my heart is a glorious machine;

Heavens, it's been nearly a week since last I posted! For shame! But really, I've been rather shockingly busy, in, yes, the offline world, what with writing a Hire Me letter and composing my first proper resume ever (it's very short and not terribly impressive, but the fonts are lovely!) for the job at the local paper, and then accidentally spending the night at the Meholicks', which has become such a tradition -- with the Nielsons, too, when they still lived here -- that I really ought to put together an emergency survival kit consisting largely of pyjamas and spare underthings and leave it in a convenient corner. You see, burningstarsxe was coming home from three months in Maine, and when she arrived at last, there was such a riot of conversation and general jubileeing that I kept not leaving, and then it was eleven thirty at night... The next day was Friday, which was also Season Premiere of Dollhouse Day, so Sarah and Hannah came back in the evening, and we had a drawer of inappropriate starches (a real drawer, too), only someone neglected to tell me that none of the normal channels work anymore. We have bloomin' satellite, so this really oughtn't be a problem, but apparently it is. So here we are, panicking, staring at the grey screen, frantically eating cookies and squeaking... oh, it was dreadful. Eventually we gave up, took the drawer upstairs, and cosied up on my bed to show Hannah the Supernatural pilot, while I refreshed downloady sites to no avail. (A link finally surfaced about ten minutes after their father collected them, of course.)

Saturday was spent at Hershey Park, to which we acquired free passes from buying certain products at Martin's. Dad took Heidi and Timmy and I in the shiny new car, while Mum stayed home with Leandra (who would be no fun at an amusement park, as she would climb everything and be impossible to keep track of and she'd probably try to jump into a roller coaster or kidnap a duck or something). Ah, new car, how marvellously you glide along! And how exquisite it is finally to listen to CDs in the car again, instead of ancient tapes! (Okay, that often meant that we listened to a lot of Steeleye Span, but after two years it begins to be tiring when road trip music always consists solely of the surviving remnants of what Dad listened to twenty-five years ago. A lot of it is modern jazz, which I'm not especially keen on, and even Dad isn't that interested in anymore, and some of the singer-songwriter stuff is too eightiesified, and there isn't any of Dad's awesome psych folk stuff from the seventies besides Steeleye Span.)

Anyway, I'm not the largest fan of amusement parks in general, especially when I think about them too much ("this would be a really rubbish way to die, in the service of something so frivolous", I occasionally think on roller coasters or even swing rides, where a line might suddenly break; and then I think about how ridiculously much money goes into building these town-sized clusters of sheer entertainment, when people are, well, yes, starving in India and being murdered in the Sudan, and I am well aware that this sort of thing makes me the epicest of wet blankets), but I enjoyed myself rather -- they had an excellent carousel that actually went around quite fast, and tearing down an old wooden roller coaster is fantastic, and those spinning swing rides I adore because they're exhilarating and relaxing at the same time. Also there's something peculiarly sordid and fascinating about amusement parks and fairgrounds and circuses, something I can't quite put my finger on -- something about the colours and the sticky-sweet smell and the odd music and the mechanisms and the peculiar names of things and the way so many things seem strangely frozen in time. I do so want to put Mr Caruthers and Evy onto a carousel or something. (I have also always wanted an old carousel horse, a real one, on a golden pole, to keep in my bedroom and try to know the stories of it.)

And then it began to rain. Bah. It was cold and wet and we braved it for several hours, but then they started closing the roller coasters because they weren't safe anymore, and the rain wasn't letting up at all, and we were soaked and shivering and finally toured the Hershey not-factory -- mostly it was an array of Yay Capitalism Buy Our Overpriced Stuff, but it was very interesting to learn all of the different processes involved in making a simple chocolate bar, and when we finally wrenched the siblings away from the piles and piles of obscenely expensive mass-produced chocolates we decided to just go home. Ah, warm car warm car warm car.

