Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Monday, December 12, 2005
Let Me Tell You The Story Of Jienix and Jex...
Out of the silent, swirling, mist comes a voice. In a childish, singsong voice, it begins to recite:
...Let me tell you the story of Jienix and Jex
It has drama and laughter and sorrow and sex
Let us begin with the story of Jienix
A person as lovely and strong as the phoenix
Jienix was laughter, Jienix was light
Her voice was a song and her laughter was bright.
She was well loved and popular and pure
Her present was great, her future assured.
Yet like young women, she had a secret
And she needed only her sister to keep it.
They were as close as close could be
Jienix was the bark, Jex was the tree.
Jex was everything Jienix was not
Rude and uncouth (and taunted a lot).
She was rebellious and malicious and mean
In contempt for authority, she was the Queen
Jex was sorrow, Jex was sass
If you didn't like it, you could kiss her ass
Worst of it all, she could still grin
Not even caring she didn’t fit in
Yet she was the truth behind the facade
That Jex had created and Jienix displayed
Alone they were nothing, together were one
Listen more closely, it’s only begun.
One day Jex was sick, Jienix at school
When a girl made a comment that Jex was a fool
Jienix moved quickly, and when the smoke cleared
That girl had learned why the sisters were feared.
She may have been sweet, she may have been fun
But insults, Jienix tolerated not a single one
And on other occasions, though rarely I admit
She yelled at her friends, and just wouldn’t quit
These were the times her mind would be mixed
Though a glance at her sister and all would be fixed.
Jex would only laugh, and flick her cigarette
She knew that for Jienix, they'd forgive and forget.
The opinion on Jex was near-universal
She was a bad egg, her ideas distasteful
Yet nobody's perfect, not even when they're bad
Once there was someone she didn't make mad
They could even be called friends, some would say
Until one fateful evening with a roll in the hay
Marc was intoxicated, Jex was sober
A good clean break, and it would be over
The experience was better than reported by some
It was pleasure and pain combined into one
She knew that his guilt would cause him to flee
Their relationship damaged irreparably
Jienix had the lecture already prepared
Jex simply retorted "He should never have cared!"
Sometimes they wished they could be less extreme
Jex to be nice, Jienix be mean
But the images they’d created had grown out of hand
And if they got rid of them they’d lose the plan
Because while Jienix was out charming the crowds
Jex would be unnoticed while sneaking around
Trying to find the answer they’d been looking for, for years
Try to sever their roots and erase all the tears
Together the ruse was played out again and again
While together they got closer and closer to the end
For eventually the town would figure it out
What Jienix and Jex were really about...
...Let me tell you the story of Jienix and Jex
It has drama and laughter and sorrow and sex
Let us begin with the story of Jienix
A person as lovely and strong as the phoenix
Jienix was laughter, Jienix was light
Her voice was a song and her laughter was bright.
She was well loved and popular and pure
Her present was great, her future assured.
Yet like young women, she had a secret
And she needed only her sister to keep it.
They were as close as close could be
Jienix was the bark, Jex was the tree.
Jex was everything Jienix was not
Rude and uncouth (and taunted a lot).
She was rebellious and malicious and mean
In contempt for authority, she was the Queen
Jex was sorrow, Jex was sass
If you didn't like it, you could kiss her ass
Worst of it all, she could still grin
Not even caring she didn’t fit in
Yet she was the truth behind the facade
That Jex had created and Jienix displayed
Alone they were nothing, together were one
Listen more closely, it’s only begun.
One day Jex was sick, Jienix at school
When a girl made a comment that Jex was a fool
Jienix moved quickly, and when the smoke cleared
That girl had learned why the sisters were feared.
She may have been sweet, she may have been fun
But insults, Jienix tolerated not a single one
And on other occasions, though rarely I admit
She yelled at her friends, and just wouldn’t quit
These were the times her mind would be mixed
Though a glance at her sister and all would be fixed.
Jex would only laugh, and flick her cigarette
She knew that for Jienix, they'd forgive and forget.
The opinion on Jex was near-universal
She was a bad egg, her ideas distasteful
Yet nobody's perfect, not even when they're bad
Once there was someone she didn't make mad
They could even be called friends, some would say
Until one fateful evening with a roll in the hay
Marc was intoxicated, Jex was sober
A good clean break, and it would be over
The experience was better than reported by some
It was pleasure and pain combined into one
She knew that his guilt would cause him to flee
Their relationship damaged irreparably
Jienix had the lecture already prepared
Jex simply retorted "He should never have cared!"
Sometimes they wished they could be less extreme
Jex to be nice, Jienix be mean
But the images they’d created had grown out of hand
And if they got rid of them they’d lose the plan
Because while Jienix was out charming the crowds
Jex would be unnoticed while sneaking around
Trying to find the answer they’d been looking for, for years
Try to sever their roots and erase all the tears
Together the ruse was played out again and again
While together they got closer and closer to the end
For eventually the town would figure it out
What Jienix and Jex were really about...
Monday, December 05, 2005
Those Damned Tears
MistWeaver: Who's your favorite pothead?
Voice: Tsk, tsk. Been bad, have we?
Weaver: No, actually. Just sad. Of course, when I cry I have the handy talent of making my eyes go completely bloodshot. Not even bloodshot. Pink. Fully and completely. And the rest of my face looks like crap, too. I'm not one of those attractive cryers who look all dramatic and beautiful. I just look like a drowned duck.
Voice: While I find all of this absolutely fascinating, it does bring to mind a more pressing question. Why have you been crying?
Weaver: And that, fair lady (or man, or whatever you are), is the heart of the matter. Crying. I've been doing way too much of it over the past few days. And try as I might, I can't stop.
Voice: You still haven't answered the question. Why have you been crying?
Weaver: A variety of reasons. The most pressing being that I've been so tired, every little thing makes me cry. Even when I don't want to. On Saturday, it was the fight I got into with Mama and Brian. On Sunday, it was the stupid email Mama sent me regarding the fight I got into with her and Brian. Today, it was Deb in the cafeteria lecturing us on how we need to be a team and how we don't pull our weight, and how... Ugh. Just... everything. And the entire time, I was thinking about how I really wanted to quit and that I'd been considering it for a while, but that I couldn't because throughout it all Deb made it clear that they needed me.
Voice: Why did you fight with Thelia and Brian?
Weaver: The same as always. About how we need to be a team, and how I don't pull my weight... Not to mention how I force them to drop everything and drive me everywhere (namely work), and how I work too much and it's costing Mama money and ... oh look. There I go again, almost. No respite from the stupid tears, not even in the middle of the school library. I guess it's a good thing that I didn't go to math.
Voice: Is that where you're supposed to be right now? Math?
Weaver: Yup. I've been stopping myself all month from skipping, telling myself that I need math, that missing it is a bad idea. I gave up today. Screw Math. Screw stupid pipsqueak Carder and his stupid discrimination. The best thing to do is study it myself and show up for test days. I almost wish that I would get caught skipping, for once. I can identify with certain characters from certain books... That reckless feeling where you want to get caught so you can yell to the world how you really feel.
Voice: And this is your way of yelling at the world. All those who care to read, step right up! Take a computer and boot 'er up.
Weaver: When you put it that way... I guess this is my way of yelling at the world. Teen Angst R Us. Although I feel closer to 70 than to a teen, at the moment.
Weaver: Do you know who happened to come in while I was trying to clean myself up in the bathroom before coming here?
Voice: If I knew, you wouldn't be asking.
Weaver: It was KD. Yes, KD. The one that I never particularly liked, and thought to be shallow and inconsiderate. I've never hidden my opinion of her, either. But when she walked in, inconspicuous cryer that I am, she took one look and asked me what was wrong. Gave me a hug, too.
Voice: Has your opinion changed of her?
Weaver: To be honest, not really. She's still pretty shallow and mean. But at the same time, even the shallowest person has a heart. I don't know where I'm going with this.
Voice: Maybe towards the idea that she's a tolerable person?
Weaver: Yeah, I guess. And I'm probably going to go watch her Drama class second period since I think that I've changed my mind about going to math at all. And I should probably reread my reply to my mother's email. I was so tired, and crying so hard, that I have barely any recollection of what I wrote. I have a vague memory of thinking it was really bitter-sounding. Am I right? I can't remember. Maybe I am just a selfish bitch. Bleah.
Oh, and a note: I'm still trying to figure out whether I miss Ryan. I haven't really talked to him in like two weeks. More if you count talking to him sober. I don't go to Youth anymore. I think our last meaningful conversation was when I told him that. I'm trying to figure out whether to invite him to the Dance next week. We had agreed that if we had one with guests, he'd come and we'd have a blast. Then again, I'm not even sure I can go. But it's formal! And I've wanted to go to a formal dance forever...
--
Voice: Tsk, tsk. Been bad, have we?
Weaver: No, actually. Just sad. Of course, when I cry I have the handy talent of making my eyes go completely bloodshot. Not even bloodshot. Pink. Fully and completely. And the rest of my face looks like crap, too. I'm not one of those attractive cryers who look all dramatic and beautiful. I just look like a drowned duck.
Voice: While I find all of this absolutely fascinating, it does bring to mind a more pressing question. Why have you been crying?
Weaver: And that, fair lady (or man, or whatever you are), is the heart of the matter. Crying. I've been doing way too much of it over the past few days. And try as I might, I can't stop.
Voice: You still haven't answered the question. Why have you been crying?
Weaver: A variety of reasons. The most pressing being that I've been so tired, every little thing makes me cry. Even when I don't want to. On Saturday, it was the fight I got into with Mama and Brian. On Sunday, it was the stupid email Mama sent me regarding the fight I got into with her and Brian. Today, it was Deb in the cafeteria lecturing us on how we need to be a team and how we don't pull our weight, and how... Ugh. Just... everything. And the entire time, I was thinking about how I really wanted to quit and that I'd been considering it for a while, but that I couldn't because throughout it all Deb made it clear that they needed me.
Voice: Why did you fight with Thelia and Brian?
Weaver: The same as always. About how we need to be a team, and how I don't pull my weight... Not to mention how I force them to drop everything and drive me everywhere (namely work), and how I work too much and it's costing Mama money and ... oh look. There I go again, almost. No respite from the stupid tears, not even in the middle of the school library. I guess it's a good thing that I didn't go to math.
Voice: Is that where you're supposed to be right now? Math?
Weaver: Yup. I've been stopping myself all month from skipping, telling myself that I need math, that missing it is a bad idea. I gave up today. Screw Math. Screw stupid pipsqueak Carder and his stupid discrimination. The best thing to do is study it myself and show up for test days. I almost wish that I would get caught skipping, for once. I can identify with certain characters from certain books... That reckless feeling where you want to get caught so you can yell to the world how you really feel.
Voice: And this is your way of yelling at the world. All those who care to read, step right up! Take a computer and boot 'er up.
Weaver: When you put it that way... I guess this is my way of yelling at the world. Teen Angst R Us. Although I feel closer to 70 than to a teen, at the moment.
Weaver: Do you know who happened to come in while I was trying to clean myself up in the bathroom before coming here?
Voice: If I knew, you wouldn't be asking.
Weaver: It was KD. Yes, KD. The one that I never particularly liked, and thought to be shallow and inconsiderate. I've never hidden my opinion of her, either. But when she walked in, inconspicuous cryer that I am, she took one look and asked me what was wrong. Gave me a hug, too.
Voice: Has your opinion changed of her?
Weaver: To be honest, not really. She's still pretty shallow and mean. But at the same time, even the shallowest person has a heart. I don't know where I'm going with this.
Voice: Maybe towards the idea that she's a tolerable person?
Weaver: Yeah, I guess. And I'm probably going to go watch her Drama class second period since I think that I've changed my mind about going to math at all. And I should probably reread my reply to my mother's email. I was so tired, and crying so hard, that I have barely any recollection of what I wrote. I have a vague memory of thinking it was really bitter-sounding. Am I right? I can't remember. Maybe I am just a selfish bitch. Bleah.
Oh, and a note: I'm still trying to figure out whether I miss Ryan. I haven't really talked to him in like two weeks. More if you count talking to him sober. I don't go to Youth anymore. I think our last meaningful conversation was when I told him that. I'm trying to figure out whether to invite him to the Dance next week. We had agreed that if we had one with guests, he'd come and we'd have a blast. Then again, I'm not even sure I can go. But it's formal! And I've wanted to go to a formal dance forever...
--
Monday, November 07, 2005
Rise and Fall and Rise Again
Voice: You look worn out. Have y ou come for some peace and rest?
Weaver: I don't have time for peace and rest. I know I look worn out, but it's everything that's been crushing down on me that causes it.
Voice: Interesting choice of words. Crushed? What exactly is going on in your life?
Weaver: Part of it is good: I have a job.
Voice: I know that you've wanted one for a while now; that's good, then. Where are you working?
Weaver: Superstore. Cashier. 8.25$/hour.
Voice: Sounds reasonable. Better than minimum wage at a fast food place, no?
Weaver: Oh, it's not the job that's getting me down. I love the work. It's memory, repetition, greetings... all stuff that I get off on.
Voice: There's a 'but' in that statement, isn't there?
Weaver: Indeed, there is. I have to tell Brian that I start work fifteen to thirty minutes early in order to get there on time, and I usually have to wait a good half hour to fortyfive minutes after I'm finished to get picked up, regardless of what time I tell him I'm finished. He drives like a maniac, and I feel anything but safe in the car. But it's my only recourse barring my father, and that's an option I won't take no matter what.
Voice: Do you really hate your father that much?
Weaver: Yes.
Voice: That's direct.
Weaver: Would you have me dance around the subject the way that he does? He's fucked with my life, my brother's life, and my mother's life most of all. He can rot.
Voice: You know, in a few years you'll--
MistWeaver: Stop right there. I've heard that I'll eventually be great friends with him from everybody on the face of the earth, along with "you know, Weaver... your parents' divorce doesn't have anything to do with you..." FUCK! I don't think I'm to blame for my parents' divorce. I don't give a shit if I'll love my father in the future: I despise the ground he walks on right now. It shows something about my mother's character if she's one of those people telling me to be nice to my father.
