update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/motes/008.md

@@ -152,6 +152,28 @@ Lunch was, despite being a sauce served over rice, all the same dry and ashen in
 
 Still, she managed to clean her plate, managed to straighten herself up for the meeting with Waking World, managed to only yell at him a little bit. She managed as best she could as they did their best to learn what paths forward they had.
 
+She tamped down her emotions throughout, press-fit them into place within her so that they would not spill over into the world around her, bottled them up, wrote a label on the jar, and set it on a shelf high in her mind to deal with later, right next to all of the other jars about which she had promised the same.
+
+She had to, at least for now, at least for the time being. She would need to reckon with the person that she had built herself up into. She would need to deal with all of the compromises that she had made in order to be Beholden.
+
+And so, when A Finger Pointing stood, wobbled, and requested that she take her home, Beholden had been immediately ready to stand up and gently guide her partner from the library and back to the neighborhood. She let her partner hold onto her to the extent that she was comfortable, rather than the other way around, trusting that she would take only what touch she needed lest she get yet more overwhelmed.
+
+She knew well by now the ways in which A Finger Pointing had changed over the years, about how the crash had affected her. 
+
+She knew well because she had seen the exhaustion or fear or slackness in her partner's expression when the dissociation would crawl over her, had heard how she would turn down her sensorium almost all the way just to survive. 
+
+She knew well because she had heard A Finger Pointing fall as the world ceased to make sense to her, had heard the shout of surprise as she tumbled from a catwalk where she had been placing lights, had heard the thud of her hitting the stage and the note of dreamy confusion in her voice when she realized how badly her body was broken, the tired frustration as she forked herself whole.
+
+So she set her mind to caring for her partner. It was as she had always done. It was as she must do.
+
+She pressed those emotions down and instead lingered on love. She lingered on her devotion to A Finger Pointing, on her protectiveness of her charge. She lingered on those good memories as best she can to keep the very air from tasting desiccating, to push away the feeling of sand gritting between her teeth.
+
+Once A Finger Pointing was settled on the couch and Motes had been checked on, once the message had been sent to Hammered Silver and they had eaten and settled down on the couch for the night, only then, did Beholden very carefully open the jarred emotions from earlier, carefully withdrawing them one by one and laying them out before herself in her mind. She did not touch them. She used tweezers or tongs or perhaps chopsticks to lift them free, nudge them to lay flat that she might read deeper into them.
+
+And then, exhausted by day, by the last few days, by worry over her Dot, her *dóttir*, by worry over her boss — "not your boss" the common refrain — she carefully replaced all of those emotions, still largely unprocessed, into their container and once more sealed it tight. There had been precious little processing tonight.
+
+Perhaps some day she might.
+
 (( Caring for A Finger Pointing ))  
 (((( Pointillist sighs wistfully. "She has recorded me doing all sorts of things in my day-to-day as well. There is a recording of my heartfelt laughter turning to dire sobbing after a really rough day. She chopped it into little slivers of half-recognizable samples and haunted an entire album with it like the world's longest "Chihuahua or Muffin" slideshow." ))))