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Wednesday, 29 May 2013

Liza Maria

Songs of the day, "Just you wait"




One day I'll be famous I'll be proper and prim,
Go to St. James so often I will call it St. Jim
One evening the king will say 'Oh Liza, old thing
I want all of England your praises to sing'

and "Maria"




How do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?
How do you find a word that means 'Maria'?
A flibbertijibbet! A will-o'-the-wisp! A clown!
Many a word you know you'd like to tell her
Many a thing she ought to understand
But how do you make her stay 
And listen to all you say
How do you keep a wave upon the sand?
Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?

So there's that. Oh, and I'm inexplicably (right, because the soap opera has nothing to do with it) I've had LesMisGuy stuck in my head.

Unrelated, EBF sent a brief message. Two lame jokes. Didn't think of writing back and to this moment haven't. Haven't talked to A either since... well a good while ago. I never answered to her message about Dg and I haven't sent her anything. I haven't talked to CtThumbe, N1 or anyone. I'd left AOB a message about Cloud Atlas and he wrote back a couple of days ago. I wrote again but haven't got an answer yet. ¨

*sigh*

For crying out loud! I'm daydreaming of LesMisGuy after all this time because of a soap opera!

Ugly

I'm sure Umberto Eco's book would be a far more fascinating take on the subject of ugliness. I'm sure Plato would agree with my brief exposition for the day. 

You see, I'm about to rant some. I'm about to whine and be petty. 

Remember how I woke up early to greet my uncle on his arrival, how I vacuum cleaned and mopped, how I even gave the garage a superficial clean (in spite of reasons that might have otherwise let laziness get the best of me) because not doing so would be ugly? I have an idea to live up to: the girl who would have been too lazy to clean a bit for a visitor and would hold up cleaning on grounds of being offended by empty unspoken promises would not be my mother's daughter. I even helped my uncle with work. I lent him my computer, set up the printer, helped him get some grades written down. None too special, I'll admit, since I've stuck to being in my room as much, as often and for as long as possible. Not too special, but certainly not the sort of thing that merits rich people treating poor people like they're on the same level.

I'm sorry. I know it's an ugly way to put it. This is all about the ugly.

Some of it, I remember (I can't say I'm used to it). I woke up early in the morning to clean, but did I wake aunt A? Vacuum cleaned and mopped, but did I dust too? Tidied up the bathroom, but why didn't I bring up the fact that the shower floor is slippery and there should be a rubber mat there? 

Some of it, I'm a bit ashamed to even bring up. We were all together, BCM and family, cousin S, aunt A and my uncle. We stop for coffee at a coffee/ice cream place. LC4 shared an ice cream with his dad, cousin S had an ice cream, the others ordered coffees. BCM paid for most of it. Aunt A was about to pay for her coffee when it occurred to her to ask if I'd want anything. I wanted to say I wanted nothing, but I also wanted an ice cream, so I hesitated a bit and ordered one. When the topic was marginally brought up, my uncle was quick to point out how I must be as stupid as aunt A thinks, even though neither has proof of it. I just looked away and kept quiet.

All throughout, I did what I usually do when aunt A goes shopping: I gathered a description of what they were looking for and tried to find something. So excuse me for taking a little offence when my suggestions are met with scoffs, I don't think so poorly of my taste. My uncle gathered gifts for my cousins, for my aunt, for the husbands. All to be bought by aunt A. I don't remember if I mentioned a shirt aunt MT bought mum, an expensive one she deliberately splurged in because it was mum. Aunt A was unhappy about it, too eager to point out it was expensive. Such were the shirts for my aunt and my cousins. The men's gifts were accordingly not-cheap. They were 50% off. They told me to pick one for the old man. Both of the ones I chose were rejected and changed for another one. I was just happy he'd get a shirt that nice. Upon learning those were her gifts to the men, aunt A seemed scandalised. She told me she'd send nothing much for mum and aunt MT just yet because the first gifts got too expensive. Like sending them such expensive gifts was such a penitence. Mind you, I daresay we've helped her out more and we're closer to her than, say, my cousins' husbands. But there was no "let's get them something cheaper." There was also no "And now for [mum], what to get her?" from my uncle. The old man's gift was the odd one out there. Forget about getting something for mum or aunt MT. 

The proper gifts for them are the things she should give away to charity. Her hoarding excuse is having poor relatives. Like the cartoon petite bourgeoise who wanted to have delicious, grand banquets to have left overs for the poor. Pas des cadeaux pour mes parents ou tante MT. 

Even though they make sure to always send presents they have trouble affording. 

That was all the bad. We're out of good. Here's the ugly. Aunt MT sent some chips with my uncle. Because she's a darling and because she's lovely and because she knows I like them and wanted to send me something with my uncle even though my sister's coming next week and she'll send something else then. They weren't expensive, that's not the point. My point is that the chips were just another cheap grocery item to be brought as a gift for "the people here" to my uncle and I did not get them because they were most likely left at BCN's. My uncle unceremoniously handed out the food saying "This is for you [aunt A], this is for cousin S, can we leave this for BCM, or do you [linaThumbe] want it?". He did not stop to say "this is from ____ to ____." He did not think to bring aunt MT's token to me because to him it meant nothing. And this cheap stupid gift, ever so fitting, meant enough to me that I want to it makes me cry. 

All the above being what it is, I had to send the gifts I'd stashed away for mum, the old man and aunt MT. I'll get them more to send with my sister. I told my uncle it was just for mum and the old man, though, lest it come across as me being too stingy to get the others anything. Because I worry about such things just like I worried about getting them all Christmas presents. 

Note to self: work and save, work and save. 

Sunday, 26 May 2013

Not Belle

Cinderelly, Cinderelly...

*sigh*

Il faut nettoyer la maison une dernière fois avant l'arrive de mon oncle. Bien sûr. Tante A l'a remarqué hier soir et je suis sortie tout le jour avec cousin S et sa petite amie. Je suis arrivé à la maison à 20h, j'ai pris une douche et j'ai resté. Tante A est sortie pour le déjeuner et n'a rien d'autre fait. Pas, par exemple, le nettoyage. Il faut passer l'aspirateur dans la maison et après la laver à grande eau. On ne peut pas tout simplement laver le sol à grande eau parce que il y a beaucoup des cheveaux des animaux. Il faut tout nettoyer car la femme qui vient nettoyer ne le fait pas trop bien, j'ai vu le seau d'eau sale qu'elle a utilisé. À 23h tante A est venue me dire qu'il faut tout ça faire. Elle me rappelle qu'il faut tôt se lever démain, mais elle veut dire qu'elle veut me voir en nettoyant la maison, parce qu'elle ne va pas le faire. Elle n'a pas le fait. Bien... Bien! Je vais me lever à 7h. Maintenant je suis en train de faire la lessive hebdomadaire. J'ai rangé la salle de bains. J'ai laissé les oreillers dans le sèche-linge il y a quelque temps. J'ai besoin d'attendre que tante A soit dormie pour aller les chercher (elle avait déjà fait le lit pour mon oncle... (Une courtoisie réservé, comme le nettoyage de la maison, pour mon oncle... pas, par exemple, pour tante MT). S'il serait possible, je voudrais aussi laver le garage à grande eau... mais on n'a pas du temps pour ça et, à vrai dire... je ne veux pas. 