Voice: I believe you've mentioned that already. Care to elaborate?
Weaver: No. Screw off.
Voice: If that's what you want, I'll leave you to the mist.
Weaver: No! I'm sorry. I'm alienating everybody. I guess it's a sign of how bad I'm doing if I'm snapping at a voice in my own head. Here, let me give you an example of what my life is like.
The mist thickens, closes in around her, completely opaque.
An image appears in the mist. Weaver, her hair glowing white in the semi-darkness of a bedroom, sleeping. All is silent. All of a sudden, music starts blaring from a stereo and she jumps up, eyes wide, hops over the back of the couch she's sleeping on, and turns down the volume. She blindly stumbles into the shower, looking too exhausted to be alive.
The scene cuts to her in an empty kitchen. She is frantically searching thorugh an agenda, realizing that she has a test that day, and that she has to memorize quite a bit of text from Shakespeare. Wearily, she flips through the book page by page, looking for suitable passages to memorize.
The scene cuts again to her on the bus, staring at the book MacBeth, writing out feverishly lines over and over again. As the bus pulls into the school, she looks up in surprise. As she moves to shove her stuff in her bag, she catches a glimpse of a paper: one of the study guides, the one that dictates the parameters for the lines she has to find and memorize. It's thick, but she takes a moment to flip through it, remembering that she's not allowed to pick any of the lines that are demonstrated in it. Of course, that's easier said than done, since there are at least twenty different passages quoted in the study guide. Her eyes catch on one, a longer one that shows the motif of ill-fitting clothes. Her eyes move frantically in disbelief as she realizes that this is the same quote that she chose to memorize after combing the book with a fine-toothed comb for one that wasn't in the guide. Her shoulders slump dejectedly, and she shoves the rest of her books in the bag.
A bell tolls, like that of the school bell, and the scene fades, returns to the mist. It clears, and there is a brief glimpse of the true MistWeaver, before she shakes her head sadly and begins to fade from the misty place.
MistWeaver: Back to the real world again.
Weaver: I don't have time for peace and rest. I know I look worn out, but it's everything that's been crushing down on me that causes it.
Voice: Interesting choice of words. Crushed? What exactly is going on in your life?
Weaver: Part of it is good: I have a job.
Voice: I know that you've wanted one for a while now; that's good, then. Where are you working?
Weaver: Superstore. Cashier. 8.25$/hour.
Voice: Sounds reasonable. Better than minimum wage at a fast food place, no?
Weaver: Oh, it's not the job that's getting me down. I love the work. It's memory, repetition, greetings... all stuff that I get off on.
Voice: There's a 'but' in that statement, isn't there?
Weaver: Indeed, there is. I have to tell Brian that I start work fifteen to thirty minutes early in order to get there on time, and I usually have to wait a good half hour to fortyfive minutes after I'm finished to get picked up, regardless of what time I tell him I'm finished. He drives like a maniac, and I feel anything but safe in the car. But it's my only recourse barring my father, and that's an option I won't take no matter what.
Voice: Do you really hate your father that much?
Weaver: Yes.
Voice: That's direct.
Weaver: Would you have me dance around the subject the way that he does? He's fucked with my life, my brother's life, and my mother's life most of all. He can rot.
Voice: You know, in a few years you'll--
MistWeaver: Stop right there. I've heard that I'll eventually be great friends with him from everybody on the face of the earth, along with "you know, Weaver... your parents' divorce doesn't have anything to do with you..." FUCK! I don't think I'm to blame for my parents' divorce. I don't give a shit if I'll love my father in the future: I despise the ground he walks on right now. It shows something about my mother's character if she's one of those people telling me to be nice to my father.
Voice: I believe you've mentioned that already. Care to elaborate?
Weaver: No. Screw off.
Voice: If that's what you want, I'll leave you to the mist.
Weaver: No! I'm sorry. I'm alienating everybody. I guess it's a sign of how bad I'm doing if I'm snapping at a voice in my own head. Here, let me give you an example of what my life is like.
The mist thickens, closes in around her, completely opaque.
An image appears in the mist. Weaver, her hair glowing white in the semi-darkness of a bedroom, sleeping. All is silent. All of a sudden, music starts blaring from a stereo and she jumps up, eyes wide, hops over the back of the couch she's sleeping on, and turns down the volume. She blindly stumbles into the shower, looking too exhausted to be alive.
The scene cuts to her in an empty kitchen. She is frantically searching thorugh an agenda, realizing that she has a test that day, and that she has to memorize quite a bit of text from Shakespeare. Wearily, she flips through the book page by page, looking for suitable passages to memorize.
The scene cuts again to her on the bus, staring at the book MacBeth, writing out feverishly lines over and over again. As the bus pulls into the school, she looks up in surprise. As she moves to shove her stuff in her bag, she catches a glimpse of a paper: one of the study guides, the one that dictates the parameters for the lines she has to find and memorize. It's thick, but she takes a moment to flip through it, remembering that she's not allowed to pick any of the lines that are demonstrated in it. Of course, that's easier said than done, since there are at least twenty different passages quoted in the study guide. Her eyes catch on one, a longer one that shows the motif of ill-fitting clothes. Her eyes move frantically in disbelief as she realizes that this is the same quote that she chose to memorize after combing the book with a fine-toothed comb for one that wasn't in the guide. Her shoulders slump dejectedly, and she shoves the rest of her books in the bag.
A bell tolls, like that of the school bell, and the scene fades, returns to the mist. It clears, and there is a brief glimpse of the true MistWeaver, before she shakes her head sadly and begins to fade from the misty place.
MistWeaver: Back to the real world again.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Ahhh!!!
Weaver:Oh my god! Oh my god!
Voice: What? What's going on?
Weaver: NaNoWriMo starts in 8 minutes!
Voice: What?
Weaver: Can't talk! Must prepare! Bye!
Voice: What? What's going on?
Weaver: NaNoWriMo starts in 8 minutes!
Voice: What?
Weaver: Can't talk! Must prepare! Bye!
Sunday, October 02, 2005
The Over-Dramatization of Just Like Heaven
MistWeaver: I suppose my father does have his uses.
Voice: What do you mean?
Weaver: I mean that I just saw a great movie with a great friend and may be going to Montreal at the end of the month, all because he's in suck-up mode.
Voice: I see you've softened somewhat towards him.
Weaver snorts.
Weaver: Softened, my ass. If he thinks he can buy my love, he's sorely mistaken. On the other hand, I think that every dollar spent is a little bit of retribution for everything he's taking away from my mother. But that's not what I came to talk about.
Voice: What did you come to talk about, then?
Weaver: I came to talk about the movie I saw. Just Like Heaven, with Reese Witherspoon.
Voice: Considering your earlier comment, I assume it was good.
Weaver: It was more than good. It was excellent. Amusing and supremely conductive to a case of the warm fuzzies. Even the dude from Napoleon Dynamite had a good role, much as I disliked that movie.
Voice: I'm guessing that you're going to expand on your review.
Weaver: Yes, I am. Now would probably be a good time to warn for...
SPOILERS!!!!!
Weaver: Just so that I can talk all that I want with a clean conscience.
You see, there are just some movies (and books) in this world tha tmake me feel good. Not just good, but great. They make you want to squeak and squeeze the book (or yourself, in the case of a movie tightly and wish you could share in the feelings. Usually this is when there's love involved, and it's believable, just for a second, that happily ever after does really happen.
Voice: Even when the said person is like you, and can predict the supposed 'plot twists' and surprises?
MistWeaver: Especially when the person is like me and can predict everything going to happen. It's like you know it's going to happen and that just makes it all the sweeter when it does. It feels like they try so hard to make things unpredictable, give things unhappy endings, that sometimes you can forget just how nice it is to see other people happy, in love.
In JLH, 'twasn't easy, the ending. Everything wasn't perfect. I predicted that he'd build the garden for her on the roof. I wasn't sure if she would remember him, or if they would have to start over as real people instead of the circumstances that were thrown at them.
I guess the story all comes back to balance. They were destined to meet, and that fate was interrupted. Thus, the world unbalanced itself and had to regain that balance in some way. That's why only he could see her, feel her. She wasn't dead, therefore she wasn't a ghost and semi-tangible to all. The little imbalance caused by her accident made her semi-tangible only to him, because until they righted things by meeting and falling in love, that little imbalance would remain and probably grow.
Voice: I believe I speak for many when I note the insensibility of that which you just said.
MistWeaver: That's okay. I understood it and that's all that really matters.
MistWeaver sighs.
Weaver: Some things just hit me hard in that movie though, as I'm sure they were supposed to. For instance, when she can't remember him after she wakes up. That broke my heart almost as badly as it broke his. I get all worked up just thinking about it. He went through so much to save her life, and after everything he did, all the research he did to bring back her memory, all the stuff they did for each other...
HE FREAKING FAILED!!!!!
Through a freaking accident, her breathing tube got freaking cut off and she freaking DIED!!!!!
And then...
MistWeaver sighs again, tiredly.
Voice: Needing sleep?
Weaver: I need to talk about this more. Where was I? Oh, yes. Screaming out in indignation and fury over the injustice of it all.
Anyway. He fails. She fades. He cries--well, I can't remember if he really does but I sure as hell did--and leans in to kiss her comatose lips. Holy shit! I think. Can't she feel what he does to her real body? Indeed she must, because as she fades from view, her eyes widen and her hands fly wonderingly up to her lips.
Who else was betting she was a virgin?
Fuck yeah, I was. No pun intended.
Now, this must be the final connection needed to set things straight, because she comes alive! Yes, that's it. Spirit reconnects with body. She wakes up.
Voice: I'm sure that at this point, others are complaining about the corniness and predictability of it all.
Weaver: Be quiet, you. Yes, it's predictable. Yes, it's corny. But do I care?
Fuck no!
But then she doesn't remember him. After all of that, SHE REMEMBERS NOTHING!!!
That alone is enough to send me back to tears. So sue me. I'm in an emotional mood.
He realizes this, and stumbles back in shock. Blinded by tears, I'm sure, he pushes past the security guards and run for his life.
Sorry about the over-dramatization of it all. But that made me so sad...
I get these emotional moods sometimes. I just crave a happily-ever-after story to make me happy, to let me drop the cynicality and sarcasm that make up a lot of my existence and dream about one day finding my own happily-ever-after.
Voice: Do you think that you'll find it?
MistWeaver: No.
Voice: Then why imagine it?
Weaver: Because imagining is what I do. Sometimes these kinds of imaginings depress me, make me long for what I can't have. But sometimes, I can almost taste it. Besides, there's always that tiny little cursed piece of hope that is present in all I do.
Voice: Would that tiny little cursed piece of hope perhaps be the reason that you imagine?
Weaver: Exactly. It's the reason that whenever I fall for someone, I fall hard and long. There's always the chance that they'll like me back, way after that hope should have died (or been squashed out). Like the guy I will almost admit to liking. He has a girlfriend, even. And hates me, kinda. Like, what the fuck? Who in their right mind would persist under those conditions? Never making a move because she's too fucking shy, always just talking and listening and wondering. Hoping. And that's not even to speak of the other one...
Hell, if it weren't for the fact that nobody reads this, I wouldn't be admitting this right now.
Voice: Everyone has their weaknesses and strengths. This is probably both for you. You're loyal. That's a rare and beautiful thing. Being too shy to ask anyone out... Maybe you'll grow out of it. Maybe one day it won't matter. I know that you think these things, and they are a part of that little kernel of hope. Just remember that que será, será. Whatever will be, will be.
There's a moment of thoughtful pause where the mist swirls around Weaver's feet and she comtemplates this, nodding absently.
Weaver: I think that I've just been a recipient of one of your rare moments of advice. Thank you.
A faint tugging pulls at Weaver's grey skirt. All of a sudden there is a lot more mist, and Weaver looks away into the distance towards the source.
Voice: I think that your dreams are calling you again.
MistWeaver nods and begins to walk away, fading bit by bit as she does.
Weaver: Good night.
Voice: What do you mean?
Weaver: I mean that I just saw a great movie with a great friend and may be going to Montreal at the end of the month, all because he's in suck-up mode.
Voice: I see you've softened somewhat towards him.
Weaver snorts.
Weaver: Softened, my ass. If he thinks he can buy my love, he's sorely mistaken. On the other hand, I think that every dollar spent is a little bit of retribution for everything he's taking away from my mother. But that's not what I came to talk about.
Voice: What did you come to talk about, then?
Weaver: I came to talk about the movie I saw. Just Like Heaven, with Reese Witherspoon.
Voice: Considering your earlier comment, I assume it was good.
Weaver: It was more than good. It was excellent. Amusing and supremely conductive to a case of the warm fuzzies. Even the dude from Napoleon Dynamite had a good role, much as I disliked that movie.
Voice: I'm guessing that you're going to expand on your review.
Weaver: Yes, I am. Now would probably be a good time to warn for...
SPOILERS!!!!!
Weaver: Just so that I can talk all that I want with a clean conscience.
You see, there are just some movies (and books) in this world tha tmake me feel good. Not just good, but great. They make you want to squeak and squeeze the book (or yourself, in the case of a movie tightly and wish you could share in the feelings. Usually this is when there's love involved, and it's believable, just for a second, that happily ever after does really happen.
Voice: Even when the said person is like you, and can predict the supposed 'plot twists' and surprises?
MistWeaver: Especially when the person is like me and can predict everything going to happen. It's like you know it's going to happen and that just makes it all the sweeter when it does. It feels like they try so hard to make things unpredictable, give things unhappy endings, that sometimes you can forget just how nice it is to see other people happy, in love.
In JLH, 'twasn't easy, the ending. Everything wasn't perfect. I predicted that he'd build the garden for her on the roof. I wasn't sure if she would remember him, or if they would have to start over as real people instead of the circumstances that were thrown at them.
I guess the story all comes back to balance. They were destined to meet, and that fate was interrupted. Thus, the world unbalanced itself and had to regain that balance in some way. That's why only he could see her, feel her. She wasn't dead, therefore she wasn't a ghost and semi-tangible to all. The little imbalance caused by her accident made her semi-tangible only to him, because until they righted things by meeting and falling in love, that little imbalance would remain and probably grow.
