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Missing The Pile Years

I wrote this fanfiction piece - my first and, probably, last one ever - for an early morning panel at LeakyCon. I was going through my stuff today and found it and thought I would share. Ignore the bad grammar and punctuation. What you get is what I wrote at like 3am the night before the panel.

Dirty and sad - that’s my brain - and now it’s in your brain - like a dirty/sad worm tunneling through your grey matter.

Enjoy.

And if you don’t enjoy then blame Maureen Johnson. It’s all her fault ;)

"Missing The Pile Years"

(Portal Fan Fiction)

––Dedicated to Sarah Pitre & Henri Mazza who taught me the ways of the pile, or at least taught me the term ‘pile party’

     The companion cube sat on the cold tile floor freezing its bottom off––at least its bottom of the moment. It was like a Rubik’s Cube: Lots of sides that were constantly changing position. Sometimes heads up. Sometimes bottoms down. Sometimes they were just plain old sides. It was random. The companion cube never knew which way it would land, not once it’d been dropped.

    And dropped it HAD been. Released from the warm embrace it had––up until only a few seconds earlier––been wrapped up in. It was a shock. The loss of all the heat, and the special, intimate feeling that came with being manhandled––or womanhandled, really.

     Because it was always a woman. Always female hands that scooped it up, and fondled its sides.

     The companion cube loved being touched. Human skin had an aphrodisiac quality to it. Something in the human skin oils that made the cube feel as if it was a flesh and blood creature being (manually) stimulated in all the anatomically correct places. Not just a weighted companion cube made of Space Age polymer with zero ability to procreate.

     If anyone had cared enough to ask, the companion cube could’ve told them all about its longing to have a baby. A little square. With tiny pink hearts all around. The spitting image of its parent companion cube.  

     Space Age polymer really screwed the companion cube over on that front.

     There was a time long ago when the companion cube had been a normal weighted cube––no hearts, no companionship––and those had been lovely days. All the cubes would get together and sing karaoke and have a big old pile party.

     The companion cube had liked being on top.

     Top of the heap. King of the cubes. Master of the pile––those wild days were over. Now the companion cube was often alone. Childless, solitary…never invited to join in the pile partying.

     And it damn well knew that hedonism still went on behind closed doors.

     The depressing life of a companion cube.

     A cold bottom and no future.

     Sigh.

     Having a heart wasn’t at all what it was cracked up to be.

 

 

To Baby or Not To Baby

I have tried to write this post twice and each time Tumblr has deleted it. I am trying one final time.

I am 37 yrs old. Do I want to have a baby or not? This is a question I ask myself time and time again.

I am an artist. I am independent and creative and intelligent and I love making things. It is what moves me and makes me happy. I could do what I do for the rest of my life and be totally happy if…

…every time I saw a baby or small child, I didn’t get horrible pangs in my ovaries.

I adore children and I feel a physical pull toward them. I have a strong, physical need to fulfill my biological imperative. BUT I don’t want to give up being me. I am selfish. I am an artist. In ten years, I’ll probably be ready to settle down, but right now I am not. In ten years, I will not be able to have a baby.

There in is the rub.

My dad sent me a very thick manila envelope filled with stuff about egg freezing that he’d printed off the internet. I know at least a dozen women who have gone this route, but it’s expensive and, in the end, not completely full proof. I am just not sure it’s for me.

Often I wish I was a man. Men seem to be able to have careers and a family. They are able to do it late in life, too. I know a number of men in their fifties with toddlers. This is not an option for me.

Yes, I can adopt - I think about this, too, and I haven’t ruled it out. But the ability to have a biological child is going away fast and soon the choice will be made for me.

It’s a non-choice choice this just waiting to see what will happen - but right now it’s all I’ve got. 

What say you, Ladies? You picking up what I’m putting down? I’m curious to see if someone out there, based on their own experiences, can allay my mind and help me get some perspective.

My Mom Is Sick Of All The ‘Little Me(s)’ In Storage

So I got a very excited email from my mom this morning. She is moving and the email was to let me know that she is sick of all the Buffy/Amber stuff she has been hoarding in storage for me for years and finally wants to say Hasta La Vista to it.

She has a few unsigned Triangle Tara dolls ($15 + shipping), some Buffy pictures ($10 + shipping), and copies of my first two films, Chance and Lovers, Liars and Lunatics ($20 each + shipping).

So, if you’re interested…contact my mom at: edtbenson@hotmail.com & help her clear out her storage unit!

You Broke Me A Little Bit

We repeat patterns. We get those old neural pathways ingrained in our grey matter and the synapses just keep firing over and over again, sending us down the same roads, inflicting us with the same feelings and habits until they’re all we know.

That’s why change frightens us. It resets those neural pathways, creates more of them, restructures how we think and feel. Change can often be a good thing, but Fear that change won’t be good, well, that’s why we hold on to the bad things, repeat bad habits. Plus treading those old neural pathways feels good, is pleasurable, even. The familiar just feels ‘right’.

Even when it’s not.

Sometimes we’re no different from those poor carriage horses who have blinders on––they just move forward without thought or context, someone/something else guiding their path. That’s what happens to us when we get set in our ways and take the easy road that feels familiar––when we should take the hard road, the one that will make us grow.

Robert Frost had it right in The Road Not Taken.

Today I had one of those neural pathway moments. It was not good. My expectations were such that I went right to that bad place in my mind––a place created by years of one, particular kind of experience. When I realized where I had gone, and how my brain had craved the bad, suspicious feelings…it made me cry.

I don’t want to be the person who has those thoughts anymore––and besides, no one deserves to wear a yoke placed in your hands by the actions of someone else.

SOUL BONER!!!!!

Yesterday was a bleh day. Sometimes you just have days like that. I did some work - hated everything I did and have already started re-writing it - and tried to spend some time with my lady friends I’m producing this short film, Uggs For Gaza, with, but I wasn’t great company.  I blame my horoscope entirely. It predicted I would be impotent and unable to express myself.

I don’t like being impotent.  Yesterday I needed Viagra for the soul.

Do they make that? And if they do, does it cause heart palpitations and cardiac arrest in exchange for a soul boner?

Because maybe I don’t want a soul boner that badly.

Soul boners aside (or astride), today was better. I got more work done and I had a real laughing jag over my coining of the term ‘soul boner’ - although I’m sure someone else has already coined it and I’m just riding coattails. 

Still, today is a minor bleh day, as well. Not that I blame my horoscope. Today it said I would have peace of mind. So, there’s that, at least.

SOUL BONER!!!!!


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