En parlant avec ma mère, ella m'a racconté de la preimière communion de LC3. Du cadeau que mon oncle lui a donné, au moins le double (ou bien, le triple) de ce qu'il a donné à ma soeur pour son anniversaire. Ne diras-tu pas qu'il est un petit peut étrange? On peut dire que nous sommes un tout petit peut plus proches à lui que LC3 and family. On peut dire que si oncle A n'a pas des problèmes d'argent... ça semble bizarre. Je voulais quelque chose dire à ma mère, quelque chose dire pour lui assurer qu'il n'a trop d'étrange et j'ai lui dit que mon oncle ne m'a jamais donné un cadeau pour ma remise des diplômes. Quelle idée folle! Quelle idée insensé, stupide! Je n'attends rien. Pas de lui, pas de personne. Ce qui me tracasse, c'est qu'ils on me dit "Ton cadeau arrivera! Attends-le!". Pourquoi faire des promèses comme ça?Pourquoi mentir? Est-ce que mon silence dans la célébration était irrespectueux? J'ai tout le monde remercié. C'était une appréciation brève, courte, mais tout de même honnête. Je ne voudrais pas être impolie, mais je ne voudrais pas pleurer en public. Je ne peux pas penser aux autres raisons pour lequelles ils ont promis quelque chose comme ça. Je tout regrette. J'ai laissé ma mère pire qu'avant, après lui dire tout ça. 

*soupir*

[édition de la matinée suivante:]
Je suis levée à 7.40. J'ai passé l'aspirateur dans le sol, je l'ai lavé à grande eau. J'ai lavé le garage à grande eau. Tante A est levée à 9h. Elle m'avait dit hier que mon oncle arriverait à 9h. Dites moi... qu'est-ce qu'on fait? Elle m'a trouvé en lavant le garage. Elle m'a demandé si j'avais déjà passé l'aspirateur et lavé le sol à grande eau dans la maison et j'ai lui dit "Oui. Je n'ai pas mangé le petit déjeuner, je vais me doucher maintenant" et sa reponse était: "As-tu aussi épousseté les meubles?" Ah, ouais? C'est ma faut si elle est levée en retard, elle m'a demandé pourquoi je n'ai lui pas levée. N'écoutez-vous pas l'aspirateur, madame? 



Now for the whole reason I started writing this... even a corny soap opera woos women with words. Also, about the love of an ugly, see: Cyrano.


Unrelated, it suddenly struck me today: if it weren't for the parts where he asked about tango, I almost feel like it might have not been SmTn I talked to. Such a ridiculously paranoid idea, wouldn't you say?

Friday, 24 May 2013

Oh, for the love of...!

Note to self: 

1) OCD does not mix well with a good soap opera,
2) you know you have a problem when a soap opera villain reminds you of an ex and you find him attractive,
3) what is wrong with you, woman? WORK!
4) it might be a good idea to learn how to have an adult conversation.

Seeing how it makes no sense to get into items 1-3... I've put off writing about item 4. I spoke with SmTn. The old man and aunt MT called while we were talking. Aunt MT could tell I was typing and we agreed to talk later, only I didn't call her again because I'm horrible. *sigh* It's not ever not nice talking to SmTn, but this time I have to make an effort to see it. He said it was nice reading my e-mail and complimented me for being a good writer. We spent a great deal of time talking about economics (read: he spent a lot of time trying to explain the stock market to me). Cliché that it is, I'd just about given up on hearing from him ever again today and was surprised to find him online. Embarrassing as it is, when we were close to ending the conversation and he said it was nice talking to me I said something along the lines of "it's nice talking to you too, hope it's not a month before we talk again soon, catching up by then will be pointless... jkjk lol, you have work to do and I haven't got a summer job ;)" You know, because the first part wasn't bad enough I had to try to make it less bad fucking it up with the second. What right do I have to ask him to write any more often, eh? What's my business telling him when to contact me, huh? Why on Earth did I think that saying it was a joke (a terrible one) somehow made the above any less stupid? 

But really, though. I just can't have an adult conversation and it's embarrassing. I drift off, I can't stay serious, I don't understand or do so only very naïvely. I said cars, technology and economics are similar in that I don't care much for either, necessities as they are, and don't bother understanding more than gross generalisations of them. Word!

Wednesday, 22 May 2013

Vanity

I suddenly just remembered a detail of a dream I meant to write down this morning but didn't. I had a dream about D, sort. I just know that. It was either him or someone a lot like him. I don't know what about him (well, I know what not about him... or maybe I don't, I wanted to say nothing happened between us, and that I even had a vague sense of "he wants me and I couldn't care less" but it's true I may be making that up). I do know what may have caused the dream, chancing upon a show with a character who reminds me of him.



An idea is bothering me. Have you ever heard of the expression "love like an ugly woman (loves)"? There's such a thing as the cliché that ugly women have nothing to hold their partners. They love strongly, unconditionally, forgivingly, passionately and gratefully because they "know" they've learned to settle, as far as finding love goes, and have to try and make up for it. They can't afford to expect better, they can't afford to wait in solitude, they can't afford to be too demanding if they want to be in a relationship. This "love in overdrive" is a bit much and downright scary to... well, anyone other than whoever loves her back and doesn't mind? Which is a depressingly small group to choose from? Yes, sounds about right. Here's news (not really): I love like an ugly woman and it's not just the low self-esteem talking it's totally the low self-esteem talking. I reek of desperation, I get over-attached, I get ideas into my head, I am obsessive (still wondering if this is why I never heard back from LesMisGuy... worse still, wondering if this is why I won't hear back from SmTn....) *sigh* These stories aren't told often enough, sorry I can't go on writing. It just occurred to me I can relate and needed to put it to words.

Monday, 20 May 2013

I'm in a fuck all mood today

Woke up late. Well, it would be more accurate to say aunt A woke me up around 11:30 to go to the gym and I was obviously not ready. I told her to go and not worry about me. I pretended to go back to sleep while I tried to remember the last thing on my list of "to clean while I'm alone" things so I could get started when aunt A left. I then remembered it's the pillows and figured it might take quite a bit longer than aunt A will take at the gym, so I left it alone. I haven't had breakfast yet. Not that I'm not hungry, I just don't feel like eating.

This is all beside the point. I wish I could remember the dream I had about A last night. I opened facebook this morning to find a message from her: "Went out with the guys from my last job on Thursday and had fun. Had a much better time than with Dg on Friday." What a fucking surprise, innit? It felt like my dream could vaguely be related, but I just don't remember any of it... Too bad, I suppose. Don't know what to tell A, though. I guess I'll just leave it.

I'm not even that proud

Just finished watching Intouchables. All in French, no subtitles. I did need the help of the script, a French dictionary and a (fortunately not quite so useless) online translator (turns out slang and idioms are a bitch). It only took me 5-6 hours. Maybe I'll do better next time. Amélie? I could watch without subtitles and I wouldn't miss out on much. Cyrano de Bergerac? I can watch it without subtitles and I would know most (if not all) of what was said. Baby steps.

It wasn't that good, to be honest. The highlight of the whole film, if you ask me, is the soundtrack. That piano is seriously good. Made me briefly remember the times when the piano from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was a huge deal. Then I remembered talking to mum today about the scam EBF is in and I went back to focusing on the film. Which didn't prove much better. I'm sorry, I just didn't like it. I'm not a fan of the story, I'm not particularly moved by the characters, I can't even say I liked the conversations (and that's even though I can see why they're supposed to be highlights of the film). I plain just didn't like it. While I'm at it, let me just mention that I watched Cloud Atlas a few nights ago and that was also a waste of time. I fell in love with Frobisher and Sixsmith (couldn't you have guessed that?) but beyond that, I just didn't see the point in it. It was beautifully made, I'm just not sure it was worth making. 

