Wow. Scotland.
If Mullion was pretty, this is stupendous. We’re surrounded by… Not mountains exactly but huge rolling hills. Everything is painted in shades of green, and even the pines and other conifers are all bright pretty green, not the drab colour I’m used to in Canada. And the lakes--lochs?--sparkle grey-blue. It just goes on forever, gorgeous and barely touched by the harsh fingers of man. The road(s) are swallowed by the vastness of the beauty.
Apparently, the population use to be 5x even what it is today, b4 they all got chucked out by the lowland Scots and the English.
And here we are in Glencoe. For a place so untouched by man, it’s got a pretty long bloody history. Guess the Mother takes it all back in the end, regardless of the winners.
Oooh, a sithen!
I love it here, and I mean I LOVE it here. It actually reminds me of BC, but MORE and more untouched.
That could be Ysanne’s cottage by the lake. Mm, smell the loveliness and the rain.
Wow, look at those waterfalls. They look so clear and tiny, just a trickle, but I have a feeling distances can be deceiving here. And everything is misty. If I could, I’d be sticking my head out the window like a dog with my tongue lolling out.
Oooh, I like the poofy-looking cotonny plant things!
Remind me to put out food for the fae. We forgot the plate out with the Faeries… <3
Lah.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Bah.
Make them go away.
Can’t I trade something/someone?
I’m lonely. Or maybe not lonely enough.
Just everyone leave me alone tomorrow, okay?
LEAVE ME ALONE.
Lah.
Can’t I trade something/someone?
I’m lonely. Or maybe not lonely enough.
Just everyone leave me alone tomorrow, okay?
LEAVE ME ALONE.
Lah.
Party Up In Castleton
Woo. Finally, an awesome night!
Until we got home, of course. When we got home, we discovered that Anne had closed the window with the username and password for the internet we paid for. Which we couldn’t access again without putting in.
This is where the Kava Kava really started a-popping
And she decided she didn’t want to pay for the internet we needed to access it. ‘Maybe in the morning’. When we would have lost all the time we already paid for. So we had to pay again.
Yay for bitches. STAB. Good thing Blair ended up getting refunded for that extra payment.
But anyways. Went pub crawling. Met actual PEOPLE OUR OWN AGE!! And then spent a few hours chilling with a couple we embarrassingly met in the loo. Ahem.
Then, when we were preparing to go home, we met a whole bunch of guys (one who’d been hitting on Blair for hours) and all but one were complete dicks.
EW barf ew I thought he was going to puke on me, or I was gonna puke on him.
He offered to buy us a drink, but all the pubs closed at 11 (WHY?!?!?!?!?!) except a couple (meaning ONE, the one we’d been in for hours). And eventually his dumb drunk friends caught up with us, and made the mistake of calling Blair a prostitute.
Whee. Drama.
And speaking of Drama, the 1st set of friends we’d made were all on about this chick Meghan, who slept with someone else’s boyfriend and got blamed for everything, although I think the boyfriend was just as much to blame and a complete retard besides.
Anyways. Second set of friends were early 30s and out on vaycay from 2 kids. Awkward meeting (for Blair) but awesome drunken convos. Got their emails, too.
And as for the third set, the nice one got a kiss on the cheek (and he wanted wayyy more), a lick on the face (deprived of human contact, *TWITCH*) and a kiss on the lips from both of us (at some point, not both at once).
And in return we got we got what was left of a pint of beer thrown on us by his jealous asshole drunk friend. Well, mostly on Blair, or at least more than on me.
If only we had such nights every night, instead of isolation!! Personally, I think the whole internet thing was psychological revenge for us having fun. Especially since she waited up for us.
Woo.
Erg. Hiccups.
Erg. Litre of water in one go. Ima be ill again.
The Castle Inn is pretty and awesome, though. And if we were staying a couple more hours, I could have gotten something to smoke. Bleah. Even 10 AM, instead of leaving at 8, and it would be mine!! But poo.
And up to £140 an O. Damnnn, skippy.
But I don’t care. It’d be worth it.
I foresee Kava Kava in my future tomorrow.
Lah.
Pink is Blair.
Until we got home, of course. When we got home, we discovered that Anne had closed the window with the username and password for the internet we paid for. Which we couldn’t access again without putting in.
This is where the Kava Kava really started a-popping
And she decided she didn’t want to pay for the internet we needed to access it. ‘Maybe in the morning’. When we would have lost all the time we already paid for. So we had to pay again.