Sunday I woke to rain, and when one is under the covers and indoors, grey rainy wet days are cosy and wonderful. Alack, I had to get up for church, and was rather cross, but at least it was chilly enough that I could wear my little black and grey double-buttoned schoolmistress dress, and people left quickly, and at home again there was magnificent chili for dinner, the first of the season, and then I ran off to finally watch Dollhouse with Sarah and Hannah at their house, and there was much conversation, merry and thinky and both, and I do so like people (and having Sarah back). Also Mr Joss Whedon is rather a meany-pants, but I expect you knew that. (Also JAMIE BAMBER IN HIS REAL ACCENT IS SO GORGEOUS AND WIBBLE-INDUCING AND ALSO CONFUSING. WHY DID YOU HIDE THIS BEAUTIFUL ACCENT FROM ME FOR SO MANY SEASONS OF BSG, MR BAMBER? WHY? THIS IS CRIMINAL. And, oh yes, there was also Alexis Denisof with his real accent, which is, alas, American, but his voice is still quite splendid and I am afraid that Sarah and Hannah and I could not possibly be prevailed upon to tell you a word of what he said in his little speech, as we simpered like very silly girls all the way through it.) 

Today, there was leftover chili and rain and coffee and a little autumn-coloured cat in the morning, and a library run in my new favourite purple sweater and my elegant pashmina scarf flowing around me in the brisk belligerent wind, and I am really quite enjoying it all. Except for these silly advertisements all over my LJ and being reduced to fifteen usericons. Pah!

Sigh. It's a bad week for my brain. Bad bad bad bad. I guess the minor panic attack level of Off My Meds wore off and gave way to the more subtle insidious low-level not-sane-ness*, and then there's this stupid cold, and for the last couple of days it's been this fun party game of Which Part Of My Body Is Going To Stop Working Right Next? Yesterday was miserable -- my sinuses hurt, I can't breathe, my own voice comes out wrong, my throat hurts, I'm cramping mysteriously and can't find the ibuprofen, my eyes hurt, there's an edge of nausea, and also my face hurts a lot, because apparently I am never going to stop breaking out like a thirteen-year-old and gorram it, acne can hurt like the dickens. Today and yesterday, of course, the skin on my lower face was so dry it was flaking off my face and I looked like I had milk crusted all over my mouth, and it hurt, and finally I just scrubbed my face raw with a pumice stone and slathered it in Eucerin about eighty times until most of the dead skin was gone, and hey, my face almost feels like a face again!

I am well aware of, er, the word insanity -- but there's a line between actual insanity and simply... not being very sane. Which is what I am when depressed. I find myself speaking and acting and reacting in ways that don't make any sense, even to me... and they're all ugly. Dear people who think my depression rehabilitation should consist of stabilising on drugs and then slowly weaning off them: shut up.

On the brighter side, my appointment with the free clinic is somehow tomorrow (I know the lady at the desk told me October, more than once, so I'm choosing to believe miraculous forces intervened to preserve my well-being), and today I picked up some sample other medication from my doctor's office, so we'll see how that goes. I also have two more job leads -- a new coffee shop (!!!) just opened up, and the newspaper's advertising for someone to write obituaries and police blotter stuff and possibly the occasional article, which sounds like a pretty excellent deal, actually, especially for resumes in the future, although as an application I have to write an essay letter to the managing editor on Why I Would Be Good For This Job and... I don't know what to write. Although considering that I am clever, eager to learn, and know my way around a semi-colon, I might actually qualify for this job more than quite a lot of applicants, living as I do in a very uneducated area. Not even bragging here, it's the most depressing thing about this corner of North-western Pennsylvania -- nobody's curious about anything. (Also they mention in their advertisement that they're looking for accuracy and attention to detail... except they mysteriously capitalise Accuracy all of the five or so times it appears. GAH. Here's attention to detail for you!)

And: we bought a new car. It's a bright blue Ford Focus and the first twenty-first century car we have ever owned. Um... and all that that implies? Anyway, it's a lovely car, feels as though it's rather fun to drive, has a CD player and a working cigarette lighter (look, this is a big deal, considering the technology levels of our previous cars) and the sound system is fantastic, omg. Seriously. I want to go on a road trip or learn to drive this very minute so I can soar down the highway blaring things. Irritatingly it is also a better sound system than anything we've got in the house... Ought to be running off to fetch my learner's permit in the near future, although schedules still have to be finangled to make room for that. (Could have gone today, but the DMV is closed on Mondays. Well... thanks.) 

