MistWeaver: Just a quick update before I go in to do my test.
Voice In The Mist: Hopefully followed by a longer one afterwards?
MW: Hopefully.
Okay, so here's the deal. I have my Social Studies final exam in an hour. Because it's exam week, I don't have school unless it's exams, so I'm leaving to be driven into my exam in about 10 minutes.
My greatest fear: That I fail this test. Or just barely pass. Why? Because a lot of my mark rests on this test. And Mr Morris, my teacher, is well-known for giving super hard and/or deceptively easy tests. That you do badly on, no exception. Unless you're Monica or Cullen. Then we hate you.
I try really hard, but I can't seem to do that great on my tests no matter what. It's even worse for essays. I listened to the comments on the last one and tried really hard to improve. And I thought that I had, until I got back my essay and realized that I did worse than before.
And all last night and this morning I was plagued with worries and random bad thoguhts, centering on the idea that I would miss or be late for my final, at 1230. I also had straneg dreams last night, but they didn't have anything to do with the test. They did contribute to my lack of sleep, however.
*sigh*
Anyways, so I'm a lot more calm now than I was earlier. This is in part to copious amounts of tea, Ryan, studying, Ryan again, and Within Temptation. Becs helped too, but it was more by making me feel bad for being so unconfident.
Thanks to Ryan and the song NeverEnding Story by Within Temptation, I realized/remembered that one test isn't the center of my life. It doesn't matter how important it is. My Mother is still the Earth.
Since I'm running short on time, I'll just copy what Ryan said and complete the rest later.
Ahhh don't have time. Just got bombarded with good news. Ttyl.
MistWeaver
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Saturday, January 22, 2005
The Wounded Soldier
Voice In The Mist: I think I'll cut to the chase and just ask the question we all want to know. Why on earth do you have toilet paper wrapped around your head? And where's your hair?
MistWeaver: It's kinda glued to my head by the bleach.
VITM: Well, that explains the odd colour. But why the toilet paper?
MW: You'll have to ask Mama about that one. She's the one who wrapped it around the base of my scalp. I suppose the coconut-oil thingie isn't enough to keep the bleach from burning my skin. Hence the picture in which I look like a wounded soldier in the army.
VITM: So what colour is your hair gonna be?
MW: Oh, it'll be white after the bleach, I imagine. But I'm gonna tye-dye it blue. Interesting idea, really. But I shall say no more on the topic of blue, so as not to jynx it.
VITM: Suit yourself. Isn't it kinda late to be bleaching your hair? I mean, it's nearly 1 30 AM.
MW: Nah, Mama and I are night owls. I bleached Inga's hair at 2 am over teh summer, and it turned out fine...
VITM: You two are insane. But let's move on. How was your day?
MW: Excellent! I scored two movies and food, not to mention a new book that I thought wasn't coming out for another couple of months.
VITM: Do tell. What movies didja see?
MW: Well first off we saw "Racing Stripes" with Papa. That's the one with the zebra who wants to be a racehorse. It's got a lot of cool voices, like Whoopi Goldberg, Frankie Muniz, David Spade...
VITM: Was it any good?
MW: It was okay. It was an interesting story, and quite entertaining/funny, but it could have been much better done. The animation, that is. The style it was done in was all real live people and animals, but the animals could speak and there were two computer-animated flies.
Whoops, time to wash out ze hair. Latah!
MistWeaver
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Have Mercy On The Tired One!
Voice In The Mist: Where have you been?
MistWeaver: Busy.
Voice In The Mist: But isn't school over for the semester? Shouldn't you have no work, for once? Wait... You're not telling me that the grand Weaver of mists was actually studying?
MistWeaver: Don't be ridiculous. I've been busy with non-scholarly concerns. Wednesday, I didn't get home until really late. I think today's Thursday, and I wasn't home all day, either. Mama woke me up early and we had to go see the therapist.
VITM: Therapist? uh oh, what have you done?
MW: Nothing! Nothing at all!
*glances nervously from side to side*
VITM: I somehow don't believe you... But no matter. I shall confront you about it when you don't look so... listless. And when the bags underneath your eyes are a little smaller than baseballs...
Adieu!
MistWeaver
MistWeaver: Busy.
Voice In The Mist: But isn't school over for the semester? Shouldn't you have no work, for once? Wait... You're not telling me that the grand Weaver of mists was actually studying?
MistWeaver: Don't be ridiculous. I've been busy with non-scholarly concerns. Wednesday, I didn't get home until really late. I think today's Thursday, and I wasn't home all day, either. Mama woke me up early and we had to go see the therapist.
VITM: Therapist? uh oh, what have you done?
MW: Nothing! Nothing at all!
*glances nervously from side to side*
VITM: I somehow don't believe you... But no matter. I shall confront you about it when you don't look so... listless. And when the bags underneath your eyes are a little smaller than baseballs...
Adieu!
MistWeaver
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
"Thee"
MW: Isn't that a splendid word? Thee. I love that word. It's one of my favorite words.
VITM (a little more echoey and far off than usual): Uh oh, she's been dealing a little too much with that bleach.
MW: Pft. I have not. In fact, Mama hasn't even gotten home with the bleach yet. Wait, I hear the door. Nope, just Kai. And since I'm way overtired and kinda hyperactive from lack of sleep at the same time as I'm longing to throw myself at the bed and sleep for a million years, I'm kinda running on and ranting a bit when I talk, which you may or may not have noticed but oooh I'm warm I love my bathrobe I need to change the sheets on my bed and steal somebody so that I can steal their body heat because that's the thing about winter, is that it's cold and the only sure way to warm yourself up is a lot of really heavy comforters and/or a warm body. Preferably both.
VITM: Holy crap. That was a long sentence.
MW: Hey, whaddaya know. It was.
VITM: You know, I think that our conversations have been going slightly downhill lately.
MW: I blame it on tiredity. When I'm tired, I can't hold the mists at bay as well as usual. Which is why you're a little lost in the other mists tonight. And why I randomly jump from subject to subject and can't seem to focus clearly. I feel like I should be italicized. Like a song lyric. Like a Poe song lyric from her Haunted album.
Sometimes I can't hear-
You'll have to speak a little louder. I can't hear you.
Sometimes I can't hear myself think.
MW: That's probably my favorite strange echo-skit-ghost-thing on the album. Besides Exploration B, the first one. That's where she calls up her mother, gets the answering machine, and says in this creepy singsong voice "Thought you should know. Daddy died today..." and goes on like that. Chilling. Lovely. Gorgeous. I can sometimes understand why Brett worships her. Heehee. I love Brett. We all constantly pick on him and tease him at rehearsal. But he does the same back to us. Truly radical dude. Like, totally. Even though he wore the leather pants last year. I've forgiven him for that.
VITM: I'm getting a headache listening to you, and I don't even have a head.
MW: You're so far away... come back...
VITM: Let's desperately try to keep this mundane, shall we? How did you end up doing on that play thing you got into the bitchfight with that chick about?
MW: Oh, we did horribly on that. Presented it this morning. I didn't contribute to the horribleness, though. In fact, I knew all my lines to a "T". But "T" is an uncool letter, so I'm going to reject the T. Instead, I knew all my lines to a "Q". Qs are cooler than Ts. There's only one part that I messed up, and that was where I unknowingly jumped a paragraph. But that's okay, because no one noticed. Hell, even I didn't until near the end of the play when it hit me in a burst of light.
Oh, and now Kai wants to bed. So I shall stop my takeover of his computer and go to my room.
MistWeaver
VITM (a little more echoey and far off than usual): Uh oh, she's been dealing a little too much with that bleach.
MW: Pft. I have not. In fact, Mama hasn't even gotten home with the bleach yet. Wait, I hear the door. Nope, just Kai. And since I'm way overtired and kinda hyperactive from lack of sleep at the same time as I'm longing to throw myself at the bed and sleep for a million years, I'm kinda running on and ranting a bit when I talk, which you may or may not have noticed but oooh I'm warm I love my bathrobe I need to change the sheets on my bed and steal somebody so that I can steal their body heat because that's the thing about winter, is that it's cold and the only sure way to warm yourself up is a lot of really heavy comforters and/or a warm body. Preferably both.
VITM: Holy crap. That was a long sentence.
MW: Hey, whaddaya know. It was.
VITM: You know, I think that our conversations have been going slightly downhill lately.
MW: I blame it on tiredity. When I'm tired, I can't hold the mists at bay as well as usual. Which is why you're a little lost in the other mists tonight. And why I randomly jump from subject to subject and can't seem to focus clearly. I feel like I should be italicized. Like a song lyric. Like a Poe song lyric from her Haunted album.
Sometimes I can't hear-
You'll have to speak a little louder. I can't hear you.
Sometimes I can't hear myself think.
MW: That's probably my favorite strange echo-skit-ghost-thing on the album. Besides Exploration B, the first one. That's where she calls up her mother, gets the answering machine, and says in this creepy singsong voice "Thought you should know. Daddy died today..." and goes on like that. Chilling. Lovely. Gorgeous. I can sometimes understand why Brett worships her. Heehee. I love Brett. We all constantly pick on him and tease him at rehearsal. But he does the same back to us. Truly radical dude. Like, totally. Even though he wore the leather pants last year. I've forgiven him for that.
VITM: I'm getting a headache listening to you, and I don't even have a head.
MW: You're so far away... come back...
VITM: Let's desperately try to keep this mundane, shall we? How did you end up doing on that play thing you got into the bitchfight with that chick about?
