ontology | Entries tagged with i have a social life?

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!

♥ good
♫ "hazy", rosi golan & william fitzsimmons

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.

♥ lonely
♫ "growing upside down", the ditty bops

I would say that this is exactly the sort of thing that would only ever happen to me, except that there were five other people with me at the time. Just when I find myself looping through a particular bad spot of disliking the general texture of my life, I am reminded why it is awesome -- the lesson was meant to be "my friends are made of shiny, shiny win", but it is knit over with a heavy dose of "really hilariously, marvellously surreal things seem to happen to me a lot" (and then I realise that people who are not me would probably consider the following adventure extremely irritating and disheartening, so I am not sure why I was blessed with the good humour to see it as a bizarre sort of boon).

Jonathan has been Mysterious recently, which culminated today in me being spirited away, and a lot of other people, some of whom are very smug young children not related to me, were very Knowing about it. I am really quite surprised that he never once twirled his moustache (Jonathan, I mean, not the Young Child). Shame on you, Jonathan! But I digress, and am skipping over bits of the story I might have drawn out more but am no longer interested in doing (Mum leaves for errands! the house goes mad! Leandra removes her diaper and gets excrement everywhere!). Anyway, Jonathan and I went to get a hasty bite to eat, which ended up being at Luigi's down the street, as we had very little time (there are other people involved!, I was told, and they've got schedules too!), and so what we had for dinner was the free bread and some mozzarella sticks, which were very good, and had much merry conversation, and Jonathan checked with his associates a lot. Hmph.

And then Meholicks came to fetch us and we climbed into the lumbering great van and set off for places unknown, although it was suggested that I might be getting thrown off a bridge. But it was a car-ride! With my favourite people! Except those of whom have departed our fair company for other shores (sadface). And to the darkest jungle! Or Clarion, as it turned out, where there is a cinema, and what was playing thereat that wasn't playing at our ~~paltry excuse for a~~ cinema was Coraline, and I was very happy and thrilled and delighted and very glad I put on my cameo brooch before going out.

The first half of Coraline, I can happily attest, is magnificent and funny and deliciously detailed and full of things that seem particularly designed to ensnare me in particular. And stop-motion animation! And details! Oh lovely lovely sets and costumes and bits and pieces and the fact that Coraline's fingernails are painted makes me ridiculously happy, for some reason. And the score! The score! It's magnificent, is what it is. I was quite enraptured.

The Other Mother has just asked Coraline if she wouldn't love to stay here forever, when -- all of a sudden! -- someone shouts something. Not in the film. In our cinema. We all bristled, I think -- someone's being loud! Shut him up, we're trying to watch! Except what he was shouting was this: "EVERYBODY EVACUATE!" And: "YOU HAVE TO LEAVE IMMEDIATELY." Why? Well, because, "THE BATHROOM IS ON FIRE."

Somewhat perturbed, and, at least on my part, pushing back severe disbelief, we fumbled for coats and things and made our slow way out. "Wait, the bathrooms are on fire? Really? No, really? But... but... the film... the bathrooms are on fire?"

There was actually a vague scent of Something Burning by the time we pushed out into the lobby, though more rubbery than smoky, and, still not entirely knowing what we were doing nor why, we wandered into the main area of the mall (it's a cinema-inside-a-mall), which, as it was late at night, was fairly deserted, except for a few wayward shoppers craning their necks and saying things like, "the bathroom is on fire? Really?"

And then we laughed. Very, very, very hard.

On my part, at least, I find the entire situation completely hilarious and surreal and am not really irritated by it at all, though I want to see the rest of the film terribly. I am very glad that I feel this way, because it makes things more convenient and comfortable. I think the rest of us had much the same reaction -- Sarah and Jonathan were Twittering it -- we couldn't stop laughing! It was so surreal! And so anticlimactic! Really, the bathroom caught fire? The bathroom? Not the seats in back of us or the projector or one of the other theatres or -- most dramatically of all -- the screen, melting in on itself while we all stare at it blankly and mutter things like, "that was certainly a spectacular effect", and "...how very... existentialist", until someone says, "is anyone else terribly hot and can't breathe?"

(Also, Spike and Angel were totally there. And arguing over who got to save everybody until someone else did the saving for them. Except that Spike was rather more than a little inebriated and apparently trying to bite people. "Spike! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THAT POOR WOMAN?!" "Saving her, you great ponce!" "...With your mouth?")

And then the cinema gave us Emergency Tickets so that we can come again -- they had a whole great roll of them on hand, all ready, which does not bode well for their record of having people finish films the first time they go. And we went home, and some of us (namely me) would suddenly burst out laughing and shaking their heads: "The bathroom! Is on fire!" (Also, it may have been trolls. They can't tell us the bathroom's full of barely contained trolls! No-one would believe them!) And: I think that Neil Gaiman would be deeply amused by today's antics.

My life, it is so surreal.

♥ in the throes of hilarity
♫ "parasol", sarah slean

Foremost on the list of Things Which Would Be Nice About Now is: a fire. Possibly in the middle of my bedroom floor, so long as it is safely contained and not likely to burn anything it isn't supposed to (thereby rendering us unable to get our deposit back), and, primarily, warm and cosy. I could roast marshmallows. Or tasty sausages. Or, more importantly, my hands, which keep having to be reminded that, yes, they do have nerves in them. (I got a pair of fingerless gloves WITH FINGERS yesterday however; we will see where this takes us. Why do they still call them fingerless when they've got half-fingers? Or do those not count as fingers? Anyway, they let less air in and are quite rocking.)

I've been having difficulty motivating myself to post, not because there is Some Great Dire Thing or because I have a ridiculously complicated thing to write out, but... because I have been. Well, I've had difficulty motivating myself to do much of anything lately (moreso than usual, I mean, which is to say BAD). Ugh. I seem to be rather more depressed than I am actually noticing.

So, Rabbit Hole Day! That was fun; I'm glad you all liked it; it was fun to write. I was feeling a bit sad, because I had jumped on the bandwagon really late at night, so I thought that nobody I knew would be able to do it, but three of you did! and it was marvellous!

Here is

sartorias' entry, from which I learned of this holiday (and gorblimey, is it gorgeous). And here are other people's entries that she gathered. (She is, by the way, the fantastic author Sherwood Smith, and her blog is a delicious repository of stimulating discussion and thought.) And, on my own f-list:

lady_moriel's elevator takes her to unexpected places;

aohdwyn learns a new way to make cupcakes; and

cails runs into a mysterious stranger. I think this is the best holiday ever, and I should absolutely do it again next year, even if everyone will know by then. (It's a really fascinating exercise, too, especially trying to make it believeable in the beginning, drawing on elements of your actual life and seeing how you can develop them into something fantastical or surreal. I loved that I already had this practically mythological Mysterious Boy, too. It was great. Also, I have ~~learned~~ decided, he is almost certainly Tam Lin, but Janet is not, alas, me; Janet is the pretty red-headed girl at the bakery he was so often conversing with.)