While we're still on the subject of Things Which Do Not Suck (...it's been a bad, bad, awful week), a package from lady_moriel arrived for me this morning! Now, Kyra has a habit of sending ridiculously awesome packages, although these smorgasbords of win usually appear around Christmas and my birthday. She mentioned she'd picked me up a copy of Ender's Game at a yard sale, and also -- hello, this is an example of how Kyra is made of win -- she remembered me wistfully admiring some stunning but expensive silk scarves at Woolies (is Woolies an Alaska-only place? because I can't find them on Google -- just references to Woolworths, which does not sell lovely organic hippie folk festival clothes for sadly exorbitant prices -- and a few directory references to stores in Alaska) and had her sister pick one up for me when she was on a school trip to Turkey, because they are very cheap there. And it is so gorgeous I cannot even deal. Photographs do not do it justice, but they can try.


But Kyra, being also sneaky and awesome, did not mention that the package headed my way also contained an Iron & Wine postcard and pin and the Goblet of Fire DVD (in widescreen, even!). Sneaky sneaky.

And now I've nearly managed to make myself feel a mite better, although I still feel as though almost the entire day has been wasted, and my novel is still stalling on the sixty-fourth page, and my head doesn't quite belong to me, and there are an awful lot of failures and things left undone and things I can't do looming in my future... sigh. Fie upon thee.

Today I was attacked by my own bedroom.

Sometimes I have these really stupid impulsive ideas. At about eleven thirty tonight, the stupid idea was: My glasses have been missing for a couple of weeks. I am sure they slipped into the terrible jungle that is under-the-bed and I will find them in two minutes if I actually look instead of shoving my hand down there and waggling it back and forth for a few seconds.

Learned Thing I: Under The Bed is a very, very terrifying place, far more terrifying than I had previously imagined. It is a place of death and I am never going down there again if I can help it. I am afraid to clean under there now because I think it might eat me. 

Learned Thing II: When I was eleven, I fit rather comfortably under the bed. I am nineteen now, have a slightly different bedframe setup, and, more importantly, have acquired copious amounts of bosom. I can no longer get more than my head and shoulders under the bed. At all.

Learned Thing III: Mattresses are really heavy. Boxsprings are even heavier and they hurt when they fall on you. You should not attempt to move them off the bedframe on a whim in the middle of the night, especially when you wear contacts and have done just fine without your glasses for weeks now. (I mostly wear my glasses when I am very headachey, when I am very lazy, when I am in between sets of contacts because I never remember to order them on time, or at night when I am reading in bed, because slipping off glasses is easy and slipping off contacts is not when you are sleepy.)

Learned Thing IV: I have more muscles in more places than I even knew. I do not feel so bad now about not having exercised today.

Learned Thing V: I should listen to my mother sometimes. Here is a conversation that probably happened more than once.

ME: "All of the plastic cups have mysteriously vanished! This is very irritating. Where could they have gone?"
MY MOTHER: "...Are they in your bedroom again?"
ME: "I HAVE NOT DONE THAT IN MONTHS WHY DO YOU DOUBT ME also I can't find any cereal bowls."
MY MOTHER: "Didn't I see one on your desk?"
ME: "YOU ARE SO SUSPICIOUS AND ACCUSING"

Under my bed, nested amongst the mangled remains of many newspapers, magazines, guitar chord printouts, candy wrappers, and scribbled-on pages, were approximately two hundred plastic cups. Fortunately none of them had rotting milk in them. There were also some cereal bowls. I am duly ashamed. But I also blame my bed. It was probably hungry.

Learned Thing VI: It is very hot under the bed. Also, it is far easier to get under than it is to extract oneself. I don't even know how that works. At one point, when I was mostly stuck, the radio went on (whenever it gets unplugged, the alarm resets itself to go off at midnight) and Ominious Monk-like Chanting followed me beneath the mattresses. It was a little disturbing. (It was actually a sort of New Age music programme public radio has on late at night -- and it happened to be mostly the very, very nice, relaxing, and musically interesting sort, not the really lame elevator music sort. And then BBC News came on. Yay!)