MW: Oh, we did horribly on that. Presented it this morning. I didn't contribute to the horribleness, though. In fact, I knew all my lines to a "T". But "T" is an uncool letter, so I'm going to reject the T. Instead, I knew all my lines to a "Q". Qs are cooler than Ts. There's only one part that I messed up, and that was where I unknowingly jumped a paragraph. But that's okay, because no one noticed. Hell, even I didn't until near the end of the play when it hit me in a burst of light.
Oh, and now Kai wants to bed. So I shall stop my takeover of his computer and go to my room.
MistWeaver
Monday, January 17, 2005
Oh, no... Suction...
MistWeaver: The bed... it calls to me...
Voice In The Mist: Why don't you answer, then?
MW: Nuh uh. Too much work to do. I should be doing it right now.
VITM: So go do it.
MW: Can't... I can't concentrate on my homework. It's really irritating. I should have been done hours ago, but instead I've barely (as in, NOT) started.
VITM: In serving my current role as conscience, I order yout o put your nose to the grindstone and WORK!
*Voice snickers*
VITM: Yeah, like you're really gonna.
MW: I have no will to deny it. I won't. Not right now. But I will tonight, even if I get absolutely no sleep. Which is possible. On another note... I have two tidbits of cool news.
VITM: Do tell.
MW: First off, I had the most amazing-cool (yeah, I know: great vocab) dream this morning. That's a kinda long story that I was gonna tell you at lunch, except that the internet in the library was down.
VITM: You can tell us about it after your homework. What's the second piece of news?
MW: I talked to Inga today!
VITM: Wow, that's really great! When was the last time you talked to her? A month ago? More?
MW: More. But she called, and we talked for about ten minutes before Ryan got us to three-way him. He's always really interested in meeting her for some reason. And after that, we talked for like another hour. Twas really cool.
VITM: Ryan and Inga? Now there's an unlikely combination. How did they get along?
MW: Frankly, I expected that they'd despise each other. But surprisingly enough, they got along semi-well. Better than Will and Inga, in any case.
*knocks on wood*
And Ryan took Inga's every-third-word swearing quite well. I was impressed. He said absolutely nothing on the topic. It also served to remind me how far I've come, and how far I have yet to go. For instance, I used to swear as often or more than she does. It was a serious test in self-restraint though, because when I talk to Inga, I tend to fall into the usual pattern we have when talking to each other. Basically, we talk extremely fast, with the conversation so littered with 'dude's and 'fuck's that an outsider would probably not understand half of what we said. I fear we may have subjected Ryan to at least part of that, but I tried as best I could to hold back on swearing. Hardest thing I've done all week. By far. Also, we had a lot of catching up to do, and therefore were more updating each other on events than anything else. On the other hand, there are a few things that just can't be discussed in the midst of 'mixed' company. Such as what's-his-face. Jared. Well, technically he can be discussed in 'mixed' company, but I didn't feel comfortable doing it for some reason. I don't know why. Maybe because he was so interested. Maybe because I feel stupid whenever I think about it.
Speaking of which, Ryan wants to get Ian (who's gonna Montreal soon) and Inga together.
VITM: A match made in Heaven, truly.
MW: Lords, I can see that one. Ian would either despise her, she would despise him, both, or she would corrupt him utterly. Probably a combination of the three.
But let's leave that for another day. As we shall the dream, of which I will post the edited version next time I have teh chance (i.e., when I have gotten more sleep). And the update on what's happened to Ryan's hair, and what's happening to my hair. And the scariness of how I feel like every day I'm turning more and more into ... *shudder* A CALGARIAN!
Seriously, I am. It's scaring me. But more on that tomorrow.
MistWeaver
Voice In The Mist: Why don't you answer, then?
MW: Nuh uh. Too much work to do. I should be doing it right now.
VITM: So go do it.
MW: Can't... I can't concentrate on my homework. It's really irritating. I should have been done hours ago, but instead I've barely (as in, NOT) started.
VITM: In serving my current role as conscience, I order yout o put your nose to the grindstone and WORK!
*Voice snickers*
VITM: Yeah, like you're really gonna.
MW: I have no will to deny it. I won't. Not right now. But I will tonight, even if I get absolutely no sleep. Which is possible. On another note... I have two tidbits of cool news.
VITM: Do tell.
MW: First off, I had the most amazing-cool (yeah, I know: great vocab) dream this morning. That's a kinda long story that I was gonna tell you at lunch, except that the internet in the library was down.
VITM: You can tell us about it after your homework. What's the second piece of news?
MW: I talked to Inga today!
VITM: Wow, that's really great! When was the last time you talked to her? A month ago? More?
MW: More. But she called, and we talked for about ten minutes before Ryan got us to three-way him. He's always really interested in meeting her for some reason. And after that, we talked for like another hour. Twas really cool.
VITM: Ryan and Inga? Now there's an unlikely combination. How did they get along?
MW: Frankly, I expected that they'd despise each other. But surprisingly enough, they got along semi-well. Better than Will and Inga, in any case.
*knocks on wood*
And Ryan took Inga's every-third-word swearing quite well. I was impressed. He said absolutely nothing on the topic. It also served to remind me how far I've come, and how far I have yet to go. For instance, I used to swear as often or more than she does. It was a serious test in self-restraint though, because when I talk to Inga, I tend to fall into the usual pattern we have when talking to each other. Basically, we talk extremely fast, with the conversation so littered with 'dude's and 'fuck's that an outsider would probably not understand half of what we said. I fear we may have subjected Ryan to at least part of that, but I tried as best I could to hold back on swearing. Hardest thing I've done all week. By far. Also, we had a lot of catching up to do, and therefore were more updating each other on events than anything else. On the other hand, there are a few things that just can't be discussed in the midst of 'mixed' company. Such as what's-his-face. Jared. Well, technically he can be discussed in 'mixed' company, but I didn't feel comfortable doing it for some reason. I don't know why. Maybe because he was so interested. Maybe because I feel stupid whenever I think about it.
Speaking of which, Ryan wants to get Ian (who's gonna Montreal soon) and Inga together.
VITM: A match made in Heaven, truly.
MW: Lords, I can see that one. Ian would either despise her, she would despise him, both, or she would corrupt him utterly. Probably a combination of the three.
But let's leave that for another day. As we shall the dream, of which I will post the edited version next time I have teh chance (i.e., when I have gotten more sleep). And the update on what's happened to Ryan's hair, and what's happening to my hair. And the scariness of how I feel like every day I'm turning more and more into ... *shudder* A CALGARIAN!
Seriously, I am. It's scaring me. But more on that tomorrow.
MistWeaver
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Love and Laughter
I've been thinking. I happened to reread the inscription above my bedroom window. I have people who love me, people who care. Maybe not a huge bunch of them, but I have a few of the best people any of you will ever meet. I have an adorable tiny dog who presses his nose to mine and loves to lick every part of me he can find. I have books, I have movies, and I have a mother who has sacrificed a lot for us.
I have some of the awesomest souls in the world around me, no matter who they came from or how they grew up. Becs still doesn't listen to a word her mother says that's bigotry or racism if it has to do with her friends. Not only that, but she fights her mother. She stands up for what she believes in, no matter who she's up against.
Will still doesn't let himself get broken, doesn't let his parents isolate him from everyone he likes that doesn't fit their standards. He fights back too, physically if he has to. And it will pay off for him. He'll be free soon enough. He'll find his happiness. Better (and harder) yet, he still doesn't believe a word his parents say about 'different' people, though they've been saying them since he was young. I think this is partly because of what his parents would hate about him if they knew about it. What they do hate him for, even though they don't consciously know it.
Maral and Sabrina and Melissa and Marie Claire will still have my back if I was in trouble, even though I haven't seen Maral or Sab in years and I see Meli or MC once two years if I'm lucky. Hell, their parents might even have backed me up, because they've known me since I was a little girl.
So all in all, stupid tiny little things don't really matter on the Richter scale of my life. When it comes down to it, they aren't important at all in the long run. Maybe right now I--we--don't have the best of circumstances, the happiest of lives, the greatest people in them. But one day, we will. And when push comes to shove, there are better things to dwell on. Like listening to Bec tell me in full detail what I missed by being sick until I'm wondering how a chick can have that much spit to talk so much, mention it, and be reminded that I often talk for even longer periods of time, then agree and laugh with her.
Beautiful sound, incidentally. Laughter. Real laughter. And when you have someone like Becs, who doesn't hold back her laugh and doesn't expect you to either, then you're really lucky. Because we've laughed for minutes while barely stopping for breath, only to finally resurface and realize that what we were laughing about was lame and really a pathetic reason to laugh, anyway. But it didn't matter, because we were enjoying ourselves to an extent that didn't require something weighty or important. Because happiness is one of the simplest things on Earth.
And with that, I leave you on a happy note.
MistWeaver
PS: And some people are worth anything.
PPS: If you're wondering what started the chain of thinking about happy things, I've deleted the original post at a request from a friend. Sorry.
I have some of the awesomest souls in the world around me, no matter who they came from or how they grew up. Becs still doesn't listen to a word her mother says that's bigotry or racism if it has to do with her friends. Not only that, but she fights her mother. She stands up for what she believes in, no matter who she's up against.
Will still doesn't let himself get broken, doesn't let his parents isolate him from everyone he likes that doesn't fit their standards. He fights back too, physically if he has to. And it will pay off for him. He'll be free soon enough. He'll find his happiness. Better (and harder) yet, he still doesn't believe a word his parents say about 'different' people, though they've been saying them since he was young. I think this is partly because of what his parents would hate about him if they knew about it. What they do hate him for, even though they don't consciously know it.