Sunday, 19 May 2013

Tangled, a review (and an unrelated confession)

I had lost faith in the newer animated films for children. I find Rapunzel Tangled to be a nice offer. It's probably nice for regular reasons (if you don't get too political and don't think about it too much). It has a strong female lead. She's independent and smart, and beautiful with short hair (a first since Snow White, if I remember correctly). But you do have to ignore the fact that they built her as a perfect housewife with Stockholm syndrome, possibly bipolar (or worse, just stereotypically teenager-ey), whose next big dream (after "seeing the lanterns") is "hooking up with and marrying the first man she ever came across, presumably a Don Juan."

There are lots of questions left unanswered, which I'll pose but leave alone: Why is the new focus of her life the man she married? How come there's no Anastasia Romanov outcome when she's brought to her real parents? (Bear in mind that the witch Gothel was the only one who knew who she really was). Shouldn't it be fair to say that the witch had a thing going on for her when she protected the flower? She could have just offered to heal the queen (knowing how to work the flower) and she could have even made herself rich if she'd offered to heal people. It's not like the flower was dying anytime soon and its powers didn't seem to be limited. Who's to say she's really happy with Eugene/Flynn?


This has nothing to do with why I liked the film. I liked it because it had a Broadway musical component (imagine my non-surprise when I looked it up on Wikipedia and found out the soundtrack was composed by the great Alan Menken). I was actually pleasantly surprised by the good singing and songs. I was even taken back to my childhood days when I thought bad guys always got the best songs. I saw a Lady of Shalott twist in the story. I... thought I had more reasons to like it but it seems that "go on watching the film instead of writing the ideas down as they occur to you" wasn't a very good strategy for a review. At any rate, it was a nice film. I wouldn't be mortified to be stuck with a little girl wanting to watch it.

Wait! One more thing. Don't suppose I'd thought of it until just now, but it's worth noting. The characters (read: Rapunzel and Gothel) are quite complex, for their "simple" purposes. Kudos.



In other news, I have a confession to make, blog. Smallish one. You know how I don't exactly have a lot of pocket money and I promised myself I'd afford luxury when I have a job that can pay for it? Well... I got some time by myself today at the shopping centre and ventured by a Chanel cosmetics counter. I just wanted to see what the Rouge Noir lipstick looked like in real life. Swatch it. Try it on my lips, test the formula. The lady at the counter was helping someone else and she only just aided me with something to try it on with. Then a middle aged gay man came to help me. He said the colour suited me, that not just anyone could pull it off but I could. White lies you'd tell customers to get them to buy your wares. Not that I was unaware. He offered me the lip liner and lip gloss to go with it, he showed me a dark purple nail varnish (and I showed him the actual match to the colour, "Vamp.") He let me try the lip gloss (just exquisite, I don't think I'd tried a lip gloss that good, ever) over the (sheerly applied over less than perfectly primed) lipstick. Just the fact that he treated me like I might buy the lipstick and related items (as opposed to shooing me away, knowing it was out of budget) made me feel like I was worthy of it. The colour really is divine and it feels as expensive as it is, it makes me feel glamorous. So, I caved and bought the lipstick (but just the lipstick... I'm very tempted by the lip gloss, though). 

It appears I'm helpless in front of a gay man trying to sell me cosmetics. Unlike other lipstick colours (all bought clandestinely, except all a fraction of the price) I didn't lock myself in the bathroom to see what it looked like in perfect opacity. I looked for pictures of swatches online and decided it's a colour that should suit any skin tone, not just the paler ones most people showed. Good enough reason to put it in the bag of gifts I'm keeping. For my sister (unless she decides she'd rather have some other colour, in which case I'm keeping the lipstick and receipt and am willing to change it for anything else she likes). I want her to have one luxury item. The luxury item. When I first showed it to her she also thought what I did (oh-so-chic!). There's a chance she'll like it as much as I did. Now I wait until I have a job and I can buy perfumes.

Saturday, 18 May 2013

Cover girl. Of models and role models.

Out of this whole new Merida uproar (I'm against the fact that they changed her personality, implying she wasn't good enough to be a Disney princess), reading The Bloggess' blog, and more to the point her post on the subject and the comments therein, I had an epiphany.

It's about role models. They're kind of important. I mean, you can either look up to people and do everything in your power to be

a) as good at them, 
b) better than them, or
c) good enough that you could make them proud.

(That's how a mathematician's mind works, I suppose. As long as you're comparing, you're part of a somewhat ordered set and it's fair enough to assume it's a partially ordered one.)

Anyway, if you have a role model you have good reason to try to make yourself more like them. A good role model will make you = more like them = better. If you don't have a role model, you're not doomed (it has to at least beat having a bad role model, right?). You just try to be you, and to make yourself the best you you can be. You. You. U. (Sorry, bad joke.)


To be honest, I’m not one for role models. I’m terrible at picking them, mostly because I don’t know nearly enough awesome people and I fear the answer would come out being corny.

(When ambushed with the question “if you could go back in time to meet one person and one alone, who would it be?” I answered “Shakespeare” and immediately sank in my chair knowing how lame the answer was).

Back to the role model thing. People in the comments were supposed to offer their favourite female heroes. Someone said RuPaul. Can I get an A-MEN! in here?

The more conservative types will come out yelling at me because RuPaul has an Adam’s apple/was born with the wrong privates to be a feminine role model, but hear/read me out. It’s not just RuPaul but drag queens in general. You see, society often seems to say “You know who’s awesome? This man, and this man, and this man, and that man, and this man, and that woman for being like a man, and that man, and that man…” Women wearing pants was unheard of not that long ago because it was a man’s item of clothing. It’s cool now because it’s a man’s item of clothing. Men wearing dresses? Not so cool. But drag queens wear dresses, heels and skirts and make-up and everything else ever. so. proudly. And you know what? I think it’s fabulous. I think they’re fabulous.

On days when I'm ogled, when I see how I'd get better pay/treatment being a man, when I'm underestimated or deemed incapable of something because I'm a woman, when I’m having so-bad-they-make-me-throw-up cramps and I wish I could tear out my uterus, give up on womanhood altogether and give it all up for dangling ugly bits I remember that out there are people who want to look like me, who think a woman’s is the right body to have and a woman is the right person to be. They shape themselves after women and they have to learn that shit from scratch! Where your average woman complains about how ugly she is, how society makes her go through torture to fit in a certain idea of what “beautiful” looks like, they tuck, pluck, groom and paint themselves to be beautiful. And I think they deserve medals. Not that any of the amazing women everyone else brought up don’t. I'm glad many of them lived so that I can live the life I do now, yadda yadda yadda.

Like I said, I probably suck at picking role models. But drag queens are a fucking inspiration for me.



Question: if I slowly clap and no one's there to hear it, will someone please tell drag queens I think they're superheroes?