Yay for bitches. STAB. Good thing Blair ended up getting refunded for that extra payment.
But anyways. Went pub crawling. Met actual PEOPLE OUR OWN AGE!! And then spent a few hours chilling with a couple we embarrassingly met in the loo. Ahem.
Then, when we were preparing to go home, we met a whole bunch of guys (one who’d been hitting on Blair for hours) and all but one were complete dicks.
EW barf ew I thought he was going to puke on me, or I was gonna puke on him.
He offered to buy us a drink, but all the pubs closed at 11 (WHY?!?!?!?!?!) except a couple (meaning ONE, the one we’d been in for hours). And eventually his dumb drunk friends caught up with us, and made the mistake of calling Blair a prostitute.
Whee. Drama.
And speaking of Drama, the 1st set of friends we’d made were all on about this chick Meghan, who slept with someone else’s boyfriend and got blamed for everything, although I think the boyfriend was just as much to blame and a complete retard besides.
Anyways. Second set of friends were early 30s and out on vaycay from 2 kids. Awkward meeting (for Blair) but awesome drunken convos. Got their emails, too.
And as for the third set, the nice one got a kiss on the cheek (and he wanted wayyy more), a lick on the face (deprived of human contact, *TWITCH*) and a kiss on the lips from both of us (at some point, not both at once).
And in return we got we got what was left of a pint of beer thrown on us by his jealous asshole drunk friend. Well, mostly on Blair, or at least more than on me.
If only we had such nights every night, instead of isolation!! Personally, I think the whole internet thing was psychological revenge for us having fun. Especially since she waited up for us.
Woo.
Erg. Hiccups.
Erg. Litre of water in one go. Ima be ill again.
The Castle Inn is pretty and awesome, though. And if we were staying a couple more hours, I could have gotten something to smoke. Bleah. Even 10 AM, instead of leaving at 8, and it would be mine!! But poo.
And up to £140 an O. Damnnn, skippy.
But I don’t care. It’d be worth it.
I foresee Kava Kava in my future tomorrow.
Lah.
Pink is Blair.
Friday, July 04, 2008
The Mad Sheep
We’re finally almost there. What was supposed to be a 5-6 hour trip turned out to be (so far) an 8 ½ hour trip. I was reading Christopher Moore out loud before, entertaining both Blair and Anne (and myself: I love reading aloud) but then we hit roundabouts and I had to shut up so Anne could hear the Nuvi. We came out of town onto a bunch of 10-mile stretches of empty road, but she wouldn’t let me keep reading.
Guess Mr. Moore’s just too interesting with his gas-tanker-loving sea monsters…
My ass hurts.
We just passed some of Anne’s old stomping grounds from her university days. How boring, no drinking, drugs or sex under the railways and aqueducts. In fact, very little drinking or sex at all.
Psh.
Then again, I’m not intending to do oodles of drinking in Uni myself. But I intend to make up for it with the other ones. In mild quantities, of course.
Whee! Here we are, in Castleton.
Civilisation! Guys our age, and good-looking to boot! Yay!!
--
We passed by many caves on the way in, and many spray-painted sheep.
Kinda makes you think that a sheep could get lost in said caves, with the ‘baa’ magnifying to gargantuan proportions until a simple sheep became a horribly terrifying monster that terrorized tourists and locals alike.
You would hear it approaching, coming closer and closer, as you tried to avoid quaking in terror despite yourself. And as you wonder whether to give into fear and turn and run, the terrible cry of the monster is almost unbearable. You’re about to say ‘fuck bravery, I’m out!’ when from around the corner comes the beast, bringing you face to face with your fear:
A tiny little lamb, bleating in fear itself as it looks around for its mama.
Teehee.
Guess Mr. Moore’s just too interesting with his gas-tanker-loving sea monsters…
My ass hurts.
We just passed some of Anne’s old stomping grounds from her university days. How boring, no drinking, drugs or sex under the railways and aqueducts. In fact, very little drinking or sex at all.
Psh.
Then again, I’m not intending to do oodles of drinking in Uni myself. But I intend to make up for it with the other ones. In mild quantities, of course.
Whee! Here we are, in Castleton.
Civilisation! Guys our age, and good-looking to boot! Yay!!
--
We passed by many caves on the way in, and many spray-painted sheep.
Kinda makes you think that a sheep could get lost in said caves, with the ‘baa’ magnifying to gargantuan proportions until a simple sheep became a horribly terrifying monster that terrorized tourists and locals alike.