Maral and Sabrina and Melissa and Marie Claire will still have my back if I was in trouble, even though I haven't seen Maral or Sab in years and I see Meli or MC once two years if I'm lucky. Hell, their parents might even have backed me up, because they've known me since I was a little girl.
So all in all, stupid tiny little things don't really matter on the Richter scale of my life. When it comes down to it, they aren't important at all in the long run. Maybe right now I--we--don't have the best of circumstances, the happiest of lives, the greatest people in them. But one day, we will. And when push comes to shove, there are better things to dwell on. Like listening to Bec tell me in full detail what I missed by being sick until I'm wondering how a chick can have that much spit to talk so much, mention it, and be reminded that I often talk for even longer periods of time, then agree and laugh with her.
Beautiful sound, incidentally. Laughter. Real laughter. And when you have someone like Becs, who doesn't hold back her laugh and doesn't expect you to either, then you're really lucky. Because we've laughed for minutes while barely stopping for breath, only to finally resurface and realize that what we were laughing about was lame and really a pathetic reason to laugh, anyway. But it didn't matter, because we were enjoying ourselves to an extent that didn't require something weighty or important. Because happiness is one of the simplest things on Earth.
And with that, I leave you on a happy note.
MistWeaver
PS: And some people are worth anything.
PPS: If you're wondering what started the chain of thinking about happy things, I've deleted the original post at a request from a friend. Sorry.
Friday, January 14, 2005
The Stomach Flu and Theology and Random Acts of Kindness
Bonjour, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the wonderful world of sickness. I'll be your host for today. Please watch where you step and try not to land in any piles of vomit. If you look to your right, you'll see the wall of pills and water. To your left is the mounds of peppermint tea and comforters. Try not to touch these, or you'll be infected immediately.
Voice In The Mist: That's real pleasant, Weaver. Thanks for sharing that with us.
MistWeaver: I thought so myself. Now hold on a second while I run to the bathroom.
VITM: I take it you weren't at school today?
MW: Considering that it's only 11 15 AM, I think that's a safe assumption.
VITM: So why didn't you ever post mucho to cover up the post from yesterday?
MW: Because the stupid computer crashed yesterday morning while I was in the middle of typing it.
VITM: I suppose that you're going to spend your day off of school catching us up on what's been going on?
MW: Yes, I am. As soon as I'm done my book.
*leaves to finish reading*
*comes back two hours later*
MW: Ah, that was an excellent book. I quite enjoyed it. Now onto the events of the past couple of days.
Wednesday was Youth Group. And this particular Wednesday, I also had a rehearsal for the play I'm stage manager in. Now the day before, it was cold. Very cold. Not cold enough to stop transportation and therefore the busses, but cold enough to make standing outside for the bus an unpleasant experience.
We had all hoped that Wednesday school would be cancelled, because they had told us that anything colder than -41 and that's exactly what would have happened. In fact, Wednesday morning when the radio said that it would be -45 with wind chill and even colder, we all listened to the radio to find out if this was indeed what was happening. Unfortunately, even though nearly all schools outside of Calgary were closed or without busses, ours wasn't. So I reluctantly prepared for the essay I had first thing in the morning, talked to Rebecca (who had talked her mother into letting her stay home), buttoned up my coat, and went outside to wait for the bus. Which came more or less on time. Curses.
The essay was very difficult, I had writer's block, French class was laughable, and English was spent working on a new edition of my book on my laptop. Rehearsal was thankfully cancelled for weather. The reason I was thankful about that fact is that because of the 5 15 ending time of rehearsal and the 6 30 starting time of Youth, I would have had to go straight there and be there for 6 or something. And since it doesn't end until 9 30, I wouldn't have gotten home until 10 or later. But this way, I got to go home! And spend time doing constructive things until twas time to go!
But this was not to be. For my bus driver, Carol, is kinda spastic and the kids on my bus are total telephone-heads. There's this one little bugger in Grade 10 that yells insults at her from his position at the back of the bus. Her efforts to make us respect her are pretty much a failure, mostly from her techniques. For instance, her favorite two things to do are to refuse to move until we're all sitting exactly in the seating plan she made for us, as well as to call the vice-principal, Mr Reynolds, onto the bus to 'chat' with us. Both of these result in delays in getting home, which for those of us with lives is never a good thing. Especially since the vaguely pedophilic Reynolds likes to lean into people to talk to those closer to the back of the bus and otherwise touch us... hands on shoulders, etc. It's creepy.
Today, miraculously, nothing happened to make us be once again the last bus to leave the school. On the other hand, the losers were ina particularly active mood and halfway down the long highway that takes us fromt he middle of nowhere where the school is to the other end of nowhere where Bragg Creek and Redwood are, she suddenly pulled over.
I had abosolutely no idea what was going on, of course, since I was listening to my iRiver at a high volume and reading, but I assumed that she had either finally gotten sick of Ty and was going to beat some sense into him, or someone had thrown something (an action that seemed to particularly piss her off), or they had moved out of the seating plan.
It turned out to be the second one. Someone had thrown a CD at Carol. She sat there for like ten minutes, discussing with herself what she would do. She kept demanding who had done it, but of course no one would confess. I have my suspicions: I'm 95% sure that it was Ty. The fact that he kept marching up and down the rows demanding in a loud, obnoxious, completely insincere voice "who did it?" so that we could get home was a tipoff. That and the fac tthat I sit at the beginning of the 'back' seats, and it came from behind me and behind the guy in back of me. That leaves about 3 double rows of seats: 6 people or so. At the very least, he would have seen who did it.
Finally we got curious and asked what Carol was doing. She replied that she had calle dMr Reynolds and we would wait until he got there to sort everythign out.
For the love of the Earth, we were a 15 minute drive away from the school, in the middle of absolutely nowhere! Not to mention that he had to get ready, put on his coat, and get his stuff before he would even consider leaving the building. We sat there, getting more and more bored, upset, irritated, and all-around unhappy. I was especially worried because if I didn't get home in time, Mama would have already left to pick me up from rehearsal, and she would be mighty unhappy--not to mention worried-- if she got to the school, looked for me everywhere, then had to come all the way back home to find me already there. My mind also kept flicking to how idling a car was one of the worst contributors to pollution in the world. It burned gas and released more toxic fumes than anything else. We were in a huge bus, and we'd been idling for a good 20 minutes or more.
Finally, Reynolds pulled over on the highway in front of us. None of us had ever been so glad to see him in our lives. He attempted to make us fess up (though like I said, only six people even had the possibility of having saw it in a bus of over 50 people), put pressure on us, told us that we'd stay until someone admitted it. When one person pointed out that Carol and Reynolds could get in a lot of trouble for keeping the majority of us, who had no way of even suspecting who it was, from missing appointments, making our parents worry (since we weren't even allowed to call them), even having to go to the bathroom (because we weren't allowed to get off the bus), he said that we shoudl then apply pressure to make them confess.
How the hell were we supposed to do that? Ty was already repeating his 'OKAY. WHO THE FUCK DID IT? I HAVE TO GO HOME AND TAKE A SHIT AND I DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS.' speech again (which was pure luncheon meat), and we were at a loss. Finally, Dustin (a dude who lives down the street from me) got tired of Reynolds' attempt to look superior and think that he had the upper hand (which he didn't), and proclaimed that he had done it, clap him in leg irons, whatever, just let them get home. Of course, all of us knew that he hadn't.
Reynolds nodded.
"Good. Then we'll have to drive back to the school, call your parents to come pick you up, and then..."
Dustin quickly retracted his statement as the rest of us groaned miserably. Whether he meant that we'd all have to drive back to the school or that Dustin would have to go alone with Reynolds, it was not a desirable thought for anyone.
At this point, I turned back up my music. Nothing would get solved; that was obvious. And I didn't have anything to contribute. I had the urge to warn Carol that she wasn't accomplishing anything when she did things like this, though. All she did was make enemies.
I did find out somethign interesting that day, though. Carol's very pregnant. It was very visible when she stood up to talk to us, but since we had never seen her standing up before, nobody had known.
After telling us that he would take us out of class one by one (all of us, not just the backseat-ers) and talk to us privately in an empty classroom (he was just a little too eager for that, in my opinion) and threatening us with bus reprimand forms (I mean, honestly. He said it and showed them to us liek they were a fate worse than death), he finally left and we got back on the road. I walked in about ten minutes before Mama would have walked out to get me. Luck, eh?
VITM: Maybe she's more spastic because of her pregnancy.
MW: The thought crossed my mind. Reynolds doesn't have that excuse, though.
VITM: So obviously your day sucked up until that point... what about Youth?
MW: The day stopped sucking the minute I got to Youth. Ryan hadn't gone to his school either, and I had threatened revenge. Here's a tip: Never tell Ryan you're threatening revenge on him beforehand.
VITM: What did he do?
MW: When I got there, he was sitting in a chair around a small table. I sat down beside him and he asked me about my revenge. Then he hefted a box of Ferrero Rochers and admitted that he'd just have to eat them all by himself...
VITM: THE MONSTER!
MW: I know. How could he do something like that? The little monster knows how much I like Ferrero Rochers. That was just playing dirty.
VITM: So how did you react?
MW: Much the way you did. And I watched as he took one, slowly unwrapped it... and gave it to me.
VITM: So much for revenge...
MW: Yeah, all unpleasant thoughts kind of dissipated immediately at that point. Especially a minute later when he watched me finish eating the chocolate and then wordlessly handed me the box.