Now... little girls are brought up into this media-created-princess world. What are films for, right? Little girls see, little girls do. Little girls hope for. Little girls are taught to look for true love very early on. Pray tell me, who tells little boys anything of the sort? They grow up seeing princesses get wooed (maaaybe), cars/robots/other inanimate objects turned animate (more like it) and superheroes (yeah, that also seems more likely). I can't think of a single children's film aimed at telling little boys to expect true love, leave alone seek it. If it's aimed at boys, it's not romantic at all and I have to wonder why that is, you know. This isn't what I initially intended to write, though.

I wanted to talk about how film princesses get it right on their first try (love, that is) and how envious I am of them. You want to do whatever works for them hoping it will work for you. Monkey see, monkey do. Monkey dressed up in silk stays a stupid monkey. But there's something there. LC4 likes to watch the same videos over and over again. Even when he knows the dialogue (remind you of anyone?). I thought it was odd. BCM said I used to do the same thing when I was little and that it's actually quite common in children. They like repetition because it teaches them a pattern and what we can predict and expect makes us comfortable. Neural networks being what they are, you get it into your head (literally, I'm afraid) that a certain pattern leads to a certain outcome. Hence you try to replicate the pattern hoping to achieve the same outcome. Problems come when the pattern is hard (try impossible) to replicate. It ends up reading like an alchemy recipe (all parts being confusing cryptic magic) where you have to read and re-read to make sure you got all ingredients right, possibly realising "Oh! that's what I missed!" and deciding to go on trying until you get it right (even though you probably never will... not this way, at any rate). Emulation is just part of the ritual. 

Should you wish to find a thoughtful gift for me, Caleb Cole's book of Other People's Clothes would be a wonderful one. He does with clothes what I do with houses. I look at a house from the outside and I wonder who lives in it, what their day-to-day is made out of. Such thoughts  entertained me during school bus trips. I imagined knocking on everyone's door, trying to meet everyone, see their houses and maybe attempt to make friends with them. I would be proud to know so many people. I imagined knowing the people in poorer houses and leaving coins (to me, a coin was worth as much as a small piece of candy, which was valuable enough in its own right... I just didn't have a sense of scale for money). I imagined what it would be like if I had limitless amounts of money and could offer them all to re-do their homes to make them hospitable, clean and pretty. I tried to imagine what homes smelled like, what meals were cooked in them. I had this idea for a television show where people got to live in another person's house for a day. For one day, you'd get to live the life of someone else. And in my mind, everyone was in it, so you could (in theory) take a very long time before you got back home (but ultimately, you would because NzN is an amenable group and you'd be bound to stumble back home eventually if you just kept switching randomly. (Yes, I realise now that no home would be anyone's at all if different people lived in it every day, bear with me).

What Caleb Cole does, if you didn't bother reading his statement, is take an item of clothing (or an outfit) and dress himself as the person he imagines would wear it, placing himself in context and getting into character before taking a picture of himself. It's a brilliant concept, really. I loved it and thought his way of carrying it out was great (not spotless, though, AOB pointed out surgeons would know better). 

Take a moment to tie in the concept of emulation as part of a ritual to try to get someone else's life (as part of following a pattern, a recipe, for what life dealt out as their outcome) with what I just described. It blows my mind. 

If you don't model your wish-were-true story after a particular one you saw elsewhere, where do you go for inspiration? You just straight out imagine it. I would imagine the most bizarre scenarios. There's this children's song about a little Chinese girl lost in a forest. Well, I'd come up with a story for how she got lost there in the first place. She'd be all kinds of special and would be a princess or someone else equally important. She'd also either be me, related to me or able to make me also very special. In mu imagination she rode a panda bear the way others ride horses and a forest of bamboo shoots actually looked an awful lot more like the tall dry grass I saw on the land on both sides of the road. 

I pictured myself in scenarios where I found fantastic/mythical creatures and was the only person able to talk to them (them = a unicorn, Nessie, a dragon). I imagined being somehow distantly (or not so distantly) related to someone I thought looked cool and hoped it would be a good enough excuse to spend time with them, soaking up the cool. 

I'm to sleepy to even remember where I thought this stub of a post was going. Sorry.

[some time later, what do you care when edit]
Thought I'd leave this here, for good measure.



Consistently inconsistent

Gah!

All right, I've been quiet enough. But then things happen and I can't keep my fingers still (mouth shut, as you'd say if I were speaking). 

Most recent first. I settled myself in front of the living room telly to watch 3 idiots. Because it was Friday night  and I'd been vacuum cleaning, mopping and cleaning dust all morning (well into 2pm and then the dust cleaning in the afternoon while aunt A was out). I'd earned it (just like I excused the junk food binge with hard work and PMS). Aunt A arrived 1/3 of the way through the film and watched for about an hour (inevitably after trying to explain that Indians can't speak English properly and that's why the one Indian doctor she visited once closed his practice.... more on this later). When she called it a day and went to sleep I made a quick trip to the bathroom to brush my teeth and pee. Loud things that they are, I opted for not flushing the toilet, figuring I'd use it again later and I might as well save some water if I'm the only one who's going to use it until morning. Wrong. A while ago uncle A got up, left his room (which conveniently has a bathroom built into it) and went into mine/the guests'. He didn't close the door to pee, which was evidenced by the loud splashing sounds. I know there's a component of shame and guilt in not having flushed but I'm taking a moment to be horrified. Mostly because he didn't close the door. But also because I'm half-glad he didn't: he didn't wash his hands on the way out. When I couldn't keep watching the film and I got ready to call it a night too, even though I didn't need to go, I had to clean. With bleach. And alcohol. It was just bothering me. I even cleaned the door handles for good measure. *sigh*

To think that today, for the first time in a fairly long time, the house is moderately clean. No thanks to the woman who was supposed to come but didn't for whatever reasons. I'm actually quite glad I got to clean because I can actually clean. I can move the sofas and clean under tables, and push beds around to clean behind them. I can make sure the mop is clean before, during and after the mopping. I can vacuum the spaces between the sliding doors and get rid of unsightly millipedes (pest of the season, more on that later). I can mop twice, once with a cleaning agent and once with just water (both hot) so that the floors smell but also look clean (as opposed to just having a film of soap and whatever dirt was mixed into it). I was quite satisfied with myself. I don't know what took over aunt A when she decided to clean the kitchen drawers, pots, pans, silverware and kitchen utensils. All I know is that she tried to start something so I'd finish it and instead I helped her out with what she asked (but only that) moving on to the rest of the house (because there was no way I'd wait out a proper clean until next week). I clandestinely cleaned the rest of the fridge and half of the freezer (organising it and tossing far too old food while I was at it). I have yet to ask uncle A for permission to toss the old (8+ year-old), ancient (floppy discs) and broken appliances. If I can clear those out of my room (I at least managed to get aunt A's permission to toss an old broken ornament taking up a corner), I could then get on to maybe going over all the books on the shelves. It's not like aunt A will go over all her mysteries again. It's not like anyone will go over them, period, and though I reckon some are worth keeping many aren't. I am my mother's daughter, I suppose (that might have to wait until another post).

Goodness... I'm actually physically nauseated.


So... peculiarity of aunt A that bothers me: she thinks she's always right. She thinks any statement she makes is true and she can back it up with lies, as if it were enough to convince non-believers. Examples? I have plenty. Just from this week, though.

