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Thursday, 28 February 2013

I see you (seeing me)

So... if the opinion of a few people is to be believed I'm not completely unfortunate-looking. With that comes people needlessly looking at me more than I'd like (at all). Yes, I'm a bit paranoid about being looked at, leave alone stared at. Except for the times when I thought I might see LesMisGuy or D (or SmTn, the one time) I can quite safely state that when I dress up, when I wear make-up or in any other way try to look pretty I do it for myself (in spite  of the fact that it will get people to look at me, not for that purpose). Now, more than ever before (read: in school, university back home or even the community college I attended last semester) I've noticed men looking (and staring) at me quite a bit. Most notably, when it's a stranger next to me in class who keeps turning sideways to catch a glance. Now, what I cannot explain (and this is not the first time it happens so I'm hesitating to think it's all in my head) is SmTn's lookalike staring at me. He sits in the second row while I sit in the last. While I'm relatively safe glancing his way every once in a while and thinking of the made-up similarities between him and SmTn, he wouldn't know to look at me for any reason whatsoever, would he? And yet, for at least the second time I've noticed him looking at me as we walk out of class and I make my way to the bathroom. I've noticed because I make a deliberate effort not to look at him.

That being said, the instances where LesMisGuy's lookalike finds me glancing his way are completely to blame on me. 

C'est fait

My sister has tickets to come visit for two months in summer. It's now positively insane for me to go to summer school (and yet a part of me keeps wondering if there isn't, perchance, a way that I could go). *sigh*

[10:31pm edit]
How weird is it that I'm still plotting a getaway to summer school because aunt A offered to pay for my sister's tickets? It shouldn't make any difference, it's still insane to go and my sister leaves when summer school is almost over... Why must I want to go so?

I've just seen a face

I just woke up to a rather strange dream involving SmTn.

In my dream I'd been to his place. I'd met his girlfriend and found her to be a rather lovely person, so, after hanging out with her I thought I'd ask her out for coffee or a brownie or something (truth is, even in my dream I wasn't very sure, I only know I was waiting for her). How do I know I was waiting for her? Why, I stood by the front door of their apartment. Which is how I heard SmTn arrive (somehow) with a big bouquet of white cake frosting flowers (odd, yes, but also very pretty). By the entrance lay a sort of device not unlike the towers to display things in stores and on it were gifts. Birthday gifts for the girlfriend, I presume. One of them was a box wrapped with blue paper and a white sheet of paper that read "PACMAN." I digress. Not for the first time in my dreams, I overheard SmTn and his girlfriend having an argument. All while I was still waiting outside, wanting to see the girlfriend. 

When I heard SmTn about to leave the apartment I made a beeline for the lift. Even as I got on, he somehow saw me get on. I half-pretended to wait for him but the doors closed with only me inside. I pressed the button "1" (we were on a fourth floor, if it matters) and the elevator moved very strangely. It moved too fast, for one, but also seemed to move up and down with the numbers on the screen jumping between 1, 3 4 and 7 (though I'm quite sure there weren't that many buttons). The doors opened in an underground garage, where a family of father, grandfather and two children (boy and girl) got on. I awkwardly greeted them and helped them move a curtain-like cover for the lift's walls, which revealed one of the walls wasn't so much a wall as a path to another part of the building. When the elevator stopped next time I was on the real first floor and I had this feeling that SmTn wanted to catch up with me and I should meet him downstairs, so I thought of asking the doorman about him but he didn't speak English. I walked out the front door and looked around. On my left, down the stairs, in front of a shopping window (?) SmTn was talking to a random woman on the street, presumably asking for me. When we met we decided to go out for a walk, and there was a big parade in town. 

We avoided it and made for a sort of strip mall that had a bowling alley, a cinema and a drive thru restaurant. We walked around these and I somehow ended up holding SmTn's left arm, tight, with my arms. Until he said he was too warm and I let go, not having realised and suddenly feeling embarrassed. He at some point showed me (I know not how) a video he'd made long ago (he looked a lot younger) that was like a Harlem shake before the Harlem shake: he said he was copying some crazy guy on a parade, but it was basically him videotaping himself and going crazy on camera (Insane in the Membrane style, come to think of it). In the bowling alley I was reminded of a (made-up) scene of Kurt and Blaine in tuxedos, Blaine not realising he was being used (not so made up, I suppose). I think the last I remember is letting go of SmTn's arm now... I know there was more (why, I woke myself up from the dream only just 10min ago) but I can no longer remember what happened next.

You know... in retrospect... that bouquet of frosting flowers is quite literally the sweetest way to give anyone flowers. Nice touch, dream SmTn.
Now, when I just woke up, the song in my head was "It's not right, but it's OK" (glee version) 

and when I opened my computer to write the dream down before I forgot it, two YouTube windows were open. One had my hippie-ish playlist, which had crashed earlier yesterday and had not been re-loaded. The other was "Libertango" playing on a loop. 

Oddly enough, when I started typing I noticed the sound of music other than "Libertango," namely "I've just seen a face" by the Beatles. 

Tuesday, 26 February 2013

Uncomfortable Truths

I'd love to start a t-shirt line called Uncomfortable Truths. They'd be high quality, hopefully ethically manufactured, t-shirts with hand drawings by yours truly. I'd include a whole line, all signed with the brand name but with different drawings. The drawings would include vague, tasteful-but-not-really sketches of:
 - a broken heart
 - stomach rolls
 - stretchmarks
 - backne
 - cellulite
 - manboobs
 - a silver ribbon
 - scars

You get the picture. It would be an opportunity to wear out the things you're a little embarrassed of and own them. It should hopefully make the uncomfortable truths a little more comfortable and the wearer a somewhat more empowered person. 

That is, oddly enough, an explanation I hadn't thought of

I had a dream last night where  my sister, A and I got on a car with LesMisGuy. He drove us to university and we got out. It was starting to get dark. A had plans for me and LesMisGuy, so in a somewhat manipulative way he told him to leave his mobile phone alone lest it run out of battery (which would be inconvenient for the drive back). I don't know if we were drinking... but it certainly looked like LesMisGuy had had a drink or two (he wasn't drunk, just a little buzzed). After sufficient chit-chat (which involved Skyping with my parents, who were making a croquembouche tower and holding some sort of dog race where dogs, not ours: poodles, ran around the house) A suddenly let out something along the lines of "Why aren't you and linaThumbe together?" and through a somewhat confusing (now) line of events including him admitting that he has a very hard time expressing his feelings and lots of guys from the physics department (and/or summer school), commanded by CtThumbe,  ganging up as if to beat him up for being so stupid we ended up a couple. It was odd, because one of them had a badass metal band t-shirt that was very soft, and LesMisGuy was supposed to have a thing for soft-fabric t-shirts and they sort of became friends. I know the process of us becoming a couple included him sending me a text message: "Will you be my girlfriend?" but by the time I saw it I already knew we were together and I somewhat remember hugging him and kissing him. It was really very nice but if my parents' cooking doesn't indicate that it was near Christmas time then I can tell you: it was almost Christmas time. And it was implied I'd be going away for good come that time and we'd only get to be together for a rather short period of time (which was sort of to blame on him, really). 