VITM: He what?!?
MW: I kid you not. I asked if he was serious. He replied yes. I stared at him for a minute, then stared at the box, then stared at him again. Then of course, I did the only thing I could do.
VITM: You refused politely but thanked him anyway?
MW: Are you freaking serious? Of course not. We're talking Ferrero Rocher, here. No, I threw myself on top of him and hugged him so tightly that I'm sure if he wasn't in a chair and therefore harder to hug, he would have not been able to breathe even the tiniest bit. Or at least I tried my best.
VITM: That boy is too sweet. He knew exactly how to bribe you.
MW: Yuh huh. And the rest of my evening kinda went straight upwards from there. I was so absolutely in agreement with the topic of the night that the fact that it was from the (completely misinformed, in my opinion) Christian perspective barely even registered. And I also had an epiphany when they read to us about Moses and Pharoah.
VITM: About what?
MW: About the Bible. Now, I don't want anybody Christian who reads this to get offended with anything I say next. It's all my opinion. I can argue for hours over theology with someone who took offense about this, but I don't particularly want to at the moment.
Anyways. What I realized is that the people who got together and wrote the Bible (slightly differently for the Old Testament and the New Testament) simply took every single possible situation they could come up with and put down an example for it. Generally, they put down extremes, but it's basically a well-sewn together compilation of individual situations that, while not necessarily entirely true, are just representations.
Something that does bug me about some Christians is the way that they take everything the Bible says as litterally true, word for word. This applies particularly to the New Testament. I'm not making suggestions about the truthfulness of the book with this statement, I just mean that I don't particularly think that either Jesus or his disciples meant for what they wrote to be taken word for word. Everything is interpreted differently, and I just don't believe that people have interpreted things properly. For one, this all happened so long ago and no one takes into account the properties of the cultures and how different they were from ours. Beyond the surface obvious differences, of course.
But I have no intention of going into my full-fledged religion rant here and now. I'm sure it will come out sooner or later in my blog, but not at this moment.
I think that I'll leave off there for now.
MistWeaver
Voice In The Mist: That's real pleasant, Weaver. Thanks for sharing that with us.
MistWeaver: I thought so myself. Now hold on a second while I run to the bathroom.
VITM: I take it you weren't at school today?
MW: Considering that it's only 11 15 AM, I think that's a safe assumption.
VITM: So why didn't you ever post mucho to cover up the post from yesterday?
MW: Because the stupid computer crashed yesterday morning while I was in the middle of typing it.
VITM: I suppose that you're going to spend your day off of school catching us up on what's been going on?
MW: Yes, I am. As soon as I'm done my book.
*leaves to finish reading*
*comes back two hours later*
MW: Ah, that was an excellent book. I quite enjoyed it. Now onto the events of the past couple of days.
Wednesday was Youth Group. And this particular Wednesday, I also had a rehearsal for the play I'm stage manager in. Now the day before, it was cold. Very cold. Not cold enough to stop transportation and therefore the busses, but cold enough to make standing outside for the bus an unpleasant experience.
We had all hoped that Wednesday school would be cancelled, because they had told us that anything colder than -41 and that's exactly what would have happened. In fact, Wednesday morning when the radio said that it would be -45 with wind chill and even colder, we all listened to the radio to find out if this was indeed what was happening. Unfortunately, even though nearly all schools outside of Calgary were closed or without busses, ours wasn't. So I reluctantly prepared for the essay I had first thing in the morning, talked to Rebecca (who had talked her mother into letting her stay home), buttoned up my coat, and went outside to wait for the bus. Which came more or less on time. Curses.
The essay was very difficult, I had writer's block, French class was laughable, and English was spent working on a new edition of my book on my laptop. Rehearsal was thankfully cancelled for weather. The reason I was thankful about that fact is that because of the 5 15 ending time of rehearsal and the 6 30 starting time of Youth, I would have had to go straight there and be there for 6 or something. And since it doesn't end until 9 30, I wouldn't have gotten home until 10 or later. But this way, I got to go home! And spend time doing constructive things until twas time to go!
But this was not to be. For my bus driver, Carol, is kinda spastic and the kids on my bus are total telephone-heads. There's this one little bugger in Grade 10 that yells insults at her from his position at the back of the bus. Her efforts to make us respect her are pretty much a failure, mostly from her techniques. For instance, her favorite two things to do are to refuse to move until we're all sitting exactly in the seating plan she made for us, as well as to call the vice-principal, Mr Reynolds, onto the bus to 'chat' with us. Both of these result in delays in getting home, which for those of us with lives is never a good thing. Especially since the vaguely pedophilic Reynolds likes to lean into people to talk to those closer to the back of the bus and otherwise touch us... hands on shoulders, etc. It's creepy.
Today, miraculously, nothing happened to make us be once again the last bus to leave the school. On the other hand, the losers were ina particularly active mood and halfway down the long highway that takes us fromt he middle of nowhere where the school is to the other end of nowhere where Bragg Creek and Redwood are, she suddenly pulled over.
I had abosolutely no idea what was going on, of course, since I was listening to my iRiver at a high volume and reading, but I assumed that she had either finally gotten sick of Ty and was going to beat some sense into him, or someone had thrown something (an action that seemed to particularly piss her off), or they had moved out of the seating plan.
It turned out to be the second one. Someone had thrown a CD at Carol. She sat there for like ten minutes, discussing with herself what she would do. She kept demanding who had done it, but of course no one would confess. I have my suspicions: I'm 95% sure that it was Ty. The fact that he kept marching up and down the rows demanding in a loud, obnoxious, completely insincere voice "who did it?" so that we could get home was a tipoff. That and the fac tthat I sit at the beginning of the 'back' seats, and it came from behind me and behind the guy in back of me. That leaves about 3 double rows of seats: 6 people or so. At the very least, he would have seen who did it.
Finally we got curious and asked what Carol was doing. She replied that she had calle dMr Reynolds and we would wait until he got there to sort everythign out.
For the love of the Earth, we were a 15 minute drive away from the school, in the middle of absolutely nowhere! Not to mention that he had to get ready, put on his coat, and get his stuff before he would even consider leaving the building. We sat there, getting more and more bored, upset, irritated, and all-around unhappy. I was especially worried because if I didn't get home in time, Mama would have already left to pick me up from rehearsal, and she would be mighty unhappy--not to mention worried-- if she got to the school, looked for me everywhere, then had to come all the way back home to find me already there. My mind also kept flicking to how idling a car was one of the worst contributors to pollution in the world. It burned gas and released more toxic fumes than anything else. We were in a huge bus, and we'd been idling for a good 20 minutes or more.
Finally, Reynolds pulled over on the highway in front of us. None of us had ever been so glad to see him in our lives. He attempted to make us fess up (though like I said, only six people even had the possibility of having saw it in a bus of over 50 people), put pressure on us, told us that we'd stay until someone admitted it. When one person pointed out that Carol and Reynolds could get in a lot of trouble for keeping the majority of us, who had no way of even suspecting who it was, from missing appointments, making our parents worry (since we weren't even allowed to call them), even having to go to the bathroom (because we weren't allowed to get off the bus), he said that we shoudl then apply pressure to make them confess.
How the hell were we supposed to do that? Ty was already repeating his 'OKAY. WHO THE FUCK DID IT? I HAVE TO GO HOME AND TAKE A SHIT AND I DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS.' speech again (which was pure luncheon meat), and we were at a loss. Finally, Dustin (a dude who lives down the street from me) got tired of Reynolds' attempt to look superior and think that he had the upper hand (which he didn't), and proclaimed that he had done it, clap him in leg irons, whatever, just let them get home. Of course, all of us knew that he hadn't.
Reynolds nodded.
"Good. Then we'll have to drive back to the school, call your parents to come pick you up, and then..."
Dustin quickly retracted his statement as the rest of us groaned miserably. Whether he meant that we'd all have to drive back to the school or that Dustin would have to go alone with Reynolds, it was not a desirable thought for anyone.
At this point, I turned back up my music. Nothing would get solved; that was obvious. And I didn't have anything to contribute. I had the urge to warn Carol that she wasn't accomplishing anything when she did things like this, though. All she did was make enemies.
I did find out somethign interesting that day, though. Carol's very pregnant. It was very visible when she stood up to talk to us, but since we had never seen her standing up before, nobody had known.
After telling us that he would take us out of class one by one (all of us, not just the backseat-ers) and talk to us privately in an empty classroom (he was just a little too eager for that, in my opinion) and threatening us with bus reprimand forms (I mean, honestly. He said it and showed them to us liek they were a fate worse than death), he finally left and we got back on the road. I walked in about ten minutes before Mama would have walked out to get me. Luck, eh?
VITM: Maybe she's more spastic because of her pregnancy.
MW: The thought crossed my mind. Reynolds doesn't have that excuse, though.
VITM: So obviously your day sucked up until that point... what about Youth?
MW: The day stopped sucking the minute I got to Youth. Ryan hadn't gone to his school either, and I had threatened revenge. Here's a tip: Never tell Ryan you're threatening revenge on him beforehand.
VITM: What did he do?
MW: When I got there, he was sitting in a chair around a small table. I sat down beside him and he asked me about my revenge. Then he hefted a box of Ferrero Rochers and admitted that he'd just have to eat them all by himself...
VITM: THE MONSTER!
MW: I know. How could he do something like that? The little monster knows how much I like Ferrero Rochers. That was just playing dirty.
VITM: So how did you react?