Learned Thing VII: Somehow, lifting up the mattress and the boxspring makes the entire room explode. My bedroom was reasonably neat. I spent half an hour or longer trying to make it look mostly the way it had before I pulled up the mattress.

Learned Thing VIII: My glasses were behind the dresser.

I am going to get an ice cream bar out of the freezer downstairs. It is nearly two in the morning. I do not care. I need it.

I am beginning to feel as though I have done Evy's vampire wrong, because he isn't doing anything, either in what I've written thus far or in my head. I mean, except for this one flight of fancy, wherein I wondered if maybe Mr Caruthers gets misguidedly jealous of the vampire cos he and Evy are kind of secretive and she trusts him and stuff, and Evy's like "are you kidding me? VAMPIRE? EW." and Mr Caruthers is like "LOOK, VAMPIRES ARE PREDATORS AND SEDUCTION IS ONE OF THE TOOLS THEY USE TO ATTRACT PREY AND IT'S NOT COMPLETELY INSANE IF ONE WERE TO SUCCUMB, SO TO SPEAK, AS IT IS A PRETTY STRONG GLAMOUR. NOT THAT I WOULD KNOW." and Evy's like, "Um. I have to go home now." 

Anyway, I think he might actually step back into the story if he had a name -- I've been magnificently unsuccessful in locating one thus far; all I know is that it's long. (I'm also toying with the idea that vampires frequently take new names, especially after they've been vampires for a while, and their old human personality is so worn away that there doesn't seem a reason to keep a name that belongs to someone long dead.) Latin seems a little, um, predictable, and actually I'm kind of hoping for Welsh? Because a Welsh vampire would be awesome. Gaelic could be pretty neat, too, and can get very long: the problem with Gaelic is that pronunciation seems impossible to predict. (And Welsh isn't hard to pronounce?, you ask. Well, it is a bit, but the rules are much simpler, and letters correspond to sounds that make sense, once you learn the few variants and how to pronounce them, like ll, w, and f. Whereas Gaelic, I look at it and there are all these letters, and they could be anything, and half the time it looks like an impossibly long word, but it's pronounced in one syllable. It's a little dizzying.)

But anyway again! Today I became a dark redhead again, after spending far, far too long with already somewhat light red hair fading to the brassy peroxide blonde underneath, not at all attractively I might add. I have been trying to achieve this particular dark rusty colour for a year, as my Very First Dye Job was rust and blonde, and yet when I used the exact same dye back in the spring it did not come out remotely the same, and I was sad. But this time, with a different brand, it worked; heaven knows why. And as I was taking photographs anyway, my outfit happened to be rather nice and simple and casually neo-Victorian and made me happy.


I took this outfit and this hair down the block to Luigi's Ristorante, who are hiring servers, filled out an application, had a pre-interview, apparently shook hands with the owner, and was actually assured of a phone call for once. I made certain to mention pointedly the fact that I live a block away and would be available to fill in and such things at extremely short notice. I daresay I should rather like working there; the atmosphere is very nice, tips ought to be lovely as it is one of the nicer restaurants in town, and I have always wanted to waitress. Also it is a block from my house. Very convenient, that.

The last handful of days have been somewhat odd (she says matter-of-factly, because somehow she has forgotten how to panic?). There was much driving, and the car nearly broke down -- not the rental, ours -- and yesterday morning I learnt via a phonecall from my bank that my account has been overdrawn by about three hundred dollars. Approximately fifty of that I spent in Nova Scotia, on souvenirs (Stanfest t-shirt; inexpensive seashells; A Present; a vintage necklace) and snacks (Canadian sweets, which are frequently awesomer than ours, but expensive!; bread; pastries and cocoa at the coffeeshop). The rest is all fees. Fees from originally overdrawing my gorram account, which since I had no way of knowing I'd done so -- and I'm a little ashamed of myself, but I thought I had more money in my account than that; I should have checked -- and then those triggered more fees and still more and now I am three hundred dollars in the red. Mum owes me thirty-two, Dad owes me four, and I have three dollars in my wallet and some change, God help me. I might be able to get the bank to waive the fees considering that half the reason they built up so much was because I was out of the country, and this is my first bank account, and Mum suggested I look as close to tears as possible... if I can do that, fifty dollars shouldn't be terrifically impossible. Except that I have no job. No, I haven't been fired; I just haven't worked in a month. I really ought not to tell my boss that I'm going on holiday, because every time I ask for a week or two off, he just stops putting me on the schedule from then on until some time after I get back. I have no work next week, and no leftover paychecks. My manager said, almost reprovingly, "you can't get paid unless you're here," at which I suddenly wanted very much to hit or smash something. I asked for two weeks off. You didn't schedule me for the rest; it's hardly that I'm bloody unwilling.