Voice: I believe I speak for many when I note the insensibility of that which you just said.
MistWeaver: That's okay. I understood it and that's all that really matters.
MistWeaver sighs.
Weaver: Some things just hit me hard in that movie though, as I'm sure they were supposed to. For instance, when she can't remember him after she wakes up. That broke my heart almost as badly as it broke his. I get all worked up just thinking about it. He went through so much to save her life, and after everything he did, all the research he did to bring back her memory, all the stuff they did for each other...
HE FREAKING FAILED!!!!!
Through a freaking accident, her breathing tube got freaking cut off and she freaking DIED!!!!!
And then...
MistWeaver sighs again, tiredly.
Voice: Needing sleep?
Weaver: I need to talk about this more. Where was I? Oh, yes. Screaming out in indignation and fury over the injustice of it all.
Anyway. He fails. She fades. He cries--well, I can't remember if he really does but I sure as hell did--and leans in to kiss her comatose lips. Holy shit! I think. Can't she feel what he does to her real body? Indeed she must, because as she fades from view, her eyes widen and her hands fly wonderingly up to her lips.
Who else was betting she was a virgin?
Fuck yeah, I was. No pun intended.
Now, this must be the final connection needed to set things straight, because she comes alive! Yes, that's it. Spirit reconnects with body. She wakes up.
Voice: I'm sure that at this point, others are complaining about the corniness and predictability of it all.
Weaver: Be quiet, you. Yes, it's predictable. Yes, it's corny. But do I care?
Fuck no!
But then she doesn't remember him. After all of that, SHE REMEMBERS NOTHING!!!
That alone is enough to send me back to tears. So sue me. I'm in an emotional mood.
He realizes this, and stumbles back in shock. Blinded by tears, I'm sure, he pushes past the security guards and run for his life.
Sorry about the over-dramatization of it all. But that made me so sad...
I get these emotional moods sometimes. I just crave a happily-ever-after story to make me happy, to let me drop the cynicality and sarcasm that make up a lot of my existence and dream about one day finding my own happily-ever-after.
Voice: Do you think that you'll find it?
MistWeaver: No.
Voice: Then why imagine it?
Weaver: Because imagining is what I do. Sometimes these kinds of imaginings depress me, make me long for what I can't have. But sometimes, I can almost taste it. Besides, there's always that tiny little cursed piece of hope that is present in all I do.
Voice: Would that tiny little cursed piece of hope perhaps be the reason that you imagine?
Weaver: Exactly. It's the reason that whenever I fall for someone, I fall hard and long. There's always the chance that they'll like me back, way after that hope should have died (or been squashed out). Like the guy I will almost admit to liking. He has a girlfriend, even. And hates me, kinda. Like, what the fuck? Who in their right mind would persist under those conditions? Never making a move because she's too fucking shy, always just talking and listening and wondering. Hoping. And that's not even to speak of the other one...
Hell, if it weren't for the fact that nobody reads this, I wouldn't be admitting this right now.
Voice: Everyone has their weaknesses and strengths. This is probably both for you. You're loyal. That's a rare and beautiful thing. Being too shy to ask anyone out... Maybe you'll grow out of it. Maybe one day it won't matter. I know that you think these things, and they are a part of that little kernel of hope. Just remember that que será, será. Whatever will be, will be.
There's a moment of thoughtful pause where the mist swirls around Weaver's feet and she comtemplates this, nodding absently.
Weaver: I think that I've just been a recipient of one of your rare moments of advice. Thank you.
A faint tugging pulls at Weaver's grey skirt. All of a sudden there is a lot more mist, and Weaver looks away into the distance towards the source.
Voice: I think that your dreams are calling you again.
MistWeaver nods and begins to walk away, fading bit by bit as she does.
Weaver: Good night.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Fil.
MistWeaver: Every time I appear here lately it's been mistier and mistier.
Voice: That's because lately you've been bringing your material world more and more into focus, and the mist is trying to reject it.
MistWeaver: That would explain a lot. Every time I've disappeared into here, I've nearly done exactly that: disappeared.
Voice: But for some reason, you're here now, successfully.
Weaver: I know why that is.
Voice: Why?
Weaver: It's because of him. Fil.
Voice: A new paramour?
Weaver: My father.
Voice: Oh.
Weaver: And to a lesser degree, my mother. Oh, how I love my mother. She's strong, and she's holding on tight. But she doesn't recognize the mist for what it is. She doesn't embrace it.
Voice: Many people don't recognize the mist. Why don't you tell me your story?
MistWeaver nods and sits down on the stone obelisk-chair that appears.
Weaver: I have only half an hour, but I'll tell as much as I can.
You see, my parents are getting Le Divorce. My mother, as I mentioned, is strong and beautiful and great. My father is only nice on the outside. He's a compulsive liar, remembers next to nothings, and lives in his own world. And his world is based on what's supposed to be. Who determines that? In his mind, society does.
He's been abusing my mother for years. Not physically, but emotionally and mentally. He never believes anything she says until it's been repeated for him by another source outside his family. He's had her second-guessing every move she amkes, everything she does, since I was born, or even before. Although he has no real friends, my mother had many of them, and because they would do anything for her and wouldn't let her put up with his crap, he moved her all the way across the country to a place where, three years later, she still has no support base.
He's a subtle man, a business man. Almost anybody who hasn't lived with him will say that he's a decent, good man. When he lies, he twists his words until it's my mother's fault, or anybody else's fault. He's suave, handsome.
But everything about him is so wrong!
My mother made him a labradorite pendant. Labradorite is a beautiful glowing stone that absorbs negativity.
It turned black on his neck.
The stone slowly turned blacker and blacker, lost its fire, and charred. Not from any heat but that of his body. Labradorite has a 6.5 hardness. This is no soft little stone.
What more proof is needed? He said it was the negative energy between him and my mother, but my mother has had a large labradorite pendant for years, and it still glows bright gold on her neck with its inner fire.
A few months back, they finally agreed to get a divorce. My mother wanted it to be the happiest divorce in history. She wanted to throw a divorce party. She didn't see why there had to be any hard feelings. They'd been married for 23 years, after all.
My father wants revenge. He wants to clear her out of everything she has, including my brother and I and all of her friends. A few weeks ago when she asked him to move out and threatened to put his stuff in the garage for him to pick up, he called the cops on her. He told them that she had threatened him with a knife and he feared for his life. When she heard of this and called him, he told her he'd make the charge go away as long as she agreed not to touch his stuff.
She hadn't been going to. My mother isn't vindictive. He filed charges anyway. The cops dismissed them. Apparently random accusations happen a lot with divorce cases.
MistWeaver sighs, and her seat charges from hard stone to cool mist, wrapping tendrils around her. A song by Hungry Lucy starts to play softly in the background.
MistWeaver: That's the background. But since my brother and I are old enough to have the choice of who to live with, he has to woo us over. Let's not forget the fact that a good father-child relationship is what all the self-help books and all of society say is needed!
In short, I'm not cooperating with his plan.
My time is almost up, so I'll try to wrap up my story.
His latest thing is emails. He's been emailing me, asking me what we can do to spend more time together, asking me to make a go at having a great relationship with me, telling me he loves me.
Voice: Sounds sincere.
Weaver: That's the problem. He always sounds sincere. He sounds sincere when he tells my mother that he's going to take her kids away from her. He sounds sincere when he tells people that my mother is crazy. He sounds so sincere that a great many of them believe him.
He doesn't make me angry. He makes my skin crawl.
As she speaks, the mist stirs, as if swirled round by a giant invisible hand.
MistWeaver stirs.
MistWeaver: I have to go now. School awaits. And another email awaits from him too, I'm sure. Thank God he's away until Thursday.
Voice: That's because lately you've been bringing your material world more and more into focus, and the mist is trying to reject it.
MistWeaver: That would explain a lot. Every time I've disappeared into here, I've nearly done exactly that: disappeared.
Voice: But for some reason, you're here now, successfully.
Weaver: I know why that is.
Voice: Why?
Weaver: It's because of him. Fil.
Voice: A new paramour?
Weaver: My father.
Voice: Oh.
Weaver: And to a lesser degree, my mother. Oh, how I love my mother. She's strong, and she's holding on tight. But she doesn't recognize the mist for what it is. She doesn't embrace it.
Voice: Many people don't recognize the mist. Why don't you tell me your story?
MistWeaver nods and sits down on the stone obelisk-chair that appears.
Weaver: I have only half an hour, but I'll tell as much as I can.
You see, my parents are getting Le Divorce. My mother, as I mentioned, is strong and beautiful and great. My father is only nice on the outside. He's a compulsive liar, remembers next to nothings, and lives in his own world. And his world is based on what's supposed to be. Who determines that? In his mind, society does.
He's been abusing my mother for years. Not physically, but emotionally and mentally. He never believes anything she says until it's been repeated for him by another source outside his family. He's had her second-guessing every move she amkes, everything she does, since I was born, or even before. Although he has no real friends, my mother had many of them, and because they would do anything for her and wouldn't let her put up with his crap, he moved her all the way across the country to a place where, three years later, she still has no support base.
He's a subtle man, a business man. Almost anybody who hasn't lived with him will say that he's a decent, good man. When he lies, he twists his words until it's my mother's fault, or anybody else's fault. He's suave, handsome.
But everything about him is so wrong!
My mother made him a labradorite pendant. Labradorite is a beautiful glowing stone that absorbs negativity.
It turned black on his neck.
The stone slowly turned blacker and blacker, lost its fire, and charred. Not from any heat but that of his body. Labradorite has a 6.5 hardness. This is no soft little stone.
What more proof is needed? He said it was the negative energy between him and my mother, but my mother has had a large labradorite pendant for years, and it still glows bright gold on her neck with its inner fire.
A few months back, they finally agreed to get a divorce. My mother wanted it to be the happiest divorce in history. She wanted to throw a divorce party. She didn't see why there had to be any hard feelings. They'd been married for 23 years, after all.
My father wants revenge. He wants to clear her out of everything she has, including my brother and I and all of her friends. A few weeks ago when she asked him to move out and threatened to put his stuff in the garage for him to pick up, he called the cops on her. He told them that she had threatened him with a knife and he feared for his life. When she heard of this and called him, he told her he'd make the charge go away as long as she agreed not to touch his stuff.
She hadn't been going to. My mother isn't vindictive. He filed charges anyway. The cops dismissed them. Apparently random accusations happen a lot with divorce cases.
MistWeaver sighs, and her seat charges from hard stone to cool mist, wrapping tendrils around her. A song by Hungry Lucy starts to play softly in the background.
MistWeaver: That's the background. But since my brother and I are old enough to have the choice of who to live with, he has to woo us over. Let's not forget the fact that a good father-child relationship is what all the self-help books and all of society say is needed!
In short, I'm not cooperating with his plan.
My time is almost up, so I'll try to wrap up my story.
His latest thing is emails. He's been emailing me, asking me what we can do to spend more time together, asking me to make a go at having a great relationship with me, telling me he loves me.
Voice: Sounds sincere.
Weaver: That's the problem. He always sounds sincere. He sounds sincere when he tells my mother that he's going to take her kids away from her. He sounds sincere when he tells people that my mother is crazy. He sounds so sincere that a great many of them believe him.
He doesn't make me angry. He makes my skin crawl.
As she speaks, the mist stirs, as if swirled round by a giant invisible hand.
MistWeaver stirs.
MistWeaver: I have to go now. School awaits. And another email awaits from him too, I'm sure. Thank God he's away until Thursday.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
The Hopeful Death of the Stupid Comments
Weaver: HA! Take that you stupid comment spammers! I enabled word-verification service. Thank you, Blogger help. That means that only real people can post from now on: you have to do the 'copy the word in the box' test now, which stops the automated services. I've never been so happy for that little word box. I'll never complain about it again. The mists are once again as pure as they ever get.
Voice: I see that you also deleted the comments from before. I feel much cleaner, thanks.
MistWeaver: You're welcome. The mists have too much spam already. And now, to leave them to go back to the real world. I'm hungry, and my father's in the kitchen, I think. He's lost in his own mists, and the voices that talk to him there aren't nearly so nice...
Voice: I see that you also deleted the comments from before. I feel much cleaner, thanks.
MistWeaver: You're welcome. The mists have too much spam already. And now, to leave them to go back to the real world. I'm hungry, and my father's in the kitchen, I think. He's lost in his own mists, and the voices that talk to him there aren't nearly so nice...
Stupid Comments Again
MistWeaver: Okay, I give up. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU STOP STUPID PEOPLE POSTING STUPID COMMENTS THAT ARE STUPID ADDS AND HOW THE FUCK DO YOU DELETE THEM?!?
Voice: Woah, calm down. I honestly don't know. ALthough I'd really appreciat it if you found out.
Weaver: Dammit. Calm down. Calmmm. Downnnn. Woooooo. Okay. I'm calm. I'll try to find out. Talk to you later.
The Mists slowly close around her, not quite enveloping her form as the anger dissipates anything that gets too close. Swirling faster and faster, the Weaver disappears.
Voice: Woah, calm down. I honestly don't know. ALthough I'd really appreciat it if you found out.
Weaver: Dammit. Calm down. Calmmm. Downnnn. Woooooo. Okay. I'm calm. I'll try to find out. Talk to you later.
The Mists slowly close around her, not quite enveloping her form as the anger dissipates anything that gets too close. Swirling faster and faster, the Weaver disappears.
Back to School and to the Dogs
MistWeaver: Aye yi yi. Can you believe there are only a few short days until school starts?
Voice in the Mist: Considering I've been to school... Yes.
Weaver: I've been going to school for many years now, and have decided somewhere along the line that back-to-school should be a fun time.
Voice: That makes sense. If you dread it all the time, all that you'll accomplish is making a necessary event miserable for yourself.
Weaver: Well... yeah. There's that. There's also the fact that back-to-school means school supplies, which means pens and pencils and notebooks and stationary!!!
Voice: I don't think I've ever heard anyone get so excited over school supplies.
Weaver: Is it really my fault that I love pens? And staples and post-its and notebooks and binders and other such things too, of course.