MW: Much the way you did. And I watched as he took one, slowly unwrapped it... and gave it to me.
VITM: So much for revenge...
MW: Yeah, all unpleasant thoughts kind of dissipated immediately at that point. Especially a minute later when he watched me finish eating the chocolate and then wordlessly handed me the box.
VITM: He what?!?
MW: I kid you not. I asked if he was serious. He replied yes. I stared at him for a minute, then stared at the box, then stared at him again. Then of course, I did the only thing I could do.
VITM: You refused politely but thanked him anyway?
MW: Are you freaking serious? Of course not. We're talking Ferrero Rocher, here. No, I threw myself on top of him and hugged him so tightly that I'm sure if he wasn't in a chair and therefore harder to hug, he would have not been able to breathe even the tiniest bit. Or at least I tried my best.
VITM: That boy is too sweet. He knew exactly how to bribe you.
MW: Yuh huh. And the rest of my evening kinda went straight upwards from there. I was so absolutely in agreement with the topic of the night that the fact that it was from the (completely misinformed, in my opinion) Christian perspective barely even registered. And I also had an epiphany when they read to us about Moses and Pharoah.
VITM: About what?
MW: About the Bible. Now, I don't want anybody Christian who reads this to get offended with anything I say next. It's all my opinion. I can argue for hours over theology with someone who took offense about this, but I don't particularly want to at the moment.
Anyways. What I realized is that the people who got together and wrote the Bible (slightly differently for the Old Testament and the New Testament) simply took every single possible situation they could come up with and put down an example for it. Generally, they put down extremes, but it's basically a well-sewn together compilation of individual situations that, while not necessarily entirely true, are just representations.
Something that does bug me about some Christians is the way that they take everything the Bible says as litterally true, word for word. This applies particularly to the New Testament. I'm not making suggestions about the truthfulness of the book with this statement, I just mean that I don't particularly think that either Jesus or his disciples meant for what they wrote to be taken word for word. Everything is interpreted differently, and I just don't believe that people have interpreted things properly. For one, this all happened so long ago and no one takes into account the properties of the cultures and how different they were from ours. Beyond the surface obvious differences, of course.
But I have no intention of going into my full-fledged religion rant here and now. I'm sure it will come out sooner or later in my blog, but not at this moment.
I think that I'll leave off there for now.
MistWeaver
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Won't Say It, No No...
MistWeaver: I was on the car on my way home tonight when a thought crossed my mind.
Voice In The Mist: Another thought? Wow, you've really been working that poor brain of yours hard. Two of them in less than a week...
MW: Very funny.
VITM: So what was this thought of yours?
MW: It was "When did I become a girl?".
VITM: ...
VITM: Is there something you'd like to tell us, Weaver?
MW: Maybe I should explain.
VITM: Yeah, I think that's a good idea...
You see, I realized that for the past year, I've somehow become ... feminine. I mean, I still prefer fighting over skipping and barefoot over heels, but I wear dresses. And skirts. And heels. And occasionally makeup.
A couple of years ago you wouldn't have seen me in any of this beyond what my uniform required. But somewhere along the line I changed. And I'm not sure if I like the change. For one thing, guys don't treat me the same. Like, they won't fight me. Do you know how much that freaking sucks? And if I do get into a fight, people expect me to bite and scratch.
I mean, honestly. I know that's how a lot of chicks fight. BUT COME ON! I did freaking karate for eight freaking years. Teeth and nails? I think not. I can kick hard enough to cripple somebody. I do not need to bite them. I use my nails as a weapon if my books are in danger, my friends are in danger, or I need to intimidate someone. And occasionally as an accident.
The worst part though, the one that is the reason that this change is bugging me so much, is that I'm thinking like a girl. Oh, I don't mean like giggling and makeup and celebrities type of stereotype girl. I mean one thing and one thing only.
Boys.
Or rather, men. Because no boy could ever stand up to my thoughts. In fact, the thoughts would probably be illegal.
WHY DO THESE HORMONES AFFECT ME?
I mean, can't we just get the option to say 'thanks but no thanks. I think I'll wait another year'? They complicate things. They mess things up. They distract me.
VITM: Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
MW: Nobody asked you.
VITM: True, but I'm putting in my two cents anyway. How's that song in Hercules go?
*Clapping sound is heard and silvery words appear in mist*
VITM: At your age, I don't think that truly falling in love is something that's possible. And you don't get stupid crushes, Weaver. You never have and you never will. I admit, you've become deceived once or twice when it seemed like a guy truly liked you and turned out to be an asshole (and I'm sure there's no bitterness there at all...), but at least you figured it out (with the help of your good friend Rebecca) in the end. However, not everything is to extremes. It is possible to feel something for someone that's between those two stages, you know. You're just using hormones as your excuse. Just like you don't get crushes, you also don't get all bent out of shape over some guy's body if you don't like the rest of him more than you'd like to admit. It ain't your style. Now why don't you just give up, give in, and tell us who the guy is.
MW: In your dreams. Do you know how many people that read this would kill for that information?
*evil grin appears in the mist and lips move to form the Voice as the grin slowly fades*
VITM: AHA! So there is a 'he'!
MW: What? No! I only meant...
VITM: I've got you now... There's no way you can deny it. There's written proof!
MW: I'm the writer, you know. I can delete it.
VITM: That's not your style either. I know these things.
MW: ...
MW: I hate you.
VITM: No you don't. You're just saying that to make me feel better.
MW: Whatever. The point is, I'm not going into this.
VITM: Not yet, anyway.
MW: You know what? I'm gonna bury this entry under many other long ones. Then maybe no one will read it...
VITM: What? Afraid that he reads your blog and might recognize himself?
MW: How did we get from being a girl to admitting who I like? If indeed there is someone?
VITM: I have absolutely no idea.
MW: Who cares? I'm going to bed. I refuse to talk about this any longer.
MistWeaver
Voice In The Mist: Another thought? Wow, you've really been working that poor brain of yours hard. Two of them in less than a week...
MW: Very funny.
VITM: So what was this thought of yours?
MW: It was "When did I become a girl?".
VITM: ...
VITM: Is there something you'd like to tell us, Weaver?
MW: Maybe I should explain.
VITM: Yeah, I think that's a good idea...
You see, I realized that for the past year, I've somehow become ... feminine. I mean, I still prefer fighting over skipping and barefoot over heels, but I wear dresses. And skirts. And heels. And occasionally makeup.
A couple of years ago you wouldn't have seen me in any of this beyond what my uniform required. But somewhere along the line I changed. And I'm not sure if I like the change. For one thing, guys don't treat me the same. Like, they won't fight me. Do you know how much that freaking sucks? And if I do get into a fight, people expect me to bite and scratch.
I mean, honestly. I know that's how a lot of chicks fight. BUT COME ON! I did freaking karate for eight freaking years. Teeth and nails? I think not. I can kick hard enough to cripple somebody. I do not need to bite them. I use my nails as a weapon if my books are in danger, my friends are in danger, or I need to intimidate someone. And occasionally as an accident.
The worst part though, the one that is the reason that this change is bugging me so much, is that I'm thinking like a girl. Oh, I don't mean like giggling and makeup and celebrities type of stereotype girl. I mean one thing and one thing only.
Boys.
Or rather, men. Because no boy could ever stand up to my thoughts. In fact, the thoughts would probably be illegal.
WHY DO THESE HORMONES AFFECT ME?
I mean, can't we just get the option to say 'thanks but no thanks. I think I'll wait another year'? They complicate things. They mess things up. They distract me.
VITM: Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
MW: Nobody asked you.
VITM: True, but I'm putting in my two cents anyway. How's that song in Hercules go?
*Clapping sound is heard and silvery words appear in mist*
MW: Are you suggesting that I'm in love? Because I'm not. And I don't have a stupid crush, either.(Muses)
Who'd'ya think you're kiddin'
He's the Earth and heaven to you
Try to keep it hidden
Honey, we can see right through you
Girl, ya can't conceal it
We know how ya feel and
Who you're thinking of
(Meg)
No chance, no way
I won't say it, no, no
(Muses)
You swoon, you sigh
why deny it, uh-oh
(Meg)
It's too cliche
I won't say I'm in love
(Muses)
Face it like a grown-up
When ya gonna own up
That ya got, got, got it bad
(Meg)
No chance, no way
I won't say it, no, no
(Muses)
Give up, and give in
Check the grin you're in love
(Meg)
This scene won't play,
I won't say I'm in love
(Muses)
Girl, don't be proud
It's okay you're in love
(Meg)
Oh
At least out loud,
I won't say I'm in love
VITM: At your age, I don't think that truly falling in love is something that's possible. And you don't get stupid crushes, Weaver. You never have and you never will. I admit, you've become deceived once or twice when it seemed like a guy truly liked you and turned out to be an asshole (and I'm sure there's no bitterness there at all...), but at least you figured it out (with the help of your good friend Rebecca) in the end. However, not everything is to extremes. It is possible to feel something for someone that's between those two stages, you know. You're just using hormones as your excuse. Just like you don't get crushes, you also don't get all bent out of shape over some guy's body if you don't like the rest of him more than you'd like to admit. It ain't your style. Now why don't you just give up, give in, and tell us who the guy is.
MW: In your dreams. Do you know how many people that read this would kill for that information?
*evil grin appears in the mist and lips move to form the Voice as the grin slowly fades*
VITM: AHA! So there is a 'he'!
MW: What? No! I only meant...
VITM: I've got you now... There's no way you can deny it. There's written proof!