1) She picked up a millipede found by LC4 and got ready to flush it, though LC4 wanted to study it. LC4 pointed out flushing it wasn't very nice to the millipede. Aunt A justified her actions making up a lie about how dangerous the millipedes are. The kind we get here don't do much except look ugly, curl up in odd places and die, littering the house. No, they're not particularly dangerous. LC4 is quite right saying it's not nice to flush them and asking for an alternative (i.e. dropping them off in the yard/pool area, it's not like flushing them stops the ones outside from coming in). 

2) The only thoughts evoked by Indian people are those of how she can't understand their accent. Rather than boil it down to "she can't understand their accent" she makes it about how their accent is somehow wrong (like hers is so good). Case in point, she brings up the old story of the Indian doctor she visited once. She could not understand him, he could not understand her. I understand this is a bad doctor-patient predicament, easily gotten out of by changing doctors. Everything else beyond this point is unnecessary whining. Failing to see it could just be her comprehension (I happen to understand Indian accents well enough) she says it's a general problem of the whole population. That's why when the Indian doctor closed his practice she's so sure it must have been because no one else understood his accent and he had no patients. What does she know? Wouldn't you think there should be enough Indian people just about anywhere to keep a doctor in business? Wouldn't you think someone smart enough to get through med school could quickly pick up the new language?

3) This morning before starting to mop I stopped to clean the mop. This took a while and aunt A came in to ask if I was there, saying she heard noises. I explained I was washing the mop so I wouldn't transfer what dirt was on it to the floor as I cleaned it. She said she'd mopped earlier this week and obviously cleaned the mop. Except the water coming out of it was far from clear. It was dirty. Even if she washed it like she claimed, it wasn't clean. Perhaps aware of the fact that I had first-hand access to the mop and evidence of its not-cleanliness, she offered maybe it was the woman who comes to clean. She probably just rinsed it with water and left it alone. Except both she and I know this woman doesn't use the house mops (she brings her own, and to be honest I understand why: the ones here are a bother to work with). 

4) (fine it's from last week) Mascara. Mascara goes into your eyes, no surprise there. If you touched a Petri dish with your eyes (even just your lashes) and left it alone, I guarantee you wouldn't find it clean. It stands to reason that you shouldn't use your mascara for months on end until it goes bad, even if it's still "working for you" because it's just not hygienic. Recommended times are usually in the ballpark of 3 months. When I mentioned I could use a new mascara (i.e. the gift with purchase, sample-sized one aunt A offered) because I should change mine already she got into a fit. She started talking about how she pays good money for her make up to throw it away like that. That this thing about the 3 months is just a ruse used by corporations to make you buy more of their products. Except this is also true of cheap mascara because it has nothing to do with the mascara's formula and everything to do with putting bacteria from your eyes into a dark, humid environment, letting them multiply and putting them on your eyes again. She insisted that one saleswoman once told her it was fine to go on using mascara (she didn't specify for how long) and that one opinion somehow made the argument of hygiene invalid. Rather than say "My! Is that so? Then I should probably change my mascara more often!" she says "I've been doing it right all along! Why are you so wasteful?!" Rather than say "Oh, right. We can recycle dog/cat food cans." she says "Of course we don't! We'd get sued for making the garbage men cut themselves!" (Even though she was all for throwing perfectly good, just not useful-in-this-house, knives in the trash.)

*sigh*

For today the house is clean, and so is my bathroom. But I'm feeling a bit feverish and should probably get ready to sleep.


Soundtrack of the morning was Nur für dich. Just because, I suppose. 

Friday, 17 May 2013

Recurring themes

I had at least four dreams last night.

In one I was in a car, cramped with other people in it. One of them was Dr. House and he was treating an addict. For whatever reason, the addict he was treating was close to dying and the only way to save him then and there was to give him an injection of epinephrine, which would make him bolt up and break into a furiously violent rage. Dr. House risked it, asking me or someone else near the other back door to make way. The madman jumped out, breaking through the window, and started chasing the car trying to hurt us.

In another I was talking to some uppity bank people who showed me value trends for stock going all the way to the end of the year. In particular, they were showing me the trends for a particular bank SmTn had invested on (and apparently owned?). They wanted SmTn to sell as soon as possible because starting in June/July, the price would go down and stay down (and keep decreasing) well into the end of the year. At first I thought they were just trying to take advantage of him, knowing his stock was worth an awful lot more, but in the end I just wanted to warn him that he should sell it before July.

I remembered this in another dream where I told aunt LM about SmTn. We were in a classroom with Michael James (YouTube celebrity) and a girl who might have been his twin if such a thing existed. In my dream they were pale and looked like they bathed in glitter and this was a trend just like wearing orange fake tan is a trend. They teased aunt LM but tried very hard to stay friendly and nice about it. Aunt LM was being a tid bit nosy asking about SmTn and I was telling her somewhat begrudgingly. 

I seem to remember something, perhaps related to the above dream, with SmTn skiing in a small slope of snow. N1 and others from school1 were there. I remember they talked about SmTn and me and I needed to clarify that he had a girlfriend, who he lives with, and they had to stop it already. 

In the last dream I remember there was a board game of sorts. It had a map of Ctg and over it/next to it were sticks like the ones you'd use to play Jenga. People who were in school1 a long time ago (except all grown up) were playing. We each got two sticks and had to move them around one unit at a time, both together and parallel. Whenever you got stuck you lost and had to leave and let the others keep playing. There was also someone tossing a die and this led to a girl singing a typical song about women dancing the way flowers move, one for each city/region. 



It kept going between a few set colours, never mine. Until something came up, lily, and it was white and my road was white and I was supposed to move. We were doing something with canals or other water paths. I'm not sure what the goal was, but whichever came out the most beautiful won. When it was my turn again I had to do something with a canal I couldn't find on a map. So I looked it up online and it led to a beautiful scene with three dolphins jumping from the water at sunset. I was about to use this when the girl throwing the die said it could be a fake and there was no way things were actually that beautiful. Some research of hers showed the ecosystem there was actually corrupted and included lots of not-so-beautiful creatures. I was there, being pulled underwater where I tried to breathe slowly (so as to not waste the air supply, but oddly enough being able to breathe underwater... which I hadn't been able to do in a very long time, even in dreams). Little fish and other animals followed. Before the plunge I'd been asked if I wanted to take a break but I said I'd rather carry on and finish my move while I had the time to think about it, rather than hurry through it and possibly make a mistake. 

Tuesday, 14 May 2013

"Little news" is actually long for "I'm trapped."

Couldn't resist. I sent SmTn an e-mail. Part of me said "Wait. He'll write soon enough." and the rest of me said "I just want someone to talk to."

My final grades are finally up. I had a dream about this last night. Seems pointless to mention it after the fact but the only thing my dream got wrong was the lower grade (statics). I scored top grades in three courses and second (or third, apparently depending on the professor and how arbitrary this silly system is) best possible grade in statics. It's what I was told I'd need to be admitted. It should make me happy. I happen to know my grades were not nearly that good and that I didn't deserve these final grades. I hate to see my mediocrity rewarded, even if it's a convenient reward. I hate to see value placed on grades that are ultimately meaningless. So yay me. I was on the phone with my parents when I thought of looking and found the grades were up. They made a huge deal out of it. They're stupid grades, damn it! They wanted me to tell uncle A and aunt A as soon as possible. What bothers me the most about all this is that they (worst of all, "rightly") think I owe it to aunt A and uncle A. And you know what? I may be a stubborn, proud mule to say so but I don't like to owe anyone anything. Two years (actually three) didn't sound like too long. But it's summer school, and Cinderella, and silence, and ambushes, and madness, and social obligations and this blasted debt. Pull through. If I go through with it my sister won't have to. If I save, she won't need as many favours. 