Stuff Which Has Happened: acquired warm fingerless gloves, had a grand time with Jonathan and then Jonathan + gang having stimulating discussions, making peppermint patties (messy beyond all reason, but delicious), and watching The Dark Knight, which... I somehow forgot how excellent a film it is. I really, really love Christopher Nolan's directing (someday I ought to see Memento, too), although it's difficult for his films to be personal favourites because they're sort of -- distant? I don't love Nolan the filmmaker in nearly the same way that I love Joe Wright and Mira Nair. It's difficult to quantify, because they do get very intimate -- I like that Dark Knight gets involved enough in characters and motivations that it doesn't lose itself in a sea of Epicness, and The Prestige (magic! science! Victoriana! NON-LINEAR TIME!) is full of the small human moments that I love, but they're still -- cold? I love them, but at the same time we both hold each other at arm's length. Hmm. But blimey, I think my favourite thing of all of my favourite things about his films is the way they're cut together. He juxtaposes scenes and cuts away from scenes in ways that are gorgeous and right and sometimes very unsettling -- often he cuts away in the middle of some kind of explosive action, so that you find yourself holding your breath.

Have not been writing much. Should look to this, yes. I am trying to at least get one complete and reasonably organised chapter of the Evangeline story written -- and am also attempting to apply Occam's razor to plot theories (in its most simplified and condensed form: the simplest solution is probably the answer), which may even get me somewhere (! -- ?). Perhaps perhaps. Only there seems to be no simplest answer to 'why are vampires suddenly specifically a threat?', does there? Why do all of my favourite storygerms come with such convoluted plots? My muse ought to know that I am very bad at this.

And! Vienna Teng has got a music video at last, for 'Gravity', and it is lovely and fascinating and good heavens what a completely marvellous dress she has got. My favourite thing, though, is the joy in her face when she sings. Oh Vienna.

♥ cold
♫ "gravity", vienna teng

Very sleepy all of a sudden; it must have been the milk (or the warm cookies). The internet on the laptop has decided not to work today, confounded thing; already the keyboard at the main computer feels ridiculously bulky. I am playing Solas' newest album, which is marvellous, and good for being cosy, and cookies have just been brought out of the oven. (Yes, I baked cookies at eleven at night. It was either bake cookies now or go out and spend money on chocolatey things tomorrow, which would be silly and wasteful of me.)

Alas, tomorrow it is back to work as usual -- today I ended up going in an hour early, but things progressed rather quickly, for some reason. HOWEVER when I reached the kiosk I was greeted by a HORRIBLE NIGHTMARISH SURPRISE.

FYE has just got in a life-sized cardboard cut-out -- of Edward Cullen.

And of course they put it in exactly the right spot so that it stares at me whenever I'm at the register, which is a lot, and also its posture is not admirable and good heavens, it is life-sized and watching me. THIS IS WHAT GOING MAD FEELS LIKE.

After work I was picked up by some Meholicks so that I might depart to their place for a visit, along with Jonathan; it was very cosy and wonderful and there were records (proper ones on a record player) and chatter and I got presents! which was fun (but I didn't bring my Christmas presents for them, as they are not wrapped yet; they are probably Valentine's Day presents by now, only none of them are horrible plush animals that make noise).

(Oh, I just realised why I am so sleepy: I got up early and haven't napped at all. Oh, brilliant, me.)

yes well sleeping now.

♥ nodding off already
♫ "sailor song", solas

Let me see. My interneting has been severely lax. I wasn't on at all yesterday (by "on" I mean "anyplace further than my email and Twitter"), or the day before, and really ever since Christmas I have been absent either in presence or in mental state.

I rung in the new year playing poker -- or was it hearts by then? -- with friends, and having very good food (so, I like goat cheese. who knew?), and it was all very marvellous, even if I felt a bit odd not being with the family for the first time in all of my life. Mum and I made delicious calzones before I left, and there was much wonderful ice cream and toppings and things though I didn't get any of that till later. Jonathan and I walked to the Nielsons in the cold and snow and wind and I was silly and forgot a hat, so I had Anna's scarf wrapped all over my head (and was then Laughed At for my hair suddenly deciding to become more ridiculous than usual). We were greeted merrily by Victoria and Hannah (Sarah is in London!) and there were card games and rosemary olive oil bread and things. Later, very much later, when it must have been two in the morning, we finally went into the living room where Battlestar Galactica was being watched and ... it didn't really make much sense to me considering that it was the middle of the second season -- although Victoria and Mr Nielson tried to retell two entire seasons to the rest of us, and that was epic -- but the camera work was v. intruiging (... leave me alone, I am a film geek), and I think I liked it. Also Jane Espenson writes for it. I like Jane Espenson. I may have to watch more someday. In an order that makes sense.

We all stayed up very late talking, although I fell asleep for a bit and was making the sorts of odd pieces of conversation that you make when you are trying to convince people that you are really truly not falling asleep. I imagine they sound a lot like the things that one is sure make every kind of sense when they are drunk.

There was something very beautiful about walking home in the icy solitude of a snow-edged January morning. The sun was out, but in that odd, pale way it has in the morning, and especially in wintertime -- but I was so happy to see sunlight! I left very early, for me, so that I could get home by ten o'clock and spend time with the family until forced to leave for work; the walk did wake me up nicely. And Moony was so accomodating and made up one of the loveliest shuffle playlists I have ever had -- everything fit together so magnificently and fit the cold bright joyful solitude of the morning. (There was Abigail Washburn, and Sufjan Stevens, and Rosie Thomas, and Laura Gibson, and part of a Bach cello suite that seemed to shout "joy!" just as I was walking up the street to my house.)

It was a very lovely and quiet morning, and I drank an entire cup of coffee, because four hours of sleep is not a good way to go to work. It was gingerbread coffee and very good after I put a lot of milk and sugar in it. Someday coffee and I will get along, I know it. And I had cinnamon toast, and milk, and Madeleine L'Engle, to begin my year, and later Dad and I watched the Patty Griffin concert DVD he got my for Christmas, which we had already seen several months ago when he rented it off Netflix, but it is wondrous, especially the glorious rendition of "Top of the World" which concludes it and makes me cry.

The mall was a ghost town. It was terrible for business, but I was feeling strangely not-depressed, and sang a lot, despite having got back only about half of my voice, and wrote a little. And then a wonderful thing happened! The mall was closing early, which I had not known (it closed at the same time I usually get off anyway), and there were only two people up at the store, and apparently there was a lot of mess left over from the day before? And I cannot close on my own yet. So the bloke who usually closes for me came down early, and sent me up to work at the store. This was mostly vacuuming, and straightening very messy shelves, but I rung in two customers! And helped someone find a book! (Even if it did have to be Breaking Dawn. [facepalm]) And when I got out it there were still stretches of colour in the sky. And there was ham for dinner, with cranberries and apples and pineapples and some other things which made it delicious.

(Also, at some point, the VERY EPIC BOX from

lady_moriel must be discussed, because IT WAS EPIC. ♥)

Today I have mostly not felt very good, which is unpleasant because it is my last day off for six days. But I have got new library books, and just finished a very beautiful and devastating film, and Patty Griffin always makes the world feel a little bit deeper and higher.

♥ contemplative
♫ "florida", patty griffin

I think that every year in recent times I have been thinking, as one year passes into another, that I am tired. I try to make resolutions, but they tend not to go very well. I hope for every year to be better than the one before it: and in many ways this turns out to be true -- if it's not better, it's deeper, higher -- and yet every better year ends up bearing with it an equal proportion of worseness. This was the year that Kyra stayed with me for a week and we watched Order of the Phoenix late at night on my rooftop, that I spent my birthday in the city falling in love with the skeletons of houses, that I saw Abigail Washburn & the Sparrow Quartet play two magical shows, and Patty Griffin & Emmylou Harris & Shawn Colvin & Buddy Miller in a grand hall in Pittsburgh, that my hair stopped being its natural colour possibly forever, that I stayed home alone for several days and skywatched and lit candles and had a lot of bacon, that Alessandra and I (and sometimes Caroline, or Sarah, or Hannah, or Victoria) and I jammed up on her narrow bed in the cold and Watched Things and fell in love with various fictional people and learned "Once More, With Feeling" and Dr Horrible's Sing-Along Blog by heart -- and then Jonathan moved here and we watched Doctor Who and had NaNo parties and there was music, and I came back to the weird neo-traditional folk that seems to be my musical destiny. And ... I played my first gig. Sort of. And moved into a lovely house, after a great deal of angst. And acquired a job, though I wouldn't put that on a list of beautiful things of which this year was made. And I wrote 50,0016 words in a month, almost entirely by accident.