MW: I'm the writer, you know. I can delete it.
VITM: That's not your style either. I know these things.
MW: ...
MW: I hate you.
VITM: No you don't. You're just saying that to make me feel better.
MW: Whatever. The point is, I'm not going into this.
VITM: Not yet, anyway.
MW: You know what? I'm gonna bury this entry under many other long ones. Then maybe no one will read it...
VITM: What? Afraid that he reads your blog and might recognize himself?
MW: How did we get from being a girl to admitting who I like? If indeed there is someone?
VITM: I have absolutely no idea.
MW: Who cares? I'm going to bed. I refuse to talk about this any longer.
MistWeaver
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Let's Talk Death.
MistWeaver: Do you know what it will be in 11 days?
Voice In The Mist: The 22nd of January?
MW: I mean, what event.
VITM: The day you lose your virginity?
MW: No. I'm serious this time. No jokes.
VITM: I don't know, then. When will it be?
MW: On the 22nd of January one year ago, my grandfather died.
VITM: I'm sorry.
MW: Why are you sorry? You didn't know him. You didn't spend every weekend from the time you were little at his house. You didn't go through the agony of a funeral where neither you nor your brother nor your mother was mentioned, even though he was a father to her, and he and Kai were as close as you could possibly get.
Dead girls dance, they burn and twirl...
VITM: How could they not mention his grandkids?
MW: Technically we were his Godchildren, not his blood grandkids.
VITM: I hate to break your tirade, but why are you bringing this up?
MW: Well for the past while I've been weird. I've been teary and easily upset and touchy. Not super noticeably, because that's not the way I am, but I've noticed, and I think that some of my closest friends have, too. And I think that it's because we're getting closer and closer to that time.
VITM: Is that how you feel now? All teary and crappy?
MW: Yeah. Right now I also feel useless and bored and sad and like screaming.
VITM: All at once?
MW: Yeah. Especially like screaming. And like having strong supportive arms wrap around my shoulders and just being held. Not by somebody who pities me, or that feels like it's their duty or something. Just by somebody who cares. Who wants to make me feel better.
I'm running out of air...
VITM: This doesn't sound like you.
MW: That's because you weren't around as early as a year ago or as far back as four years ago. It's only lately that I've been the way you know me as now, you know.
VITM: Tell us about how you were, then.
MW: No. It's over. I'm different. But it's just that I'm rereading my journal from that time, "The Novelty Of Having A Kid (Wears Off)", and I'm feeling the things all over again. But it's helping. I no longer feel all trapped inside my body, powerless.
I've held on so tight... that I've crushed them. I've crushed them.
VITM: But let me guess. It's causing you to relive those bad times.
MW: Yeah. That about sums it up.
VITM: So what do you want? Apart from that hug.
MW: What do I want? I want many things. But at the moment I want to talk.
VITM: Abotu what? With who? That's what I'm here for.
MW: I just want to talk. I want to talk with someone who will listen, and talk as well. I want to talk with Inga.
VITM: When was the last time you talked to her?
MV: Talked to her at all? A month ago. Talked to her in the way that I want to now? Months and months ago. Maybe even this time a year ago. But that's beside the point. She's out of reach now and who else do you know that would let me rant and understand?
VITM: I can think of a lot of friends who would listen to your problems.
MW: But don't you get it? I don't want someone who will listen to my problems. I want to SPEAK. And speak. And speak more. Without having to think. Just spilling over, like a glass. Without worrying about who I'm talking to, who I might offend, what I might let slip, or even how much I swore.
VITM: Don't you think that it might not be fair to whoever you're doing this to?
MW: Inga was my sister. That's what we did. We would let spill. And then when the dam was back under control, we would talk. Hell, half the time we couldn't even remember half the stuff we had just said, but the other person would comment and say what she thought and thigns would be better.
VITM: But Inga's not there anymore.
MW: No, she's not. Which is why I'm freaking talking to my freaking self and a freaking computer instead of a freaking human being.
VITM: I think you need a break. And a good night's rest.
MV: I don't want freaking sleep! Sleep just freaking delays the things that matter and bring the things that don't faster! Like right now I should be studying for a Social essay that's first thing tomorrow morning. I don't want to! I don't care if I fail! The last thing in the freaking world I want to do right now is social. But if I don't, if I go to sleep, when I wake up it will be time to do the test. And then boy, will I regret this. Sleep is bad. Sleep is the enemy. Too much time is wasted while sleeping! And like most enemies of the mind and the emotions, it would just feel so good...
VITM: I think that this is something that I can't help you with. There are some things that a computer and yourself will never solve. No inanimate object can ever compare with the feeling of a warm hug. Not that I'd know. I don't even have a body.
MW: I remeber crying at the funeral. I didn't think that I'd cry. When I heard the news I was so numb inside... But I cried at the funeral. And when the tears burned away to anger, eventually it just dissipated back into sadness. How could they do that? And his "real" daughter, Debbie... How could she hate us so much? How could she hate us and hide it for all those years? And poor Goddad... he left everything to her. He assumed that she'd let us take what we wanted, what had been essentially ours whenever we were there. But the bitch sold everything. I never even saw the stuff I made for him at camp again. Maybe I could have saved some of it... But I couldn't face being there... Couldn't face...
VITM: I think that this is way beyond me. I think I'm going to end this here because if I don't you'll continue talking. And that would be bad. You'd hate me later if I let you do that.
The Voice In The Mist
Voice In The Mist: The 22nd of January?
MW: I mean, what event.
VITM: The day you lose your virginity?
MW: No. I'm serious this time. No jokes.
VITM: I don't know, then. When will it be?
MW: On the 22nd of January one year ago, my grandfather died.
VITM: I'm sorry.
MW: Why are you sorry? You didn't know him. You didn't spend every weekend from the time you were little at his house. You didn't go through the agony of a funeral where neither you nor your brother nor your mother was mentioned, even though he was a father to her, and he and Kai were as close as you could possibly get.
Dead girls dance, they burn and twirl...
VITM: How could they not mention his grandkids?
MW: Technically we were his Godchildren, not his blood grandkids.
VITM: I hate to break your tirade, but why are you bringing this up?
MW: Well for the past while I've been weird. I've been teary and easily upset and touchy. Not super noticeably, because that's not the way I am, but I've noticed, and I think that some of my closest friends have, too. And I think that it's because we're getting closer and closer to that time.
VITM: Is that how you feel now? All teary and crappy?
MW: Yeah. Right now I also feel useless and bored and sad and like screaming.
VITM: All at once?
MW: Yeah. Especially like screaming. And like having strong supportive arms wrap around my shoulders and just being held. Not by somebody who pities me, or that feels like it's their duty or something. Just by somebody who cares. Who wants to make me feel better.
I'm running out of air...
VITM: This doesn't sound like you.
MW: That's because you weren't around as early as a year ago or as far back as four years ago. It's only lately that I've been the way you know me as now, you know.
VITM: Tell us about how you were, then.
MW: No. It's over. I'm different. But it's just that I'm rereading my journal from that time, "The Novelty Of Having A Kid (Wears Off)", and I'm feeling the things all over again. But it's helping. I no longer feel all trapped inside my body, powerless.
I've held on so tight... that I've crushed them. I've crushed them.
VITM: But let me guess. It's causing you to relive those bad times.
MW: Yeah. That about sums it up.
VITM: So what do you want? Apart from that hug.
MW: What do I want? I want many things. But at the moment I want to talk.
VITM: Abotu what? With who? That's what I'm here for.
MW: I just want to talk. I want to talk with someone who will listen, and talk as well. I want to talk with Inga.
VITM: When was the last time you talked to her?
MV: Talked to her at all? A month ago. Talked to her in the way that I want to now? Months and months ago. Maybe even this time a year ago. But that's beside the point. She's out of reach now and who else do you know that would let me rant and understand?
VITM: I can think of a lot of friends who would listen to your problems.
MW: But don't you get it? I don't want someone who will listen to my problems. I want to SPEAK. And speak. And speak more. Without having to think. Just spilling over, like a glass. Without worrying about who I'm talking to, who I might offend, what I might let slip, or even how much I swore.
VITM: Don't you think that it might not be fair to whoever you're doing this to?
MW: Inga was my sister. That's what we did. We would let spill. And then when the dam was back under control, we would talk. Hell, half the time we couldn't even remember half the stuff we had just said, but the other person would comment and say what she thought and thigns would be better.
VITM: But Inga's not there anymore.
MW: No, she's not. Which is why I'm freaking talking to my freaking self and a freaking computer instead of a freaking human being.
VITM: I think you need a break. And a good night's rest.
MV: I don't want freaking sleep! Sleep just freaking delays the things that matter and bring the things that don't faster! Like right now I should be studying for a Social essay that's first thing tomorrow morning. I don't want to! I don't care if I fail! The last thing in the freaking world I want to do right now is social. But if I don't, if I go to sleep, when I wake up it will be time to do the test. And then boy, will I regret this. Sleep is bad. Sleep is the enemy. Too much time is wasted while sleeping! And like most enemies of the mind and the emotions, it would just feel so good...
VITM: I think that this is something that I can't help you with. There are some things that a computer and yourself will never solve. No inanimate object can ever compare with the feeling of a warm hug. Not that I'd know. I don't even have a body.
