stone theft.

Just discovered along with everything else terrible about the craft fair, when I went to rearrange my things in the studio this morning, that someone stole my rose quartz, celestite, and labradorite stones (really beautiful ones) from my table at the fair, most likely when I had stepped away for lunch or to pee. Most likely by a child whose parent wasn't looking, but still. It's devastating - stones are personal items and not really replaceable for me, one develops a relationship with them - they were there for protection. This is definitely just one more very clear nail in the coffin of never doing another fair like that ever again. sheesh.

do not steal from faeries. i am not superstitious but i've also witnessed the consequences of this enough times to feel confident in its validity. (perhaps just the lining up of the kind of person who would steal from a faery, and the kinds of things that happen to that type of person.) whatever happens to that person going forward will not be pretty.

You think other belly buttons DON'T sound like Kissinger?

I'm really bad at paying attention to politics or civics or international events, past or present, so I never really understood much about Kissinger or what he did, but I do have fond memories of my first lover in the wee earliest 00s squishing my belly button into mouth shapes to say silly things in a fairly convincing Henry Kissinger voice, which made me laugh hysterically which then prompted the belly button to ask me why a talking Kissinger Belly Button was so amusing to me lolololololol

Why Kissinger, though?

This is my most salient connection to that name, alas.

(John went on to get a degree in political science at UC Berkeley, after serving two[if I remember right?] tours in the Army after we split up. He's more of a writer than a politician, though. He was too sophisticated for the military and wrote me gut-wrenching letters when he was in Afghanistan. I lost contact with him so who knows what he's up to these days. Last photo I saw of him was hot. Some kind of huge raptor perched on his arm. Muscular chest as always. He was a rower in high school. Sigh. I miss all of my exes terribly, but there is something especially tender about my first love.)