But of course for all of this I had horrifying new depressive lows, spent half the move sobbing in exhaustion, and all sorts of things went wrong and tangley and horrible and I am still sorting them out. I feel closer and further from humanity at large and fiercely, cynically rebellious against capitalism, and I still don't know what I'm doing. Anywhere.

Instead of making resolutions, which tend to be do more be more and stop eating so blasted much when you're depressed, I have to ask myself: what do I want this year? Well: I want to be alive. I want to be alive every minute. I want to be healthy clean through and finished with abandoning projects as soon as I start them because they're too exhausting to finish. I want to stop being defeated, especially by myself. I want to go to college. I want to hear more live music. I want to work a job that I love. I want to have a better idea of what on earth my novel is about. I want to be a better person in relation to other people. I'd also like to buy more books. In hardcover. And experiment with making ice cream. And buy a laptop. And do things myself, instead of hoping that other people will make them happen. (How I wish I had the resolve to make this last an actual resolution!)

Today: I slept in, but not too much, and spent all morning reading fairly intensely, and eating things, like cereal and chocolate pie, and I went to see Dr DiGilarmo, and acquired candy, and lit up the candelabra and listened to The Baroness straight through, as a kind of farewell, and there's a little thin curve of milky moon out the window, over the church spires and beyond the one stark tree, with a little spark of a star below it, and the sky's blue as the deep parts of the ocean. Soon: I am going to welcome the next year over the threshold with friends and foodstuffs and probably games of poker. Now: Mum and I are making calzones.

♥ pensive
♫ "shadowlands", sarah slean

Yesterday began with me sitting about and feeling sorry for myself, because my iPod was refusing to work properly, and -- I am sure there was something else; I just remember being quite cross and listless. And then Sarah and Hannah and Victoria showed up at my door to kidnap me for the purpose of bringing Jonathan a spot of birthday cheer. (Here I felt terrifically guilty because I had thought his birthday wasn't for two more days.) So I grabbed some of the fresh cookies other people had been baking and we set off. We also decided to wear moustaches. Sarah and Hannah had just bought a package of stick-on ones, and it seemed like a good idea. I must say we looked most magnificent. Quite a lot of people stopped to look at us, which was vastly amusing -- the way they would walk past us, and then stop, turn round, and gape, thinking, I am sure, why on earth are a lot of attractive young ladies growing moustaches? Did I have my coffee this morning? Did I have all of my coffee this morning?

Anyway Jonathan was very surprised (especially because there were moustaches), and we were all very happy and cheerful therefore. Then we made fudge and played poker and set things on fire. (Only a few things.) It was the best day ever. Also, doing nice things for other people is rather comfortable and cheering, oddly enough. And the poker game gave me a lot of inspiration for the not-NaNo-anymore. Yes, I am one of those terrible people who views the entire world through what I happen to be writing at the time. But I had many interesting ideas about poker games played by a lot of disreputable Oxford boys and what sort of things might be put into the pot when there is magic involved. (Also someone -- Hannah? -- suggested that someone in dire straits bet their moustache. "Aha, you're out of money, Jenkins! Reckon you'll have to bet your shirt now!" "NO& I WON'T. I'VE STILL GOT SOMETHING LEFT." And he swiftly shaves off his moustache with his switchblade and throws it onto the table.)

And I came home and cookies were being baked -- although I was beginning to have a bad sugar headache from too many cookies and fudge and Hockmans truffles and sampling dough -- and the house was very warm and lovely smelling, and the fairy lights on the mantle and the Christmas tree seemed brighter and warmer and there-er than before, and I curled up with the iPod and fell wildly in love with Merlin (thanks to the splendid

such_heights), which is also cosy and fun even if Giles does wear leather gloves while eating his dinner (this is very impractical). (GIIIIILES! I LOVE YOU WHY ARE YOU WEARING A& SILLY CAPE. Everyone else I love you too! because you are all ridiculously adorable and British and have nice hair. Seriously, everybody has really great hair, from Gwen's cheery disarryed curls to Arthur's cultivately casual floppiness to Morganna's sleek black hair with the lovely wavy bits in front and Merlin's darling little fringe. Oh what, these things are important.) And I had cookies.

This all sounds very cheery because I was very cheery yesterday but I did not like today at all, for varying reasons, some of which do not belong in a breezy post such as this one is. Also I had to go to work and I was very cross -- except so busy that I forgot to be cross -- people kept asking me, "how are you today?", and I would answer truthfully, "I have no idea." But it was the Busiest Shopping Day Of The Year and I could tell. My leg got very sore and I forgot to eat lunch before I left and hadn't had any breakfast either, but when Hannah and Mrs Meholick dropped by, they had mercy on me and got me a soft pretzel. It was the most delicious of all pretzels that have been baked since the dawn of time. The good thing about being horridly busy was that my shift went by very very quickly. And then there was a mess with my drawer because there was hardly time to count it out, and it was horrible, and I got out very late (but bought Ghirardelli peppermint bark to cheer me, and it was fifty percent off, too).

Tomorrow will be cold and wet and I will have to go to work again. Bah.

♥ i still don't know, actually
♫ "hard times of old england", steeleye span

Remember in Emily Climbs when Aunt Elizabeth makes a deal with Emily that she will allow her to go to school in Shrewsbury if Emily gives up writing fiction until she has graduated there from? And how the untold stories festered in Emily for years? And then when Aunt Elizabeth lifted the ban on fiction, she was bubbling full of stories like a brook and giddy with her new freedom?

Now that NaNo is finished, I find that I rather feel this way myself.

I think the best thing about NaNo, besides giving me the first fourth or so of a manuscript I cannot just yet bear to look at (really. it's bad. ohhh, it's bad.), was that it showed me that I can force words out of myself, and sometimes when the words are forced out important ideas that I have been trying to find crop up amongst them, and suddenly I am over that lump of indecision or un-knowing and can go where I want. So I will attempt, in the next month, to apply this principal to various and sundry unfinished projects, some of which have been sitting dusty and forlorn waiting to be taken off the shelf for more than a year.

End of NaNo party this afternoon with Victoria and Jonathan, a good twenty minutes or so of which was occupied by watching a candle burn. No, really, it was fascinating! Due to some wax-covered paper towel, there were seizure-inducing flare effects, and then all of the wax from the candle turned into some kind of bizarre condensation and floated down the bottom of the bottle and the whole effect looked very much like something Snape might have in his classroom.

And The Mix is being Worked On. I promise. It is half done, anyway.

Also I am tired and dourly depressed and there isn't a half good reason for it. The most arbitrary things keep sending my stomach hurtling down some pit. Bah. And today was my only day off this week. I was so utterly exhausted and cross last night, getting out of a nearly pointless workday, and having so much more work to do when I got home, that I got all messed up in the car and got to sniffling. But I couldn't go and medicate myself with soothing music and a book and cookies: I had to go home and write. And I think I would be more excited about having won NaNo, my first year, even, if I had something to show for it besides a quarter-written shambles of a manuscript and still half the plot points missing. And maybe I'm just all kinds of pessimistic and broody lately. Sigh.