You would hear it approaching, coming closer and closer, as you tried to avoid quaking in terror despite yourself. And as you wonder whether to give into fear and turn and run, the terrible cry of the monster is almost unbearable. You’re about to say ‘fuck bravery, I’m out!’ when from around the corner comes the beast, bringing you face to face with your fear:
A tiny little lamb, bleating in fear itself as it looks around for its mama.
Teehee.
G'Bye Mullion
G’bye, Mullion.
Off to Castleton. This morn, I said goodbye to the cliffs and my sanity. Packing and going wasn’t nearly as smooth and easy as Avebury was, probably partially because we didn’t get fed first. And still haven’t.
Pop, pop! Goes the Kava kava. For Blair this time, not me.
Oh yeah, and I’m ill. Throat thick and sore, even more phlegm-y than usual. Whee. I tried to choke it with
Citric Acid and water this morning, but who knows?
Ska is my best friend.
WHEN ARE WE GONNA STOP?!?
I’m starving. Starting to feel the symptoms, whee. And I have to pee. Erg. All that orange juice and water probably not such a good idea, I guess.
OMG!! A car with three wheels!! Driving…. o.O
Off to Castleton. This morn, I said goodbye to the cliffs and my sanity. Packing and going wasn’t nearly as smooth and easy as Avebury was, probably partially because we didn’t get fed first. And still haven’t.
Pop, pop! Goes the Kava kava. For Blair this time, not me.
Oh yeah, and I’m ill. Throat thick and sore, even more phlegm-y than usual. Whee. I tried to choke it with
Citric Acid and water this morning, but who knows?
Ska is my best friend.
WHEN ARE WE GONNA STOP?!?
I’m starving. Starting to feel the symptoms, whee. And I have to pee. Erg. All that orange juice and water probably not such a good idea, I guess.
OMG!! A car with three wheels!! Driving…. o.O
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Yay For Postcards!
So, up we climbed to the castle. Well, first we had to cross to the island it's on. We walked across a causeway on a reef to get there. Luckily, it was low tide, because it was obvious that causeway wouldn't be there at high tide, and if we were on the other side we'd be stranded at the abbey with cannibalistic monks.
After we arrived on the 'island' was when we started to climb.
Again.
This trip seems to involve an inordinate amount of stairs and climbing. But hey, tis exercise!
The walk up the pilgrim steps and up the rest was pretty. There was a Giant's Well, where if you open it you can still see the Giant's wife's eye. Which we didn't test because I didn't read about that until after we left. Apparently, she's under the island.
o.O
Anyways, the view form the top where the castle itself is was cool. GOing inside, it quite franklu sucked. Everything was fake and display-like. I guess there's a family that still lives there (minus the servants and prestige of ye old days), although they share it with the National Trust (who seems to own every historical site). I took pictures and was severely chastised by a tourist "guard".
One of the only places of note in the castle-thing was the church, which despite my shields had me almost in tears after barely 5 minutes. But there was power there (obviously). There was one statue of St Michael slaying a demon that hit me, though whether good, bad, sad, or just the Christian-ness of it all, I don't know.
Barf on the fake-ness of the mount. The energy of the ley line had been sucked out by the updated tourist-yness of it. No longer a great abbey of power and energy, now just a tourist amusement park without the rollercoasters.
So true.
Also, a random spot or two where there was uber energy, but again ambigious. The again, energy itself isn't positive or negative, it's the intentions with it. Still, it didn't feel like pure energy. It left me... uneasy.
From the outside of the abbey, on one of the towers, we could see the causeway, not just barely underwater. Bu the time we finished the rest, it was more that 'barely', and we were forced to pay to boat back. Or stay and be eaten bu the cannibalistic moks.
Although after actually seeing the place, I'd be more afraid of the tourist guards.
After we got back to shore, we clambered back into the car and starved our way back home.
<3>
Lah.
After we arrived on the 'island' was when we started to climb.
Again.
This trip seems to involve an inordinate amount of stairs and climbing. But hey, tis exercise!
The walk up the pilgrim steps and up the rest was pretty. There was a Giant's Well, where if you open it you can still see the Giant's wife's eye. Which we didn't test because I didn't read about that until after we left. Apparently, she's under the island.
o.O
Anyways, the view form the top where the castle itself is was cool. GOing inside, it quite franklu sucked. Everything was fake and display-like. I guess there's a family that still lives there (minus the servants and prestige of ye old days), although they share it with the National Trust (who seems to own every historical site). I took pictures and was severely chastised by a tourist "guard".