My first inclination as I walked out was to burst into tears and crumple onto a bench somewhere, but I gulped it down and channelled it into determined rage, which wave I rode on for the next hour, stalking into half the stores in the mall and telling them that I needed a job. I picked up about seven applications, have a couple to look up online, and, oddly enough, have an interview with Claire's on Monday. The woman behind the register told me, "We're still accepting applications, and probably hiring in a week," and as I folded my application to put in my bag, she said, "When you bring that back -- are you available for an interview on Monday at 3:30?" "Absolutely," I said. I hope this is an encouraging sign.

Rode around town, didn't find much, came back sick from the humidity. Mum provided emergency chocolate, I curled up with a comfort book. Sometime today I'll go talk to the bank -- the little one across the street gave me a printout, but I have to talk to the bigger one a few blocks away. Ugh. Time fades courage, rather.

My oh my, the hour is fast approaching! Today has mostly been a whirlwind of packing and cleaning and music organising, with breaks in between to re-dye the fading purple streaks in my hair (and add some pink highlights), fetch nibbles for the road, read Howl's Moving Castle, and snuggle the cats I won't see for two weeks. (Two weeks with no cats? What kind of a holiday is this?) Suitcases have left my bedroom, I managed to find places for everything at last, and can now actually think because there isn't a great awful mound of stuff everywhere. Bookbag weighs rather a lot and looks like this. Er... yes. There are three more books in my computer bag, and one more -- the one I'm reading now -- in my satchel. And then there was this. ^-^

Two spots of good news -- firstly, apparently there was some nasty faux pas with the rental car we're driving from Philadelphia to Cape Breton in (we don't trust our rickety old van for that long, so we'll pick up my aunt in the Philly area and then go get the rental), and they were giving us a smaller one than we'd requested and paid for, but after my parents complained, they relented and gave us a larger vehicle than we'd requested, with no extra cost. So, uh, we're driving to Canada in a twelve-passenger van. There will be seven of us and quite a lot of gear and luggage, and I am highly relieved, because Dad was starting to tell me highly ridiculous things such as "pack your books in your suitcase". (I was prepared to sit on my bookbag rather than go on holiday without them.)

Secondly, about a week ago I won an auction for (or rather, was the only bidder on) a lovely Patty Griffin poster, which arrived today. It's small, but not too small (eighteen inches tall), and so pretty, and was only seven dollars, including shipping. It certainly lends an air to my bedroom; how very marvellous! In that musical vein, used grandmother's birthday money to buy myself Linford Detweiler's other two solo piano albums for the trip, as I have wanted them for two years now. His song titles are so gorgeous and evocative. "We Dream an Ocean in Ohio", "Emma Grace Takes Off Her Glasses", "New Thrift Store Dress". ♥

Well, ought to be loading things, making certain my books are with me, and plugging the laptop into the converter for the cigarette lighter. Eep! There's a lovely cool misty rain outside, making everything alive and verdant, and a black cat curled up at the foot of my bed, and oh dear my bags are all so heavy...