♥ tired
♫ "reynardine (a vampire legend)", buffy sainte-marie

The most unnerving thing your managers can possibly say to you when you walk into the store: "Oh hey, Jolene! We were just talking about you!"

Cue nervous laughter. I really hope you lot were discussing the fact that I have superlatively awesome hair, or better yet, that I am always friendly, cheerful, and teachable and do not grumble even when you tell me I can't write on the job (...until I get home) and that you totally want me to work in the store with you because I am awesome and books love me so much that they purr when I pick them up.

So, yes. Today I did not write on the job. (Except, ah, two sentences. And some notes, because I always write down interesting people I see & suchlike. And also I HAVEN'T NANOED AT ALL TODAY and must get on that very soon oh rubbish.) I also had a half decent amount of customers, a couple of nice friendly chats, and managed to close up for my shift without any help at all. Also: no-one buys Twilight calendars, but they certainly examine them a great deal. Some punk twenty-something mimed licking one as she passed and I was very disturbed, but not nearly as disturbed as when a pair of elderly ladies stopped by and looked at them. I am really just hoping that they were researching the phenomenon that has felled their granddaughters, because I think Twigrandmoms are more than I can take. (Someone did examine a BtVS calendar and I was pleased. Also a woman asked if there was any possibility of Amelia Bedelia calendars, which MADE MY DAY. No, we do not have any; we are not that cool; I do not know if they even exist; but: my childhood, I love you!)

Then I rode home on my bicycle and it was horrifically cold, ugh.

Monday I slept over at Meholicks, which was grand -- and rather surreal. Sleeping on the floor of your old bedroom is a deeply odd experience, and the only thing odder is sleeping on the floor of your old bedroom when it is once again inhabited by the people who inhabited it before it was your bedroom, and you slept on the floor there back then, too. It's like -- there are layers of ghosts in that house. Some things are back to the way I remember them from before -- the mirrors in the downstairs hall, which I have always loved because I always look fantastic in them, for example, and the large table in the dining room. But the piano is in the old playroom, and the walls are all different colours, and when I go into the bathroom it is exactly as though I am back in my house three months ago, except the light-switch actually works, and the shower curtain is different. I spent two years walking around the house encountering ghosts of its previous life, and now I am encountering ghosts of my life there -- always knocking over Mum's wooden church on the windowsill when I'd run downstairs, dancing in the kitchen (I am such a headphones kitchen dancer), my bedroom and everything that entailed. Waking up for a moment in the middle of the night and tilting my head back to see the stars glinting over the church in the window was strange in its tilted familiarity.

(Also we had all kinds of fun.)

When I walked home in the morning -- afternoon, rather; it was nearly one but felt morningy -- it was snowing in that bright, sharp November way, all tiny fierce flakes blowing round the grey-gold-brown of bracken and lonely trees and blustery magnificent green and grey glower of sky in between the branches, and that lovely sort of cold that stings you into aliveness. Hannah said, "It's such a miserable November! Isn't it lovely?" I listened to Vashti Bunyan on the walk and it was glorious (and she is glorious! oh seventies psych folk, I love you so; why do you always feel like coming home?), although my nose got very chilly.

alkhsdlgkhgh need to write now or I will probably die horribly.

(Also? By all rights and evidences I should feel really rather good just now, but I -- don't. I feel heavy and sort of not-yet-sick and pessimistic. Ugh.)

♥ lethargic
♫ "window over the bay", vashti bunyan

Busy days, gorblimey. The rest of the week ought to slow down a bit, I think -- I need to catch up on NaNo rather terrifically (the bit I wrote on my shift today? seems to have stopped just short of the Plot Point at last), and also sleep. Which, um, I could have been doing lately, but -- well, it's more difficult when one has Things to do. Sunday: work. Monday: work! Tuesday: fun with Jonathan, Sarah, and Hannah (their brother Eli came along for the ride). Today: work! I'm not scheduled to work anymore this week, which is a relief in terms of laziness and kind of sad in terms of money, but, you know. SLEEP. (AND NANO. AND THEN SLEEP SOME MORE, AND MAYBE BAKE COOKIES. ...FOR NANOAGE.)

Today at work: apparently I am late unless I arrive about ten minutes early. *facepalm*. Fortunately this was told to me by one of the managers I really like and I barely had to deal with Shannon, who makes me edgy, at all today. My customers -- all four of them -- came in funny patches, though: a girl around my age with fantastic hair (short, black and blonde, and quite classy looking for a punk hair-do) came in looking for anime calendars, was (rightfully) scornful when all we had were a couple of very very mainstream ones, and then we ended up talking about Death Note for, like, ten minutes. It was awesome. Now I have this silly urge to eat a lot of candy and hold things funny. While I was talking to her and processing her purchase, another woman showed up behind her with a calendar, and I managed to process her purchase without a hitch while talking, and not being rude to either of them, and not giving anybody the wrong change. I was very pleased with myself. My next -- and alas, last -- set of customers also came in a pair. This was slightly less fun because the first customer gave me a check, and...no-one has actually taught me how to process checks. I gave it my best, though, and only gave up on it after I'd held him up for several minutes, and now I know what I need to ask People Above Me. He had cash, thankfully, and was extremely friendly and patient with me and even tried to help, so that made me feel considerably less of a failure than I might have otherwise.

Also, this elderly gentleman walked past clad in a long black leather duster. I gaped in awe and admiration. I have also decided that he was clearly up to supernatural shenanigans. Which reminds me of the other bloke in the long coat I saw my first day -- he was pale and very -- his face was very sculpted? -- and he had long dark hair, and was dressed sort of -- unusually, but not in the sort of way that immediately draws one's attention. I think he had on a waistcoat and tie, along with the LONG BLACK COAT WHICH FLOWED OUT BEHIND HIM. I sort of wished that I had fallen head over heels in love with him as he passed, or at least had a tiny flutter of fancying, because that would make for such a better story, but alas, I am far too sensible for that, and mainly admired his coat and made a note to put him in a story later. He was so very unusual-looking, though. What on earth was he doing in my mall and was he entirely human? One does wonder...

Sarah stopped by my kiosk and we had a splendid chat and inched away from the Edward Cullen poster, which has ONCE AGAIN been moved so that it makes eye contact with me all throughout my shift. NEXT THING YOU KNOW I AM GOING TO WAKE UP AND HE IS GOING TO BE IN A ROCKING CHAIR IN THE CORNER OF MY BEDROOM. ROMANCE FAIL, EDWARD CULLEN, YOU CREEP. ROMANCE FAIL.

Annnnnd I managed to count out my drawer and close up for my shift ninety percent without assistance, which was -- terrifying, really, but encouraging. AUGH SO MUCH MATH THOUGH. CALCULATORS ARE MY FAVOURITE. Fortunately again, the woman who usually has the shift after me, Liz, is really sweet and helpful and motherly and always makes me feel as though I am doing a fabulous job and never makes me feel stupid for needing help or taking too long. This can be kind of relaxing.

Yesterday there was a Game Afternoon at chez Jonathan, which was full of fun and not having to be bothered about anything (except for candles which melted flat) and enjoying the company of friends and silly games with words in them. Also Jonathan put a candle in an empty sparkling cider bottle; it was fantastic. We really ought to have Told Spooky Stories around it or played Mafia or something. It provided excellent ambience.