Unrelated, I suddenly remembered a dream I had where I pushed down the palm of my hand, just under my thumb, and a staple came out. I remembered it as I looked at my left hand's palm, which had something not unlike a somewhat irregular papercut which, now that I look at it closely, is just about as long as a staple.

Monday, 25 February 2013

Story idea

So, I didn't mention it before but the only time I went to the library I sat down and a young man greeted me. He was sweet and smiling but not really looking for a conversation. Same thing happened today as I waited for the second bus to get into university and I don't know if it was the same young man but the same energy was there. He said goodbye and wished me a nice afternoon/evening (can't remember, sorry). 

This is not the first time strangers greet me as if they knew me (even though I don't know them) and I doubt it's the last. Inspired by some of Neil Gaiman's stories I read just yesterday I thought I might write a story myself about how being greeted by strangers might mean they know more about you than you do, they know you're special in ways you don't. I intend to write this story sometime. Hopefully soon. Just not now and not until the weekend comes and I'm quite done with homework assignments and proper studying. 

Sunday, 24 February 2013

How silly would it be?

Well, I know it's silly. But how foolish would it be? Very foolish indeed... And how stupid would it be? Incredibly so.... Have I wondered how moronic it would be? Well, not nearly enough because I'm giving it serious thought.

Some time ago SmTn asked if I'd be going back home for summer. I mentioned my sister's coming here (instead of me there) in summer and that I'd rather be home for Christmas and New Year's. Fast forward to yesterday, when I got to talk to him for the first time in a rather long time and he mentions there's another summer school being held this year. He mentioned this year's lecturer's looked at least as good as last time's. He said he was invited and he was thinking about going. He asked if I'd consider going. And, he didn't say it that way but here's how I interpreted his question: "If you go, I'll go. Will you go?"

I already knew there was another summer school this year, it's not that I didn't know. It's not even that I hadn't considered it. But I told the old man I'd like to go home for Christmas so my sister could get a (well-deserved) vacation this summer. Unless I got an very handsomely well paid job now, there's no way I could afford to go this summer (and it would feel wrong to cut my sister's trip short or post-pone it so I could go to summer school). There's also the prospect of a summer job here, which would  be a great chance to make some decent money. And yet... well, if I go home in December the longest I can stay is three weeks. If that. Blame whatever culture makes summer vacations such a huge deal and detests the thought of longer December vacations. According to that it would almost make sense to switch my trip over to summer... except for the fact that my parents wouldn't appreciate me spending two weeks away from them if I make the trip.

It should be a no-brainer. If not for the reasons above, because of the way I read his question. If my interpretation is correct it forebodes... well... it would mean he's... there would be a very high probability of our interactions no longer being limited to just talking, which is to say we would be really pushing the "just friends" boundary. If I'm wrong, then I'm still thinking all of these thoughts and getting silly ideas in my head that should have been rationally banished long ago! What would I be up to, going through all that trouble to see him? I actually had a fantasy/dream last night where we kissed. As in snogged. And I don't think I'd ever really delved into such thoughts and committed to them since I ruled the whole thing out as a sort of infatuation.

I really wish I had someone to talk this through.

No, wait. The one truly important question, the one I'll have to remind myself of if I am ever to be at peace with my decision, is "How selfish would it be?" because the answer is "More than I can forgive myself to be."

Unrelated, bless CtThumbe and may she forgive my social awkwardness. 

Finally, the song I woke up to is "Libertango" sung by the Swingle Singers.

Saturday, 23 February 2013

Swimming away

So, until I left the cat in the garage (lest any mishaps be blamed on me) both the cat and the dog kept me company last night. The dog actually slept on the carpet next to me. Bless them, I appreciate it. I had a dream about going to a beauty salon with aunt A. Some famous man was there giving a lot of women, including aunt A, facials. He'd start with aunt A, move on to the next 7 or so women and start again with aunt A, one step at a time. Aunt A was a bit annoyed not to get his undivided attention. I don't know what exactly I was doing in the salon but I got into an argument with one of the men there (a heavier, bearded Russian-looking man in his 40s-50s) and was so upset I walked out. Without even bothering to bring my shoes with me. The dog followed me. Somehow, I ended up jumping into a nearby river and hopping on a boat. Which was fine until the boat started speeding a way, at which point I had to ask the man driving it to drop me off by the salon. Aunt A was there holding my shoes for me. We left.
I had another one of those night terrors last night. I distinctly remember the image of small black creatures (no bigger than puppies, certainly not nearly as cute) pulling me down from my arms. I remember not being able to move and, in an instant of lucidity, thinking "come now, it's just a matter of being able to move and when that happens I just need to go back to sleep again."

As of a few minutes ago, the blog goes private again. Not that anyone was reading, but I simultaneously need to be able to write and know no one will read what I write. Not for a while, at any rate. A long while, at that.

A gas fueled reader (sorry for the almost impossibly obscure reference) would know the last post shouldn't be quite so hesitant. Such a perspicacious reader would have expected me to treat the subject of rape like I do many others (except, maybe, taking the "expected" time to blush and be uncomfortable with the sex component of it). 

I will have the decency to warn you I'm about to be explicit, go down a rabbit hole of way too much information and oversharing and possibly never come back out of it.

I spend a lot of time on the internet. Often browsing for entertainment purposes, sometimes for homework related purposes and not all my educational visits are counted in that last set. Just as I will look up whether or not AIDS can be transmitted through saliva, and how likely it is to be a victim of burglary, I will sometimes look into ways to fix a fuck up, or find something I don't like about myself and hope the internet can shed some light on possible home-made solutions.

Insecure as I am, if you were to somehow look at the things I look for, you would find at home teeth whitening techniques, body mass index tables, calorie counters, how to clean a rayon dress that was splashed with rubbing alcohol, how to make eyes less puffy after crying, how to varnish wood, how to clear acne scars, home-made remedies for cellulite and stretch marks, and *gasp* genital warts.