Woke this morning feeling strangely alive -- well, no, not as soon as I woke; mostly I was sleepy (and cosy, as there was a fluffy little calico making brrrriiir! noises and curling up on my legs), and fuzzy-headed, but lying in bed listening to Morning Edition and the bedroom all full of breeze (oh lazy Saturday mornings, how I love you!), I felt very -- attuned to things. Which is lovely. Let's hope it lasts, cos I've got a lot to do today, mostly of the errand variety. Want to pick up: book I put back for myself at work, paycheck(? I keep forgetting when it's been two weeks -- if it hasn't been, I'll arrange for it to be automatically deposited); scan the mall once more, rather hopelessly, for a fetching straw boater, and, perhaps less hopelessly, a pair of white or cream stockings; then to Walmart to investigate car adapters for laptop, actual not-earbud-headphones, ribbons; come home, pack, have chocolately goodness and curl up with a book. War for the Oaks, which is one of my very favourite books in this world, came the other day -- I finally broke down and bought it, and I meant to save it to read on holiday, but that resolve lasted all of fifteen minutes. (Ergo I will re-read it on holiday. Re-read again, that is; but I re-read books hundreds of times, when I like them. You find so many new things in books when you read them over again -- both things that you didn't notice were there the first time, and things that mean different things to you at different parts of your life.) And I got Mum to order Thomas Wharton's Salamander from PaperBackSwap for me, and that came a few days ago, and that's definitely a good holiday book -- this will be the second holiday I've read it on! -- because it involves a lot of concentration and immersion, being, as I mentioned, one of the very oddest books I have ever read, which is precisely why I love it so. There are a lot of echoes of it and its ideas in the Evangeline story -- Evangeline's father's job was probably subconsciously invented just so I could imagine about the same kinds of book ephemera that Thomas Wharton does. In a world with magic, how are books different? Especially ones that aren't meant to be straightfoward novels. (And, in a world with actual very present vampires, did Bram Stoker write Dracula? Did he write it, but differently? Hmm.)

Oy, brain, that is hardly what I set out to talk about! But speaking of holiday preparations, I ordered a parasol some days ago, as I have always wanted one, partly because they're lovely and distinctive, and partly because I loathe being tanned and burnt is worse, and as I shall be in the sun at Stanfest for days, I'd like to finally have a bit of portable shade. And it came today, and it is exquisite; I am so glad I picked this one! Note to all: for parasols, look on eBay. There are plenty of varying quality for auction, of course, but quite a lot of sellers with very nice and inexpensive ones, too. I chose the one I did because it is all real materials -- bamboo, wood, silk, no plastic in sight -- and is simple -- white silk, spray of painted flowers, pink spokes -- and pretty and has got a handle with a tassel. And it looks so sophisticated and quirky and I cannot wait to use it. I also keep opening it and spinning it, because I can. (Also nice that it is silk rather than paper, because I am clumsy and I am sure something terrible would happen.)

Anyway, let me see! Wonderful Cape Bretony things! First off, there's Stanfest, where I will see Sarah Harmer, Po' Girl, and a lot of other Canadian folk musicians wiith whom I am unfamiliar -- but discovery is my favourite thing about festivals. And you know how I love festivals -- dancing, community, music all day, pretty dresses, vendors, magic. But first we drive for two days. Er. Eep? But I am a bit mad and enjoy road tripping. (Though especially if siblings are quiet. Hoping to plug in laptop, watch films, sleep, read books, get deeply acquainted with some albums. Hence the purchase of headphones.) We pick up my aunt near Philly, and eventually turn up at Jonathan's family's house in Maine, stay the night -- it's the halfway point -- then continue on to Canada. After Stanfest, we've got a lovely house by a lake, and I believe it's a swimmable lake? (I hope so, as I have a lovely new vintagey polka-dotted bathing suit, the first suit I've had in five years, and the first I haven't hated the look of in some time.) And there will be relaxation and much reading and I WILL GET WRITING DONE. That is in capitals because I am sternly reminding myself of this, you see.

I have no idea as of yet what if any internet access I will have in Nova Scotia -- if our house will have any internet, if someone will have unprotected wireless nearby, if we'll stumble into a coffeehouse with free wireless. I would much prefer there to be easily accessable internet, for many obvious reasons -- not least because I suddenly realised NPR is American and therefore not on Canadian radio (most likely). With no NPR and no internet, how will I get the news? (I refuse to watch televised news anymore, as it is always sensationalised and makes me angry, and frequently goes on for hours about Britney Spears' latest exploit or talks about nothing but Michael Jackson for ten hours after his death was announced, bypassing actual important news, especially that which takes place in countries other than America -- and anyway we won't have television, either.) Also, how will I resarch things? :p

Looking forward -- oh, starwatching; I'm sure our house will be isolated enough that the stars will be clear. I feel as though I need a good star-communing at least every six months, to keep on balance. It makes me feel bigger and smaller and connected and loved and loving and amazed. Wandering about, taking pictures, exploring. Watching films with the family. Watching films all alone. The dramatic landscapes. I can pretend I'm in an L.M. Montgomery novel -- which would be magnificent! Jo of the Clifftops! Listening to music in new and interesting places. Gathering memories like wildflowers.