I need to NaNo. And sleep. These are things I have not mentioned I am sure.

♥ lethargic
♫ "flower in time", noe venable

Over eight thousand words, and I dislike my story a little less. In fact I have written an entire sequence that I am really quite pleased with, and which even involved a tiny bit of plot. The terrifically aggravating thing about NaNo is that apparently -- I'd mostly forgotten this -- things change rather frequently in my writing, by which I mean I will have written something one way and then realise within short order that it actually came about this way, or that this thing happened in between, or that person has been here all along. Then I go back and write in the explanation or the introduction. NaNo, of course, is all about Pressing Onwards and Not Editing Ever. So I currently have: an important secondary character who appeared, complete with name and personality, out of nowhere, a sort of sunlight talisman whose origin I have not quite discerned, and an odd ability of Evangeline's that must have been discovered a very long time ago.

So, yes, some Plot did happen. I am so pleased. Not any of the Plot I had planned, but it does lead into my plans, and I hadn't figured out what did that yet, so this is nice. My somehow writing over two thousand words today (twice as much as my usual daily output thus far) is mostly due to finally having something to write about, although the sessions with Victoria and Jonathan last night also helped. (Also I know what is going to happen at the end of this chapter, and that will make everything much more interesting and finally give me much material with which to work. They say the beginning is the best and the second week is the hardest, but honestly? For me I think the second week is going to go so very much better.)

Yesterday there was work, and it was dull. Oh goodness was it ever dull. I did not, however, muck up any sales so badly I had to void them, so that was a perk -- but I only had six or seven sales in four hours. I was warned the kiosk could be deathly boring. Well, now I believe them. I am not allowed to bring things to do -- like my notebook -- because The Company (not my boss, but The Man, seriously) does not wish for me to look otherwise occupied and therefore discourage customers. Says I: BUT THERE ARE NO CUSTOMERS TO DISCOURAGE. I swear, tomorrow I am going to smuggle in a book under my shirt or something. Wear a jacket with pockets. I want to be a good employee and not flout rules, but also? I am cannot be a good employee if I am so inactive that I can barely think straight, which is what happened yesterday. That was one of the things that I really loved about working Waldenbooks, by the way -- even when there weren't customers I could still keep busy with useful work, mostly finding where books go and putting them there. (Also there were a lot more customers.) Now the only thing I can do to relieve the boredom is walk around the kiosk multiple times, making sure no-one has knocked over any of the displays (they haven't). GAH. I cannot wait to acquire store hours again.

I did find a notepad and a pen after a while and wrote fifty-one words on the sly. I would have written more, but again, I was so utterly bored I couldn't even focus. I don't even get bored most of the time. (But then, usually I can bring a book.)

ALSO? My kiosk is right in front of FYE. Right at the doorway they had this GIGANTIC POSTER OF EDWARD CULLEN. He looked clammy and damp and seriously contagious (whose brilliant idea was it to give the vampires bloodshot eyes? they don't look eerie or beautiful or otherworldly, they look like they have THE WORST COLDS KNOWN TO MAN and all I know is that I DO NOT WANT THEM TO SNEEZE NEAR ME). So my entire shift he is there, glowering at me and looking rather nauseated and all I could think was "STOP STARING AT ME I DID NOT TAKE YOUR STICKERS LEAVE ME ALOOOONE."

This is where you observe that I have gone mad from boredom.

And my legs ached like -- something, I am out of metaphors after two thousand five hundred words or so -- when I got home, ow. I won't even tell you guys about closing up the cash register after my shift. (LEAST. FAVOURITE. PART. EVER.)

Then I walked to Jonathan's, because the Angelmobile, while not totalled, is certainly out of commission until his tire gets fixed. There was a NaNo get-together with Victoria. Because of the walking I arrived ten to fifteen minutes late, and it took five to eight more minutes for anyone to figure out I was waiting outside. (Jonathan's apartment does not have doorbells. Nor can I get into the hallway and go up and knock on his door without a key. Usually when people come over he waits on the porch to let them in, but I was -- like I said, kind of late.) I threw bark at his window and waved my arms and yelled and everything. (One of his neighbours looked out the window at me curiously and I kind of smiled apologetically and kept waving my arms. I didn't want to make a lot of noise because I really didn't want to upset his neighbours, but I also did not want to stand outside all night. Fortunately it has been extremely warm all week.)

He finally saw me and let me in, and then there were rollicking good times with word wars, candy, describing each other's NaNos, catching up with Victoria, and general organised chaos. It was splendid.

Today I did not work and instead wrote a lot, sometimes outside, and baked cupcakes, and finished re-reading Sunshine for approximately the thirty-seventh time.

♥ productive
♫ "black pear tree", the mountain goats & kaki king

This morning I woke up and lay in bed for a while waking up a bit more. After a while, I stood up, stretched, turned towards the window, and yelled.

It's been snowing all day. This morning we were quite elegantly frosted over, with great gusts of flakes drifting hither and thither (but mainly downwards). Look, I don't think it has ever snowed before mid-November in a place I have lived. October's not over yet! What is this madness? (This is not Colorado!) Even odder: the temperature is supposed to shoot up to sixty degrees by Halloween.

In short, the stripey knit fingerless gloves I bought for three dollars are quite possibly the best investment I have made in quite some time.

* * *

Anyway, I've been thinking about vampires. (Surprise surprise.) By the way, Victorian and Edwardian London seem like excellent vampire territory -- lots of chances for people to go missing or turn up dead without many people wondering unduly about what happened. I imagine that there are two reasons for vampires to feed on people: one is purely the need for food (blood), and the other, more powerful, is psychological. I'm not entirely sure how to balance the two, or how much I plan to go into it, although I've always been interested in the aspect of the vampire mythos that involves vampires stalking or befriending their prey before finally feeding on them. Also? It takes longer than thirty seconds to drain an entire human body of blood, Joss Whedon. "The human body can be drained of blood in 8.6 seconds given adequate vacuuming systems," says River Tam, only what comprises an adequate vacuuming system of this type? (It's okay Joss, I still love you to bits. Except when I want to SET YOU ON FIRE, but that's -- well, you expect that.) Anyway humans don't usually devour their food without taking time to savour it; why should vampires? But I digress. Some claim that it isn't just blood, but the life source that vampires thrive on through the blood -- so, do happy, alive people have a stronger flavour or sustainment value than, you know, emo kids? This is rather morbid speculation, I know; bear with me. (Or backspace. It's okay!) I imagine that a lot of vampires would feed on the paupers of London to slake their general hunger, but the real feeding would be from people who aren't so destitute that they make absolutely no mark on the world?

Jonathan was here today; we watched some Death Note and discussed each other's NaNo projects. I've come to the conclusion that for my own sanity, I really ought to write down a vague outline of the first few chapters, so that I have some idea of what to write about until the story reaches the unforseeable point when it takes a life of its own. I needn't follow the outline religiously, but it's nice to have a guide. Also I have discovered that I actually know very little about Evangeline's personality or history: there are some wide strokes (she's stubborn and passionate; she loves books; she's very devoted to her family), but all of these are, by themselves, on the level of cliches -- they need detail to make them real. I am, however, reasonably confident that most of these things will establish themselves as I write and discover her voice; if I map out her personality in too much detail before writing even begins, she'll end up stiff and inhuman.