I looked for the definition of a wart, thinking there were maybe different types and I just had a bad case of ironic beauty marks. It took a while, but I'm slowly coming to accept that they must have been caused by HPV. And there are many kinds of HPV, but according to my findings the only way to get warts in your genitals is to have someone else's warty genitals near you. Problem? I have absolutely no memory of having anyone's genitals near mine. 

While I did get up and personal with D's junk, and he fingered me on occasion, I remember being self-conscious about them then. I am not 100% sure but I daresay I was self-conscious about them before I got involved with D for a second time and... well, the ways I couldn't get them through D are the only times I remember when I could have been close to getting them so... er... causes and consequences being what they are it means... all the evidence seems to point at rape I can't remember. 

 I will give you this line to let that sink in.

Here, at 24, I'm suddenly realising in the least glamorous fashion that I was raped and I can't remember it. I am, of course, worried about what else I might have that I had no idea I could have and I would like to get tested for everything under the sun that can lie dormant and asymptomatic for years but I can't afford to. I can't afford to anymore than I can afford to get medical treatment or the scandalously expensive vaccines (and, alas!, it's not just one but three). I don't even want to think about the subject too hard because I can't afford the shitstorm that would follow if I, goodness forbid, remember.

Why write about it now, then? For one, I needed to write about it. I've had the thoughts in my head for a few days now and only just now dared put them in writing. However, there was motivation. I was home alone tonight and took the night off to procrastinate, paint my nails and talk to my mum and my sister. When all that was over I somehow ended up watching The Perks of being a Wallflower and come Charlie's realisation, I broke down. Admittedly, I am emotionally unstable enough but you know I mean it meant more than that. It "struck a chord," like they say. 

I will make a brief parenthesis to say something you'd expect: I adored Ezra Miller. 

And perhaps I'll write nothing more because I just don't know what you're supposed to say in these types of situation.

Wednesday, 20 February 2013


Yes, I'm not really working on my homework assignments even though I should. I know. There's the minor bother of an uncomfortable seat, namely just a too-narrow something to put butt on in front of a table. No back support, uncomfortable distances between table edge and chair... I digress. That's not the reason I started this blog post.

Not really worth noting (but can't you tell I'm stalling?) is the fact that I forgot to mention something I saw the other day. I made myself comfortable (or not, I really do miss being able to lie down on the grass but being outside here means being surrounded by bugs) on a bit of a semi-sphere turned upside down. I looked at the ground beneath me and noticed two things: first, a snakeskin (at least 60-70cm long) and an unopened (thank goodness!) condom. I can't pretend I know what people use Instagram for but it's exactly the sort of thing I'd post on there if I posted anything at all. Or perhaps not. Who would I post it for in the first place...? Anyway... So, there's that. 

Now for the real matter at hand. There is no proper introduction for taking a seat on the bus, being one of only two passengers and having the bus driver break the question: why do you think women all over the world are abused? Now, this particular bus driver is one I've seen many times before, an older man, and dare I say he looks like the kind that's grown wise with old age. As uncomfortable a conversation topic as it was (one I could only answer with an "I don't know" shrug), I really just think he was trying to make friendly conversation considering both of his only passengers were women. I couldn't make out everything he said, mostly because of the background noise, but I half-overheard him talking to the other woman. I can't remember much of what was said, except for the woman telling of how a friend of hers was raped and said nothing of it to the police. I mulled the subject over in my head for a while.

While it may be the case that there exists a community somewhere where they have not even heard of the idea of rape, the bus driver remarked that it's prevalent in lots of different cultures all over the world and wondered why. I wonder with him, I don't have an answer. A simplistic point of view would try to say that animals are wired to have sex "whenever" and, for instance, dogs are expected to mate just because male dogs are always ready to have sex and at some times female dogs are ready to get pregnant. Note, however, that not all dogs go about it this way. Female dogs don't always let just any dog hump them. Natural selection has a lot to do with choosing who to have sex with and that means sometimes we're allowed to say no. Whether or not "no" means anything in any given context is what seems to be up for discussion right now. 

Oh, will the guys next to me just shut up already! You! Whiner! Stop making excuses! We're on to you! Show up for the bloody meetings and cut it out with the complaints.

I'm going to make a claim. I won't verify it, I will only justify why I think it's true. It's mostly men who commit rape. I'm sure there might be very aggressive lesbians out there, but I daresay women who rape men are a rarer sight than that. My explanation for it is that a man with an erection can just stick it anywhere while an aroused woman's choices are more limited (granted they're both in the rapist mindset to begin with). None of that does much to explain why rapes happen at all, though. The fact remains that while some are willing to chalk up the loss, some won't stop until they get what they want. 

Why does anyone do anything if not "because they can"?

State of mind: _____

I can only describe my state of mind today as detached numbness with an inclination to procrastination (read: of the kind that makes me completely bloody useless). I got on the bus and my mind wandered. I gave up, for the most part, on thoughts of LesMisGuy and even SmTn (to the point where I don't even wonder very often if he will have answered my latest e-mail). As long as it's only fantasies that I think of, I made up my mind to bring Darren Criss to mind. I can imagine talking to him, singing with him, kissing him and know that it is nothing more than fantasy (meaning I have nothing to be upset about if it doesn't turn out, and I have no real invested interest in any of it). 

Today, I did not think of Darren Criss. The very idea of being close to another human being was alien to me. I thought back on yesterday, when a girl from that group of friends in my class sat next to me and made a remark about how the row we were in was so far from the others. I did not hear her very clearly at first and then could not think of anything to say beyond "I don't know," so she changed seats and I felt bad. There she was, and it's not the first time she (or anyone in that class) tries talking to me and being nice to me but I just can't seem to respond like a normal person. 

I forgot my glasses this morning. Though I could have taken that as an opportunity to sit up front in classrooms and take notes eagerly, I settled for sitting in the back and wasting time online. For a while there I obsessed about that "perfect nude lipstick" and contemplated buying it (for twice what it should cost). I stopped myself because I could not find a coupon code to justify the purchase to myself. I still wasted a great portion of today's afternoon browsing through make-up and watching make-up tutorials. I did not sleep. I did not study (even though I have a test tomorrow morning). I did not do homework nor start reading to prepare to do homework (even though I have two homework assignments due in on Thursday and a third due in on Friday). I've just laid in bed, blankly staring at the computer screen, seeking to keep my mind blank and free of thoughts.