Doesn't end there. My application process is finally over, because I sent a copy of my grades to the not-so-nice academic advisor who wrote back saying he was pleased to inform me I've been accepted and will I please look for information telling me what to do next but ask him if I have any questions. No official e-mail from the university telling me what the next steps are. I won't even expect a letter in the mail. While I was at it I sent Pf2 another e-mail. You know, because he hadn't answered the last two. I told him my grades were ready and we'd talked of plans for the summer which hadn't taken form yet but needed to because: timelines. He wrote back promptly and told me to call him as soon as possible, so I did. Turns out I'd need to register at least one credit hour. Turns out there are documents to fill. Turns out the initial mistake has not yet completely been fixed. Turns out we're past the deadline and it's going to be even more expensive (at least this much could have been avoided if he'd bloody gotten in touch with me any earlier). Turns out, I looked. even the cheapest option is damned expensive. I have to go there tomorrow and try to sort as much of this out as possible. Also while trying to make arrangements to sell old books because I'll need the money.

It only occurred to me much later that I didn't even ask SmTn what's going on in his life. I tried to excuse myself saying "I won't pressure him for not writing in such a long time," "He's probably been busy," "No, it totally doesn't sound selfish and self-centred at all." Of course it does. In the end, it was a poor excuse for an e-mail and I could have done without sending it but in the spurt of the moment I hit send because I needed someone to talk to and it's gotten to the point where the only person left is him, poor soul. 

Sunday, 12 May 2013

Just imagine if I hadn't woken up when I did

I'm sure you will believe the dreams I woke up to this morning. All of which took place between 6am and 8:30am when my alarm went off (alarm to get up, get ready and start cooking... mother's day, aunt A and stuff). 

The dream I woke up to was one where the two lead mean girls from school had been plotting to kill A. They wanted her dead because A was planning to brandish a United States (could be United Kingdom, frankly I remember her using the second but thinking it was the first and expecting the first) in a procession. The plan to kill her involved making her walk through one of two doors bearing the insignia of a blue monarch/emperor butterfly. They'd let a butterfly in each room (just a small office-like space with sofas and a chimney) and one of the butterflies would have poison. Or not, maybe she just had to fall through a series of shoots and one of the two would have poison in it, so that by the time she landed she'd be dead. I went through one of the shoots and another girl went through the other. I remember seeing her at least one in the "stages" of the tubes shooting down and seeing her alive. I know I didn't see her after that and, knowing it was either her or me, realising she'd taken the wrong one. I'd overheard all of these plans over paper thin walls in a certain floor of a largish building. In this floor they had their bedrooms, closets, some changing rooms, some offices, and of course the "forbidden" rooms. I'd overheard them talking, had time to peep into the rooms and piece the whole thing together.

A got to use the wrong flag in the procession, which turned out to be for her university graduation. An old man had her rusticated and her degree made void but A just returned it and gave it up in a last act of rebellion. Quickly followed by everyone from school2 in that university turning in their degrees too (which oddly enough looked like long camera film rolls).  After all this I started A about the plot and she wanted to go into one of the mean girls' closet. I told her to go in but didn't tell her anything while we were right there because we could be overheard. I knew she was going to try something stupid anyway and made sure I wasn't right next to her ready to get caught, so I made ready to leave and hoped she'd catch up with me before someone else found me there.

Another long dream I will have to cut very short because the true plot is now lost on me involved a special child. Autistic (can children be schizophrenic?) or otherwise clearly different. He or she had written a story about imaginary friends in an imaginary world and the story had been made into a Pixar film script. However, the script introduced the child into the fantastic world through fictitious (rather than just imaginary) characters. The story in the film started with a snowball fight in a school yard, with the fictitious characters coming out from among the snowballs, springing to life and leading the lead character (the child, of course) to the world where the imaginary (and true) other characters lived. This was Pixar's romanticised version of what would have doubtless been otherwise troublesome because there would have been no nice way to break into the imaginary world. At the end of my dream the child started reading the handwritten story to his/her parents and the story actually ended with something along the lines of "and then Pixar made a film out of it including a different intro" which is why I got to bring it up a while ago.

Not exactly the last (since the one I woke up to was the one about A) but I've kept it "last to be retold" because you may want to turn away now. It involves me having sex with SmTn, in case you were wondering. On we go.

It starts rather innocently with SmTn being on vacation someplace warm and tropical. Both my sister and I are with him, running around buildings. I remember forgetting my flip-flops, at some point taking them off and then luckily finding them again just as we were about to continue walking. We were looking for some place in particular, one I remember from VdL being left and upwards of a church and sought with similar directions in my dream. Except in my dream there was a different feel about the city. It was medieval chic meets the beach. The hotel was slightly dark, made out of dark yellow/brown rocks with large glass panes, a long red carpet on the hallways and a warm air about it. It was sunset at this time, or the lighting made it seem this way. 

Also in this dream, I don't know where in time because this time it was bright and sunny outside we were by the seaside, on a pier where people were selling wares. We made a stop by racks of cloths, bandanas, kerchiefs and scarves. SmTn was looking for something to take home to his girlfriend. He asked about [cloths you wear around you when you're wearing nothing but your swimming suit] and I asked the saleswoman for him. The woman produced a tiny bandana-sized cloth that was square like we asked but had none of the other characteristics. A few moments later my sister and I saw SmTn trying to decide between two t-shirts, both very similar and equally horrible. They were light blue with blue lace and stamped pictures of Care Bears or something similar in white ink. They were supposed to be very feminine and girly. Both my sister and I found them to be revolting. I know that in my head I thought "sure, he likes his girlfriend to be girly, and he must know this is exactly the sort of thing she'd like as such... but it's just hideous!"

In another part of this dream (or perhaps a different dream altogether, also featuring SmTn) it was just SmTn and I in a hotel with plenty of other people, just like in summer school. Actually, it was supposed to be the exact same hotel, this time owned by other people, and they asked us to fill out a survey after some big meeting/presentation or other. As we walked out of this conference room I asked SmTn if he intended to go to this year's summer school and told him what I did in the e-mail I didn't send: I wish I could go but have "right" reasons not to. We were also given meals every day and had bedroom accommodations. My bedroom was in a similar place as it was before, except the construction of the house was very different. It was taller than it was wide and made of nested towers. Inside the house was a rectangular tower. In the bottom floor of this tower was the kitchen. In the top floor was the room I was staying in. The room I was staying in had yet another tower inside it and my room was in the top floor (this little tower only had two floors) and had a hallway out of it that led to the empty, non-towered, space next to it which was occupied by a criss-crossing array of ladders and ropes, statues of seahorses and two beds suspended (apparently but not really) mid-air. If it's worth noting, what used to be my bathroom had magically vanished (everything being replaced by just stumps where tubes should be) and I had to change bathrooms.