One thing I have discovered, and rather like, is that she is very happy with her life: this is not especially usual for my characters, oddly enough. They always seem to be struggling out of something. She's had difficult times; their family is middle-class in an era when the middle class could be somewhat precarious; but mostly things have worked out in the end and she's dealt with them. She has no great scar or sorrow, but she isn't emotionally and experientially shallow, either. Also: she is happy with her life, but she is not complacent with her life. She's open to and interested in new experiences, and doesn't hate or resent the new life she's thrown into because it's different -- some of it is even better -- the thing she hates is the sudden lack of security, which has been present in her life more or less always. While the family may have had monetary struggles in the past, their lives have never been in danger, and there's always been a sense that no matter what happens, they still have each other -- and anyway the worst that could happen would be sudden illness, or losing enough money that they'd have to leave their home for the country, or someplace else smaller and less comfortable. Now her life is daily threatened, and that threat extends, however slightly, to her family, as well.

Anyway, you lot are weary of reading all of this nonsense by now, but I am in many ways sorting things out as I write them, and quite a lot of the last paragraph was coming clear in the writing down. So.

Also, hair-cut tomorrow, and possibly dyeing as well. Huzzah!

♥ pensive
♫ "waltz no. 3 in a minor", frederic chopin

Oh dear, yes, NaNo is all that is on my mind just now; apologies to any of the f-list who are deathly bored of all of this talk by now. So I will talk briefly of things unrelated to NaNo for a minute to appease you. Yesterday Hannah had a birthday party, which was an informal get-together uniting the gang; we talked, cleaned some, watched The Brothers Grimm, and took a walk up the hill. It was terrifically surreal, bicycling to my old house and past the hill and down the road into the parking lot, and then being inside of it, empty of our furniture and very different in many ways, with all of the painting and renovating that's been going on -- and oddly familiar, because things that were Right when the Meholicks last lived in the house are coming back -- the great massive table in the dining room, the couch, the hallway mirrors -- and it's a very odd sort of deja vu. But sometimes I'd have these funny flashbacks; it was very vertigo-y. Especially as all the time we'd lived there, I had ghosts of the old houselife putting their hands on my shoulders at unexpected times. Anyway, grand fun was had, and there was a magnificent chocolate raspberry cake made by the Divine Miss V, and the hill is so lovely in late autumn!

Now, the main question of the hour comes. I have created a playlist for NaNo, comprised of mood-setting music. I have also set aside (in my head) at least two albums which I will probably have on repeat all next month -- PJ Harvey's spooky, Victorian White Chalk, and Dark Dark Dark's somewhat more whimsical and also spooky and Victoriany The Snow Magic (accordion prominence! banjo! cello! piano! and, once, musical saw!!). The playlist itself contains some Chopin and Debussy, some of the aforementioned artists, Vienna Teng (alas, only one song really works for the era, because Vienna = win), DeVotchKa, Patrick Wolf, the theme from The Illusionist, and a fantastic little Sarah McLachlan instrumental comprised of piano, cello, and musical saw. You all see what's coming, don't you? Yes, absolutely, you are not wrong: I want more music for my atmospheric NaNo playlist.

Piano-based things, mostly, and any music that would fit into the Victorian and Edwardian eras -- actual Victorian and Edwardian music would be amazing, but I will not count on it. Traditional English ballads, chamber folk, freak folk, New Weird America that doesn't sound too specifically American, anything with a musical saw in (well, I have a weakness for that), piano instrumentals that don't sound too modern, classical composers who would have been listened to and played at the time, especially pieces which are predominantly piano -- all of the sisters play, and Briony has a knack for it; I'd love music that evokes the Nox family home. In return I will make a Very Awesome Mixtape and post it all for you lot when November is finished.

Also, if anybody manages to dig up a traditional folk song that either a) specifically mentions vampires, or b) is probably about something else but could be about vampires, you will get a cookie. No, better still: you will get my very best and extremely rich chocolate peppermint pie.

♥ curiously very awake suddenly
♫ "feather moon", vienna teng

Today was good. I woke earlier than yesterday (though I did not wander downstairs until rather later), and later in the afternoon bicycled over to Jonathan's for a planned informal Bible study. Except I sort of got very, very lost, and ended up arriving at least half an hour after I said I would. The ride was so lovely, though, that I didn't feel especially irritated about the getting lost -- it's gotten cold and a little blustery lately, and the trees are mostly leafless, and more softly shaded, but there are still beacons of October spotting the city here and there. The air was so clear and bright and living; my whole self woke up to it. Also I was listening to Chopin. I kept having the oddest feeling that I had wandered into New England somehow, a postcardy, homey, sugar-cookies-in-the-oven sort of New England, a storybook, but a live one, not a flat, empty, trite sort.

When I finally arrived (dear me), there was some studying of the Bible -- the first chapter of James -- and several hours of excellent conversation, both on topic and off. I have felt much more awake today than I have since my day at Waldenbooks.

( however, the time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things: of shoes and ships and sealing wax, and banui's plotless nano. )

♥ writing? maybe?
♫ "hidden", vashti bunyan

I have been enjoying Good Days lately -- a whole string of them, which is lovely, and un-looked for. The air is brimming with October and possibility, and when it isn't, I have been trying my best to keep myself busy.

Sunday: Jonathan's parents and younger sister came to dinner. This I think was a resounding success. The dinner itself went well, the food was fantastic, my cake turned out even better than I'd anticipated (though next time I think there will be more icing), cider was very seasonal & delicious. The company was much enjoyed as well -- the McKeens are pleasant and comfortable and everyone got on very well. Jonathan & Allison & I had Fun With Cameras in the backyard before heading back to Jonathan's apartment for commisseration with Sarah, Hannah, and Victoria, who has just returned from three weeks in Williamsburg, and I have missed her quite a lot, so it was more than usually good to see her. I made a lot of cookies (snickerdoodles & chocolate buttermilk chocolate chip) and they were all eaten, and Taboo was played, and much cheer and goodwill was exchanged.

Monday began with...well, laziness, and me feeling a bit sloshy and thick, but by afternoon Mum & the little girls & I had headed off on an ultimately profitable Goodwill trip, whereupon I acquired the first pair of sandals that I have actually owned and liked in the past five years or so. I loathe flip-flops and anything resembling them with all of my being and most other practical sandals I have come upon would not co-ordinate with anything in my (extremely varied!) wardrobe. But Mum found the splendidest leather t-strap almost-flat sandals, with beading, which I later discovered on the internet retail for around forty-five dollars. I wore them all the rest of the afternoon; they are extremely comfortable and bohemian and will suit next summer's festival-going very well. There were also intruiging black flats with bows & silver buckles, brown & black striped stockings, and a charcoal-coloured hat that looks like a bit like a bucket hat by way of Jane Austen. There was also a Wal-Mart trip, full of kitcheny things and general housekeeping-ness. Almost immediately after we arrived home, Jonathan showed up for a planned photography walk. This was really some of the splendidest fun & glory I've had in ages, I think. The weather was warm and gentle with just a little coldness of breath in the wind, and we explored all sorts of bits and pieces of my town I've hardly or never looked at before, and took pictures of all sorts of odd things. Some of the results from my end will show up on

balladrie before long; I am still sorting them out. There is some lovely magic about finding hidden things in a place you know.

Also I bought some really awesome jewellery involving buttons & owls, and stripey warm fingerless gloves. I mention this partially because I am very happy with my purchase, and partially so that I can tell you about how I bicycled to the mall in the near-dark, and the moon came out, and she was full and pale sheeny gold, an old-lace moon netted in lavender clouds, which darkened on the way home to skeins of navy silk.