(Though just now what I'd like to gather is food.)

Today acquired the first bathing suit that I have owned and not disliked in many a year, just in time for July's holiday in Nova Scotia. (Good heavens, that's... really coming up now, isn't it? Need to collect a few more books. Mum got me a copy of Thomas Wharton's Salamander from PaperBackSwap, and it's coming soon; I am so happy. Salamander is one of those books that changed me, and the way I look at books and story, and when I consciously realised how much I love books as objects. It is also one of the strangest books I have ever read, and I wasn't even certain if I liked it at first, only I kept re-reading it and realising I was in love.) Anyway, it is polka-dotted and old-fashioned and not in the least dowdy or overly trendy. Also, new Converse high tops at long last! For fifteen dollars! And, er, undergarmenty things. Very pleasant to have. Also, chocolate. Must go back to it and my book immediately.

But actually, this is mostly to subtlely and casually say, oh look, there is stuff and you should look at it. Because firstly, I posted an Abigail Washburn & the Sparrow Quartet discography (complete with fabulous new live EP) over at musicyardsale, and secondly, wrote deeply strange and probably vastly pretentious Dean Priest-centric Emily of New Moon fic which plays with time and alternate universes. A sort of riff on/deconstruction of the Five Things meme of fic writing, I suppose, especially as it originally started out as one and then turned into a different scenario altogether. (Potential subtitle: A Thousand Things That Never Happened To Dean Priest, Or, A Thousand Things That Did?) There's also a broody-piano-and-cello-music mix in there, which happened entirely by accident. In fact, I am still trying to remember how it happened. Er...

Mmmm, cosy bedspread is cosy. And Impressive. Also, as bedspreads go, it is extremely friendly towards computer mice. This is an important criterion for me, you know.

Tomorrow seems to be my birthday, oddly enough. I was hoping to discover something Fantastic to do as celebration -- last year I explored Pittsburgh and strange places full of bits of houses with Mrs Nielson, Victoria, and Hannah; the year before, when my birthday fell on Father's Day, Dad and I spent the afternoon at the Carnegie Museum of Art, also in Pittsburgh. The year before that was The Year From Hell and doesn't really count, although lots of nice things happened for part of it. My fifteenth birthday I remember as sort of weirdly magical for no particular reason; Kyra sent me albums by Eisley and October Project and I got Solas' then-latest from Dad, and wandered about barefoot in a long skirt in our wooded back-yard listening to them, and there was a splendid misty rain, and come to think of it I don't remember anything else that happened that day; just that it was quietly beautiful in all of the right simple ways. (Well, and then that weekend Dad and I drove to the nearest large town to spend the afternoon wandering around a large bookstore and having Starbucks and Panera and listening to music and having good conversation.) 

As the day has continued to approach and no brilliant ideas have come forth, I have decided to try to spend the day quietly and magically as I did for my fifteenth: reading, picnicking under the backyard apple tree, lighting candles, sitting in the book closet, perhaps putting candles into glass jars and hanging them on things if I can find any. I am also thinking a quiet tea in a week or two for those of my compatriots as still remain in this town. (If only you could all come! It would be marvellous! Of course this town isn't very marvellous, but we'd picnick, and I'd take you up to the hill, and we'd dance round the glade in a ring like fairies and sing old songs and watch the stars come out; and I'd bake you delicious things, and we'd go to Hockman's for delicious homemade sweets.)