However, the house itself was not important. We went out for the night together. We refused that day's dinner (salmon something or other, telling the nice ladies at a table handing out the dinner tickets) that we were planning to grab dinner outside. I asked SmTn what he wanted to have and he didn't have an answer for me. We ended up on a huge rock on the seashore. The rock was light brown/dark yellow and the sun was setting again. Lots of people from our group were in the water, where it was about 15-20cm deep, dancing and partying. SmTn and I were with other people doing I-can't-remember-what and SmTn got bored, so he got up and started dancing by himself. I told him we could just join the others and we both climbed down. Before we could get in the water a storm suddenly broke. A very violent storm at that. SmTn had a bag full of his things and lost a lot of it. I remember being able to rescue his glasses (in my dream he wore glasses), they were kind of Ray Ban shaped but not really and the glass was ever so slightly tinted brown. One of the lenses had fallen off and I ventured into the shallow but violent water to try to find it and managed to. I was wearing my glasses and they helped protect my eyes as I looked underwater. His camera had also fallen off and I feared that both the camera and the glasses' lenses had been scratched by the sand. I remember the storm, whether it was just sand or some special kind of hail, felt like needles hitting me.

Fade out to another scene which I can't place temporally anywhere (which means I honestly don't know if it was before what I'm about to tell you) where SmTn and I were kissing. It was sweet and felt so... comfortable. What I remember more vividly is standing next to him, hand in hand, looking at a swimming pool where every 6m or so on each side sat a man. I was looking for a place where we could have sex and I distinctly remember asking him if he'd like to sit on one of these spaces, if we found one, and get a blow job from me. We couldn't find a spot but he said no anyway because this was some kind of hotel's pool and for obvious reasons it was forbidden to do such things in the pool, especially so openly. I considered a small "cave" I borrowed from a pool at a hotel from Ctg, long ago, but remembered it had no place for us to sit down comfortably. I don't know how exactly but the water here led us to a gas station (where the water eventually vanished, when it was all over). In the gas station we found a small shower-like space enclosed by dark brown tinted glass. It was good enough, so I got to work. We contorted a bit in the small space getting up, down, getting sweaty and cramped but having fun nonetheless. I was proud of myself for being able to deep-throat him. He came in my mouth and I made a mental note to give him a last squeeze. I spit out into "the pool" (not really there, we were, at best, just in an empty tub) but some of it got on my face and I cleaned it. When I was done, SmTn said it was my turn and we contorted ourselves into a new position. A short while later I realised the windows were just tinted and therefore see-through and feared we might be seen, so we lay down on the floor, sweaty as we were, and wondered what was a good time to get out. 

I think it's worth noting that while I would normally not love the idea of being sweaty, naked and with so much of me touching another wet and sweaty somebody could be a bit offputting, I felt very at home... And that's about all I remember. Now, if you don't mind, I have to get dressed and get to work. I've been typing for too long now.

Saturday, 11 May 2013

I don't think I'll send this.

Hello,

How is everything going? Is [your city] showing any signs of summer coming? Over here, it seems, the city is slowly trying to break us into the scorching heat. Can't say I'm looking forward to it... 

You know how you talk about the weather when there is pretty much nothing else to talk about? Well, I still don't have an awful lot to tell you. I haven't even been able to arrange the bus riding adventure, which likely just won't be scheduled because it's already too hot out to walk for hours. So... I have nothing except old news and future plans. 

My sister is coming in June, so I have that to look forward to. We're already making arrangements to go on a trip in July and there are two concerts coming up in June which would be pretty exciting. Those last two would be more exciting if I had a job already (and a car) but that's proving particularly annoying.

My job news are still not really news. Haven't heard from the professor hiring me in about three weeks, maybe more. He said he'd sent some documents and references for me to read but never sent them. I've sent him two e-mails and haven't got an answer to either. I've so far managed to send a few job applications for clerical jobs I could take in summer, but I haven't heard back from any of those either. I don't even have final grades to submit to the admissions people so they know I've finished the last of the pre-requisite courses. *yawn* 

You know, just yesterday my parents asked about the summer school two years ago and, after I told them there's one this year I can't go to, whether or not another one would be held soon. Our talk of summer school lasted all of 4-5min, if that, and yet it was enough time to make me nostalgic. I don't know why it's weird (or if it's weird at all) but, even though I didn't say anything, they were so... understanding. They pointed out the importance of learning new things and being among intelligent people and how I can't leave maths behind. They told me I definitely had to go to the next one. If you ultimately decide to go this year, will you take pictures and promise to tell me about it? Even about how [crazy professor] drinks all the [beer brand] beer in town and carries women on his shoulder like sacks of potatoes?

Even though I can't go for all the right reasons (I'm supposed to work in summer, my sister is coming and there are plans in motion for her stay here, another friend might come for a few days, I'd rather be home for Christmas and New Year's) I can't help but feel it's somehow wrong that I can't go. I fear that if I'm stuck doing engineering for another two years trying to show up for summer school next time around will be pointless. *sigh*

But that's enough melancholy for one e-mail and I actually forgot to tell you about the saddest news of all in my last e-mail: the gay marriage bill sank tragically back home. One of the people invited to speak against it actually said gay sex alone was responsible for AIDS and anal cancer. One of the senators against it spoke for three times the allowed time (being longest-serving senator. he's been speaking lots-of-times-more-than-should-ever-be-allowed) said gay sex was scatological. Leave it to me, straight with no intentions of marrying, to be sad about such things but I can't help it. Like I said, saddest news of all. The others just aren't particularly cheerful (every day that goes by it seems less unlikely that the peace treaty will work out... also largely to blame on people who don't believe in love or forgiveness).

So much for old news. You probably heard about the bombings but you don't need me to tell you bad people exist in this world, that Americans are a paranoid bunch and that they love to pin it on foreigners, better yet if they're muslims. That's hardly news at all. What is news is that travelling in and out of the US will be even more of a nightmare. Never mind, that's hardly news.

As for what I've been doing lately and plan to do in the near future... I've done little other than stay in my room and use the times my aunt leaves the house to do some cleaning. This weekend we're celebrating mother's day. My cousin S is buying the groceries so I can make lunch. So... if you imagine the dog and cat are really mice under magic spells, I'm Belle playing the part of Cinderella.

Further into the future, beyond tomorrow, I don't have any solid plans. I don't have any gaseous or liquid plans either *ba dum tss* . I just, you know, don't really have plans beyond what I've not-so-briefly gone over. 

You're probably busy these days. I hope life over there is exciting. I reckon the greater part of the reason I wrote this e-mail is nostalgia brought spiked by inactivity. Anyway, any news from you would be lovely. 

Hope to talk to you soon,


Belle-with-an-identity-crisis.

Friday, 10 May 2013

I know where this one came from

I had a bit of a sex dream last night. Don't remember much about it but there was a Japanese-style (which in my dream I called Zen... and may make sense in a while) owned by an Irish mob lord. There was also a tour being given around a university campus where the tour guide (a young man about my age) had access to the bedrooms. In retrospect, that's kind of disturbing. If you're wondering about the sex, I'm afraid I can't tell you much because I don't remember much. Not so imaginatively, there was a (literal) wiener replacement and another replacement: Nick from New Girl was in my dream, most likely in the LesMisGuy's stead.

So, like I said, even if I can't remember many details I think it's a straightforward dream. 