Tuesday I woke early to see Dad off: he has gone for a quiet sabbatical in a cabin in the woods, where he has been hiking every day, and reading and writing quite a lot, he told me on the phone this evening. The rest of the day involved watching a lot of Firefly (I first fell in love with Firefly last October and now it has become one of my Autumn Things, like Sunshine and Abigail Washburn and certain sorts of baked goods and combinations of colours in my clothing and the onset of me wearing more eyeliner than usual), and an excursion, which was sort of a walk, and sort of a going to Hockman's for some chocolate caramels and then taking the long way back to the park, where I curled up on the far edge, away from the playgrounds and the city pool and the ball-fields, under several trees, between the picnicking pavillion and the stream. I lay on the grass under the gathering clouds and read The Secret History of Moscow, which along with The Graveyard Book is probably going to be one of this year's most memorable Autumn Books. I missed having one last year, and since Autumn is practically a holiday to me, this was very unfortunate. I had Winter Books that could have done just as well for Autumn but they came too late. The year before that I discovered Neil Gaiman and Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, and the year before that it was Sunshine, which it is now tradition for me to read at the end of October -- I am chomping at the bit to re-read it now, but I make myself wait! -- and bake cinnamon rolls to coincide. Anyway, it started to drizzle (which is a very ugly word; I don't like it; it has very little resemblance to the delicate little scatter-rains I love so much), and my poor library book was getting damp, so I went into the pavillion and got a bit chilly and watched Firefly a bit more, with my chocolates.

I think it was also yesterday when I had the candelabra on my trunk burning so long that the left-most candle is nearly flat, and there is a great mass of picturesque wax dripping down.

Today I have watched more Firefly, read, and gone to Hockman's with Heidi and Leandra, where Leandra got a free chocolate for being ridiculously adorable and grinning her little seven-toothed grin. It's been softly rainy most of this day, too, what Mum called "Seattle rain", my favourite sort of October weather -- it makes one want to be cosy, but also to be outside, and alive. The streets finally smell absolutely of autumn -- wet leaves and far-away woodsmoke and rain and things decaying quietly and willingly, and that undefinable autumnery that must be its very own scent, independent of all material causes. I took a little barefoot not-on-purpose walk down the sidewalk a bit, loving the trees, and in the luxury of dusk stood on the ledge overlooking the road in all the wet. Our house is on a hill, but the hill is only a hill from the back, where it drops steeply down to a patch of grass and the road that feeds into the main through-town one. There's a long sort of curb of wood keeping the yard a little safer, and some odd, thin trees jumbled up together. I love standing on the ledge and just watching things. Mostly cars, but the park is just a little ways from the other side of the road, and the Medicine Shoppe is exactly across, so often there is someone walking by.

We have been making our home more homey by getting all of the decorations out of boxes and putting them on walls where they belong. The living room is almost finished; the bedrooms are pretty well set also. I indeed take pictures when things are more in order and there are fewer boxes everywhere. My bedroom needs more posters -- I will buy them with my paycheck!! -- and I am thinking of copying

lady_moriel and making a collage for my door. I spent a few hours today listening to Lisa Hannigan and NPR, and pulling everything from where it was crammed into my dresser drawers, sorting it out, folding it, and putting it back in, except I hung a lot of things in the Main Clothing Closet (Jonathan was right; I do need to name my four closets), so there is much more room now, and everything is considerably more organised, and my bedroom feels a little bit more settled.

Also I cut myself shaving -- BAH, I HATE RAZORS -- and knocked a shadowbox off the wall, shattering glass everywhere, one bit of which I stepped on. The cut was small, but there was an inconvenient amount of blood. One of these days I will grow out of this?

♥ happy
♫ "eve stole the apple", abigail washburn

Today was largely of the good. (Since it is one in the morning I suppose it really counts as yesterday, but the point stands.) Lead worship with Jonathan this morning, and I enjoyed it immensely even though we (mostly me, or by fault of me) messed up a lot. Jonathan played piano, which was fantastic, and I played a hymn I had mostly learnt the evening before, and I was not always where I ought to have been, nor did I know the lyrics nearly as well as I should have, nor did I remember my music stand, so the lyrics and chords were carefully arranged on my lap and I had to keep glancing down as I played, only if I glanced down too much I got too far from the microphone -- well, yes. More practising is in order. Anyway I liked doing it, and the congregation seemed to enjoy it as well, which is really the point of it all. I also did not fall asleep once during the sermon, hurrah hurrah. (This had a little to do with caffeine-laced headache medication, but it is still a worthy accomplishment!)

Lunch was very tasty, Jonathan and I hobnobbed and watched several episodes of Death Note (which is another thing I am liking quite a lot), and bicycled to the Meadows for ice cream and working on our (mostly his) tabletop RPG and not liking the radio station much at all, after which we parted ways.

When I arrived home, Mum announced that she had just been informed that we got the house we wanted. I was so excited that I hugged her. I don't hug people very often. Now I can be legitimately excited about the deacon's bench and the laundry chute and the attic loft over the garage and the apple tree and the yellow-painted living room and the fireplace and the kitchen and my bedroom with four closets and funny little cupboards and being right in town. Right, and you lot were probably going, "did the Presbyterians not meet on Tuesday? this is Sunday, isn't it?" YES. YES IT IS. We have been waiting to hear something all week and it has been very agonising and also more than a little annoying. Church committees are far from my favourite things. (Actually, committees in general don't tend to make the top one hundred list.) We plan to move in over the weekend. (Frivolous: Mum said she would not call our hairdresser and set appointments for us girls to get our hair cut until we had a moving date. My hair has not been cut since I had it bobbed in December and I am not entirely thrilled with the way it has currently grown out. I want to get it cut and re-shaped. I also will not dye it until it is cut, and I have very exciting dyeing plans.)

Other frivolous good thing: when I was hobnobbing with Jonathan yesterday, we stopped in at Goodwill, and I lost my heart to several items, even though I was trying not to look at very much of anything at all (although I ended up buying a fifty-cent record of Saint-Saens' Carnival of the Animals, despite my lack of record player). I mentioned these to Mum, and she sort of went out and bought them for me this afternoon when she happened to be at the supermarket next door. They are: one: a black double-breasted trenchoat, which is quite possibly the only thing I have wanted longer than these boots. (I see

lady_moriel being jealous way over there in England, ha ha.) Two: a Firefly-tastic cotton dress, black with silver pinstripes and vivid Chinese flower patterns and beadwork. Three: very retro (but brand-new) bright orange heels, with wide ankle straps and buckles. I may have pictures soon, because, ♥. I didn't really even ask Mum to buy them for me, I just mentioned that I sort of wanted to go to Goodwill soon.

And now I am going to do the dishes and watch SPN (FINALLY) and go to sleep, because I have a physical tomorrow afternoon, which I am looking forward to, for some odd reason. I don't know, I always half-consciously look forward to new experiences; at least they're interesting, if nothing else. That makes me sound awfully more of an optimist than I've ever considered myself: it is probably misleading.

♥ hungry
♫ "ambassador", noe venable

Today the Quill & Ink Society had another meeting at last, during which some writing got done, I acquired several tattoos, Hannah christened a centipede Fitzgerald and then promptly squashed it to death with a boot, and all of the very chocolatey cookies I made disappeared with astonishing rapidity.