Voice: I suppose you blame it on the fact that you're a writer, don't you?
Weaver: I suppose you stole my line.
Voice: I was sick of you saying it.
Weaver: Actually, I blame it on Pamela. She's to blame for everything. A kind of universal scapegoat. But the fact that I"m a writer probably had something to do with, too. Ever since I can remember, Staples has been my favorite store. I just love the aisles of business supplies. I especially love black pens and purple pens, with as fine a tip as is possible to get. Perfect for my small writing.
Voice: Wow. You're actually scaring me slightly, and I'm mist. I don't scare easily.
Weaver: Wow. That's amazing. But for your sake I'll move on to different things. Like where I am now.
Voice: On a beach somewhere hiding from the beginning of school?
Weaver: I wish.
Voice: On your computer.
Weaver: Oh, my, god. However did you guess that?
Voice: And the fact that you're typing onto the internet had abosolutely nothing to do with my conclusion.
Weaver: You're stealing my lines again.
Voice: So sorry. So, where are you typing on your computer. That's the question.
Weaver: Well, I set up another hammock (that makes 4 of them) in a spot in the shade and have been finalizing edits on Broken Wings. I'm on page 83 of 161 and determined to finish before school starts.
Voice: So why aren't you doing that now?
Weaver: I've been working on it for quite a while now, and I'm taking a break to write other things, like my blog. Unfortunately, my nails are now so long that it's getting harder and harder to type quickly. I'm probably going to go file them down afterwards, just for simplicity's sake.
Voice: Why didn't you do that before?
Weaver: Probably because I adore having long nails, and mine are gorgeous. I haven't had my file, though and they haven't been taken as good care of as I might have done if I did. They're going to break soon, if I don't do something. Also, there's the dog to think of.
Voice: The dog? What has that got to do with anything?
Weaver: Yes, the dog. Whiskey, my absolutely gorgeous (and tiny) mini-daschund. She's lying on top of me, curled into my breasts and fast asleep. Whoops. So much for fast asleep: she just kinda woke up from some noise and is giving her cute little sleepy barks at something, but unwilling to actually move.
Voice: A small dog must have an annoying yip.
Weaver: Actually, she's got a bark deeper than a lot of big dogs. And she's using it on that annoying Murdoch from across the street. A slightly bigger foofy dog who likes to pee on Leroy's head. And Leroy, mature terrier that he is, turns around and pees on Murdoch's head right back.
Voice: I believe I speak for many voices all over the palce when I say 'ew'.
Weaver: Oh, well. Nothing to be done about it. Murdoch just wandered off again.
Voice: Is that the same dog that pees on your newspapers?
Weaver: One and the same. And on that lovely note, I'll be back later. I must... take care... of a little problem.
Voice: Just remember that killing dogs is bad karma.
Voice: MistWeaver?
Voice in the Mist: Considering I've been to school... Yes.
Weaver: I've been going to school for many years now, and have decided somewhere along the line that back-to-school should be a fun time.
Voice: That makes sense. If you dread it all the time, all that you'll accomplish is making a necessary event miserable for yourself.
Weaver: Well... yeah. There's that. There's also the fact that back-to-school means school supplies, which means pens and pencils and notebooks and stationary!!!
Voice: I don't think I've ever heard anyone get so excited over school supplies.
Weaver: Is it really my fault that I love pens? And staples and post-its and notebooks and binders and other such things too, of course.
Voice: I suppose you blame it on the fact that you're a writer, don't you?
Weaver: I suppose you stole my line.
Voice: I was sick of you saying it.
Weaver: Actually, I blame it on Pamela. She's to blame for everything. A kind of universal scapegoat. But the fact that I"m a writer probably had something to do with, too. Ever since I can remember, Staples has been my favorite store. I just love the aisles of business supplies. I especially love black pens and purple pens, with as fine a tip as is possible to get. Perfect for my small writing.
Voice: Wow. You're actually scaring me slightly, and I'm mist. I don't scare easily.
Weaver: Wow. That's amazing. But for your sake I'll move on to different things. Like where I am now.
Voice: On a beach somewhere hiding from the beginning of school?
Weaver: I wish.
Voice: On your computer.
Weaver: Oh, my, god. However did you guess that?
Voice: And the fact that you're typing onto the internet had abosolutely nothing to do with my conclusion.
Weaver: You're stealing my lines again.
Voice: So sorry. So, where are you typing on your computer. That's the question.
Weaver: Well, I set up another hammock (that makes 4 of them) in a spot in the shade and have been finalizing edits on Broken Wings. I'm on page 83 of 161 and determined to finish before school starts.
Voice: So why aren't you doing that now?
Weaver: I've been working on it for quite a while now, and I'm taking a break to write other things, like my blog. Unfortunately, my nails are now so long that it's getting harder and harder to type quickly. I'm probably going to go file them down afterwards, just for simplicity's sake.
Voice: Why didn't you do that before?
Weaver: Probably because I adore having long nails, and mine are gorgeous. I haven't had my file, though and they haven't been taken as good care of as I might have done if I did. They're going to break soon, if I don't do something. Also, there's the dog to think of.
Voice: The dog? What has that got to do with anything?
Weaver: Yes, the dog. Whiskey, my absolutely gorgeous (and tiny) mini-daschund. She's lying on top of me, curled into my breasts and fast asleep. Whoops. So much for fast asleep: she just kinda woke up from some noise and is giving her cute little sleepy barks at something, but unwilling to actually move.
Voice: A small dog must have an annoying yip.
Weaver: Actually, she's got a bark deeper than a lot of big dogs. And she's using it on that annoying Murdoch from across the street. A slightly bigger foofy dog who likes to pee on Leroy's head. And Leroy, mature terrier that he is, turns around and pees on Murdoch's head right back.
Voice: I believe I speak for many voices all over the palce when I say 'ew'.
Weaver: Oh, well. Nothing to be done about it. Murdoch just wandered off again.
Voice: Is that the same dog that pees on your newspapers?
Weaver: One and the same. And on that lovely note, I'll be back later. I must... take care... of a little problem.
Voice: Just remember that killing dogs is bad karma.
Voice: MistWeaver?
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Irritation and Fun and Tiredness
MistWeaver: Man, am I exhausted.
Voice In The Mist: Why's that?
Weaver: I volunteered at the Calgary International Reggae Festival from about 10 AM this morning to 8 30 PM. Was forced to stay until 11. Didn't get home until 12. It is now 12:19, and I'm exhausted. I hate waking up early.
Voice: Indeed. So, was it worth it?
Weaver: Fuck yeah! I had a fine time. A boring time, most of the time, but a fine time.
Voice: Why boring?
Weaver: Since I was the youngest person selling tickets (and the latest, thanks to Fil), I got the fun job of putting bracelet wristband things on people so that they can go in and out. How fun! Not. The most irritating and boring job ever. I like working a till. It's fun. I don't like ripping backs off of bracelets and putting them on people. At least later I did security: put on sunglasses, look menacing, and occasionally chase someone away from area I'm guarding. Still. It's still monotonous and grunt work.
Voice: You do grunt work for Brian.
Weaver: He pays me. And his work is not monotonous and boring. It requires skin.
Voice: Skin?
Weaver: Er... Skill.
Voice: I hope that's what you meant. So what's the 'fun' part?
Weaver: Well, you know how I couldn't write because there was no computer with which to do it?
Voice: Yes...
Weaver: And you know how I really needed a laptop to write on?
Voice: Yes...
Weaver: Wellmamaagreesandshegotmeandkaiandherselfalllaptops.
Voice: What?
Weaver: I have a laptop now. An Acer TravelMate. Gorgeous. Silver, named Lurreal.
Voice: Wow. Congrats.
Weaver: Yes. I just had to share my joy with you. Oh, and there's another thing I'd like to share joy on.
Voice: Let me guess. You finished your book now that you have Lurreal and it's been puclished and is on the New York Times bestseller list.
Weaver: No. I wish. But my book has sold its first international copy, before it's even been finished!
Voice: Wow. That's big. Where? America?
Weaver: We're in America. North America. But no, not the USA. Egypt, of all places. My friend Mindi, who used to live there, sent a copy to Egypt, I'm assuming. And I hope that Donna, who posted a comment on mistynano2004.blogspot.com this morning, doesn't mind the sharing of the joy, because here's the email:
Aya,
Right now in Egypt there is a girl holding in her hands a copy of your book 'Broken Wings'. That girl is me.
Mindi Thurmon sent it to me. She told me you wrote this and along with it told me she thought it was amzing the way you followed your dreams and managed to write a book when so many other kids start, but never finish, or dream to, but dont even start.
Now all I can say is that I agree with her, because it really is amazing. And its inspiring. You are such a talented writer, dont ever stop writing. But I dont even need to say that, because what i know of you has showed me you seem like a person who will never give up on something she loves.
When I read 'about the author' and read your motto, it helped me to realize what makes my life beautiful. Its Mindi. And you know why? Because she is my life, and she is nothing less than beautiful. Now that she is coming home, I wont ever take that for granted.
donna
~*~
Voice: Wow. And that copy of the book wasn't even finished?
Weaver: Yup. I wish my blog didn't have an anonymity-ifier on the comments. I'd email her back and thank her, ask her for her address so that I could send her a copy when I'm finished. She really made my week with that email. Donna, if you read this, thanks! Also, if you don't feel comfortable with me posting your email, tell me and I'll take it off.
Voice: Thoughtful of you.
Weaver: Well, it's her email. And I agree: Mindi truly is a beautiful person. I hope for my own selfish sake that she isn't moving back to Egypt as Donna implied, because I'd miss her tons. Unfortunately, I haven't talked to Mindi since around the end of the school year, at my birthday party.
Voice: One day, you'll have to tell me more about this famous birthday party of yours.
Weaver: I will. However, it won't be tonight. I'm pooped. It's almost one, and I need to dig out my contacts from my eyes and sleep for several days. Too bad I have no sense of time. I may sleep for only an hour instead and not know.
Voice: You'd know all right. You'd still be unbelievably exhausted and you'd snap at anyone nearby.
Weaver: True. But I'll try my luck. G'night.
Voice: Good night. I hope you're here to stay this time. It's good to have you back.
Voice In The Mist: Why's that?
Weaver: I volunteered at the Calgary International Reggae Festival from about 10 AM this morning to 8 30 PM. Was forced to stay until 11. Didn't get home until 12. It is now 12:19, and I'm exhausted. I hate waking up early.
Voice: Indeed. So, was it worth it?
Weaver: Fuck yeah! I had a fine time. A boring time, most of the time, but a fine time.
Voice: Why boring?
Weaver: Since I was the youngest person selling tickets (and the latest, thanks to Fil), I got the fun job of putting bracelet wristband things on people so that they can go in and out. How fun! Not. The most irritating and boring job ever. I like working a till. It's fun. I don't like ripping backs off of bracelets and putting them on people. At least later I did security: put on sunglasses, look menacing, and occasionally chase someone away from area I'm guarding. Still. It's still monotonous and grunt work.
Voice: You do grunt work for Brian.
Weaver: He pays me. And his work is not monotonous and boring. It requires skin.
Voice: Skin?
Weaver: Er... Skill.
Voice: I hope that's what you meant. So what's the 'fun' part?
Weaver: Well, you know how I couldn't write because there was no computer with which to do it?
Voice: Yes...
Weaver: And you know how I really needed a laptop to write on?
Voice: Yes...
Weaver: Wellmamaagreesandshegotmeandkaiandherselfalllaptops.
Voice: What?
Weaver: I have a laptop now. An Acer TravelMate. Gorgeous. Silver, named Lurreal.
Voice: Wow. Congrats.
Weaver: Yes. I just had to share my joy with you. Oh, and there's another thing I'd like to share joy on.
Voice: Let me guess. You finished your book now that you have Lurreal and it's been puclished and is on the New York Times bestseller list.
Weaver: No. I wish. But my book has sold its first international copy, before it's even been finished!
Voice: Wow. That's big. Where? America?
Weaver: We're in America. North America. But no, not the USA. Egypt, of all places. My friend Mindi, who used to live there, sent a copy to Egypt, I'm assuming. And I hope that Donna, who posted a comment on mistynano2004.blogspot.com this morning, doesn't mind the sharing of the joy, because here's the email:
Aya,
Right now in Egypt there is a girl holding in her hands a copy of your book 'Broken Wings'. That girl is me.
Mindi Thurmon sent it to me. She told me you wrote this and along with it told me she thought it was amzing the way you followed your dreams and managed to write a book when so many other kids start, but never finish, or dream to, but dont even start.
Now all I can say is that I agree with her, because it really is amazing. And its inspiring. You are such a talented writer, dont ever stop writing. But I dont even need to say that, because what i know of you has showed me you seem like a person who will never give up on something she loves.
When I read 'about the author' and read your motto, it helped me to realize what makes my life beautiful. Its Mindi. And you know why? Because she is my life, and she is nothing less than beautiful. Now that she is coming home, I wont ever take that for granted.
donna
~*~
Voice: Wow. And that copy of the book wasn't even finished?
Weaver: Yup. I wish my blog didn't have an anonymity-ifier on the comments. I'd email her back and thank her, ask her for her address so that I could send her a copy when I'm finished. She really made my week with that email. Donna, if you read this, thanks! Also, if you don't feel comfortable with me posting your email, tell me and I'll take it off.
Voice: Thoughtful of you.
Weaver: Well, it's her email. And I agree: Mindi truly is a beautiful person. I hope for my own selfish sake that she isn't moving back to Egypt as Donna implied, because I'd miss her tons. Unfortunately, I haven't talked to Mindi since around the end of the school year, at my birthday party.
Voice: One day, you'll have to tell me more about this famous birthday party of yours.
Weaver: I will. However, it won't be tonight. I'm pooped. It's almost one, and I need to dig out my contacts from my eyes and sleep for several days. Too bad I have no sense of time. I may sleep for only an hour instead and not know.
Voice: You'd know all right. You'd still be unbelievably exhausted and you'd snap at anyone nearby.
Weaver: True. But I'll try my luck. G'night.