A thought has been bothering me. As my luck would have it, it seems certain that something horrible has happened to me. I would not call it my excuse for everything that screams I have issues! in me, but I daresay it might explain a lot of things. True certainty will cost me more than I can afford, so... I get nothing more than worry out of it. And worry, as it turns out, turns into an excuse not to interact with anyone.

I did not even write about yesterday's episode with aunt A where she wanted to buy roasted chicken but not a whole one, and when I had the man behind the counter to cut us one in half she decided she did not like it. Why? Because it was not laid out neatly in a bag with the rest of the chicken but on display next to them. She decided it must have been stale chicken and that we would be poisoned. I have to admit I exploded and told her "fine, then we're going to be poisoned!" and that it was uncalled for. I suppose a lot of aunt A's negativity just piled up and I couldn't take it anymore. Why must she always see the worst of everything? We go to a restaurant, I remark on how they have an open kitchen and she goes on to say it's fortunate the waiters can't spit in our food or drinks because goodness knows if they might not give you AIDS. I point out it's very highly unlikely anyone would get AIDS through spit but she tells the story of how many years ago she worked with a lady who was HIV positive and everyone was afraid and they called a meeting where the lady talked about HIV and how it was spread. According to aunt A's story, the woman said it can be transmitted through spit and no reasoning or newer information can convince her otherwise. In an it-shouldn't-surprise-me twist, she turned a talk about AIDS into one about transgender and gay people, which inevitably turned to the subject of how they are bullied into suicide and must therefore be quite miserable people. And that was just the conversation leading up to lunch on Sunday afternoon... 

Surprisingly, aunt A seems more agreeable since yesterday's incident (or she's avoiding me, which also makes it easier to avoid conflict). I don't know what to make of it. All I know is that it tires me.

I know I should study. I know I'm late to study. I tell myself I know enough to get by and can do decently on the statics test. I tell myself I will have time to finish the homework assignments. I know better. I have not practiced torque problems or spring problems. I will be out late tomorrow and there is a very high chance of MATLAB or LaTeX acting up on me. I still have to catch up with my notes to do homework. I can't. My state of mind (or lack thereof) does not allow it

I can't  begin a sentence with "I am" because at this moment in time "to be" is too strong a verb to describe me right now. I hardly am, so forget about me being anything. 

Monday, 18 February 2013

LesMisGuy, again

The memory is fading quickly... I had a dream last night about LesMisGuy. It had something to do with university, and perhaps roommates. It was somehow implied he and I could get married. Well, mum seemed to expect me to say something along those lines. 

It's getting old

Gather round, ladies and gents! It's time for a rant. A rambling one too, I'm afraid. You've been warned.

Primo: what is wrong with the people writing for Glee? I read through the recaps, made a terrible decision to watch the latest episode hoping for some Klaine and got a heartbreaker Kurt. What gives?

Secundo: I cleaned the fridge on Friday night while aunt A was out. I tossed out moldy old food that had been in there too long, including a birthday cake a friend of aunt A's baked for her, which had some kind of frosting and some fruit on top. Problem? The fruit on top was nothing short of disgusting, the cake was still in one piece and not too well stored (being tossed into a fridge with no less than three green moldy items with no more protection than what some badly wrapped aluminum foil could provide). I tossed aunt A's birthday cake. So, she didn't see "I cleaned out the fridge" (a three hour task, no less) but "I threw out her birthday cake." And there's just no arguing with that, I suppose. 

Today she said I could either go with her to the mall or wait for BCM to give me a call, see if we could do something. But aunt A was going to the mall where I can use my birthday gift certificates and BCM wasn't. But aunt A said nothing of going to said stores, so she said I could go on my own and we'd meet again after a few hours. If I chose to go with aunt A we could get lunch. If I didn't she'd have to fix herself lunch. Now, I've failed to convey aunt A's unwillingness to have me anywhere near her. She painted all options as bad ones, like I'd either be abandoning her or weighing her down somehow. I opted for getting lunch with her. As it turned out, BCM didn't call until 4pm (or perhaps later) and I would have gone hungry and bored waiting for her to call like aunt A said she would. I got some new clothes and an excitingly bright orange-red lipstick. BCM texted me asking if I'd like to go out to a children's party place and, though I should study for tomorrow's test, I said yes because... well, just because, I suppose.

Aunt A is in something of a foul mood lately, and she directs that anger at me for whatever reasons. Let her have her reasons, I won't try to argue with them or find out what they are. What bothers me is that she plays the victim all the time, like I'm deliberately out to make her life miserable and that is just not so. I put the cat out even though it's cold outside (I was counting on aunt A letting her in again) and she came to my room asking if she should let her in again. Well of course. But the cat will pee and poop inside the house if she's not let out for a bit, won't she now? It's my fault for not letting her out if the cat makes a mess and it's my fault for letting her out if it's too cold by aunt A's standards for the cat to make it through the night. It's my "job" to let the cat out even when she's not in my room. Even though it had been aunt A's "job" all along before I got here but suddenly she can't do it because she's allergic to the cat and how-dare-I-suggest-that-she-do-it-good-gracious!. 

I'm sorry, this is not a very good post, but I've been coming back to it several times and can't bring myself to re-read it and make it make sense. I don't think it would make sense even then. 

Aunt A: Here is my opinion/information given me by some source or other (possibly very many years ago) and I present it to you as absolute truth and don't you dare have an opinion of your own to refute it.

Me: I have an opinion of my own.

*sour face*

It gets old, I tell you.

Oh, and, by the way, the song in my head is "Red and Black," as sung by Aaron Tveit and Eddie Redmayne.

Sunday, 17 February 2013

Men in masks

A sudden realisation has just struck me as I finished watching V for Vendetta. There's a common theme to many of the films I love and can watch over and over again: in case you missed the title up there, that would be "men in masks."

How so, you ask? Well, let's make a quick list:
 - The Beauty and the Beast
 - V for Vendetta
 - Howl's moving Castle
 - The Phantom of the Opera
 - Cyrano de Bergerac

I wish I could write a short essay on the subject, but the truth is that explaining how these men are wearing masks feels... wrong, somehow. Like I'd be explaining something obvious and covering it up with my words rather than helping show it.

[21st of April edit]
It's fair to say I have a new film I can watch over and over again: 3 idiots. I can't quite make my mind up about whether or not it belongs in the above list or not. Hm... wait... it does, in a way. Huh. 

