Hello 
I'm Siobhan Curran/Kisa Naumova, and this is my weblog. I tend to write about stuff like crossdressing, Macs, code, cats, wine and Second Life, but in general it's just an ongoing conversation about all sorts of stuff. If you'd like to know a little bit more about what this all is, I recommend starting on this page which has a little bit of info on who I am, and what I'm trying to do — or you could dive into my five years worth of archives if you like.
Otherwise, feel free to close this box and explore...
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Two moments of unparalleled self-insignificance. Well, not unparalleled actually, they happen all the time...
ÜberConsciousness
I was on the bus from Harrogate to Leeds this morning, minding my own business, when an odd thing happened. I was like:
"*la la la la la la la*" (That's literally what I do when I'm minding my own business) "isn't that patch of ground rather odd?"
The patch of ground in question wasn't particularly staggering — it was just some mud and tractor-tracks in the middle of a field — but for some reason it sparked off a sequence of thoughts that ended up contemplating the bizarrity of a planet, covered with life, circling aimlessly around a star, lost in the hugeness and infiniteness of a universe so big that you'd need a brain bigger than Africa to even begin to comprehend it.
But sitting there, in the plush-leather goodness of the Number 36, beginning to embark on a "I'm just a speck of sand on a beach" series of internal reflections, I suddenly became aware of myself.
Does anyone else ever have these moments? You bumble through life, just doing this and that, casually unaware of your own consciousness, and then BANG, it hits you in the face.
You become deeply aware that you are a living sentient being, and you struggle to try and explain what that consciousness is.
I find it really hard to get this idea across to people, but it's kinda like: "OK, this is me! I'm me! I'm seeing, and feeling, and experiencing things here, and I can't quite comprehend what that means."
...
I'll try and have another stab at explaining that some other time I guess 
ÜberPatheticness
There's part of my journey home from Leeds that involves a long hill with a glorious climbing lane. It's one of my favourite parts of the two-and-a-half hour commute of mine, because I can put my foot down and get past the tedious sod that's been clogging up the road since Gargrave.
Tonight though, as I'm winging my way onwards and upwards, I became dimly aware of a police car up ahead, and a Big Road Thing™ with flashing orange lights and whatnot. I dropped down to sixty, whacked my indicators on, and prepared to overtake — desperately hoping the climbing lane wouldn't run out before I got past it.
As I thundered (if you can call 60mph "thundering") past, I noticed that it was actually stationary, and that there was a poiceman stood in the road, waving his arms about.
Small flash-back moment to my Glue Pot story, and I was slowing down, half expecting him to jump in his car and peg after me.
(He didn't)
For a few miles after that, I found myself playing through the conversation that I thought I'd have to have with him — something along the lines of "I'm sorry officer, but I was only doing 60".
I couldn't work out why he'd been waving his arms, and it bothered me.
But what bothered me more, was the frame of mind I found myself in...
I don't (again) quite know how to explain this one. But at times, I feel absolutely tiny. I feel stupid, and incapable, and weak, and rubbish, and stupid (again). I feel like I achieve new heights of patheticness, and that the only way I can ever actually achieve something is if I get someone to hold my hand while I do it (or do it for me, of course)
...
Most of the time, I love being me. It's one of the things that I'm most proud of — that I've come (nearly) thirty-four years into this journey, and arrived at a point where I'm not ashamed, troubled, or generally down on myself.
But sometimes, I feel small. Sometimes I feel like, ack, I dunno. Just small I guess.
195.225.177.80
Oooh — spam-attack!
Sometimes relying on just a word-list isn't enough to stop the influx of rogue links to pharmecutical websites. I was sat here, just minding my own business, when I suddenly found myself in a head-to-head battle to update my list with all sorts of new spam-flag-words.
Then, I figured I couldn't keep up, so I went for a more direct approach, and added a new rule to ipfw.
However, thanks to Tom, I now know that as well as being able to whois a domain to find out more about who owns it, you can whois an IP address to find out who to complain to.
And suddenly, instead of feeling small, I feel a little bit empowered.
Secret Post
I've been racking my brains for a long time to think of something sufficiently secret to submit to Postsecret for a long time now — ever since I first saw it sometime last year.