Voice: Good night. I hope you're here to stay this time. It's good to have you back.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Stupid Comments
Voice In The Mist: Now, it's one thing for you to ignore me. It's another thing to allow random users to post spam in my personal space. And it's been there for almost a day so far! Why haven't you removed it?
MistWeaver: To be honest, I don't know how. I swear to you, the exact moment I saw what had been so rudely put up, I tried. But for some reason, the power to edit and delete comments is not easily available to me. I'll look it up sometime soon when it's not one o'clock in the morning and I'm not extremely tired.
Voice: *sigh* I guess I'll have to settle for that. Good night, then.
Weaver: Good night.
Oh, and I haven't forgotten you. I think of you all the time.
MistWeaver leaves at this point. But in so doing, she misses the soft swirling of the darkened mists and the faint outline of a smile that appears in the gloom.
MistWeaver: To be honest, I don't know how. I swear to you, the exact moment I saw what had been so rudely put up, I tried. But for some reason, the power to edit and delete comments is not easily available to me. I'll look it up sometime soon when it's not one o'clock in the morning and I'm not extremely tired.
Voice: *sigh* I guess I'll have to settle for that. Good night, then.
Weaver: Good night.
Oh, and I haven't forgotten you. I think of you all the time.
MistWeaver leaves at this point. But in so doing, she misses the soft swirling of the darkened mists and the faint outline of a smile that appears in the gloom.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Hello, Hello
MistWeaver: I have absolutely no idea if there are any left who hasn't given up on me and stopped reading my conversations, but there's nothing I can really claim in my defense except that I haven't had access to a computer in a while, and didn't have a compatible internet browser for a while before that.
Voice In The Mist: What about all the unfinished posts? Those get irritating, too.
Weaver: I just never get the oppurtunity to come back on and finish them, that's all. I'll try to finish one or two that were left unfinished eventually. Once I have a working computer I can use regularly.
Voice: Okay, I'll bite. Why haven't you had access to a computer in a while?
Weaver: I've been at camp.
Voice: What kind of camp?
Weaver: Summer camp.
Voice: Well, obviously. It's summer. What kind of summer camp?
Weaver: It's called "Teen Video Intensive". It's a... Dun dun dun! Teen Video Intensive course at Red Deer College in Red Deer, Alberta.
Voice: Whoop dee doo.
Weaver: Hey, don't you go dissing TVI! I hate summer camp, but this one was so funky I stayed an extra week.
Voice: Wow. That's pretty serious, especially for you, Ms. "I Will Die Before Ever Going Back To A Camp In My Life". What made it so funky?
Weaver: For one thing, nearly everyone was over 16. I know it may be hypocritical, but younger people bug me. For another, we stayed in the dorms on campus. It was very... intensive.
Voice: If I were a vulgar human of your age range, I'd probably respond "Oh my Gawwwd! What was his naaaame? Did you sleep with him? OHMIGAWD YOU DID!!! YOU HO!!!"
*lengthy pause*
I can see your eyes widening as you struggle not to laugh.
Weaver: That was... unexpected. And in response to your lapse into vulgarity: there was no "him", I slept with nobody, and I am not a whore.
Voice: I know that, of course. However, the way you put that statement implied there was a man involved.
Weaver: To tell the truth, most of my friends there were guys. They were all superfunkydoodlicious, and it feels really weird being back home and not having any of the people I met around to joke with. Living two solid weeks with someone is no joke.
Voice: So tell me about some of these friends you made.
Weaver: There was... let's see... Oh bah. I hate to do this again...
Voice: You're leaving again, aren't you.
For the sake of not being killed by anyone who has ever read this blog, MistWeaver has refrained from answering the question.
MistWeaver
Voice In The Mist: What about all the unfinished posts? Those get irritating, too.
Weaver: I just never get the oppurtunity to come back on and finish them, that's all. I'll try to finish one or two that were left unfinished eventually. Once I have a working computer I can use regularly.
Voice: Okay, I'll bite. Why haven't you had access to a computer in a while?
Weaver: I've been at camp.
Voice: What kind of camp?
Weaver: Summer camp.
Voice: Well, obviously. It's summer. What kind of summer camp?
Weaver: It's called "Teen Video Intensive". It's a... Dun dun dun! Teen Video Intensive course at Red Deer College in Red Deer, Alberta.
Voice: Whoop dee doo.
Weaver: Hey, don't you go dissing TVI! I hate summer camp, but this one was so funky I stayed an extra week.
Voice: Wow. That's pretty serious, especially for you, Ms. "I Will Die Before Ever Going Back To A Camp In My Life". What made it so funky?
Weaver: For one thing, nearly everyone was over 16. I know it may be hypocritical, but younger people bug me. For another, we stayed in the dorms on campus. It was very... intensive.
Voice: If I were a vulgar human of your age range, I'd probably respond "Oh my Gawwwd! What was his naaaame? Did you sleep with him? OHMIGAWD YOU DID!!! YOU HO!!!"
*lengthy pause*
I can see your eyes widening as you struggle not to laugh.
Weaver: That was... unexpected. And in response to your lapse into vulgarity: there was no "him", I slept with nobody, and I am not a whore.
Voice: I know that, of course. However, the way you put that statement implied there was a man involved.
Weaver: To tell the truth, most of my friends there were guys. They were all superfunkydoodlicious, and it feels really weird being back home and not having any of the people I met around to joke with. Living two solid weeks with someone is no joke.
Voice: So tell me about some of these friends you made.
Weaver: There was... let's see... Oh bah. I hate to do this again...
Voice: You're leaving again, aren't you.
For the sake of not being killed by anyone who has ever read this blog, MistWeaver has refrained from answering the question.
MistWeaver
Sunday, July 17, 2005
I love you, Will.
Obviously this can't go on the front page, so here it is with the Lost Entry. Will's response to it. I love you, Will. I really do.
And then he randomly changed topics to his favourite topic... that is, himself.
Lah.
| (3:46 AM) Eeore--: | -faints- |
|---|---|
| (3:46 AM) -->((Sayata))<--: | Mm? |
| (3:46 AM) Eeore--: | And I *so* read that french entry. |
| (3:46 AM) Eeore--: | Wuss. |
| (3:46 AM) -->((Sayata))<--: | Bahaha |
| (3:46 AM) -->((Sayata))<--: | I knew you'd read it before I hid it |
| (3:47 AM) -->((Sayata))<--: | Or did you search? |
| (3:47 AM) Eeore--: | I was probably the only one who read that friggin' crap. |
| (3:47 AM) Eeore--: | French is hideooussssss. |
| (3:47 AM) -->((Sayata))<--: | Yeah I bet |
| (3:47 AM) -->((Sayata))<--: | And it was fun |
| (3:47 AM) -->((Sayata))<--: | Translating, I mean |
| (3:47 AM) Eeore--: | What's your problem with Dave? |
| (3:47 AM) -->((Sayata))<--: | What do you mean? |
| (3:47 AM) Eeore--: | Like, are you stupid? |
| (3:48 AM) Eeore--: | You're the one who told me getting your hopes up can only lead to tragedy. |
| (3:48 AM) Eeore--: | And you are clearly getting your hopes up. |
| (3:48 AM) Eeore--: | The dude likes bubblegum bimbos. |
| (3:49 AM) Eeore--: | Are you a bubblegum bimbo? |
| (3:49 AM) Eeore--: | No. |
| (3:49 AM) Eeore--: | Quit it before I rip my hair out. |
| (3:49 AM) -->((Sayata))<--: | Dude the chick he likes now most definitely is not a bubblegum bimbo |
| (3:49 AM) -->((Sayata))<--: | Although I really like that term |
| (3:49 AM) Eeore--: | Nyaaa~ |
| (3:49 AM) Eeore--: | Well, you still have hopes. |
| (3:49 AM) | -->((Sayata))<-- Love is not a victory march. It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah... has changed his/her personal message to "Death to the Bubblegum Bimbos!" |
| (3:50 AM) Eeore--: | That he might just turn around and truly see what's been there all alonggggg. -sways- |
| (3:50 AM) -->((Sayata))<--: | Yeah well there's always that stupidstupid eternal hope |
| (3:50 AM) Eeore--: | -slap- |
And then he randomly changed topics to his favourite topic... that is, himself.
Lah.
The Lost Entry.
Okay. I want to post this... but I don't want everyone to read it. So I'm burying it in the archives. Hopefully this way, the only people who will see it are those dedicated enough to comb back through every entry I've ever posted.
But, because my conscience demands it, I'm going to sacrifice the joyful timelessness of my life and find/record the real date... which is, this day (Sunday, July 17th), but one year later.... Meaning 2006, not 2005.
Ughhh. I suppose this won't come as a surprise to most of the people close to me right now (like Becca and Mama)... but I'm falling for Davo. Er... a bit more than that, even. I think it's pretty safe to say that I already tripped and hit my head on this one.
I suppose the time when I got thumped with this knowledge was... Friday? I dunno the day. But before/around when we went to Stampede. We were talking, and I was teasing him about the twit (as usual) and he was telling me about how he was finally 100% over her. But that wasn't all he said. He said that it was partly because he liked someone else. Someone he told me to trust him was far from a twit. Someone he'd known a year and a half at least and that had been there for him all along.
Oh, here's the Chat Log.
Damned if my heart didn't do a backflip and light up in hope.
And damned if it didn't curl up into a ball and shrivel when he continued to describe someone else.
But... ugh. Just... ugh. I swear, my heart was leaning forward going "Yes? Yesssss?", and meanwhile my mind was going "FUCK! There's no way you can fool yourself now! Look what your heart is doing!". And in that one instant, I wanted to murder that girl, even though I didn't know her.
Plus he fought with his best friend over her, and while they were fighting she went out and started dating someone else. I'd have to say "GOOD FOR HER!" on that one, but still. A chick he fought his bro for? Can we say, OFF-LIMITS?!? And doubly so because she's TAKEN!! I don't care if she says she still has feelings for him. If she REALLY had feelings with him, she'd break up with her boytoy and date him, damnit.
Although she DOES seem like a nice girl, I guess. I haven't met her. And anyone's fucking better than Jolyn, I suppose...
Actually, I really want to believe she's as amazing as he says. If I have to listen to him talk about him and some other random chick, let her at least be an amazing one who won't tear his heart in half.
It would be easier to just hate her.
This really bloody sucks though. I mean, it seems like all of his friends who are girls have had crushes on him at some point or another. I don't want to be one of the hordes. And he obviously sees me as a good non-romantic friend, because I get to hear about all of his love-life, and feelings (even ze purely physical ones) for girls. And I love that honesty. I really do. I don't know whether he's that way with only me or whether that's just the way he is, but I like hearing the whole story, not just what's appropriate.
But it still kinda hurts to hear him talk about every other girl on the fucking earth like that. It makes me feel kinda... well... boyish, I guess. Butch. Good enough to be a great friend, but someone who would obviously never be a love interest. I mean, he's having a bunch of girls over to make out this week. Yeah, yeah... it's Juniour High shit, but whatever. Fuck, I'd still love to be in on it! But no... I got to hear about how excited he is and how there's one chick gonna be there that he's really hot for (although that's as far as it goes).
It's just so many little things that I like... I like the short bursts that he talks in (although I'm starting to talk like that too after hanging with him... grrr), the way he smiles, the way he wanders randomly around his house... even his spiky hair and the weird way he hugs. Maybe I'm like him and just need somebody to obsess over. But hey, he could obsess over me any time he wants...
And then there's Tristan, although I think I've known for a while that it's well and truly over, if only because he's so straight. I know that he doesn't mind that I'm not... but I'd like to be able to chill and light one up with someone I love, or even be able to fucking have sex without knowing that he's freaked out over the possibility of me getting pregnant. I know that he accepts me for who I am... but I also know that he's not completely comfortable with it.
And yeah... I still want what I've always wanted... not just someone who likes me but someone who's completely gaga over me. And neither the SK or I was/is completely gaga over the other. I mean, come on. He's been gone three weeks and we've exchanged like two or three impersonal emails. Joy...
I think I just need a best friend again. Not that my friends aren't great, but there's nobody I'm super close to. That's my equal, and that I can talk to about absolutely anything at anytime. Learn from, and have them learn from me. No judgment.
Man, I miss Inga sometimes. But hey, I'll still be here when the smoke clears for her, to (embarassingly) quote Avril Lavigne. Her life is just too busy for me right now, especially since we live so far away.
And that, my dears, is a big part of my troubles. It'd be so much easier if I could see the people I love every day. Freedom. Freedom to wander and stay wherever and to live and love as I choose, with the barriers between that being mental and emotional and spiritual without the physical thrown in to make it THAT much harder.
He just told me that he's not sure that he likes Meghann as more than a friend! *grins manically*
I'm taking this news quite chilled-like.
I shouldn't be so happy.
This whole frigging issue has disappated my whole love of myself thing. I keep thinking that he's so lean and I'm so... voluptuous. All the cicas he's friends with seem to be tiny lil' things. Not super smart. Perky-like... and all interexchangeable. 'Cept Becca and me. Hence why I was surprised when we made it into his shout-outs. We're the kinda friends that (and no offense to my friends who do this) you use when you need us, then drop us into the background when you don't. Maybe we have serious conversations at night, but you don't always eat with us.
That's probably another reason I'm feeling so lonely. I mean, Blair always says she misses me, but it's not me who she's reminiscing about and putting pics of with her on her Nex page. Dallis might call or stop by, but his every second question is about the story he wanted me to read and comment on, or the orgy that I stupidly mentioned to him. Not that I'm even really interested in that anymore because it's just too planned.
I swear, with every sentence my heart just sinks lower and lower. If he's not sure about his feelings for HER, what are the chances he ever likes ME? She seems like frigging superwoman and much more the type he seems to like than me. Ughhhhhhh.
EXACTLY!!! That's what I mean about me an' Tristan. We're just not on the same level. Maybe another time, when we're riding the same wavelength, but not now. Although I know that we'll never be on the same level like that, unfortunately. But we'll always be great friends, hopefully.
I think that's where Meghann and Davo are at, too. Or perhaps I'm just being hopeful... I kinda think I would be a good balance of that... I'm not a twit but I'm still interested in le craziness.
But maybe it's the twitness and not the similarity that attracts him.