One of the only places of note in the castle-thing was the church, which despite my shields had me almost in tears after barely 5 minutes. But there was power there (obviously). There was one statue of St Michael slaying a demon that hit me, though whether good, bad, sad, or just the Christian-ness of it all, I don't know.
Barf on the fake-ness of the mount. The energy of the ley line had been sucked out by the updated tourist-yness of it. No longer a great abbey of power and energy, now just a tourist amusement park without the rollercoasters.
So true.
Also, a random spot or two where there was uber energy, but again ambigious. The again, energy itself isn't positive or negative, it's the intentions with it. Still, it didn't feel like pure energy. It left me... uneasy.
From the outside of the abbey, on one of the towers, we could see the causeway, not just barely underwater. Bu the time we finished the rest, it was more that 'barely', and we were forced to pay to boat back. Or stay and be eaten bu the cannibalistic moks.
Although after actually seeing the place, I'd be more afraid of the tourist guards.
After we got back to shore, we clambered back into the car and starved our way back home.
<3>
Lah.
Positive Programming for Your Soul.
Positive Vibration, yeah.
positif!
(gotta have a good vibe)
Jah Love, Jah Love, protect us!
We're on our way to Mont St Michel, and I'm listening to ska. And we're passing by the airfield/military base/Cornish answer to Area 51, with the double barbed wire topping the 15-foot fence.
And pump that pussy.
I love the rain here. Blue skies and sun and still it rains. And the rain is warm!
AHA!!! IT IS A CASTLE!!!
Sorry, but several miles back I saw a castle in the distance and did a double take, only for it to haev disappeared. Every time we came to a gapin the bushes, I looked but couldn't see it, so finally I gave it up for lost.
NOT SO! I just saw it again, larger than life (or perhaps the same size as)! And as it turns out, it not only exits, it's St Michael's Mount, our destination.
Cool.
Lah.
positif!
(gotta have a good vibe)
Jah Love, Jah Love, protect us!
We're on our way to Mont St Michel, and I'm listening to ska. And we're passing by the airfield/military base/Cornish answer to Area 51, with the double barbed wire topping the 15-foot fence.
And pump that pussy.
I love the rain here. Blue skies and sun and still it rains. And the rain is warm!
AHA!!! IT IS A CASTLE!!!
Sorry, but several miles back I saw a castle in the distance and did a double take, only for it to haev disappeared. Every time we came to a gapin the bushes, I looked but couldn't see it, so finally I gave it up for lost.
NOT SO! I just saw it again, larger than life (or perhaps the same size as)! And as it turns out, it not only exits, it's St Michael's Mount, our destination.
Cool.
Lah.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Uber Waves
Lah!!
Well, we didn't make it to St Michael's Mount yesterday, and by 'didn't make it' I mean everyone slept in and then we were too lazy. So, tomorrow it is. And tomorrow happens to be our last day in Mullion. Friday, we take off for Castleton overnight and then Skye!
I made use of the day to do all the things I had intended for tomorrow. Me and Blair walked down to Poldhu Cove, where the beach was very wide and the sand was pebbly. The waves there were surfing waves, large and foamy and crashing down onto the shore. The tide was coming in; an amazing thing to see. We stood with the waves cresting ten feet in front of us and the foamy surf lapping at our feet.
Some surfers (the closest thing to cute young males we've seen yet) ran by us and didn't even spare a glance at us before wading out to sea; watching them go headfirst through the waves to continue out to sea was something that invoked mild awe and respect for their slight insanity.
One surprise mother wave came crashing into shore far past where the other ones barely touched our ankles, to soak my skirt past my knees and continue all the way up to the rocks I'd prudently placed my stuff on top of. It soaked a chick lying where she'd thought would be out of reach of the water.
Teehee, it was AWESOME!!
After that, we moved our stuff even higher on the rocks, and stripped down to bras and undies. I held my scarf-skirt behind me to billow in the wind like a cape, trying to dry it as much as possible.
I watched the waves crash again and again, so close and yet so far. The power of them was insanely strong and beautiful.
Finally, it was time to get wet. The waves were getting more powerful as the tide moved in, closely followed by what promised to be quite the storm. I saw waves flying towards me and waded in, running towards the more powerful side, watching it crest, break, and come roaring towards me. I willed them to break again against me and send spray up in a geyser, nearly knocking me over with the force of it.