MW: I remeber crying at the funeral. I didn't think that I'd cry. When I heard the news I was so numb inside... But I cried at the funeral. And when the tears burned away to anger, eventually it just dissipated back into sadness. How could they do that? And his "real" daughter, Debbie... How could she hate us so much? How could she hate us and hide it for all those years? And poor Goddad... he left everything to her. He assumed that she'd let us take what we wanted, what had been essentially ours whenever we were there. But the bitch sold everything. I never even saw the stuff I made for him at camp again. Maybe I could have saved some of it... But I couldn't face being there... Couldn't face...
VITM: I think that this is way beyond me. I think I'm going to end this here because if I don't you'll continue talking. And that would be bad. You'd hate me later if I let you do that.
The Voice In The Mist
Monday, January 10, 2005
Word Vomit And Bitch Fights And That Little Voice In The Mist
MistWeaver: Guess what?
*A whole bunch of little brightly-coloured animated stuffed animals appear from the mist*
Stuffed Things: What?
MistWeaver: THE GODFORSAKEN WIRELESS CARD ON MY LApTOp BROKE SO IM BACK ON THIS ...
*computer whirrs ominously*
Err...
*glaces around nervously*
Lovely... machine... Now where did all you little twerps come from?
Little Blue Duckling: Why, the land of annoying small creatures, of course.
MistWeaver: Lovely. Now return, please.
*Stuffed animals fade slowly into mist while grinning happily and waving*
MW: Woo, thank the Goddess. Irritating beings... Now where was I? Oh, yeah. On a rant about (*#$@ pieces of crap they call computer accessories.
Voice In The Mist: Er... why don't you back up a little so that we know where you're coming from?
MW: Ah, yes. Good idea. This is why I keep you around.
VITM: I shall studiously ignore that comment. You can't get rid of me anyway.
MW: Hmph. Well, it's Monday today. Last time I wrote was Saturday.
VITM: I said "Take us back", not "Treat us like we're stupid".
MW: Why, aren't we testy today? In any case, I'll continue regardless of your comments. Saturday night was indeed Micheline's art show. For charity. And guess who didn't go?
VITM: What? Why not? I thought you promised Ryan...
MW: I know. I did. But Mama didn't want to drive anywhere, and you know how parents are when they get old... They get stubborn.
Note: please don't kill me, mother darling. Er, you neither, all others of motherly age... No... Don't look at me like that... Yes... Well, I'll just continue on, shall I?
VITM: How did Ryan take it? I can imagine he wasn't too pleased.
MW: Well, Mama said that he would understand. And that he had to, because he most likely didn't want to be there, either. She also promised to take us out to the next Art Central opening.
VITM: Art Central? That place you went all those months ago in the middle of NaNoWriMo on parent teacher interview night?
MW: Woah, your memory's better than mine. But yeah, that's right.
VITM: Sounds cool. Ryan'll probably like that. Speak of the devil, how did he take it?
MW: Quite well. Though he was on his way out to the show when I told him, so it's not like he had time to react badly. And he was interested in the ArtCentral thing. When I talked to him after he got home from the art thingie, he said that he had a good time. So my guilt is assuaged. He probably had other friends that went, anywho.
VITM: Yuh huh. Keep telling yourself that, MistWeaver.
MW: Shut up. I'm serious.
VITM: Whatever you say. So why didn't you talk to me while you were stuck at home?
MW: If you must know, I was looking for my copy of the Odyssey.
VITM: Didn't you have a test on it today or something?
MW: Yeah. I ended up reading it online and finishing it on the bus this morning. On the part we marked in class, I got 33/35. Not bad.
Okay, I have to pause for a minute. Insert a sudden change of subject here.
MW: Have you ever had word vomit? You know, where you say the stupidest/most embarassing things ever without being able to stop yourself?
VITM: Can't say that I have. Why, have you?
MW: Well... I had a really bad case of it the night after I got my iRiver (who remains nameless as of yet).
VITM: Do tell. I know your mind. This is gonna be hilarious.
MW: I know for a fact that many people I know read this daily. One or two in particular that I don't necessairily want knowing the things I almost said.
VITM: If I had eyes, I'd roll them. Why did you bring it up if you aren't gonna give the juicy details?
MW: I'll tell the story, and then you decide whether to bug me. How's that?
VITM: Fine. So, you were saying...
Yes, I was saying. Twas the night after I got my iRiver and all was kinda good. Uploading songs onto it on this computer while talking to people on my laptop. I was also on the search for a name for my iRiver. Which, incidentally, I still am.
Anyways, that day I had been walking with Blair down the hall at school. We were discussing the matter of which name to choose. We agreed that my iRiver was definitely male, and that ipods were female. Why? Because ipods are sleek, slim, sexy and silver-white, while iRivers (incidentally made by a completely different company) are more masculine, being black, more box-y, and hot. Sexy, but in a hot masculine way. We were thinking of sexy names. Guess what Blair threw out into the blue?
Yuh huh. You guessed it. "Ryan".
So long story made short, we were laughing about that for several reasons that I won't name. (Rereading this, I must clarify: Good reasons. Ryan's my friend and I wouldn't make fun of him behind his back). So I'm at home that evening, talking to Ryan on AIM about my iRiver, talking to Becs on the phone about her BLS, when what do I type?
VITM: Wait, let me guess. "We wanted to name my iRiver Ryan because it's a sexy name". Nah... not bad enough. "iRivers are sexy and so are you. Can we use your name?"
MW: You've got to be kidding. Excuse we while I kill myself laughing and then puke.
VITML: What, then?
MW: Shh. Let me continue.
All I did was mention that Blair and I thought of using his name and were laughing for a variety of reasons. Then, because I was STUpID and piqued his curiousity, he bugged me until I told him. Er, some things.
VITM: Oh, please. That's your big word vomit story?
MW: No, actually. That was only the beginning. I wasn't paying attention and nearly said some unbelievably stupid things, and only realized as I was pressing enter. Becs laughed at me when I told her. Can't blame her. I would of laughed at me too. Though I would have killed myself if I had actually sent ... *shudder*
VITM: Well? Aren't you goign to tell us what you mean by "stupid things"?
MW: Hell no! I'm going to move on and leave it at that.
VITM: Fine. Be that way. Tell us about the rest of your title, then.
MW: Oh, you mean the bitch fights?
VITM: Yeah. And I thought you were giving up swearing.
MW: I am. I refuse to give up the word 'bitch', though. I love that word.
VITM: You also love the F word.
MW: That's beside the point! The F word is worse than 'bitch'. I can't give them both up! Do you know how hard it is already? I keep hurting myself or something and swearing loudly with that F word you think I like so much, then swearing again with the S word when I realize that I swore, then clamping my hands over my mouth midword as I swear about swearing because I swore. AND I DONT EVEN DO IT ON pURpOSE!!!
VITM: This is why I hang around you. You crack me up. Now tell me about this bitch fight.
You see, in Drama our final play is coming up. And I hate it. I mean, I love the script but I hate the project. And even after I made my peace with the project a week or two ago, I didn't make my peace with a certain group member. Now this certain group member is... to say the least... bossy. And she's a perfectionist. And she wants this to be perfect. So she's appointed herself team captain and slave-driver. The problem is that she's not all that good. She yells at us for not knowing our lines, while she misses her cues and messes up hers. She wants the lights and props to be perfect, but her lighting sucks and she doesn't listen to our suggestiongs. The only one she listens to and doesn't constantly berate is Lex, who has been playing go-between for the two of us and is Sam's friend, so she can't mouth her off.
Ever since we got the option to ditch the play and do monologues instead, and Sam convinced everyone to continue with the play (though we had 4 days to finish it and we were completely unprepared), she and I have gotten along less and less. I have the biggest role in the play, being the Narrator. I also have the most lines by way far. I don't mind. I volunteered for the part. No one else wanted it. But it also means that I can't ditch the play on my own to do the monologue, because it wouldn't be fair. I know that we won't be that great when the show comes around on Thursday, and I know that if I did a monologue, my mark would be at least 10% higher. Normally, my solution would be to make the play the best I could, since I was stuck doing it and it's worth so much of our mark. But that wouldn't fit in with little miss "I must rule everything"'s plans. She doesn't listen to anyone else unless they prove beyond all doubt or it's utterly obvious that they're right.
Finally we came to a head during the last 15 minutes of class today. We wanted to make it look more like a schoolyard-snowball-fight-scene, and someone suggested we have those shovels that you use to move/push snow in the schoolyard when you're little(r). She complained that it was getting too complicated for long-suffering souls liek her to keep the prop list exactly down to the last snowball and jump rope. I suggested that she just write 'assorted snow toys' down so that she didn't have to worry about little details like that. But no. She drew herself up and lectured me on how it was important to make sure it was all perfect because we had to hand it in and it was worth marks and etc. etc.
I told her that I wasn't suggesting that it wasn't important, but that the little details about props that aren't important to the play can be generalized. She marched up to the teacher with her question and came back triumphant.
"We do have to hand this in! It's worth 50% of our mark! It's important!"
I kid you not. She hadn't heard a word I said. I started to explain that no one suggested that it wasn't, or that we didn't have to hand it in, only that--
She cut me off snippily. Not that I wasn't being snippy as well. The bitch pisses me off.
"You know Aya, some of us care about our marks. And some of us want to do well on this project."
"Some of us don't have a stick shoved so far up our ass you can see it everytime they open their mouths. Which in your case, is often," I retorted.
Voice In The Mist: Yowch.
Yeah. Yowch. She deserved it. She'd been reprimanding us all afternoon about how much we sucked, what wasn't good enough, or right, etc. On the other hand, she kept messing up the lights, refused to take our suggestions on better lighting, and missed half her cues. Can you spell H-Y-p-O-C-R-I-T-E?