Saturday, 16 February 2013

In case you were on the fence about me having issues

I had a very odd (if I do say so myself) dream last night. One where I'd promised my sister a very special treat: I would let her kill me. I wanted to commit suicide, she wanted to commit murder, and it was a noble gesture of me to let her kill me. Don't ask me what kind of sense that makes. On the appointed day, however, I had second thoughts and came up with an excuse. I can't remember the details exactly, but there was something I had to do and I allowed it to matter (or pretended it did). Note that if I was planning on killing myself that day anyway it should not have mattered enough to put off my plans, but I put them off anyway. That will be all, I think. Just the dream for today. 

Thursday, 14 February 2013

Not quite worth a blog post on its own

Not quite worth a blog post all together either, I'm afraid.

  • It's not really important but I wrote it down anyway. When I was in class last Wednesday afternoon the song stuck in my head was Saria's song

  • EBF started messaging me today through facebook. I took my time to even switch tabs, even considering starting a post before I opened it. It wasn't worth it: he wanted to show me today's photoplasty contest and the top comments in it. I answered with a pick of my favourite comment, he wrote back about how good they were and I could not think of anything else to say, so I said nothing. He did not wish me a happy Valentine's day (not that I would have cared for that), he did not wish me a happy birthday (and you'd think he might as well have). 
  • I'm having the hardest time bringing myself to study.
  • I've spent a good deal of today reading through Cyrano de Bergerac (and about the historic figure himself, which fascinatingly may have actually been a gay man).
  • I just realised I might as well have written this post in French, as I intended to when I first thought of writing about reading Cyrano
  • Note to self: come August, get SmTn anything other than a book.
  • There is not a universe where this would make any sense whatsoever, but I'm coming up with a short soap opera of the life of SmTn's look-alike (who turns out has a girlfriend he's been with for a year... the blonde girl who sits in front of him, in my mind, looked devastated).
  • I'm so glad my mum's such a reasonable person.

Wednesday, 13 February 2013

Happy birthday, Harry (Part 2)

Got a call from the old man and my uncle just as I was about to get into the shower. I ran out in a towel to get the call. After showering, mum and my sister called. When my mum closed the call singing a birthday song they used to sing back in her day for a television show I teared up. In the bus ride to university I teared up. At the tax filing session nothing seemed to be working for me and in a remarkably pitiful moment I pointed out it was my birthday. It had nothing to do with what was being said. A minuscule pity party I felt so guilty about I didn't mention it until just now. A left me a message. My dearest aunt MT left me a message too. The old man left an e-mail before calling. Uncle A and aunt A congratulated me this morning. My aunt LM left me a message and cousin S called earlier. I'm a little ashamed to admit that the heartiest greetings came from the advisors this morning and from Hotmail. 

I'm (more than) a little upset that I haven't heard from AOB or SmTn. Not from N1 either. I won't say I expect a message from EBF. All I know is that come tonight I will very much want to cry because I'm in a shitty mood I can't even blame on hormones. I suppose I can blame at least part of it on a terrible night's sleep because someone changed the thermostat settings making it too warm in the house for comfort and I didn't have my iPad around to change them back. It was almost 24ºC this morning when I woke up, as the clock in the bathroom kindly informed me. I tossed and turned and woke up at least an hour early, unable to shut my eyes for five minutes straight after that. I have dinner and, hopefully, a glass of Baileys. 


[12:25am edit]
Forgot I was supposed to talk to A on Skype when I was done talking to my parents and aunt MT. While all that happened I was still taking calls from family members. N1 congratulated me, and then the conversation turned to her asking about LesMisGuy and us both settling on being happy she's got a boyfriend. AOB wished me a happy singles awareness day and a happy birthday by the way. EBF was online on facebook, and active, and he didn't think to write. SmTn left me an e-mail and made my day, giving me the idea to watch Beauty and the Beast, which I had incidentally downloaded earlier today. So... to be fair, SmTn sort of made me forget to talk to A, but he also kept me from breaking down completely tonight (which I had foreseen earlier today). I'll call that a win. 

Tuesday, 12 February 2013

Happy birthday, Harry

It will officially be my birthday in about two hours or so. It merits a blog post if I didn't bake a cake for myself, right?

Well, here goes.

I had an exam this morning. Asking aunt A to drop me off early (I was in no mood to have a bus failure make me late for the exam) was a bit of a pain but the trip was pleasantly silent. The exam was ... well, I can't say it was all that hard. I won't say I didn't study either, I did. I just didn't work on a lot of exercises and it took me too long to go through the ones in the exam because I second guessed myself a lot (though I shouldn't have, it turns out). I'm hoping I'll do decently, I'm afraid I might not and this is a huge chunk of my final grade in the subject. I wish I could say I'll study harder and make sure I get a good grade. I wish I could say I'll get it right from now on and will really take the bull by the horns. I'm not doing that for the other exam I've got coming up on Friday. Even though it turned out I had no homework assignments due in on Thursday. Today I took the afternoon and night off to roam the internet. During class I was just as distracted. Walking out of the exam, glaring mistakes I made slowly dawning upon me, it occurred to me that I won't even be all that mortified if I don't ace the exam (I'll be mortified if I fail the class, for a host of other reasons). 

As it turns out, I'm profoundly bored by engineering. Writing that stupid statement, lying through my teeth, made me realise it. Maths may be abstract, and it just might be that you'll be stuck trying to understand a bogus entity that no one knows any uses of for years, but it somehow feels more satisfying than studying "just the one thing." The way I see it, working in math helps work in plenty of other areas. Working in engineering.... well, it solves the one problem (if that). I'll grant that if it weren't for engineers physicists wouldn't have a lot to feed their theory twitches on and that interesting math problems come from physics, but I can't say that I find engineering to be a fascinating choice of career. I know I'm no brilliant mathematician, I also know I'm no great engineer but the limitations are different. In maths I'm frustrated by the challenge and feel instant gratification when I get a glimpse of a solution I came up with on my own. With engineering problems I wonder if I'm remembering the formulas correctly, trying to recall the explanations behind them I read in books and no professor bothers mentioning. I'll stick with it because it's supposed to lead to money, and if I can I'll do everything possible for my sister (who is actually very good at what she wants to do for a living) to continue her education.