There aren't really words to describe the feeling of watching those huge waves coming straight for you. The fear, excitement, helplessness, and sheer power. Wanting to be part of the wave. Surrendering to it.
I've seen huge waves before, been on beaches, but never stood on a beach to watch one come for me. Each time was terrifying and made me want more, even as I stumbled to keep my balance.
The last time, I was so far in the in that the wave itself hit me, not just the rushing aftermath. It hit me on the dry(ish) beach waist-, maybe chest-high, pushed me almost fully down with the force of it, and soaked me head to toe. I can still brush salt from my eyebrows, hours later.
That's when I (we) surrendered to the rainclouds and gathered our things, and started clambering back up the steep steps cut into the hill and back down the path towards home, shivering. Blair was also soaked, having dunked her dreads before me, but not quite so extensively.
It was raining by the time we hit the path.
Speaking of hair, I hennaed my hair orange this morn. Well, "copper", but seeing how my hair was blond to begin with instead of dark brown, orange was what I expected and received. Gorgeous dark orange that I@m very fond of, partially because it's strangely natural-looking. The henna deep-conditioned my hair too, making it shine beautifully
YAY!
Lah.
We also hit the chocolate shop and the hotel for computer-ness. I spoke to Kai and Mama and Savvy, and learned that Kell's on his way to Sasketchewan.
Anyways, I'm exhausted and it's early-ish up tomorrow so me go try and sleep. Gnight.
Well, we didn't make it to St Michael's Mount yesterday, and by 'didn't make it' I mean everyone slept in and then we were too lazy. So, tomorrow it is. And tomorrow happens to be our last day in Mullion. Friday, we take off for Castleton overnight and then Skye!
I made use of the day to do all the things I had intended for tomorrow. Me and Blair walked down to Poldhu Cove, where the beach was very wide and the sand was pebbly. The waves there were surfing waves, large and foamy and crashing down onto the shore. The tide was coming in; an amazing thing to see. We stood with the waves cresting ten feet in front of us and the foamy surf lapping at our feet.
Some surfers (the closest thing to cute young males we've seen yet) ran by us and didn't even spare a glance at us before wading out to sea; watching them go headfirst through the waves to continue out to sea was something that invoked mild awe and respect for their slight insanity.
One surprise mother wave came crashing into shore far past where the other ones barely touched our ankles, to soak my skirt past my knees and continue all the way up to the rocks I'd prudently placed my stuff on top of. It soaked a chick lying where she'd thought would be out of reach of the water.
Teehee, it was AWESOME!!
After that, we moved our stuff even higher on the rocks, and stripped down to bras and undies. I held my scarf-skirt behind me to billow in the wind like a cape, trying to dry it as much as possible.
I watched the waves crash again and again, so close and yet so far. The power of them was insanely strong and beautiful.
Finally, it was time to get wet. The waves were getting more powerful as the tide moved in, closely followed by what promised to be quite the storm. I saw waves flying towards me and waded in, running towards the more powerful side, watching it crest, break, and come roaring towards me. I willed them to break again against me and send spray up in a geyser, nearly knocking me over with the force of it.
There aren't really words to describe the feeling of watching those huge waves coming straight for you. The fear, excitement, helplessness, and sheer power. Wanting to be part of the wave. Surrendering to it.
I've seen huge waves before, been on beaches, but never stood on a beach to watch one come for me. Each time was terrifying and made me want more, even as I stumbled to keep my balance.
The last time, I was so far in the in that the wave itself hit me, not just the rushing aftermath. It hit me on the dry(ish) beach waist-, maybe chest-high, pushed me almost fully down with the force of it, and soaked me head to toe. I can still brush salt from my eyebrows, hours later.
That's when I (we) surrendered to the rainclouds and gathered our things, and started clambering back up the steep steps cut into the hill and back down the path towards home, shivering. Blair was also soaked, having dunked her dreads before me, but not quite so extensively.
It was raining by the time we hit the path.
Speaking of hair, I hennaed my hair orange this morn. Well, "copper", but seeing how my hair was blond to begin with instead of dark brown, orange was what I expected and received. Gorgeous dark orange that I@m very fond of, partially because it's strangely natural-looking. The henna deep-conditioned my hair too, making it shine beautifully
YAY!
Lah.
We also hit the chocolate shop and the hotel for computer-ness. I spoke to Kai and Mama and Savvy, and learned that Kell's on his way to Sasketchewan.