It goes without saying at this point that I haven't heard from SmTn yet. I think it's now been two weeks since we last talked. You know, I was talking to my parents today and they asked about my summer school friends, if I've kept in touch with them and whether there would be another summer school. I mentioned there was one this year and even just saying it out loud made me a little sad. I know, I know. I can't go because of reasonable reasons (I was supposed to get a summer job, my sister was coming and I can't be that selfish, it's otherwise too expensive, I'm supposed to be there for Christmas, etc.), but not being able to go makes me sad. A good part of it, though even if I were offered the chance right now I think I'd be too late, has to do with the chance to see SmTn (more on that in a bit), but it would also be so refreshing to go back to the world of nerds and maths and physics. Even if it made me feel stupid I'd rather feel stupid than feel stuck in mediocrity. I think they could tell. They asked when the next school would be held (two years from now) and said I definitely should go to that one. I know it's wrong, but I wish they'd asked earlier. I wish I'd had the chance to go this year.

I have a hunch that I'll never get to see SmTn in person again. Sounds a bit ominous but you have to admit it's just not very likely. The hunch, however, is not about how unlikely it is. My hunch tells me it's actually not possible. I will never see him again. 

I have another hunch: if I ever see him again, face to face, we're certain to kiss. Before you come at me telling me how silly it is to have that second hunch, let me remind you I studied maths for five years and there are such things as trivial truths. "If my eyes were blue my little one would still be alive" is a perfectically true statement. "If I see SmTn again we'll kiss" is just as true.

But the dream was about LesMisGuy, and I reckon I haven't been thinking of him all that much lately. The most likely culprit is my spare time spent watching tv shows, one of them being New Girl. And the fact that in New Girl SPOILER ALERT Nick and Jess finally have sex. It struck a chord and not-so-hard-to-deduce thoughts that had been hiding in the back of my mind. Before you're stuck wondering why the whole SmTn topic is canned, let me tell you one thing: all of my fantasies regarding him live in a world of trivial truths. I know it's not going to happen, but I can tell pretty truths as long as the phrase "SmTn and I will be together" is false.

*sigh*
I owe you quite a few posts, blog. I'm afraid I can only write the stump of one. 

Let's go back to Tuesday, 2 May (it appears that's a "correct" date format... it just reads a bit odd... for my sake, let me re-write it as "Tuesday, 2nd of May"). On that day I had two final exams and a meeting with cousin S's friend. I had sort of studied for the first test but felt quite confident for it. I thought studying for the fourth partial exam of the other subject was enough studying for the final exam. You won't be surprised if I tell you I was wrong. The first test didn't go so badly (75%) but I actually had to guess some of the answers because I had absolutely no idea how to get them, part of which had to do with a possibly incomplete formula sheet brain. Then so be it, my average for that course turned out to be 86% (if I remember correctly). I don't know how I did on the second test, which I panic-studied a bit for when I remembered I could take a look at the old final exams and realised I couldn't answer the questions. The more pleasant part of my day was spent after meeting with cousin S's friend. We met and talked and I made a fool of myself, going back to my "try the most convoluted solution before sense and simplicity dawn on  you" method solving her problem. However, simplicity did dawn on me and that brief moment when I suddenly understood just how simple a problem it was was lovely. 

There's more to that day: both cousin S's friend and two classmates I'd never talked to before were nice to me. They were talkative, outgoing, interested in me and how I was doing (at least academically). I can't help but feel I had no right way to respond to their kindness and politeness. I fear whatever response I could give came out as being fake (and stupid). Why can't I be nice? Why can't I be normal around people who are nice to me? 

I'm sorry, that's hardly a post at all. I suppose I'll continue to owe you, blog. 

Thursday, 9 May 2013

Far from humane

I had the most horrible dream where people ate dogs and, worse, I was cutting some up to be eaten. Alive. I was just slicing them up as they lay down, front paws first, snout and head later. The cruelty of it all didn't strike me until I was about to start cutting into the snout and then the horror took over. I wondered if there wasn't a way to kill the dogs before cutting into them so it wasn't so bad. I wondered if there was another way to cut them, because cutting the snout into slices but then (read this... or maybe don't, I wouldn't) I remembered what it felt like to chew on these pieces with the bones in them. It was awful. And in spite of all this thinking, I had already cut quite a bit of meat and put it on a plate I intended to fill. Oh, and because it can be worse, I must have been cutting up puppies or other small dogs because they fit on a chopping board. It was somehow related to an Age of Empires game where I also had to instruct people to kill dogs to eat them, failure to do so ending in their deaths, and I just let them die because I couldn't bear the thought of them killing dogs. It was too much. I then exited the game without saving, not very willing to come back to it.

In another dream I was in university (the one I'm actually proud of) and buildings had been remodelled. This time a building where basketball was played (should it be a game or a match? I won't bother to look it up, hence the change in wording). 

I'm now remembering another dream from the night before last where I was in a very elegant hotel, in one of the top floors where they had a very fancy restaurant. And I was in my pyjamas. The oversized "dress" aunt A gave me.

Actually, there was a dream last night where I was wearing said dress and the top part fell over, leaving me temporarily topless.

Oh, but the horror of cutting up live dogs is just too much. 

Wednesday, 8 May 2013

Callous, callous, callous!

Today after getting back from the gym I thought it would be a good idea to use the momentum to clean the fridge. That was not a very good idea. The reason why, if you must know, is because aunt A was here and it really is best that I clean and do things by myself when I'm completely by my self. Alone. Solo. It's not like I ever get credit for helping around the house, and I don't expect aunt A to notice or care much when things she normally doesn't bother with appear clean. The difference is there mostly for me. And that's fine, I can do work for no credit. But would you rather get no credit or get no credit, get orders for more chores that "need to be done" (but aunt A won't lift a finger to do... not even the one that dials a phone to call the woman who gets paid to work around the house) and get complaints about how you're doing everything wrong? 

I started working and immediately aunt A points out that the freezer also needs to be cleaned. Will she be cleaning it? No. Will she tell the woman who comes to clean to clean it? No. She tells me it needs to be cleaned. You know, as long as I'm already at it. Oh, and by the way, we have too many bananas et il faut faire un pain ou un gâteau. Il faut. Using the machine, of course, which I have no idea how to use so I point out I don't know how to use it and that's my half-reasonable excuse not to get stuck baking for someone so ungrateful. And yes, I get to say that because the woman who gets paid to clean never gets complaints from aunt A about how she doesn't clean the dust, and how she leaves everything in a pile when she's cleaning and she doesn't put things back in their place. Aunt A complains about her to me and about me to me, even though I'm doing her a service... for free... 

I put away a knife in "the wrong drawer" even though that knife is 80% of the time in that drawer and I only put it away half of the time. I don't even use that bloody knife! I'm using the wrong sponge because I'm using the one that's used for the plates. Why is it the wrong one, if the fridge isn't dirty with anything that's not going on the plates anyway? Because it will get used up too quickly if I use it to clean the fridge. Are you fucking kidding me? Oh, and here's a sponge I can use. Did I notice it? Why am I not using it?

Because I've had about enough and would rather leave half the fridge dirty, go shower and come write about how angry this all makes me than stay there cleaning waiting for the next callous observation. Because fuck it. I can clean when I'm alone and I don't have to put up with this shit. Because I'm staying fucking quiet but I don't have to both stay quiet and go on working. And yes, I'm not eating just yet even though it's 3:20pm and I didn't even have a very large breakfast because if I risk going into the kitchen to cook myself something, anything, I'm sure aunt A will find something else I'm doing wrong and fuck that shit.  I'm not even fucking hungry. I'm angry. I'll go watch Elementary now, if you don't mind, and get everything set to watch 3 idiots for the umpteenth time because it makes me happy and it's about the only thing these days that has that effect on me.