Man, I need to stop obsessing. Especially over fucking guys. Especially over fucking guys who don't even realize I exist. Or worse, see me as 'one of le dudes'.
Hm... maybe if I had a sex slave to satisfy my baser urges, I wouldn't feel the need to circle like a vulture over Davo.
Note to self, add "Find Sex Slave" to my to-do list.
You know who I also miss? Kurt. We seem to drift together and apart over the years. He's another one that I'll still be around for when the smoke clears, although in his case the drug of choice is testoterone. And lust.
Hm. He'd make a good sex slave, if he didn't live in Vancouver.
Okay, obviously this whole entry is going downhill fast.
I'm going to go curl up, I guess.
Lah.
But, because my conscience demands it, I'm going to sacrifice the joyful timelessness of my life and find/record the real date... which is, this day (Sunday, July 17th), but one year later.... Meaning 2006, not 2005.
Ughhh. I suppose this won't come as a surprise to most of the people close to me right now (like Becca and Mama)... but I'm falling for Davo. Er... a bit more than that, even. I think it's pretty safe to say that I already tripped and hit my head on this one.
I suppose the time when I got thumped with this knowledge was... Friday? I dunno the day. But before/around when we went to Stampede. We were talking, and I was teasing him about the twit (as usual) and he was telling me about how he was finally 100% over her. But that wasn't all he said. He said that it was partly because he liked someone else. Someone he told me to trust him was far from a twit. Someone he'd known a year and a half at least and that had been there for him all along.
Oh, here's the Chat Log.
| (1:32 PM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | there's a different girl i like..quite a bit too |
|---|---|
| (1:32 PM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | and shes nothing near a twit |
| (1:32 PM) Sayata - Come aw: | *shakes head* |
| (1:32 PM) Sayata - Come aw: | I'll believe it when I see it |
| (1:32 PM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | trust me on this one |
| (1:32 PM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | ive known her for a year and a half, and we've been tight the whole way through |
Damned if my heart didn't do a backflip and light up in hope.
| (1:33 PM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | and we would be dating right now probly, if matt hadnt interfered not so long ago |
|---|
And damned if it didn't curl up into a ball and shrivel when he continued to describe someone else.
But... ugh. Just... ugh. I swear, my heart was leaning forward going "Yes? Yesssss?", and meanwhile my mind was going "FUCK! There's no way you can fool yourself now! Look what your heart is doing!". And in that one instant, I wanted to murder that girl, even though I didn't know her.
Plus he fought with his best friend over her, and while they were fighting she went out and started dating someone else. I'd have to say "GOOD FOR HER!" on that one, but still. A chick he fought his bro for? Can we say, OFF-LIMITS?!? And doubly so because she's TAKEN!! I don't care if she says she still has feelings for him. If she REALLY had feelings with him, she'd break up with her boytoy and date him, damnit.
Although she DOES seem like a nice girl, I guess. I haven't met her. And anyone's fucking better than Jolyn, I suppose...
Actually, I really want to believe she's as amazing as he says. If I have to listen to him talk about him and some other random chick, let her at least be an amazing one who won't tear his heart in half.
It would be easier to just hate her.
This really bloody sucks though. I mean, it seems like all of his friends who are girls have had crushes on him at some point or another. I don't want to be one of the hordes. And he obviously sees me as a good non-romantic friend, because I get to hear about all of his love-life, and feelings (even ze purely physical ones) for girls. And I love that honesty. I really do. I don't know whether he's that way with only me or whether that's just the way he is, but I like hearing the whole story, not just what's appropriate.
But it still kinda hurts to hear him talk about every other girl on the fucking earth like that. It makes me feel kinda... well... boyish, I guess. Butch. Good enough to be a great friend, but someone who would obviously never be a love interest. I mean, he's having a bunch of girls over to make out this week. Yeah, yeah... it's Juniour High shit, but whatever. Fuck, I'd still love to be in on it! But no... I got to hear about how excited he is and how there's one chick gonna be there that he's really hot for (although that's as far as it goes).
It's just so many little things that I like... I like the short bursts that he talks in (although I'm starting to talk like that too after hanging with him... grrr), the way he smiles, the way he wanders randomly around his house... even his spiky hair and the weird way he hugs. Maybe I'm like him and just need somebody to obsess over. But hey, he could obsess over me any time he wants...
And then there's Tristan, although I think I've known for a while that it's well and truly over, if only because he's so straight. I know that he doesn't mind that I'm not... but I'd like to be able to chill and light one up with someone I love, or even be able to fucking have sex without knowing that he's freaked out over the possibility of me getting pregnant. I know that he accepts me for who I am... but I also know that he's not completely comfortable with it.
And yeah... I still want what I've always wanted... not just someone who likes me but someone who's completely gaga over me. And neither the SK or I was/is completely gaga over the other. I mean, come on. He's been gone three weeks and we've exchanged like two or three impersonal emails. Joy...
I think I just need a best friend again. Not that my friends aren't great, but there's nobody I'm super close to. That's my equal, and that I can talk to about absolutely anything at anytime. Learn from, and have them learn from me. No judgment.
Man, I miss Inga sometimes. But hey, I'll still be here when the smoke clears for her, to (embarassingly) quote Avril Lavigne. Her life is just too busy for me right now, especially since we live so far away.
And that, my dears, is a big part of my troubles. It'd be so much easier if I could see the people I love every day. Freedom. Freedom to wander and stay wherever and to live and love as I choose, with the barriers between that being mental and emotional and spiritual without the physical thrown in to make it THAT much harder.
He just told me that he's not sure that he likes Meghann as more than a friend! *grins manically*
I'm taking this news quite chilled-like.
I shouldn't be so happy.
This whole frigging issue has disappated my whole love of myself thing. I keep thinking that he's so lean and I'm so... voluptuous. All the cicas he's friends with seem to be tiny lil' things. Not super smart. Perky-like... and all interexchangeable. 'Cept Becca and me. Hence why I was surprised when we made it into his shout-outs. We're the kinda friends that (and no offense to my friends who do this) you use when you need us, then drop us into the background when you don't. Maybe we have serious conversations at night, but you don't always eat with us.
That's probably another reason I'm feeling so lonely. I mean, Blair always says she misses me, but it's not me who she's reminiscing about and putting pics of with her on her Nex page. Dallis might call or stop by, but his every second question is about the story he wanted me to read and comment on, or the orgy that I stupidly mentioned to him. Not that I'm even really interested in that anymore because it's just too planned.
| (3:44 AM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | she's not exactly the twit type i guess, meaning likes everything i like, and wants to party hard and go nuts and be stupid. she's different from me in some ways, but she is without a doubt gorgeous and like i said..probly one of the best friends i could ever have. |
|---|---|
| (3:45 AM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | i guess all of it just doesnt come in one package. its one or the other, and the twit way, just isnt working for me. |
| (3:45 AM) Ugh. I give up!: | Hm but all of that is head stuff |
| (3:46 AM) Ugh. I give up!: | What's your heart sayin'? |
| (3:46 AM) Ugh. I give up!: | Does your heart flip whenever someone mentions her? |
| (3:46 AM) Ugh. I give up!: | Are you always thinking of her? |
| (3:47 AM) Ugh. I give up!: | When you see something you love, is your first thought of showing it to her? |
| (3:48 AM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | i was thinking about her all tonight |
| (3:49 AM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | but she's not as... infatuating as the twit kind of girl |
| (3:50 AM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | but then again twits are ones that will never stick with you. she will. i want to be as crazed about her as i did jolyn and nikki..and morgan.. ugh |
| (3:50 AM) Ugh. I give up!: | Hm |
| (3:51 AM) Ugh. I give up!: | Well you have nothing to lose by going out with her I guess |
| (3:51 AM) Ugh. I give up!: | I mean, you seem like good enugh friends that your friendship could survive if it went downhill |
| (3:54 AM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | my hope is that she'll become as mind absorbing as anyone that i liked before her, once we start to get into being more than friends. i havent hung out with her that much, anyways. maybe more would open up some full and real feelings, maybe it'll come after we try and take a chance on it.. but yeah, no we would always stay close even if a relationship failed, im pretty sure at least.. |
| (3:54 AM) Ugh. I give up!: | Well there you go then... |
| (3:55 AM) Ugh. I give up!: | At least you'd know for sure |
| (3:55 AM) Ugh. I give up!: | And there are some people that you think are awesome but just aren't attracted to |
| (3:57 AM) | DaVo_.- . [[466-1107]] .>Fuck Authority<. ... I need you now, please hurry up and find me..wherever you are.. ...great night. has changed his/her personal message to "i want to be crazed about You.. but how is it that its not like that:(" |
| (3:57 AM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | but i am attracted to her. |
I swear, with every sentence my heart just sinks lower and lower. If he's not sure about his feelings for HER, what are the chances he ever likes ME? She seems like frigging superwoman and much more the type he seems to like than me. Ughhhhhhh.
| (3:58 AM) DaVo_.- . [[466-: | just.. the things in common thing, its a big deal to me usually. and she's more laid back and easy going and im more hardcore and wanting some crazyness. soemtimes you want soemone that will keep up with you and your ways.. |
|---|
EXACTLY!!! That's what I mean about me an' Tristan. We're just not on the same level. Maybe another time, when we're riding the same wavelength, but not now. Although I know that we'll never be on the same level like that, unfortunately. But we'll always be great friends, hopefully.
I think that's where Meghann and Davo are at, too. Or perhaps I'm just being hopeful... I kinda think I would be a good balance of that... I'm not a twit but I'm still interested in le craziness.
But maybe it's the twitness and not the similarity that attracts him.
Man, I need to stop obsessing. Especially over fucking guys. Especially over fucking guys who don't even realize I exist. Or worse, see me as 'one of le dudes'.
Hm... maybe if I had a sex slave to satisfy my baser urges, I wouldn't feel the need to circle like a vulture over Davo.
Note to self, add "Find Sex Slave" to my to-do list.
You know who I also miss? Kurt. We seem to drift together and apart over the years. He's another one that I'll still be around for when the smoke clears, although in his case the drug of choice is testoterone. And lust.
Hm. He'd make a good sex slave, if he didn't live in Vancouver.
Okay, obviously this whole entry is going downhill fast.
I'm going to go curl up, I guess.
Lah.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
The Birthday Issue
MistWeaver: G'day to you.
Voice in the Mist: These long periods of inactivity are irritating. I thought for sure last time you were telling the truth when you said you were back for good.
MistWeaver: I was. But then my laptop broke. And Blogger didn't work on the computer that was the family's. Even now, it doesn't quite work properly, but I'm sick of waiting.
Voice: Interesting. What gave you this sudden urge, hm?
MistWeaver: Actually, it's rather appropriate for me to write right now: after all, it's about a birthday. And the last entry was, too.
Voice: Who's birthday is it this time?
Weaver: Mine, of course. June 13th. That's tomorrow. But my party was held yesterday, with teh last of the guests having left a few hours ago.
Voice: Uh oh. A party. Those never turn out well.
Weaver: Actually, this one wasn't so bad. There were a few people that I would have preferred not being there, and a few I would have liked to be there but weren't, but what could I do about that?
Voice: Not invite them, perhaps?
Weaver: You know how I am. Too goddamned nice for my own good. A few weeks before my birthday, I was stupid enough to mention that I was having a party around the 11th and that everyone was invited.
Voice: Intelligent. I assume that later you hit yourself appropriately hard over the head?
Weaver: Indeed. About as soon as I remembered that I hate huge gatherings of people.
Voice: So what did you do about it?
Weaver: Nothing. I mean, what could I do? At least there were a few people there that really made it worth it. Like David, for example.
Voice: David? Not the one who messed with your friend?
Weaver: Of course not. He's still getting his karma hit back at him. No, I'm talking about David Sicorsky, a guy in my Spanish class who makes me mad every time I look at him.
Voice: Why's that? And why in the name of the mists did you invite him to your party?
Weaver: It's not him that makes me mad. Not exactly. It's how everybody treats him. I mean, he's one of the most awesome, amazing, funkay cool people I know, and people treat him like total shit. I just don't get it. It irritates me to no end, because he always has this aura of sadness around him at school that isn't there anywhere else and should not be there, ever.
Voice: Ah, I see. Another one of your lost souls. They should call you MistGuider, not MistWeaver.
Weaver: Eh, whatever. Guiding them through, parting the mists... It's all the same. But anyways. I'm here to tell a little bit about my party, not go on the Lost Souls rant, or the David rant.
Voice: Let's leave them for another day, then. Do go on.
Weaver: Well, it all starts out on Friday, when I invited Mindy Thurman, a good friend of mine that I almost forgot to invite to the party, and Amber
Whoops, phone call. Later.
Voice in the Mist: These long periods of inactivity are irritating. I thought for sure last time you were telling the truth when you said you were back for good.
MistWeaver: I was. But then my laptop broke. And Blogger didn't work on the computer that was the family's. Even now, it doesn't quite work properly, but I'm sick of waiting.
Voice: Interesting. What gave you this sudden urge, hm?
MistWeaver: Actually, it's rather appropriate for me to write right now: after all, it's about a birthday. And the last entry was, too.
Voice: Who's birthday is it this time?
Weaver: Mine, of course. June 13th. That's tomorrow. But my party was held yesterday, with teh last of the guests having left a few hours ago.
Voice: Uh oh. A party. Those never turn out well.
Weaver: Actually, this one wasn't so bad. There were a few people that I would have preferred not being there, and a few I would have liked to be there but weren't, but what could I do about that?
Voice: Not invite them, perhaps?
Weaver: You know how I am. Too goddamned nice for my own good. A few weeks before my birthday, I was stupid enough to mention that I was having a party around the 11th and that everyone was invited.
Voice: Intelligent. I assume that later you hit yourself appropriately hard over the head?
Weaver: Indeed. About as soon as I remembered that I hate huge gatherings of people.
Voice: So what did you do about it?
Weaver: Nothing. I mean, what could I do? At least there were a few people there that really made it worth it. Like David, for example.
Voice: David? Not the one who messed with your friend?