Anyways, I'm exhausted and it's early-ish up tomorrow so me go try and sleep. Gnight.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Canada Day and a Theatre by the Sea.
Yay, Canada!! Happy Canada day!!
In honour of the country I love, I dressed up all in red and white, and Blair and I covered ourselves in Canada stickers and went to steal toilet paper and internet from the fancy hotel next door.
Unfortunately, there our plans went wrong. I had TP duty but couldn't get the cover off the dispenser to grab the roll, and so was forced to just unravel sheet after sheet into my bag. Meanwhile, Blair's laptop was still refusing to connect to any wireless network.
Luckily, there's a complimentary compie for guests to chekc their email and such on. How convenient!! Despite my not being a guest, nobody questioned our presence.
Upon signing onto my email, I learned that a war has been going on in my absence, between Fil and Kai. And what a war!
Kai, Kai, rah rah rah!!!
He's awesome!!
I was a big part of this war, it seems, absence notwithstanding. And both Mama and Kai have been fighting on my behalf, but mostly Kai.
I have such an awesome brother.
And Mama, whom I messaged, kept assuring me not to worry about Lord Doofus (my name, not hers).
Worry? Why should I, of all of us, care about him? I'm away for over a month yet, and moving immediately after I get back. I'm more worried about Kai and Mum; some of the shit he said in his last angry email was harsh, although so utterly ridiculous as to be be hilarious.
Anyways, speaking of moving, I GOT MY FUNDING!!!!!
-does happy dance-
That cuts the last tie that I'd need him for. Although I could still sue him for tuition if I chose, according to Anne. But "how will I pay" is no longer hanging at the edge of my thoughts, thank the goddess. Faith only goes so far.
Actually, that's not true. Faith does go that far. But the mundane world crashes in every once in a while.
Back to here: two other things of import happened today: the first, a heated discussion with Anne. Now, these happen quite regularly, and are pleasing to both of us, but today's was more vehement than most.
See, we were trying to explain two different things to each other from two different points of view. So, understandably, we both got frustrated. Now, normally I'd be like whatever, move on, but a chord struck deep.
It all started with her askimg whether Mama and Brian were just friends, or friends with benefits. She always wants to know a lot about Mama because I think she sees a lot of Mama in her and her in Mama and wants to know as much as possible, if that makes sense.
Now, I replied that I didn't really know and didn't really care enough to know. This led to her asking why I didn't want to know, and why wouldn't I want to know about Mama's sex life? To me, the whole situation with Mama and Brian isn't me actively evading the knowledge, it's just not inquiring further about the information since neither of them have chosen to volunteer it.
The problem lay more in what came next. See, she believes that to be close to someone is to share every detail about one's life with them, and as the other person you should want to know. No secrets, because to her that equals hiding something which equals lying which equals hurt. Her own personal issues, thanks to her history with her own Lord Doofus. Now, I definitely don't agree with this philosophy. There are some things that are private because they lose something in the sharing, and some things that just plain aren't your business. I, of course, told her this.
Then she continued the discussion by asking how I think this point of view (mine) affects my writing, since she also believes the same thing of writing. This is where things got personal and emotional for me, because writing is my passion and I know I'm an excellent writer. I snidely wanted to point out that her point of view is probably why she's not a good writer, but since I haven't read her writing and was feeling nasty, I kept it to myself. I tried instead to explain that in writing a novel, you're guiding the reader towards certain emotions, realizations and thoughts, and to do so you can't just give them all the info at once; you have to choose which things you divulge in order to further that.
Then she said nothing personal, but someone who did that was no different than a politician or anyone else looking to manipulate someone to their own devious ends. Implying (to me) that I was looking hurt those other people.
Woah, Skippy. Hold the phone. Don't take it personally? Part of me understood we had two different kinds of writing and manipulation in mind, that she had self-admitted issues about what she percieved as 'keeping secrets', even as author-to-reader. But still.
It didn't help that I've learned that absolutely everything has to have deeper meaning to her. 'Why didn't Dakota/Colleen/Mama participate more in pole dancing? That Colleen and Dakota physically couldn't, she accepted with difficulty. And Mama? She decided that having planned and paid for it, she had earned the right to sit out and watch after a round or two.
But no. There has to be more to it. WHO CARES IF THERES MORE TO IT, THAT WAS ENOUGH OF AN EXPLANATION FOR ME!
"So then I have to ask, what do you think she's afraid of?"
