Putting on my grape face

What is grape face, you ask? This is grape face:

Sir Ed gets his grape on

Oh fuck yes! For Lisa‘s 30th birthday, I got her the Red Panda experience at Wellington Zoo. This means you get to go into their enclosures, and feed the grapes and pears, stroke them and watch them tip their heads back to make sure they don’t spill any of the juice from the grapes on themselves. SO ADORABLE! I could flood this journal with pics, but perhaps you might just want to look at them in this set right here instead.

As for me, I’m doing okay. After 25 days I have finally stopped bleeding. I had a “the floor is lava” day yesterday, which really sucked, but I managed to jump from island to island long enough to repair my first fuse without having a breakdown about it, so I’m impressed with myself for that.

In 2004, I got an email from the girl who made my life a living hell at ASIJ saying sorry, she hadn’t realised how cruel she was being. I’d tried so hard to bury all those memories that hearing from her made me cry for hours, tucked away in my tiny little office up at Salient. I had a similar experience on Friday night, when someone who’d always said that there was no point in saying sorry now actually said sorry for things done many many years ago. I was completely thrown, and sort of drunk, and lonely, so naturally, I responded with smut. It’s just how I operate. But it did kind of shake me up a lot, and made me worry that they were dying or something. It still freaks me out when people demonstrate that they clearly care about me.

So yeah, clearly the Yaz is still coursing through my bloodstream and my brain, but I’m going to fight this thing, dammit! When I find the time. Oh my stars is my schedule ever busy for the next couple of months.

I can’t think of a proper way to finish this post, so here’s another picture instead!

Red Panda family chow time

3 responses to “Putting on my grape face”

  1. “It still freaks me out when people demonstrate that they clearly care about me.”

    Get used to it. People do.

    Like

    1. To be fair, not everybody is my ex boyfriend. In fact, really, only like 1 in six and a half billion people are.

      Like

  2. I will grant you that that’s sometimes hard to remember, though.

    Like

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