Weaver: Of course not. He's still getting his karma hit back at him. No, I'm talking about David Sicorsky, a guy in my Spanish class who makes me mad every time I look at him.
Voice: Why's that? And why in the name of the mists did you invite him to your party?
Weaver: It's not him that makes me mad. Not exactly. It's how everybody treats him. I mean, he's one of the most awesome, amazing, funkay cool people I know, and people treat him like total shit. I just don't get it. It irritates me to no end, because he always has this aura of sadness around him at school that isn't there anywhere else and should not be there, ever.
Voice: Ah, I see. Another one of your lost souls. They should call you MistGuider, not MistWeaver.
Weaver: Eh, whatever. Guiding them through, parting the mists... It's all the same. But anyways. I'm here to tell a little bit about my party, not go on the Lost Souls rant, or the David rant.
Voice: Let's leave them for another day, then. Do go on.
Weaver: Well, it all starts out on Friday, when I invited Mindy Thurman, a good friend of mine that I almost forgot to invite to the party, and Amber
Whoops, phone call. Later.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Beautiful Bouncing Baby Boys' Birthdays Part I
MistWeaver: Ahhhhh, it's snowing!
Voice In The Mist: I've missed you too.
MistWeaver: Oh yeah. I've missed you as well. But if you could look beyond the mists in this place, you'd see that I do speak the truth.
Voice: I am the mist. Just because I reside in this place of confusion, unclarity, and untold beauty, doesn't mean I can't see outside of it.
Weaver: Yeah, yeah. I know. The snow is beautiful, but in my opinion mid-April is not the best time to be getting it. And to think, yesterday was a bright sunny, snowless day. Perfect for a party.
Voice: A birthday party?
Weaver: Aha! You catch on quickly! Indeed, a birthday party. For a beautiful bouncing baby boy. Ryan!
Voice: Except that he's not bouncing.
Weaver: I suppose not.
Voice: Or a baby.
Weaver: You're right, he's 16 now.
Voice: Or beautiful.
Weaver: That's your opinion.
Voice: And it wasn't his birthday.
Weaver: That's true. His real birthday's the 21st.
Voice: The way this is going, he's probably not a boy either.
Weaver: Yes, he is!
Voice: Well that's a relief, at least.
Weaver: In any case, I had a great time. I was kinda worried that I wouldn't, because every time I do go to a party at his house, I tend to have a crappy time. But this time it was fun. It started at an arcade...
Brian had taken his sweet time in getting ready to give me a ride, so I got to the mall 20 minutes late and was dumped off unceremoniously at the entrance with no clue where the arcade was. Lovely. Simply lovely. Late, alone, and lost.
As a small consolation, at least I looked good. Mama and I went shopping Friday, and I got this tunic I immediately fell in love with and was wearing with oriental orange poufy pants and ridiculous shoes with bows on the tips. I asked a man in a store where the arcade was, and he was happy to point me in the right direction. I wandered in, already going into my ghost persona (something I picked up from so much time in the mists: comepletely silent, closed in on myself, and fairly meek-looking) and searched for people I knew.
Luckily, Ryan wasn't hard to find with the black and white checkered band around his hat and checkered tie. He was playing (surprise, surprise) Dance Dance Revolution. Next to him, watching, was somebody else. I approached, first noticing the green and white striped stockings (the only colour of those stockings I don't own, preferring black and white), then the bowler hat, then the rest of the guy that I thought was wearing them. As I got closer, I realized that it was not a guy at all, but Ryan's friend Jace. Pity. The hat and stripes could have been sexy on a guy with the nerve to wear 'em.
Of the three other Ryan-friends there were, I knew two of them, Jace and Ian. I never have and still don't particularly like Jace. It's not a conscious thing: she just bugs me for a reason I don't really know. Of all the people to see first, especially while Ryan was busy, Jace wasn't the one I would've picked. So I did what I was used to doing: I went even deeper into ghost mode and leaned against the bar behind Ryan, watching him silently. At first I wondered if he'd noticed me, but I knew that he was too aware of his surroundings not to have.
Soon he finished and turned to me. I handed him the four newspaper-wrapped gifts with the crossed-candy-canes on top (I dove into my stash to supply them) and he told me to hang on to them for a second while he finished his game, then gave me a white paper bag filled with tokens. While he was stepping away at DDR, Micheline (his mother) appeared behind us.
Voice: Oh, joyous. Someone I'm sure you absolutely love.
Weaver: Uh huh. Not. I gave her the presents and Ryan finished his stage to turn to the rest of us. Insert Micheline-type convo (long, winding, and repetitive, with little input from us) and then we somehow ended up back in the other side with the kind of games where you win tickets and turn them in for prizes.
There I met the friend Justin, A dark-skinned cutie whom I didn't know, and found out that Ian had yet to arrive. Micheline kept showing Justin off to me when the others ran to play games and I hung back, calling him Ryan's best friend and oldest friend and church friend (the last probably being the reason she was calling him the other two, since I've never heard Ryan speak of Justin as either). In any case, I was impressed that they'd known each other so long, and that Justin was black.
The shock of seeing someone of my colouring as a friend of Ryan's, especially such a good friend, hit me in a surprising way. I'm not being a bigot; I was always so used to seeing tons of black kids around Montreal that the fact that there are next to none here had the sight of anybody coloured surprising me. Justin's around my normal colour, before I went all pale from lack of sunlight.
Voice: Maybe you'd tell us your natural colour?
Weaver: Of course. I used to be a dark golden brown. Right now it's kind of sickly gold, though. He has less gold and more brown.
Voice: On with the story.
MistWeaver: Indeed. So I stayed with the ghost act because it was the best I could do, and nodded and smiled at Micheline's chatter, and then fled as soon as I could. Ryan showed me all the different games, and I nodded and smiled at him where applicable and wasted lots of tokens playing them, trailing after the others and eventually going off on my own. I figured they wouldn't miss me, and that way nobody had to show me everything and make me feel even more like an outsider.
I saw Ian arrive, but he didn't see me. I smiled to see him. I really like that boy, odd as he is. A computer genius who's paranoid of anything abnormal (which makes the fact that his best friends are Jace and Ryan and their group even weirder), he doesn't like going places without parental supervision. Tell me, what 16 year old wants parental supervision everywhere? It's unnatural, but endearing.
When Ian did notice me (I think Ryan pointed me out to him), he gave a real smile (to my surprise) and said hi. He seemed as genuinely glad to see me as I was to see him. Weird, but uplifting. I think I may have actually regained a bit of life at that point, lost the transperancy a little. I know it felt like I did.
What I really wanted to do throughout all of this was try DDR, but I didn't want to disappear and have Micheline worry or something. But she left once Ian arrived, so I drifted into the video arcade and to my surprise (and I'll admit it, chagrin) Ryan followed me, and Jace and Ian followed him. I'm happy to say that the quiet Justin stayed in the tickets place, winning hundreds of tickets. I forfeited all of mine to Ryan, so that he could do whatever he wanted with them.
Ryan set me up on the game, choosing a song and everything for me. Again, I was a mix of grateful and wishing that he would go away. On one hand, it was nice to have him set it up since I hadn't played since it first came out, but on the other hand, I felt kinda spineless since the others were all watching, and I'm not used to depending on anyone for anything. After all, if I had been alone, I wouldn't have been in ghost mode, and I could have laughed and muddled my way through it, feeling only slightly stupid.
I also discovered something else at that moment: I bloody suck. He kept asking me if I wanted to put it harder, but every time I agreed, I failed miserably. He had much more faith in me than I had in myself, I can say that much. He kept telling me that if it was too difficult, he'd finish it up for me so that I wouldn't get a game over (yeah, right. Over my dead body would I let him finish a game for me and emphasize even more my lack of prowess).
Finally, Jace came and demanded her tickets from Ryan (who had pooled them all) and everyone went away to play their own game of DDR a little bit away. I thankfully relaxed at my lack of audience (and still sucked). When I was done, I noticed that they had all disappeared but Ian, who I was amused to find had fallen as much in love with the game as I had (although he fared somewhat better at his own first attempts).
Wandering around the arcade trying to find out if they had Tekken, the game that I used to adore, I noticed a few shooting games. Once, Kai brought home a plugin gun from his friends, and I found that much as I despise arms in real life, in games I love using them and was quite good at them, provided I had a real gun and not just a joystick. I didn't have very many token left, so I tried a three token game. And found out that it had the nasty tendency to eat tokens and the gun needed major calibrating, causing all my shots to go off some four or five inches to the left of where I shot. So I tried another. And it was worse. Finally I went to find an attendant to ask if I could get a refund on my tokens.
I met Jace, Ian, Justin and Ryan there, and discovered that they were unpooling the tickets to get various individual prizes. I gave Ryan my twenty left from what I hadn't previously forked over and asked the attendant for my tokens. He told me I couldn't have them back, but to tell him the game I wanted to play and he'd give me credit for it. I showed him DDR (I couldn't resist) and he gave me four credits. Except that they were equivalent to four games, not four credits for one game. Score! Of course, someone accidentally pressed a button on the first screen so I ended up playing my first game as one person using two pads. Aye yi yi, as if one pad weren't enough. Hopping from one to the other, once I finally figured out what was going on... O.O Twas hard, and impossible.
When I finished, I turned to the entrance to wander around outside (I had no tokens left) and saw Ian coming towards me. He smiled and motioned to me and said that the group had decided to be idiots. I laughed and followed him and we chatted. I discovered the others were throwing things off the balcony then running down to get them and doing it again. Mostly, it was toy soldiers with parachutes, but Jace was pointing her laser pointer at things and people too. I'm just glad that she was smart enough not to go near me with it, since she had the tendency to wave it in people's eyes.
After they tired of their game, we walked downstairs and Ryan encountered dudes he knew. Ian and I went back up while he, Jace and Justin chatted with the people. I tried sliding down the banister, but I wasn't wearing slippery enough clothing and every time I lifted my hands from the rail to go faster, Ian freaked. Psh. We were only a few stories up.
I thank the mists again and again that he was there. At least with him there (and Justin too, though he was too quiet for it to be a big thing) I wasn't the odd one out. For some reason, whether it's my way of thinking, or my likes and dislikes, or even the age difference, I always feel so abnormal around Ryan's friends. Maybe it's how Ryan's different with them. Oh, I don't mean that he's a completely different person, but with me we don't talk about who's better at video games, or whatever current things are going on at school, or chat about common acquaintances, simply because I don't play the games he does, nor do I own any of the platforms, I don't go to his school, and I don't know any of the people he does.
Anyways. In a little while, everyone joined us, and we saw Micheline in a wheelchair and slippers coming towards us. I guessed by the unsurprised look on Ryan's face (and the fact that she always parks in handicapped spots and tells me all about the various things wrong with her body) that it wasn't unusual for things like this to occur. Honestly, it occurs to me that she might be a bit of a hypochondriac. Then again, I come from a family where we don't share all of our problems with everyone and anyone we meet. She makes it a point to tell everybody everything about her. Personally, I could do with not knowing when she has a yeast infection, or about the problems with her marriage, or even the reasons that Ryan needs babying. But like I said, I'm a very personal person.
Voice: Who likes to write.
Weaver: Indeed. That's how I express myself. I can exagerate or downplay or create or destroy. It's my world, and I can do with it what I will.
Voice In The Mist: Much like the mists. There can be endless amounts of things hidden in it.
MistWeaver: Very true. The world could be dying and you'd never know... But I digress. I have indeed missed talking to you, but I do believe I shall end my tale here. This was basically all of the unfun part, anyway. It got better, much better, and by the end I didn't want to go home. I'll chit chat later, for I have projects to work on. Tah!
Harmony,
MistWeaver
Voice In The Mist: I've missed you too.
MistWeaver: Oh yeah. I've missed you as well. But if you could look beyond the mists in this place, you'd see that I do speak the truth.
Voice: I am the mist. Just because I reside in this place of confusion, unclarity, and untold beauty, doesn't mean I can't see outside of it.
Weaver: Yeah, yeah. I know. The snow is beautiful, but in my opinion mid-April is not the best time to be getting it. And to think, yesterday was a bright sunny, snowless day. Perfect for a party.
Voice: A birthday party?
Weaver: Aha! You catch on quickly! Indeed, a birthday party. For a beautiful bouncing baby boy. Ryan!
Voice: Except that he's not bouncing.
Weaver: I suppose not.
Voice: Or a baby.
Weaver: You're right, he's 16 now.
Voice: Or beautiful.
Weaver: That's your opinion.
Voice: And it wasn't his birthday.
Weaver: That's true. His real birthday's the 21st.
Voice: The way this is going, he's probably not a boy either.
Weaver: Yes, he is!
Voice: Well that's a relief, at least.
Weaver: In any case, I had a great time. I was kinda worried that I wouldn't, because every time I do go to a party at his house, I tend to have a crappy time. But this time it was fun. It started at an arcade...
Brian had taken his sweet time in getting ready to give me a ride, so I got to the mall 20 minutes late and was dumped off unceremoniously at the entrance with no clue where the arcade was. Lovely. Simply lovely. Late, alone, and lost.
As a small consolation, at least I looked good. Mama and I went shopping Friday, and I got this tunic I immediately fell in love with and was wearing with oriental orange poufy pants and ridiculous shoes with bows on the tips. I asked a man in a store where the arcade was, and he was happy to point me in the right direction. I wandered in, already going into my ghost persona (something I picked up from so much time in the mists: comepletely silent, closed in on myself, and fairly meek-looking) and searched for people I knew.
Luckily, Ryan wasn't hard to find with the black and white checkered band around his hat and checkered tie. He was playing (surprise, surprise) Dance Dance Revolution. Next to him, watching, was somebody else. I approached, first noticing the green and white striped stockings (the only colour of those stockings I don't own, preferring black and white), then the bowler hat, then the rest of the guy that I thought was wearing them. As I got closer, I realized that it was not a guy at all, but Ryan's friend Jace. Pity. The hat and stripes could have been sexy on a guy with the nerve to wear 'em.