While we were in the middle of a writing exercise, Mum called. Someone at Ross called and WANTS TO INTERVIEW ME. Ross is by and large TJ Maxx with a different name, and possibly more interesting household goods; it also happens to be one of my favourite stores, because it is full of discount items, most of which are somewhat quirky and extremely well suited to my taste. (It also has excellent inexpensive basic electronics, such as earbuds, giant headphones, headphone splitters, miniature speakers, iPod alarm clocks, and other such tempting and useful things.) The store is large, but not massive, and very bright, and in the mall, which is easy riding distance from my house. I called back as soon as I got home, and have an interview set up for tomorrow (Saturday) at one. Oh dear, I do hope this works out. I would like to have money and something to occupy my time.

Because I am fairly nervous I have set out my clothing for tomorrow already -- red and black, for confidence, but not too much black, lest I look dour: black dress shirt, black-and-red-and-white patchwork skirt with a bit of frill to it, red stockings, dark red leather jacket, and I am attempting to decide whether it would be best to wear my more conservative heels or if my granny boots would be a little too quirky for a first impression. Frittering away my mental energy on such frivolous topics is somewhat calming. ohdearohdearohdear.

♥ nervously excited
♫ "alas i cannot swim", laura marling

I am really beginning to think that it may turn out to be an excellent idea to hold

lady_moriel hostage so that when the time comes she may NEVER EVER LEAVE ME.

Yes, we are having a grand time, and I'm so pleased that there are no awkward silences and I'm not feeling the need to desocialise, despite having had far more socialisation than usual this week -- not only with my splendidest Kyra, but with Alessandra's wedding and a party where sort of a lot of it happened in my back yard, and I really haven't time to give any of these things justice, but I do want to tell you lot that I am still here, and quite happy, except we are practically out of flour, and I am developing a lack-of-sugary-baked-goods eye twitch... However Mum has gone to the supermarket: ergo, huzzah. Also there are Plans in the future and life is quite delicious just now, I might add.

♥ hungry
♫ "my family's role in the world revolution", beirut

It's been a gorgeous couple of days, I must say; extremely refreshing. The odd thing is that I've been doing a lot more work than usual, as well as having Events to attend, and yet I'm feeling completely un-rushed, and almost as though I have more free time than I usually do. I've been reading for long stretches at a time (I just finished Orson Scott Card's Speaker for the Dead, which -- gorblimey. I can't remember the last time I've been so utterly absorbed in a book.), baking, streaming BtVS on the laptop, watching Once, playing music, doing Useful Internet Things -- so far the only Thing I Always Mean To Do When Everyone's Gone that I haven't done is any writing, and since I've been doing so many other useful things, both practical and emotionally fulfilling, I am emphatically not feeling guilty about it. Furthermore, laptop.

Last night was glorious -- after Once and a little straightening (and a lot of live streaming WUMB), I put on my apostrophe dress and my red shoes and the Angelmobile and I took off for the theatre to see Sarah and Hannah in the Teen Theatre showcase, which consisted of a lot of short plays that I very much enjoyed. Victoria was there as well, and Alessandra's brothers Brennan and Jesse, so it was a merry time. After the play there was a bit of hobnobbing before we headed our separate ways (well, separate as in "everyone else in the Meholicks' van, me on a bicycle"). Riding at night is lovely; the air was just a little chilly and there was wind in my hair and the sky was dotted over with stars and a brightly glimmering nearly-full moon. It was so unbearably lovely that as soon as I got home and had my bicycle in the garage and shed my coat and shoulder bag I ran back outside and wended my way up the hill. Oh, I wandered up there for hours, it felt like, singing old songs, with the moon glinting at me through the trees, and the stars (and aeroplanes) winking overhead. After a while I simply lay in the grass and stared up at the stars -- the stars always make me feel closer to God than anything else. It's odd, I suppose, because one is supposed to feel small and insignificant when one beholds the splendour of the night sky, but it always makes me feel -- connected. Almost as though I can feel my blood humming in my veins, and the pull of the moon on the tides, and the way everything in the world fits together, and how this world fits together with the heavens, and how I fit into the scheme of everything. When I look at the stars, I feel anchored.

And after skimming the f-list and reading a little and, er, having another slice of cake (it's very good cake!), I went upstairs and cosied up in my blankets and lit all the candles I have holders for, because my lamp is broken, and for a little while after I was too sleepy to read I lay in bed with the covers up to my chin, watching the blurred glimmer of the candles and the flickering of the firelight over the walls and ceiling. (I blew them out before I was sleepy enough to fall asleep, though, don't worry.) And there was that stillness, that beautiful singing stillness that feels -- unstill, alive, I don't know, it's more than silence. I want to say "communing" -- not to be mystical -- but communing with what? God? Myself -- the truest part of myself? I don't know. But it's peace, and it's beautiful.

This morning started slowly; I stayed cosied up beneath the covers and listened to Morning Edition on NPR for a while, and watched a bit of telly, and had some orange juice, until I finally stopped lazing about and got dr

lady_morielessed and cleaned the hall and most of the bathroom and a lot of downstairs and the last corners of my bedroom (...sort of). And the day's been mostly like that. Cleaning, turning the radio up loud -- the Folk Show on our local NPR station was on until just now and for once they had a competent DJ playing good music rather than third-tier no-name singer-songwriters and amateur local string bands, and I've been making a great big batch of my fantastically luscious cinnamon rolls for tomorrow (WHEN KYRA IS HERE). Cinnamon rolls are an excellent thing to make when no-one else is around, because a) they take a very long time, and b) you cannot help but make a truly incredible mess. I've just cleaned it up and the cinnamon rolls are cooling on the counter and when they are ready to be put away and I stop typing on, I am going to get the Angelmobile and head off. The gang is having one last great bash before Alessandra gets married on Monday and moves away to California. (Hopefully I get home tonight before my parents do; if not, I am leaving a large, brightly coloured note.)

AND KYRA IS COMING TOMORROW. ALKSHDGLKHGH.

lady_moriel and I have known each other for nearly seven years and she is my oldest and bestest friend, but we have never actually met -- so she may be an axe murderer. If I never post again, she has probably hacked off my head and carried it off to her lair to display on the wall with the heads of her other victims. But anyway she will be here for a week and I am bubbling with excitement and half-formed plans and, oh yeah, terror. (What if she doesn't like me in person? But she's seen the very worst of my emotastic whingeings; if she still likes me after all of that she won't forsake me because I am clingy and sneeze like a freight train and talk too fast and fall over a lot, right? Right?) It's also sort of fascinating from a psychological perspective, and...strange. All of these years she's been words on my screen and a voice on the telephone and suddenly she's going to be here? In my world? And we've been talking about getting together for years, some plans more serious than others, and I still don't really believe she's coming at all, and won't, until she's in my car tomorrow morning flopping over with jet-lag and suitcases. I'm having gigantic silly metaphysical thoughts that are too convoluted for words. Furthermore I have been overcome with completely random fits of squee ("lalala, cleaning the bathroom...FOR KYRA. KYRA IS COMING TO SEE ME TOMORROW! *flail*") and may have jumped up and down on the bed. Just a little bit.

Well then. I ought to put away those cinnamon rolls and find a jacket and depart.

♥ content
♫ the folk show on npr

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my heart is a glorious machine;

Entries tagged with i have a social life?

a cornucopia of adventurey things

happenings

neil gaiman would love this

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there is a time for love & laughter

singing their heads off, protected by the holy ghost

love's the only alchemy

days on which cocoa would be good, for different reasons

more things

rosehip november, autumn i'll remember

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"and a creature which had once been a young woman rose, all bloodstained petticoats and ribbons."

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a shameless request, ha ha!

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she's like a smile on a monday

good news at last!

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insert scintillating subject line here