I think I thought of one, but instead of posting it just yet, I'm going to spend the evening living it out in Real Life.
Because that's what I do.
Sometimes.
I know the accckkk feeling pathetic and useless feeling, going through a longer than usual patch of it myself right now
I'm in a love/hate relationship with ÜberConsciousness. Sometimes the organic information overload becomes so bad that i have to take my glasses off just to see things less clearly. Silly but true. 
Small flash-back moment to my Glue Pot story
For a moment then I thought it was going to be a link to the story of when you tried to glue yourself to your mattress with surgical glue but only succeeded in gluing yourself to your purple satin nightdress 
"ÜberConsciousness..."
Not sure why, but walking under big impressive trees usually sparks off the 'who, why, what' questions... God help me if I actually reach up & touch one, my poor brain goes into over-drive then 
Am I just being weird here???
Guys, this is all gret. Just someone do me a favour yeah?
Someone say something like "Siobhan, you're OK. It's all OK. YOu;re not a fucking weirdo"
Please
Since I'm here....
Siobhan, you're OK. It's all OK. You're not a fucking weirdo
Really.
Fairly-Odd
You're less weird than most of the world. The world's what's fucked up. And there's my explanation of it all.
"Siobhan, you're OK."
Really, you are.
"It's all OK."
That's not quite true, but YOU ARE OK. That is, you are as OK as the rest of us. Not a glowing testamonial but it's always worked for me.
"You're not a fucking weirdo"
No weirder than the rest of us. Hell, you're not a fucking weirdo.
We all get the "what the fuck am I here for?" moments. SOme of us turn to religion in such moments. Some of us turn to drink or other recreational drugs.
Paul Eddington (Jim Hacker in "Yes Minister") said he wanted "He did little harm" as his epitaph. I think that is sad. I would rather be remembered for something positive I have done than for something negative I didn't do.
You have already done something very positive, in sharing how you live, think and feel with the rest of the Trannisphere. And I am sure you will do a lot more.
Hope this helps.
seeing how average people are, i think i'd rather be a fucking weirdo. in fact, when a normal person says something nice about me i have an overwhelming need to rethink my entire position.
Siobhan, of course you're a fucking weirdo, but your our fucking weirdo and that's why we love you so!* If you were 'normal' do you think we'd visit as often?
*not that you answer my e-mails...
Kath Adams
You ARE OK, youre not a fucking weirdo, IM a fucking weirdo!!!
Someone say something like "Siobhan, you're OK. It's all OK. YOu;re not a fucking weirdo"
You looked pretty weird with purple satin remnants stuck all over your chest, I can tell you!
Can I suggest you go out, get a diploma in how to lift boxes safely, join the civil service in a low-level HR job and patiently wait for your pension to arrive. You'll never feel weird again. You'll never feel anything again. It'll be a blast...
I used to get those feelings, I used to think of them as 'wow, I'm here and I'm mortal moments'. Usually because I would be out climbing some rock face somewhere, stupidly with out any ropes or protection and reach a point 50 feet up and think, crap I'm a bit stuck now. Wow look at all this beautiful scenery and how insiginificat I am clinging to this rock face in the middle of nowhere.
jenna
Oh dear
Thanks guys, and sorry. I must write some form of 'pissed-filter' that stops me writing introspective, self-pitying crap at two o'clock in the morning. It can't be hard — based on spelling mistakes and certain key words, Erin should be able to figure out quite easily when I'm being a right miserable wotsit and not let me post.
I think I'll just potter around for a bit, nursing a hangover and trying to decide whether the thing I want to write about today is ready for public consumption yet.
But you're always pissed at 2am — wouldn't it be simpler to use a timer rather than trying to write some clever script that analyses your posts?
I like those 2 AM blog posts...
Uberconsciousness — Exactly. I used to have those experiences all the time — and you'd come away from them and it would seem so odd that everybody was carrying on as though everything was normal ("of course we're alive for this split second of time and walk about on this chunk of earth hurtling through space — nothing strange or marvellous about that").
When you aware of yourself in this state, though, don't you find that you feel connected to everything else? And that's a kind of ecstatic feeling.
But I was going to write about this as part of a "why I studied philosophy" post and now if I do everyone will think I've nicked it from you. Damn, damn, damn...