Of the three other Ryan-friends there were, I knew two of them, Jace and Ian. I never have and still don't particularly like Jace. It's not a conscious thing: she just bugs me for a reason I don't really know. Of all the people to see first, especially while Ryan was busy, Jace wasn't the one I would've picked. So I did what I was used to doing: I went even deeper into ghost mode and leaned against the bar behind Ryan, watching him silently. At first I wondered if he'd noticed me, but I knew that he was too aware of his surroundings not to have.
Soon he finished and turned to me. I handed him the four newspaper-wrapped gifts with the crossed-candy-canes on top (I dove into my stash to supply them) and he told me to hang on to them for a second while he finished his game, then gave me a white paper bag filled with tokens. While he was stepping away at DDR, Micheline (his mother) appeared behind us.
Voice: Oh, joyous. Someone I'm sure you absolutely love.
Weaver: Uh huh. Not. I gave her the presents and Ryan finished his stage to turn to the rest of us. Insert Micheline-type convo (long, winding, and repetitive, with little input from us) and then we somehow ended up back in the other side with the kind of games where you win tickets and turn them in for prizes.
There I met the friend Justin, A dark-skinned cutie whom I didn't know, and found out that Ian had yet to arrive. Micheline kept showing Justin off to me when the others ran to play games and I hung back, calling him Ryan's best friend and oldest friend and church friend (the last probably being the reason she was calling him the other two, since I've never heard Ryan speak of Justin as either). In any case, I was impressed that they'd known each other so long, and that Justin was black.
The shock of seeing someone of my colouring as a friend of Ryan's, especially such a good friend, hit me in a surprising way. I'm not being a bigot; I was always so used to seeing tons of black kids around Montreal that the fact that there are next to none here had the sight of anybody coloured surprising me. Justin's around my normal colour, before I went all pale from lack of sunlight.
Voice: Maybe you'd tell us your natural colour?
Weaver: Of course. I used to be a dark golden brown. Right now it's kind of sickly gold, though. He has less gold and more brown.
Voice: On with the story.
MistWeaver: Indeed. So I stayed with the ghost act because it was the best I could do, and nodded and smiled at Micheline's chatter, and then fled as soon as I could. Ryan showed me all the different games, and I nodded and smiled at him where applicable and wasted lots of tokens playing them, trailing after the others and eventually going off on my own. I figured they wouldn't miss me, and that way nobody had to show me everything and make me feel even more like an outsider.
I saw Ian arrive, but he didn't see me. I smiled to see him. I really like that boy, odd as he is. A computer genius who's paranoid of anything abnormal (which makes the fact that his best friends are Jace and Ryan and their group even weirder), he doesn't like going places without parental supervision. Tell me, what 16 year old wants parental supervision everywhere? It's unnatural, but endearing.
When Ian did notice me (I think Ryan pointed me out to him), he gave a real smile (to my surprise) and said hi. He seemed as genuinely glad to see me as I was to see him. Weird, but uplifting. I think I may have actually regained a bit of life at that point, lost the transperancy a little. I know it felt like I did.
What I really wanted to do throughout all of this was try DDR, but I didn't want to disappear and have Micheline worry or something. But she left once Ian arrived, so I drifted into the video arcade and to my surprise (and I'll admit it, chagrin) Ryan followed me, and Jace and Ian followed him. I'm happy to say that the quiet Justin stayed in the tickets place, winning hundreds of tickets. I forfeited all of mine to Ryan, so that he could do whatever he wanted with them.
Ryan set me up on the game, choosing a song and everything for me. Again, I was a mix of grateful and wishing that he would go away. On one hand, it was nice to have him set it up since I hadn't played since it first came out, but on the other hand, I felt kinda spineless since the others were all watching, and I'm not used to depending on anyone for anything. After all, if I had been alone, I wouldn't have been in ghost mode, and I could have laughed and muddled my way through it, feeling only slightly stupid.
I also discovered something else at that moment: I bloody suck. He kept asking me if I wanted to put it harder, but every time I agreed, I failed miserably. He had much more faith in me than I had in myself, I can say that much. He kept telling me that if it was too difficult, he'd finish it up for me so that I wouldn't get a game over (yeah, right. Over my dead body would I let him finish a game for me and emphasize even more my lack of prowess).
Finally, Jace came and demanded her tickets from Ryan (who had pooled them all) and everyone went away to play their own game of DDR a little bit away. I thankfully relaxed at my lack of audience (and still sucked). When I was done, I noticed that they had all disappeared but Ian, who I was amused to find had fallen as much in love with the game as I had (although he fared somewhat better at his own first attempts).
Wandering around the arcade trying to find out if they had Tekken, the game that I used to adore, I noticed a few shooting games. Once, Kai brought home a plugin gun from his friends, and I found that much as I despise arms in real life, in games I love using them and was quite good at them, provided I had a real gun and not just a joystick. I didn't have very many token left, so I tried a three token game. And found out that it had the nasty tendency to eat tokens and the gun needed major calibrating, causing all my shots to go off some four or five inches to the left of where I shot. So I tried another. And it was worse. Finally I went to find an attendant to ask if I could get a refund on my tokens.
I met Jace, Ian, Justin and Ryan there, and discovered that they were unpooling the tickets to get various individual prizes. I gave Ryan my twenty left from what I hadn't previously forked over and asked the attendant for my tokens. He told me I couldn't have them back, but to tell him the game I wanted to play and he'd give me credit for it. I showed him DDR (I couldn't resist) and he gave me four credits. Except that they were equivalent to four games, not four credits for one game. Score! Of course, someone accidentally pressed a button on the first screen so I ended up playing my first game as one person using two pads. Aye yi yi, as if one pad weren't enough. Hopping from one to the other, once I finally figured out what was going on... O.O Twas hard, and impossible.
When I finished, I turned to the entrance to wander around outside (I had no tokens left) and saw Ian coming towards me. He smiled and motioned to me and said that the group had decided to be idiots. I laughed and followed him and we chatted. I discovered the others were throwing things off the balcony then running down to get them and doing it again. Mostly, it was toy soldiers with parachutes, but Jace was pointing her laser pointer at things and people too. I'm just glad that she was smart enough not to go near me with it, since she had the tendency to wave it in people's eyes.
After they tired of their game, we walked downstairs and Ryan encountered dudes he knew. Ian and I went back up while he, Jace and Justin chatted with the people. I tried sliding down the banister, but I wasn't wearing slippery enough clothing and every time I lifted my hands from the rail to go faster, Ian freaked. Psh. We were only a few stories up.
I thank the mists again and again that he was there. At least with him there (and Justin too, though he was too quiet for it to be a big thing) I wasn't the odd one out. For some reason, whether it's my way of thinking, or my likes and dislikes, or even the age difference, I always feel so abnormal around Ryan's friends. Maybe it's how Ryan's different with them. Oh, I don't mean that he's a completely different person, but with me we don't talk about who's better at video games, or whatever current things are going on at school, or chat about common acquaintances, simply because I don't play the games he does, nor do I own any of the platforms, I don't go to his school, and I don't know any of the people he does.
Anyways. In a little while, everyone joined us, and we saw Micheline in a wheelchair and slippers coming towards us. I guessed by the unsurprised look on Ryan's face (and the fact that she always parks in handicapped spots and tells me all about the various things wrong with her body) that it wasn't unusual for things like this to occur. Honestly, it occurs to me that she might be a bit of a hypochondriac. Then again, I come from a family where we don't share all of our problems with everyone and anyone we meet. She makes it a point to tell everybody everything about her. Personally, I could do with not knowing when she has a yeast infection, or about the problems with her marriage, or even the reasons that Ryan needs babying. But like I said, I'm a very personal person.
Voice: Who likes to write.
Weaver: Indeed. That's how I express myself. I can exagerate or downplay or create or destroy. It's my world, and I can do with it what I will.
Voice In The Mist: Much like the mists. There can be endless amounts of things hidden in it.
MistWeaver: Very true. The world could be dying and you'd never know... But I digress. I have indeed missed talking to you, but I do believe I shall end my tale here. This was basically all of the unfun part, anyway. It got better, much better, and by the end I didn't want to go home. I'll chit chat later, for I have projects to work on. Tah!
Harmony,
MistWeaver
Friday, April 15, 2005
Back and Black and Saving the World
The answer is, I am!
Yes indeedy. Things are mostly sorted out and I live to serve all you faithfuls who have kept up and borne with me through this difficult time. I hope to no longer have to neglect my blog for a very long time, but I can't make any promises.
Basically, there are a couple of big new items going around in my life. It's a new semester (and it's over half finished already o.O), so I have all new classes. They happen to be much harder ones, too. I know, I know... I get no breaks... *feels sorry for herself for a half second*
The absolute most important thing going on in my life right now is the Weekend To End Breast Cancer. If you live near Toronto, Vancouver, Calgary or Montreal, you may have heard of this. Basically, it's a two-day 60 kilometre walk to raise money and awareness for breast cancer. Everybody who participates has to raise a minimum of 2000 dollars, and most people raise double that or more. Thousands of people from these four cities, each raising tons and tons of money? That's not something to scoff at. Hundreds of millions of dollars being raised. We truly are the end.
But we can't be, I can't be, without raising the money. My grandmother died of breast cancer, and both my mother and I are at really high risk. I don't want to have to go through the suffering of someone I love dying; not again. I don't want to die, either. Especially if I have kids one day. What I went through when my grandmother died, what I watched happen to my mother when her best friend died... it was all horrible and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Every single person that I help, any life that I save, makes it all worthwhile.
In Canada, one in 9 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer. One in three will die from it. 407 women are diagnosed on average every week. Look around at any large group of people you know: a classroom, an office. Now look again and think about the fact that at least a few of them will die an early death. Look around a class and know that not all of the girls in it will live to see sixty. Look around your office and know that you may not be working with a women in a few years because she's dead. If that thought doesn't affect you at all, maybe you should take another look at your own life and your priorities.
So basically what I'm saying is that as my first act of the reestablishment of my blog, I'm asking you to help me on this. Here's a link to my personal page on the Weekend site:
http://cl05.endcancer.ca/site/TR?pg=personal&fr_id=1000&px=1162598
If it doesn't work, try www.endcancer.ca and search for my in the list of walkers. My name is Aya Gabriel. My site has the abridged story of my grandmother's death, and my dream for this walk. I would like to ask everybody to donate a hundred and fifty dollars, but I know it's not likely to happen. So instead, I'm asking everyone who reads this to donate 30$. If you can afford more, I would really appreciate it. Online, secure donations can be transacted by credit card, and if you can't do that, contact me at that.misty.place@gmail.com and we can arrange something. Ask your parents, friends, siblings relatives, because everybody has been affected in some way by this disease. Copy this, forward it, link it. Do the same for my and my mother's personal page. If you really don't have much money to donate, anything you have brings me closer to my goal and closer to a cure.
The walk is August 12th to 14th, 2005. My mother, Thelia Foster, is also walking. Together, it's us two alone with thousands of other women and men across Canada. I'm probably going to be keeping my blog updated with my progress, because it's such a huge part of my life right now.
Again, thanks you to everyone who's kept right with my blog through the hiatus and the tough period beforehand. Thanks to anyone and everyone who donates. Hugs for all! Harmony and love, peace through the ages, and Goddess bless.
We are the end.
MistWeaver
Yes indeedy. Things are mostly sorted out and I live to serve all you faithfuls who have kept up and borne with me through this difficult time. I hope to no longer have to neglect my blog for a very long time, but I can't make any promises.
Basically, there are a couple of big new items going around in my life. It's a new semester (and it's over half finished already o.O), so I have all new classes. They happen to be much harder ones, too. I know, I know... I get no breaks... *feels sorry for herself for a half second*
The absolute most important thing going on in my life right now is the Weekend To End Breast Cancer. If you live near Toronto, Vancouver, Calgary or Montreal, you may have heard of this. Basically, it's a two-day 60 kilometre walk to raise money and awareness for breast cancer. Everybody who participates has to raise a minimum of 2000 dollars, and most people raise double that or more. Thousands of people from these four cities, each raising tons and tons of money? That's not something to scoff at. Hundreds of millions of dollars being raised. We truly are the end.
But we can't be, I can't be, without raising the money. My grandmother died of breast cancer, and both my mother and I are at really high risk. I don't want to have to go through the suffering of someone I love dying; not again. I don't want to die, either. Especially if I have kids one day. What I went through when my grandmother died, what I watched happen to my mother when her best friend died... it was all horrible and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Every single person that I help, any life that I save, makes it all worthwhile.
In Canada, one in 9 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer. One in three will die from it. 407 women are diagnosed on average every week. Look around at any large group of people you know: a classroom, an office. Now look again and think about the fact that at least a few of them will die an early death. Look around a class and know that not all of the girls in it will live to see sixty. Look around your office and know that you may not be working with a women in a few years because she's dead. If that thought doesn't affect you at all, maybe you should take another look at your own life and your priorities.
So basically what I'm saying is that as my first act of the reestablishment of my blog, I'm asking you to help me on this. Here's a link to my personal page on the Weekend site:
http://cl05.endcancer.ca/site/TR?pg=personal&fr_id=1000&px=1162598
If it doesn't work, try www.endcancer.ca and search for my in the list of walkers. My name is Aya Gabriel. My site has the abridged story of my grandmother's death, and my dream for this walk. I would like to ask everybody to donate a hundred and fifty dollars, but I know it's not likely to happen. So instead, I'm asking everyone who reads this to donate 30$. If you can afford more, I would really appreciate it. Online, secure donations can be transacted by credit card, and if you can't do that, contact me at that.misty.place@gmail.com and we can arrange something. Ask your parents, friends, siblings relatives, because everybody has been affected in some way by this disease. Copy this, forward it, link it. Do the same for my and my mother's personal page. If you really don't have much money to donate, anything you have brings me closer to my goal and closer to a cure.
The walk is August 12th to 14th, 2005. My mother, Thelia Foster, is also walking. Together, it's us two alone with thousands of other women and men across Canada. I'm probably going to be keeping my blog updated with my progress, because it's such a huge part of my life right now.
Again, thanks you to everyone who's kept right with my blog through the hiatus and the tough period beforehand. Thanks to anyone and everyone who donates. Hugs for all! Harmony and love, peace through the ages, and Goddess bless.
We are the end.
MistWeaver
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