Aunt A asked the genuinely considerate question: "How are you liking engineering?" and I lied to her. I told her it was all right and that I wouldn't really know just yet because we haven't really covered a lot of theory. That would be stretching the truth quite a bit. The problem with that statement is that we've covered a lot of material, but its applications seem so limited and the background so vague that it hardly feels like a proper theory is behind it. Overhearing the conversations out of an engineering exam you'll hear people discussing missing a sign, forgetting a formula, fucking up a direction or a reference frame. In an engineering class you'll hear the professor telling students to at least be smart about cheating when copying out solutions from the manual. Out of a maths exam you'll hear people discussing alternate solutions (and you'll find me in awe of the more elegant ones). Cheating to do math homework will require understanding the solutions well enough to adapt them and complete them. I may not ever understand what SmTn is working on, but I'll continue to find it fascinating. I could know everything there is to know to get a PhD in engineering and wonder about the dynamics of drying paint. I walked around campus numb to my core with these thoughts in mind.

Today during class we watched a video of a machine that tested metals for tensile strength. The man explaining the process sounded excited and all I could think of is "Really? This is your idea of fun?"

Speaking of fun... it's now 40min to my birthday. I was talking to A and my sister, but they're now both off to sleep and I decided to appear offline some 20min ago. EBF appears online and I'm in no mood to wonder whether or not he'll send me a message (he won't) if he sees me online, leave alone worry about the interaction itself. I'm a little sad not to have heard from SmTn in quite a while. I didn't even get to know if he liked his Christmas present... I can't say I look forward to talking to anyone at all, I suppose.

My mission for tomorrow will be getting a bottle of Baileys to toast via Skype with aunt MT and my parents. Even though I don't drink. It's mostly for aunt MT, to be honest. Early morning tomorrow awaits me, and fun in the form of filing taxes (Look at that! I do have to file taxes even if I don't have to pay for them! Was it so hard to let me go to the meeting?).

I can't think of a good reason to stay up, even for another 30min... In case I'm not awake, Happy birthday, me.

Unrelated, but also in my head all day: LesMisGuy. I worry that I mis-represented myself so I can turn the blame back on me, somehow. Don't ever let me be my own manager or publicist.

Monday, 11 February 2013

Ye [sic] olde blog post

It's been a while. I probably shouldn't waste time writing a blog post when I have exams to study for, but it sort of cannot be helped: I've been writing a post in my head most of today (and bits of other days). It will be a somewhat random compilation.

To get it out of the way first, aunt A did make good on her promise to get me a hair salon appointment. If I had to guess I'd say one of the hold backs was how much she thought it would cost (three times what it actually cost), assuming a simple haircut would cost as much as everything she gets done. The haircut itself is not bad, the hairdresser's technique I do have a problem with. I noticed she cut large sections of hair when the shears were perpendicular to my hair, which is a big no-no. Not to mention there's no knowing how sharp her shears were to begin with... I took issue with the girl doing my hair because it was obvious to me she was a rookie and that might have been all right if she hadn't tangled my hair so much that it tore out from the root when they later tried to untangle it. I don't have that much hair to begin with... Moreover, something tells me I may get split ends, the real deal problem, in two months' time. I'll wait and see.... wait and see... I may end up just getting my hair trimmed in different places until I find someone who can do it well and can be trusted with more. Odd, that I should only just now worry so much about how my hair is cut... To summarise, then: aunt A made good on the hair appointment promise. 

While we're on the subject of aunt A, I should mention that in an almost unheard of gesture today she cooked lunch, and "real lunch" (as opposed to what I usually eat around here, which no longer even includes regular servings of salad). Since she had done the cooking I washed the dishes, fair and square. At night I took a little issue with her deliberately not getting up to do anything and only leaving the dishes next tot he sink, full of water. "Work song (Cinderelly)" played in my head while I washed tonight's dishes.

Since I woke up, the song in my head before that was "Le Festin" by Camille. 

Sometime after I got out of class it turned into "Non, je ne regrette rien" for a little while. 

It may or may not have anything to do with today's act of rebellion: wearing a dress. Today's dress was just an oversized, down-to-my-knees off-white t-shirt with dark blue drawings of flowers and vines. Aunt A said nothing of it and I'm glad. A student on the bus asked me if I'd gotten it in Africa. He mentioned he comes from Africa and my dress looks exactly like some traditional (?) dresses worn there, often worn by people with the Peace Corps. I now like the dress a little more for its (if only pretense) ethnicity.

Remember that dream I had, about inventing discos? Well, I left AOB a message on facebook telling him about it (only about the inventing part, nothing about him being in the dream). He saw the message a while ago bot responded only today: "quaint." He made me look up the word's definition and the definition made me uncomfortable because of vibes I've mentioned before that I hesitate to utter. There should be more to this, but I think I'll stop here.

Friday, 8 February 2013


On the short ride to the bus stop aunt A mentioned I need an ID and I casually mentioned I wanted to arrive early to university on Monday to assist a course in taxes for students like myself. Aunt A told me to ask uncle A about such things before and instead of taking the course because he's bound to know some way to cheat the system so I don't have to pay. You may be able to guess this suggestion didn't sit well with me, at all. To be honest, I no longer remember exactly how the conversation turned to aunt A stating that I always reply with a stone (or two, she added) in hand Somewhere along the line I pointed out I'd merely suggested the idea of going to a purely informative event and that she'd used that to tell me not to go until I spoke with uncle A. I didn't exactly lash out. If I had, it would have been ugly.

I would have inevitably pointed out I don't take well with being told what to do, especially when what I'm told to do is against the law. I resent their possibly well-intentioned instructions to do things their way because to them it's the only way, to me it is a wrong way and I don't care for being considered stupid. There, I said it. If there is a course offered to me it is implied that I can understand what will be explained to me and can file taxes on my own, with the help of people whose job it is to help me get it right. I don't want to get in trouble for owing any government money and the surefire way to del with that is to do things by the book.

A bargain price is one thing, avoiding taxes is a very different one and not one I'm willing to be understanding of in their case. In their case, it's true that rich people get that way by being stingy and I don't appreciate that kind of hypocrisy.
If it so pleases aunt A, and I know it won't, I will answer with a stone hand, attached to a stone body. I'll be a damned island.

Thursday, 7 February 2013

A sham

I had a dream last night where a stranger played the role of EBF as a fool in a pyramid scheme. There were him, another lad who'd had about enough of the scheme and their "boss," telling them to sell their stock. They'd apparently done this before and the apathetic young man had a "Fine. I'll sell my stock but this is the last I'll ever hear of this" attitude. For me, wherever and whoever I was in this dream, it was all the proof I needed to be sure it was a scam.

Since I spoke with HaE, the most fun professor around these parts, yesterday afternoon I walked out with a tune in my head:

A#-A-A#-G-G x2 C#-C-C#-A#-A#x2
What a sweet old man x4

If I had anything more to go on and could be any quicker identifying the notes in my head with real ones (my method was humming to myself in the bus, trying to match sounds and notes) I might have considered writing a tiny scene for a musical. Or perhaps not.

