. It would be like a drink of water in the desert. It's hard to explain, but it's like... I would realize that my mind has a way of taking me out of all of this mess. I have my own self, and my own resources, and nothing that they say or do can change this or take it away from me.

Like I said, it's the small things that keep you sane. And just for a moment, pausing to pay attention to my daemon, would be that small thing.

Wet and Wild

Today has to have been the first field trip I’ve been on since…9^th grade or so. It was a queer feeling, waiting at the community college for everyone to arrive, to get in the cars together, that cramped, weirdly informal mix of school and socializing that I rarely experience these days. I suppose I must have missed these educational excursions, as I felt an inkling of an old excitement setting off.

I admit I don’t know the other students in my Marine Biology class terribly well. Almost everyone is over 21, with I believe Audrey and I being the only 17-year-olds. Loud Jamie and her yappy dog daemon make everyone more comfortable, along with Jared’s big bear presence (I wonder – how does she fit into that car?!), and for the first time I actually conversed with some of the people who sit around me twice a week. They’ll never be friends, but it was nice to have some interpersonal interactions. Independent Studies combined with those rock wallaby mountains - it makes it hard to talk to people.

Anyway, the morning started here pleasant but mildly cloudy, and as we drove the hour-long ride to the coast it got progressively more overcast, finally beginning to sprinkle. Jamal sat on my lap and wrinkled his nose out the window at the droplets, not speaking but feeling disapproval; we’re both sun-creatures, not meant for wind and rain.

Unfortunately the drizzle turned into that misty, permeable fog of rain that manages to soak everything and everyone to the skin, except the harbor seals, who seemed to be sunbathing at Fitzgerald Marine Reserve, here on the California coast. I was wearing rather crappy shoes for tidepooling and kept wheeling my arms to stop myself from slipping on all the algae (Rhodophyta, mostly). Jamal takes his incorporeality seriously and also had difficulty getting around; his clawed, powerful feet are meant for leaping on hot rock hills, not crawling about on slimy, jagged coastal rocks. He splashed in a small tide pool more than once, mockingly disturbing the anemones and hermit crabs.

Despite the wet and chill and my head cold, my mood remained at a pleasant curiosity, though Jam became progressively irritable and quietly peeved, so we headed back to shore after about an hour and a half. Wet through, both with our fur and hair plastered to our bodies, we hunched under Thui’s umbrella and wished the rest of the class would grow disenchanted with the sea stars and seagull shit.

We didn’t get properly dry until all the way home, after showering and cuddling in the clumsy humid warmth of the bathroom. My leg hurts deep in the bone and Jamal looks poofy, like he’s been freshly blow-dried, and Dad is telling me about his 5th-grade field trip to the tidepools when a kid named John Gilstrap pulled a moray eel out of its crevasse with his bare hands.

Badass, Jam says.

I just handed in my last ever high school assignment, and god damn did that ever feel good. I’m not going to school today but will have perfect attendance for the last week. One day of it’s a half day for the valedictory dinner, one day of it is taken up by an excursion, and one day of it lasts for less than an hour before our official graduation thing, this means I have exactly thirteen hours left at that hellhole. Makoma and I are celebrating by taking a nice, relaxing day off—a bit of a sleep in, a long bath, wandering around the house eating junk in my pyjamas—this is also helping to cure the mild hangover induced by celebrating the last ever assessment undertaken at SPS by the class of 2007.

Having realised earlier, with a sense of impending doom, that I would need something to force me into writing and socialising and generally making myself feel vaguely useful, Makoma (darling daemon that he is) conned me into starting up The Daemian Chronicles. I can’t guarantee they’ll be even vaguely interesting or insightful, but what the hell. Here we go, starting off with a bit of angsting about form crisising.

Form crisising is when someone has settled as a form, has been that form for a long time, and then… the form goes kaput. Something feels wrong, or doesn’t fit as well as it did, or your daemon just starts spastically changing. Or, if you’re like us, all three at once. Funfun.

Makoma settled on September 10th, 2006. We know this (or, at least, we know it was around that time—we’re so incredibly bad at remembering dates that we tend to pick them loooong after the fact.) This was The Time our personality stopped changing. Now, for a very long time we thought we were settled as an orca—it fitted us well, and it was such a big, comforting form that I honestly didn’t mind the perpetual fat joke supplied. Since about August of this year, though, we’ve been having some serious doubts about the validity of the orca as a form. Le sigh.

As stated in my profile, Mak’s been taking a crapload of other forms lately, but there are two that he’s been sticking with a lot—harpy eagle, and Korean kirin (also known as a girin.)

Now, the harpy eagle doesn’t fit us at all. I’m simply not an avian-soul. It doesn’t fit, but it’s a gorgeous form and we love it and we use it as a surrogate form in order to avoid stressing over everything else. Now, kirin, on the other hand…

Mak took the form once or twice before August, then he started taking it a lot of the time. It was a pretty stylised, silly-looking Guild Wars kirin at the time, but it gradually evolved into a more traditional, albeit really ugly, Chinese kirin.

I love mythology, so I did a bit of research, and found an analysis on the forum’s done by the lovely Li. “Huh,” says I, “This fits pretty well.” Mak gives me a look surprisingly disdainful for someone I can put my hand straight through. Anyway, I did a bit of research and eventually wrote my own analysis. The general kirin traits fitted pretty well, and I wrote a bit about the different nationalities of kirin and the bearing that would have on the form… then three days later I read over it again and went, “Ho damn, the Korean kirin is us.” And it really is. I could analyse it here and now and do a point-by-point, but that would be amazingly long and boring.

The main problem I have is that I really don’t feel like a mythic, I guess. I’m a very dominant person (kirin are top of the heirachy among mythical and/or real animals in most every mythology) and while I’m pretty calm and passive most of the time, I can get very angry very quickly if it’s something serious enough (Korean kirin called typhoons on people who wronged them.) I even fit most of the traits of lion and generic sociable ungulate, the two animals that make up the kirin form. But… mythic just isn’t something I associated more than fleetingly with myself. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a mindset thing? But the form fits, and it’s comfortable…
Now that the stress of school is over, we’re going to wait a bit—til Christmas or New Year’s, maybe—before we consider kirin as a potential settled form. But I have a feeling it’ll stick around for a while.

Testing

Testing, 1 2 3 testing...

Okay, it works.