I. Am. So. Fucking. Sick. Of. Her. Questions.
Judgments, even. Because even though they're for her own curiousity, I want to sew her mouth shut sometimes.
Everything has to be read deeper into, and all her thoughts are assertions. You're required to defend everything like a thesis to convince her she's wrong. She'll accept a new idea, fine, but you have to back it up extremely thoroughly. Which often pushes me to become--surprise!--defensive.
I feel bad (don't be!) about getting so pissed off at her because she's a good person at heart and has done a lot for me, so I've been suppressing these thoughts until they could come spilling out onto paper, if not spilling out with perfect clarity.
God save me from professors. And let's not forget that she often mistakes trusting her first instinct with trusting her first thought. Two very different things indeed.
But enough about her. I could keep bitching all night, but then my fingers would be too cramped to write about the Minack Theatre and Jason, the play we saw there.
The Minack is an outdoor theatre built in the 1920s into the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. Totally awesome, and the acoustics were amazing, although by the end of the night, I was wearing 4 layers and a blanket just to keep warm. the damp had also set into my joints so that I could barely walk, and now everytime I sniffle, the mucous tastes of salt.
Cool play, too. It consisted of 2 men and 3 women playing every role of the classic (ish) greek tragedy with a comedic twist. y first encounter with Jason was when he heroically made his entrance with one leg propped up on the row above me, conveniently placing his nether regions in my face, around eye-level 6 inches away. His toga ended above his knees when he was standing normally, so let's not even talk about the heights it achieved hiked up like that.
We were sitting like third row from the stage, near the end. The seats were quite literally hewn from the cliffside. The higher ones were long benches with grass cleverly grown on them for padding (ish), but down where we were, we actually had individually carved seats (kinda).
The play itself was fairly funny (and supremely weird in that way that only the Brits have), with added creepiness and much confusion. And it continued to be funny until the last bit, where the tragedy suddenly kicks in and takes over the humour completely. It ends with Medea killing her twin babies as she does in the real tragedy of the that name. Oh, and let's not forget taking out of the holy water the red-soaked cloths that represented her babies AND LOOKED LIKE INTESTINES!!!
Whee.
Oh, and there were amazing and strange plants growing all around there, all huge and all indescribable. I tried to take pickies to express the things that for once, words can't.
Blessed be.
Pink is Blair.
Lah.
In honour of the country I love, I dressed up all in red and white, and Blair and I covered ourselves in Canada stickers and went to steal toilet paper and internet from the fancy hotel next door.
Unfortunately, there our plans went wrong. I had TP duty but couldn't get the cover off the dispenser to grab the roll, and so was forced to just unravel sheet after sheet into my bag. Meanwhile, Blair's laptop was still refusing to connect to any wireless network.
Luckily, there's a complimentary compie for guests to chekc their email and such on. How convenient!! Despite my not being a guest, nobody questioned our presence.
Upon signing onto my email, I learned that a war has been going on in my absence, between Fil and Kai. And what a war!
Kai, Kai, rah rah rah!!!
He's awesome!!
I was a big part of this war, it seems, absence notwithstanding. And both Mama and Kai have been fighting on my behalf, but mostly Kai.
I have such an awesome brother.
And Mama, whom I messaged, kept assuring me not to worry about Lord Doofus (my name, not hers).
Worry? Why should I, of all of us, care about him? I'm away for over a month yet, and moving immediately after I get back. I'm more worried about Kai and Mum; some of the shit he said in his last angry email was harsh, although so utterly ridiculous as to be be hilarious.
Anyways, speaking of moving, I GOT MY FUNDING!!!!!
-does happy dance-
That cuts the last tie that I'd need him for. Although I could still sue him for tuition if I chose, according to Anne. But "how will I pay" is no longer hanging at the edge of my thoughts, thank the goddess. Faith only goes so far.
Actually, that's not true. Faith does go that far. But the mundane world crashes in every once in a while.
Back to here: two other things of import happened today: the first, a heated discussion with Anne. Now, these happen quite regularly, and are pleasing to both of us, but today's was more vehement than most.
See, we were trying to explain two different things to each other from two different points of view. So, understandably, we both got frustrated. Now, normally I'd be like whatever, move on, but a chord struck deep.
It all started with her askimg whether Mama and Brian were just friends, or friends with benefits. She always wants to know a lot about Mama because I think she sees a lot of Mama in her and her in Mama and wants to know as much as possible, if that makes sense.