I've been calling out LesMisGuy's name out loud a lot this morning. Related? I spoke with CtThumbe last night. She'll have to excuse my not respecting her privacy very much, but I have a point I want to make. She was telling me about the guy she was seeing and how it all ended with a "Sorry, I need sex." It hit me like a bucket of cold water (even though I may have contemplated the idea before): what if that's what went through LesMisGuy's head? I certainly showed him the more prudish side of my sexually liberated prude self. While part of me says "I wanted nothing to do with him anyway if all he wanted was to get laid" another part says "but what if all he wanted was knowing he'd get some eventually?" This gets beat down with a "He didn't go for eventually and I suppose I didn't hint at it either" which ends in a "but still..." The only result of all these thoughts rushing through my mind are "I feel like a piece of meat flaming bag of poop."

Meanwhile, here in Wildstone University, the closest I've come to human contact and a love life came unexpectedly today in the form of an old man vagabond who approached me from behind as I waited for the bus. He tapped my shoulder, spoke in mumbles a bit too close to me for comfort and asked what colour my eyes were, asking me to look into his eyes. I wasn't afraid of him, I suppose however uncomfortable he made me he was still in the realm of "sweet, mentally unstable and down on his luck old man" who incidentally didn't have any smell that I could pick up on. He asked if I was German, pointed out my eyes are hazel and asked me what I was doing this weekend (as in: asking me out, I gather), ending with a "see you again" (or something along those lines" as I got on the bus. 

It seems just like the sort of thing I'd remember, just the sort of thing I'd bother noticing and just the sort of thing to happen to me. Nine years ago today I got my first kiss.

Where are my manners? Special thanks to CtThumbe for teaching me a little physics even though she was ready to go to sleep. Special thanks to CtThumbe for being lovely and easy to relate to. Special thanks to CtThumbe because I like to call her "friend."

Wednesday, 6 February 2013

Gloom aside

Let's put aside those horrible dreams of death and move on to waking life, where I'm sitting on a bench listening to music and thinking of how I'm going to finish the homework assignments due in tomorrow if I can't quite bring myself to work on them now. For no particular reason whatsoever in case it gets colder when we go out for dinner to celebrate aunt A's birthday I decided to take a look at the weather forecast for tonight. It should be a cool 19ºC. Now, it's currently 24ºC and, with the level of cloudiness we have right now, it's juuust right. Not too warm, not quite cold, when you're wearing a t-shirt and jeans. This reminded me of something I talked about with SmTn (oh, and only just now as I typed his name "Waves" plays on my YouTube playlist...): we spoke of what our ideal temperatures are and he mentioned his being around 27-30ºC, making a guess at what mine would be: 24ºC. Now, at the time I told him I liked it a bit cooler, 21ºC or so, but I'm starting to think he juuust might know me better than I do myself. It makes me smile. :)

Unrelated, remind me of writing another post about squirrel logic. This time about real squirrels. I felt a bit like Snow White (or is it Aurora? or both?) with a squirrel trying to get close to me steal my food. I grant I did drop a raisin on purpose for it to eat, but I started entertaining the idea of what it would be like to extend squirrel logic a little. It requires a full post. Or perhaps it doesn't. Remind me to write it. Or don't.


Night before last I had a dream where four people died. My cousins' grandparents, their aunt, and aunt MT's youngest. They all died of strokes or heart attacks. I remember wondering what would happen to little too's little sister.

Last night I had a dream where A egged a girl on into committing suicide. The girl in question is the one A is sort of friends with that makes me uncomfortable. People blamed A for speaking out loud what many of us may have thought in silence, and I remember A's mother trying to defend her. To be honest, I don't think she could be defended.

Monday, 4 February 2013

Goodness it's late..

Here I thought I could wake up relatively early (8am-ish) so I could do some cleaning (namely, the fridge) and... well... I just woke up and it's 10:40am. I may or may not have just missed SmTn being online, as we agreed we'd try to meet today. Right now I just want to write down as much as I can remember from my dreams last night before I forget them.

The last I remember is LesMisGuy. We went out again, sort of on a date. There were other people I knew (though I suspect they were dream strangers). There was a Greek-seashore style restaurant where they served seafood. LesMisGuy was there with a group and I sort of had another group to go to. This was after the event of having kissed once and me not knowing what to do with that because I wasn't too sure of his signals. He could have left, but he had some woman friend of his to come pick him up and I overheard a call to her telling her  it was too early still to leave. He told her this as he listened to some girl rant about men and animal poop (can't remember if the two were related in her rant). Somehow, when he said this, I knew. I ditched whatever I was going to do with other people and went inside to see him. After curiously observing some of the leftover seafood I'm not now too sure what turn of events led to us kissing. Except, it wasn't quite him. First he was a cat, and then he was sort of turning into a dog/tapir.

Unrelated, perhaps, is another dream that included a trip on a boat with people from school1 and R1. I'd sort of convinced him to come with us but he backed out. After that, I mostly remember a grim day, not so clean a sea, and very tall waves to jump in (as opposed to drown in). This one had my mum involved some how. 

Sunday, 3 February 2013

Guilty confession, head up high

I suppose there's more than one guilty confession. The first one is that I ended up watching the New Girl kiss a couple (and only just the two) more times. Then I closed the window before I went mad. I nevertheless ended up opening a facebook window and looking LesMisGuy up for the first time in a very long time. I stalked him for all of maybe 3-5min and came out with the thought in my head "I'm the best thing that could have happened to him." (Or should that be "I could have been the best thing that happened to him"? I'm conflicted between thinking they mean the same thing and feeling that deep down they don't). Maybe it's not even remotely close to being true, but I don't mind the confidence boost. So I thought I'd leave it in the blog somewhere... And that's all. 


Suddenly just remembered a dream I had last night where ThPr owned a piece of the ocean and possibly some land. He'd used it to plant cranberries along a shallow water path going from north to south. It was somehow so hard to come by fresh cranberries and so important for him to have them...

Paint never dries

All right, so it may not have been the smartest idea ever to go through with the whole thing, but I technically didn't sit through it in its entirety because I made myself busy looking for things around the room.

SmTn mentioned Love Never Dies, a late sequel to The Phantom of the Opera and after quickly reading about it and the plot and the reviews... well, my hopes weren't very high. Nevertheless, I found videos on YouTube and it was too easy to just watch it, so I did. It would actually be more accurate to say I opened the videos and let them play, sometimes forgetting the playlist would jump to the previous video instead of the next one. I'm not really watching very closely and I stopped watching (though I'm still half-listening) to start writing this post. The post is, of course, a review. In case you couldn't tell...