Anyway, today I've been cleaning, because my bedroom likes to be clean on holidays, especially beginningsy ones like birthdays and new years. I've vacuumed and everything -- and when I say vacuumed I mean I also vacuumed my desk and the top of my dresser which were atrocious and have been for some time. Having my desk all tidy and my dresser actually look-at-able again is quite nice, I must say. Want to go hunt down some used tea cannisters to put my makeup things in, though (Mum says she sees them at Goodwill fairly often), and something to hang my necklaces on so I don't have to untangle them from a nasty snarl every few weeks.

Speaking of birthdays and of pretty things, yesterday there were parcels in the post from bornofstars and barefoottomboy! Miss Anna's parcel was already under STRICT INSTRUCTIONS not to be opened, so it is sitting on my bed taunting me, especially because Anna sends the most amazing things (for Christmas she knit me a Ravenclaw scarf, which goes to my ankles and is the most delightfully warm scarf ever). And taped inside of Ren's charming home-made card was the charmingest bird-and-birdcage necklace, which I am wearing just now. My f-list is marvellous, thank you!

I am currently ordering the weather for tomorrow: I'd like sunny and warm, but not humid, and later a bit of rain and wind, and a thunderstorm after about ten o'clock.

I saw the last of my comrades off early this morning... have been sort of putting off thinking about it or feeling it at all, but now that Sarah and Jonathan are off to the Wilds of Maine... well, you know. At least Hannah's only visiting, and therefore coming back this week (and Victoria, I forgot to tell them to give you a gigantic hug from me), but -- oh, last summer was so perfect, at least in hindsight, when I had a whole group of friends and we had our inside jokes and rituals and community and made this little town feel more alive. I hadn't had anything like that since I was nine. So yesterday evening the Angelmobile and I set out for one last visit with the remainders of the old gang, which was meant to be hanging out with Sarah and Hannah and Jonathan and turned into also going to the Meadows for frozen yogurt and singing our theme song ("Rest in Peace" from "Once More, With Feeling" ...yes, really; we used to sing it everywhere, especially on amusement park rides and such things) and being ridiculous and gabbing and wearing hats and watching Torchwood and eventually I just stayed the night, which was nice, because then I could see the van off in the morning and then bicycle home -- before anyone thereabouts woke up properly, even.

Speaking of the Demon Bicycle, I spent a lot of Saturday afternoon helping Jonathan clean out his flat apartment, and, as I generally do, rode over on my bicycle. The Angelmobile, also as usual, had not really been working properly; the handlebars need to be tightened constantly, and most particularly the breaks were completely non-functional. Oh, shush, you. Mostly I bicycle to work in a straight line, few turns or reasons to have to stop, so it's actually the little residental streets that pose a danger anyway. Of course then I was on one, and at the top of a hill, and I was clearly not smart enough to get off and walk the Demon Machine down, instead thinking I could glide down with one foot on the road for friction. Note to all: do not do this, it is stupid. So there I went, careening down the hill, swerving left and right in the hopes that I could wear down my momentum to the point where the foot on the road approach would actually work (it's stopped me decently going to and from work), and because I was stubborn, I remained in denial that the only thing for it was crashing in the most comfortable way possible. Ergo, instead of steering for the nice soft grass, I finally lost the last of my control in the church parking lot across from Jonathan's apartment, landing in a tangle of limbs and hair and bicycle on the concrete. Fictional profanities may have been uttered. Jonathan said that he knew I'd arrived when, from the window, he heard a woman call out, "Are you all right?"

Injuries sustained: decoration on one shoe: needs to be re-attached; screwdriver in bicycle basket: lost; palm: badly scraped; back of right calf: now boasts a great purple and green bruise larger than my fist. Also, the bicycle chain jammed, which I didn't figure out until after I left Jonathan's -- and I'd walked the bicycle a block or so away on account of hill, too. Fortunately Jonathan turned up at my house later in the evening and not only un-jammed the chain (I tried, but couldn't, and he actually, uh, had pliers) but fixed the front brake and some other stuff. Hurrah! Then again, having a mostly-working bicycle is taking some readjustments. It feels all wrong.

And now for more Battlestar Galactica. I'm nearly finished with the first season: have only got the two-parter finale, actually. Eee!

Sigh. This post contains a lot of Information and not very much about what anything means; all flat and laid out, like a road map in contrast to the road itself, carving through mountains and convenience stores and little histories.