Now, I replied that I didn't really know and didn't really care enough to know. This led to her asking why I didn't want to know, and why wouldn't I want to know about Mama's sex life? To me, the whole situation with Mama and Brian isn't me actively evading the knowledge, it's just not inquiring further about the information since neither of them have chosen to volunteer it.
The problem lay more in what came next. See, she believes that to be close to someone is to share every detail about one's life with them, and as the other person you should want to know. No secrets, because to her that equals hiding something which equals lying which equals hurt. Her own personal issues, thanks to her history with her own Lord Doofus. Now, I definitely don't agree with this philosophy. There are some things that are private because they lose something in the sharing, and some things that just plain aren't your business. I, of course, told her this.
Then she continued the discussion by asking how I think this point of view (mine) affects my writing, since she also believes the same thing of writing. This is where things got personal and emotional for me, because writing is my passion and I know I'm an excellent writer. I snidely wanted to point out that her point of view is probably why she's not a good writer, but since I haven't read her writing and was feeling nasty, I kept it to myself. I tried instead to explain that in writing a novel, you're guiding the reader towards certain emotions, realizations and thoughts, and to do so you can't just give them all the info at once; you have to choose which things you divulge in order to further that.
Then she said nothing personal, but someone who did that was no different than a politician or anyone else looking to manipulate someone to their own devious ends. Implying (to me) that I was looking hurt those other people.
Woah, Skippy. Hold the phone. Don't take it personally? Part of me understood we had two different kinds of writing and manipulation in mind, that she had self-admitted issues about what she percieved as 'keeping secrets', even as author-to-reader. But still.
It didn't help that I've learned that absolutely everything has to have deeper meaning to her. 'Why didn't Dakota/Colleen/Mama participate more in pole dancing? That Colleen and Dakota physically couldn't, she accepted with difficulty. And Mama? She decided that having planned and paid for it, she had earned the right to sit out and watch after a round or two.
But no. There has to be more to it. WHO CARES IF THERES MORE TO IT, THAT WAS ENOUGH OF AN EXPLANATION FOR ME!
"So then I have to ask, what do you think she's afraid of?"
I. Am. So. Fucking. Sick. Of. Her. Questions.
Judgments, even. Because even though they're for her own curiousity, I want to sew her mouth shut sometimes.
Everything has to be read deeper into, and all her thoughts are assertions. You're required to defend everything like a thesis to convince her she's wrong. She'll accept a new idea, fine, but you have to back it up extremely thoroughly. Which often pushes me to become--surprise!--defensive.
I feel bad (don't be!) about getting so pissed off at her because she's a good person at heart and has done a lot for me, so I've been suppressing these thoughts until they could come spilling out onto paper, if not spilling out with perfect clarity.
God save me from professors. And let's not forget that she often mistakes trusting her first instinct with trusting her first thought. Two very different things indeed.
But enough about her. I could keep bitching all night, but then my fingers would be too cramped to write about the Minack Theatre and Jason, the play we saw there.
The Minack is an outdoor theatre built in the 1920s into the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. Totally awesome, and the acoustics were amazing, although by the end of the night, I was wearing 4 layers and a blanket just to keep warm. the damp had also set into my joints so that I could barely walk, and now everytime I sniffle, the mucous tastes of salt.
Cool play, too. It consisted of 2 men and 3 women playing every role of the classic (ish) greek tragedy with a comedic twist. y first encounter with Jason was when he heroically made his entrance with one leg propped up on the row above me, conveniently placing his nether regions in my face, around eye-level 6 inches away. His toga ended above his knees when he was standing normally, so let's not even talk about the heights it achieved hiked up like that.
We were sitting like third row from the stage, near the end. The seats were quite literally hewn from the cliffside. The higher ones were long benches with grass cleverly grown on them for padding (ish), but down where we were, we actually had individually carved seats (kinda).
The play itself was fairly funny (and supremely weird in that way that only the Brits have), with added creepiness and much confusion. And it continued to be funny until the last bit, where the tragedy suddenly kicks in and takes over the humour completely. It ends with Medea killing her twin babies as she does in the real tragedy of the that name. Oh, and let's not forget taking out of the holy water the red-soaked cloths that represented her babies AND LOOKED LIKE INTESTINES!!!
Whee.
Oh, and there were amazing and strange plants growing all around there, all huge and all indescribable. I tried to take pickies to express the things that for once, words can't.
Blessed be.
Pink is Blair.
Lah.
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