Well, the video was recorded during a performance in Australia, where the show had at least a little success. I'll grant them a few things. Though I thought it would be hard to match Ramin Karimloo, I was not too disappointed with the new Phantom. The costumes, make up and choreography were nice. Everything else, I'm afraid, less than "not very good" was actually downright terrible. The acting was poor, the vocals for just about everyone but the Phantom were lacking, Madame Giry was just appallingly bad, and entirely in the realm of "it's not even their fault" the music wasn't very good and the script is quite honestly dreadful. So there's all that. 

Wait, let me elaborate on that last bit. I know it's not fair to start by saying that the script doesn't quite fit in with what happened in the original story by Gaston Leroux. Fine. I'll only hold the script responsible to keep up with what was hinted at in the musical. In the musical Raoul was a bit too vicomte-y, a bit of a rich fool who's too full of himself. In the musical there's a bit of sexual tension between Eric and Christine, which turned out to be an interesting twist. In the musical, Meg shows a bit of an unhealthy obsession with the Phantom. The sequel takes it too far. The sequel takes everything too far. Even if it sort of fits, it just doesn't sit well with me. A bastard child? A Gypsy turn of events? What was that about the Phantom giving up music for less than cheap vaudeville? What were Madame and Mademoiselle Giry's intentions when they decided to take the Phantom under their wing? How come a full ten years later he's still stuck with them? Christine was surprisingly in-character, for what I would have expected... and it just didn't work. Perhaps it would have been better if she'd been any different. As best I can describe it, the sequel echoed the musical like a bad game of Chinese whispers. It wasn't even so bad it's good, like The Rocky Horror Picture Show turned out to be. It was just bad. 

And that, as they say, is that.

Saturday, 2 February 2013


Wonderful, I'll call him wonderful and he is... wonderful, if I insist. He will be wonderful and I'll say "wonderful," believe me he's hard to resist. 

I'd go on but then I'd very soon stop making any kind of sense altogether. Wonderful, case at hand, is SmTn. I spoke with him today and he let me know his package did arrive and he just hasn't picked it up yet. I mentioned not having made any friends yet and he actually went ahead and looked up the webpages advertising student organisations in my new university so he could send me the links. I smiled hard and wanted to hug him for being so absolutely adorable. 

He mentioned it's so easy talking about nothing and everything and he's quite right about that. I'm almost sorry I left a few pages of his graffitied book present untouched, but I think it's best I did. I'm sure there's a lot of ways that writing anything in a comic about cunnilingus will go wrong, even if all I could think of writing is "If you don't mind, I'll go ahead and not write anything only write that I have nothing more to write here." At any rate... he's wonderful, and I'm so happy to call him a friend.

You can tell I don't party a lot

I had this dream last night that I was going out with Di and AOB. I'm not sure how it was arranged, but Di offered that we go to this new place. It was a completely novel idea, in the dream: someone hosted a party for grown ups, just like some people do the same for kids. Someone provided the music, lights and drinks... all you had to do was pay a fee and wait in line to get in. It's discotheques (yes, after double-checking I'm sticking with the old-fashioned word because...). 

Also in a dream last night I was babysitting LC1-LC3 and we were in an apartment with a balcony. LC3 freaked me out sitting too far near the edge on a toy car and I had to tell him to get down twice as I spoke with Di or AOB on the phone.

Unrelated guilty confession: I went ahead and watched that kiss again. 


Friday, 1 February 2013


That was an eye and mind opener... 

It's been a while since I last wrote. It feels like it's been too long but I've been in no mood to write and, even when I decided today that it would be a good day to write, it took me a while to actually bring myself to do it. 

Before I forget, let me point out a few tidbits of random information. I'm now no longer sure if it was on Wednesday or Tuesday that I had "Teenage Dirtbag" stuck in my head as I waited for aunt A to pick me up. 

Could have been Tuesday if it's the day I ended up going for a walk. Could have been Wednesday because it was also sunny but it somehow feels a bit unlikely... regardless, it doesn't matter an awful lot when, I suppose, and I'm being a bit silly. However... while I'm being silly with moments of spontaneous remembrance and rogue thoughts that came to mind uncalled for, I had two "moments" yesterday night around 8:30 and 9:00pm. The first was the sudden flash of a memory of a restaurant in Bta where the food is mono-thematic and surprisingly good for a reasonable price, but the service is terrible. The other moment involved the smell of freshly barbecued corn. Much like I was once told dreams are formed in your head, I put the two together and linked a story of how LesMisGuy was out on a date with some young woman. It occurred to me today that this date I imagined led to him deciding today that they're a couple. This stupid idea has been making me miserable because I invariably go over what he must have thought to not want anything to do with me ever again. I wonder if there's something I could have done differently. It's a special kind of hell, as you can probably imagine. I don't have anything to go on, but I'm already jealous of a nonexistent stranger!

The larger issue at hand is that I can't stop thinking about LesMisGuy. I won't give myself a break. If it's not him, it's SmTn, and I worry because it's been a while since I last heard from him and I don't think his late Christmas present reached him... I sometimes still get mad at EBF and wonder if he'll say anything for my birthday, afraid that he will because I have the nagging feeling that any outcome will make me miserable. 

Sorry, I'm trailing off. The true issue at hand, as Wikipedia has kindly explained to me, is neurosis. I thought the proper name for the tendency to get obsessed with things was a mania, but it seems to be more accurately termed fixation and be more closely related to neurosis. Ideas get into my head and will not let go. I won't let them go either. 

Remember how I watch New Girl because Nick reminds me of LesMisGuy and for almost no other reason whatsoever? Well, SPOILER ALERT! Nick kissed Jess this week and I had a bit of a breakdown wondering if LesMisGuy could ever kiss me like that and... *sigh* To think I somehow managed not to point out that I would have wanted to tell LesMisGuy about my rebellion. Not that I ever think of talking to him, but it occurred to me that if there were such things as "things I'd like to tell him" one such thing would be just that. 

I am ill. It's the sanest thing I can do now to stop writing and think of closing that tab where I was watching New Girl before I indulge in watching that kiss again. 

Random thoughts of the day: "Who needs television when you can ride the bus and look out the window?" Also, remind me to write about the goodness in people. I helped a stranger out with a cart that needed to be put up and lending her a pen and I smiled thinking "there are far more good people in this world than anyone ever gives credit to."