JT Thomas

So. Considering I've got to "move out" at some point soon, I'm doing the massive-book-sale thing. Most books are $1 USD, large nonfiction are $2, old ARCs are free, and buyer pays shipping. I'll be making another sheet in the file for comics and one for magazines (Smithsonian, National Geographic, Nat Geo History) once I get through the books. Link here to the Google spreadsheet.

I have found upwards of 20 four-leaf clover this year. One was actually a five-leaf clover.

After months of dithering, I created a Patreon for the purposes of having income my mother doesn't know about. Link here. 

Started a practice livestream. Yep. Link here.

Edit: Done, super long, stories intermingled with music on three instruments. Meet my dog toward the beginning; migraine she warned me on is just starting to hit now. Ends with me demonstrating the fact that humans can, in fact, purr both inward and outward -- was that technoshaman I saw wondering about that one time? Not sure if the audio actually worked on that section (maybe?). Lots of me just fooling around on various instruments, especially my fife. Also, this thing's unlisted because family talk, but nothing much.

 with a knot in my stomach because it's not the first time I've had these thoughts.

Cut for family issues, slight but not urgent mental health stuff, and general confusion.

( Read more... )

and escape plans are being made.

Tomorrow shouldn't be too bad: my mom's not as bad as my dad, and we're going shopping for winter stuff and Christmas gifts (which I'll just go along with at this point, even though I have to deadname myself or get questions about my "nickname") without him coming along. I'm getting new snow boots and a winter coat, which should prove useful. 

But now that there's even a possibility of there only being a couple more years of this...it messes with my brain a bit. That was a dream since somewhere around third grade, possibly earlier: just get away from Massachusetts on the whole because people know me for a wide variety of things, and sometimes that's a bit much when they don't actually know me, just their idea of me. It's not as bad as it once was, but I still planned to move as soon as I could manage, expecting that to be my mid-30s at the earliest. All of a sudden, it may be just after graduating college, which is perhaps the most terrifying thing in quite a while for me but also has made me smile anytime I've thought of it for the past day, which was not something I expected to be doing at all this weekend. So thanks for that to anyone who knows anything about what I'm saying, and thanks to everyone else because it's the time to give thanks and I figure I probably owe some at this point.

Prompted by the fact that Little Bear is undergoing repairs (tuning machine is corroded and the size is odd so we're ordering it), so he went upstairs and took another classical guitar down. (And then proceeded to tell me there was another classical guitar upstairs which was really only suitable for parts. I thought Little Bear was the only classical in the house until yesterday.)

1. his favorite twelve-string, Betsy. A father's day gift when I was about three years old.
2. his favorite six-string, Ross. Yes, the patriotic names are a thing. Older than me, so I'm not sure where it came from. Currently on loan to Nephew J.
3. his Taylor, a big baby which was a Christmas gift about five years ago. Nickname is Eagle.
4. his Martin, a more recent gift, though I'm unsure of the occasion.
5. Technically my sister's guitar, but he plays it more often than she does, so an Alvarez which sits on the rack next to Little Bear.
6. A Checkmate classical guitar, unknown origin but believed to have been given to him in a pillowcase. It was either this one or the classical-for-parts.
7. A Takamine twelve-string, currently under repair after at least a decade of neglect from my uncles. It currently has only six strings on it, and all thoughts of changing strings are waiting until it can be trusted not to break.
8. Ellie, who is not my dad's guitar. She's his best friend's guitar, but seeing as we live in Massachusetts and said friend only comes up from Florida during the summer and does not have space in his car for a guitar, Ellie is effectively a member of the household.
9. My first guitar, a baby steel string which broke in half when I was approximately thirteen years old. Suitable only for parts.
10. Whichever aforementioned parts classical my dad was talking about.
11. At least one of my late aunt's guitars, which my dad refuses to talk about but my mom has repeatedly pointed out are sitting upstairs, gathering dust. I believe there are two or three of these, but I'm unsure.
12. Little Bear, who is now mine.

I know I'm missing at least one guitar, which is the worst part. (ETA: a travel-size classical. Still missing one and I know it.)

This isn't touching on all the guitars my uncles bring over. One of my mom's brothers and two of my dad's play, so at any given meet-up there can be an additional four or five guitars sitting around. Adding in my brother, my cousin, my dad's other best friend, and the woman whose guitar Little Bear originally was, I'd say we have a choice of twenty guitars for ten people when we have one of our larger bonfires.

That's weird.