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Tuesday, 11 March 2014

The things I haven't been writing

It's about time. I'm already late as is, and I probably won't be able to write everything I should but you will know, if you've read previous posts, that I've been feeling off and even writing blog posts seems like too big a task to take on.

*sigh*

Where to begin...?

Let's see, I haven't written anything in a week. Which means I left out last Wednesday (no tango practice session but major fail by the biostatistics professor), Thursday (... I have no memory of Thursday... or Friday, for that matter), and Saturday through Monday. Here's hoping I can catch us up a little.

I can't remember any of my dreams from those days and I'm afraid my catching up will heavily rely on what I told A and EBF (yes, EBF) about those days. But we'll make room for commentary because I've had thoughts brewing in my head for some time now that could probably use an outlet.

Saturday afternoon and night were spent in a barbecue hosted by the president of the tango club. I talked myself into going because... well, I might as well try to socialise and I couldn't keep the fear of being ambushed by a drunk college boy be a problem. He did drink too much, as I anticipated. However, he was not stupid enough to try anything which means he gets some credit for the restraint (though I reckon he may have switched targets) and I get credit for sending clear enough signals. I suppose. I don't know. You'd think I was bored, staying there for all of six or seven hours, hardly talking to people, not really dancing and doing little other than observing everything from the comfortable sofa in the corner, but I actually enjoyed myself. 


Oh dear, I've gone ahead and left this alone for over an hour instead of writing to play hashi and look up nonexistent updates in the usual websites...


As I was saying, I actually enjoyed myself. The less-than-keen eye would have just seen me bored and not doing much but, as I mentioned above, I was carefully watching everything that went on around me and meditating. I could see the truly bored people. I could see Mr. Tall having had too much to drink, trying to sleep it off, stupidly fighting dehydration by wetting his lips in the kitchen sink and drinking coffee to counter the effects of alcohol (kids, don't do this: fight alcohol with lots of water, not depressants with stimulants). I could see the dancing, both amateur and enthusiastic, naturally good and actually quite talented. I saw the music. I know it sounds a bit trite to bring up synesthesia like that but there were numerous musical instruments (mostly percussion) that quite a few people played around with and tried to match to the background music, which meant you could actually see the music playing and see people's musicality (or lack thereof). 


Sorry again, that was a few hours' worth of not writing. I don't know what's wrong with me.


What I was saying is that I liked it. Just like you could see music, you could also see youth. It was present in the way they burned the sausages, and maybe weren't the best cooks, and even did something dangerous trying to cut through corn with a knife. It was staring me in the face when I used the guest's restroom and it was so dirty I found myself not only aiming into the bowl (no way I was sitting on that), I was aiming for the crusty filth at water level, hoping to make the restroom at least marginally cleaner. Youth was in the way the fabulous gay friend was introduced, in the willingness to learn new dances and teach them, in the free spirits that danced to the feeling behind a song in an unfamiliar language. You could see freedom and freedom of thought and all those vague ideals so commonly associated with college students that, at some point when they become proper grown ups, seems to disappear. It was hard to believe these were people who would one day have to file taxes, make mortgage payments, pick up their kids from school and argue about politics and what they see on the news the way older people do. When I saw them, they were the future, or everything I hope the future is full of. I didn't see nurses, doctors, engineers, lawyers or any other kinds of professionals. I saw young dancers and musicians, childish and free. I realise now I'm starting (starting?!) to sound like an old woman. And a cliché one at that. I am sorry for that, it's not my intention. I only meant to capture the long moment I chose over laying on the bed at night, worried about having made a noise when my water bottle fell off the bed which would be interpreted by aunt A like a burglar. 

Sunday... Sunday... Sunday cousin S and I worked on the car and then I was stuck at a family reunion. Then yesterday was rather uneventful, except for the chance I got to watch Mr. Peabody and Sherman, a wonderful children's film which almost seems to be in favour of gay marriage and the adoption of children by gay couples. Though maybe I was reading too much into it.

Oh, and this morning I had a dream about school1. One of the queen bees was getting married and had included wedding invitations in the last page of what I assume were our yearbooks. I'd seen her horribly bully and harass a young man and was so disgusted at her I sneakily tore the lilac page with frilly flowers off of her book and hid it in mine. This event soon caused an uproar and a huge fight between the girls. NtP was oddly in my dream and gave me a call when he heard that I'd been the one responsible to congratulate me. I was a little afraid he'd tell others about it. I don't know how close I actually was but I remember standing up for this young man being harassed, sandwiched in between huge foam mattresses and being stood upside down by the girl's boyfriend(?) at her orders. Another girl and I stood up for him. I think it's particularly cruel that this young man was willingly being subjected to this torture because he fancied her. I still thought they should be more humane about it. I remember being proud of standing up when no one else besides the other girl would in a bus full of people. I can't say I was particularly proud of my vandalism, but I was quite pleased for the ridiculous uproar it had caused when all I did was tear a page out of a book. 

I suppose I'm missing a few things. I'm missing a more detailed recount of Friday night stuck at BCM's and watching The Truman Show. I'm missing "The class that should have been," a post about everything my professor should have said and didn't, or how I would have taught that lesson. I'm missing a post about mum's hopes and dreams. I'm missing a huge post about justice and fairness and associated fallacies. I'm afraid I can't do them justice, so I'll just leave this stub here for now. So long.





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