At this point, Lexi broke it up and I talked with Blair calmly until class was over.
And that was the sum of my bitch fight. It was short and sweet. Does it take a bitch to know a bitch? Hell yeah. She brings out the worst in me. It shames me to say this, but the fact that she's petite, blonde, blue-eyed and has an irritating girly voice (not squeaky, jsut girly) probably helped grate on my nerves a little.
VITM: She doesn't sound too nice to me. I think you should have confronted her earlier. At the least it might have cleared the air a little, instead of all that nastiness building up.
MW: You know that I don't like confrontations unless they're necessary.
VITM: Don't tell me that you didn't enjoy insulting her like that and seeing the look on her face.
MW: Well... some stupid treacherous voice that sounded a lot like you told me that I not only liked it, I would have liked to see that pretty face of hers dissolve into tears so that she can feel how we've felt over the past month.
VITM: You would have felt terrible after if she did.
MW: Yeah. I know. It's a terrible thought. Can't help it though. That treacherous voice gets to me sometimes.
VITM: It always will.
MW: I know. But... did I go too far?
VITM: Do you always go around insulting people like that?
MV: No... I used to give lots of comebacks like that but I hated hurting people's feelings accidentally so I stopped. I also stopped listening to that voice...
VITM: Did it ever occur to you that that's why I'm here? And you know, that little voice doesn't always tell you bad things. Maybe it just tells you the truth. Like when it talks about possibilities that you refuse to even consider because you're i-n-s-e-c-u-r-e!
MW: Stop it! Shut up! How did a part of my head become so independant? I don't want to hear this!
VITM: I'll shut up. For now...
MistWeaver
*A whole bunch of little brightly-coloured animated stuffed animals appear from the mist*
Stuffed Things: What?
MistWeaver: THE GODFORSAKEN WIRELESS CARD ON MY LApTOp BROKE SO IM BACK ON THIS ...
*computer whirrs ominously*
Err...
*glaces around nervously*
Lovely... machine... Now where did all you little twerps come from?
Little Blue Duckling: Why, the land of annoying small creatures, of course.
MistWeaver: Lovely. Now return, please.
*Stuffed animals fade slowly into mist while grinning happily and waving*
MW: Woo, thank the Goddess. Irritating beings... Now where was I? Oh, yeah. On a rant about (*#$@ pieces of crap they call computer accessories.
Voice In The Mist: Er... why don't you back up a little so that we know where you're coming from?
MW: Ah, yes. Good idea. This is why I keep you around.
VITM: I shall studiously ignore that comment. You can't get rid of me anyway.
MW: Hmph. Well, it's Monday today. Last time I wrote was Saturday.
VITM: I said "Take us back", not "Treat us like we're stupid".
MW: Why, aren't we testy today? In any case, I'll continue regardless of your comments. Saturday night was indeed Micheline's art show. For charity. And guess who didn't go?
VITM: What? Why not? I thought you promised Ryan...
MW: I know. I did. But Mama didn't want to drive anywhere, and you know how parents are when they get old... They get stubborn.
Note: please don't kill me, mother darling. Er, you neither, all others of motherly age... No... Don't look at me like that... Yes... Well, I'll just continue on, shall I?
VITM: How did Ryan take it? I can imagine he wasn't too pleased.
MW: Well, Mama said that he would understand. And that he had to, because he most likely didn't want to be there, either. She also promised to take us out to the next Art Central opening.
VITM: Art Central? That place you went all those months ago in the middle of NaNoWriMo on parent teacher interview night?
MW: Woah, your memory's better than mine. But yeah, that's right.
VITM: Sounds cool. Ryan'll probably like that. Speak of the devil, how did he take it?
MW: Quite well. Though he was on his way out to the show when I told him, so it's not like he had time to react badly. And he was interested in the ArtCentral thing. When I talked to him after he got home from the art thingie, he said that he had a good time. So my guilt is assuaged. He probably had other friends that went, anywho.
VITM: Yuh huh. Keep telling yourself that, MistWeaver.
MW: Shut up. I'm serious.
VITM: Whatever you say. So why didn't you talk to me while you were stuck at home?
MW: If you must know, I was looking for my copy of the Odyssey.
VITM: Didn't you have a test on it today or something?
MW: Yeah. I ended up reading it online and finishing it on the bus this morning. On the part we marked in class, I got 33/35. Not bad.
Okay, I have to pause for a minute. Insert a sudden change of subject here.
MW: Have you ever had word vomit? You know, where you say the stupidest/most embarassing things ever without being able to stop yourself?
VITM: Can't say that I have. Why, have you?
MW: Well... I had a really bad case of it the night after I got my iRiver (who remains nameless as of yet).
VITM: Do tell. I know your mind. This is gonna be hilarious.
MW: I know for a fact that many people I know read this daily. One or two in particular that I don't necessairily want knowing the things I almost said.
VITM: If I had eyes, I'd roll them. Why did you bring it up if you aren't gonna give the juicy details?
MW: I'll tell the story, and then you decide whether to bug me. How's that?
VITM: Fine. So, you were saying...
Yes, I was saying. Twas the night after I got my iRiver and all was kinda good. Uploading songs onto it on this computer while talking to people on my laptop. I was also on the search for a name for my iRiver. Which, incidentally, I still am.
Anyways, that day I had been walking with Blair down the hall at school. We were discussing the matter of which name to choose. We agreed that my iRiver was definitely male, and that ipods were female. Why? Because ipods are sleek, slim, sexy and silver-white, while iRivers (incidentally made by a completely different company) are more masculine, being black, more box-y, and hot. Sexy, but in a hot masculine way. We were thinking of sexy names. Guess what Blair threw out into the blue?
Yuh huh. You guessed it. "Ryan".
So long story made short, we were laughing about that for several reasons that I won't name. (Rereading this, I must clarify: Good reasons. Ryan's my friend and I wouldn't make fun of him behind his back). So I'm at home that evening, talking to Ryan on AIM about my iRiver, talking to Becs on the phone about her BLS, when what do I type?
VITM: Wait, let me guess. "We wanted to name my iRiver Ryan because it's a sexy name". Nah... not bad enough. "iRivers are sexy and so are you. Can we use your name?"
MW: You've got to be kidding. Excuse we while I kill myself laughing and then puke.
VITML: What, then?
MW: Shh. Let me continue.
All I did was mention that Blair and I thought of using his name and were laughing for a variety of reasons. Then, because I was STUpID and piqued his curiousity, he bugged me until I told him. Er, some things.
VITM: Oh, please. That's your big word vomit story?
MW: No, actually. That was only the beginning. I wasn't paying attention and nearly said some unbelievably stupid things, and only realized as I was pressing enter. Becs laughed at me when I told her. Can't blame her. I would of laughed at me too. Though I would have killed myself if I had actually sent ... *shudder*
VITM: Well? Aren't you goign to tell us what you mean by "stupid things"?
MW: Hell no! I'm going to move on and leave it at that.
VITM: Fine. Be that way. Tell us about the rest of your title, then.
MW: Oh, you mean the bitch fights?
VITM: Yeah. And I thought you were giving up swearing.
MW: I am. I refuse to give up the word 'bitch', though. I love that word.
VITM: You also love the F word.
MW: That's beside the point! The F word is worse than 'bitch'. I can't give them both up! Do you know how hard it is already? I keep hurting myself or something and swearing loudly with that F word you think I like so much, then swearing again with the S word when I realize that I swore, then clamping my hands over my mouth midword as I swear about swearing because I swore. AND I DONT EVEN DO IT ON pURpOSE!!!
VITM: This is why I hang around you. You crack me up. Now tell me about this bitch fight.
You see, in Drama our final play is coming up. And I hate it. I mean, I love the script but I hate the project. And even after I made my peace with the project a week or two ago, I didn't make my peace with a certain group member. Now this certain group member is... to say the least... bossy. And she's a perfectionist. And she wants this to be perfect. So she's appointed herself team captain and slave-driver. The problem is that she's not all that good. She yells at us for not knowing our lines, while she misses her cues and messes up hers. She wants the lights and props to be perfect, but her lighting sucks and she doesn't listen to our suggestiongs. The only one she listens to and doesn't constantly berate is Lex, who has been playing go-between for the two of us and is Sam's friend, so she can't mouth her off.
Ever since we got the option to ditch the play and do monologues instead, and Sam convinced everyone to continue with the play (though we had 4 days to finish it and we were completely unprepared), she and I have gotten along less and less. I have the biggest role in the play, being the Narrator. I also have the most lines by way far. I don't mind. I volunteered for the part. No one else wanted it. But it also means that I can't ditch the play on my own to do the monologue, because it wouldn't be fair. I know that we won't be that great when the show comes around on Thursday, and I know that if I did a monologue, my mark would be at least 10% higher. Normally, my solution would be to make the play the best I could, since I was stuck doing it and it's worth so much of our mark. But that wouldn't fit in with little miss "I must rule everything"'s plans. She doesn't listen to anyone else unless they prove beyond all doubt or it's utterly obvious that they're right.
Finally we came to a head during the last 15 minutes of class today. We wanted to make it look more like a schoolyard-snowball-fight-scene, and someone suggested we have those shovels that you use to move/push snow in the schoolyard when you're little(r). She complained that it was getting too complicated for long-suffering souls liek her to keep the prop list exactly down to the last snowball and jump rope. I suggested that she just write 'assorted snow toys' down so that she didn't have to worry about little details like that. But no. She drew herself up and lectured me on how it was important to make sure it was all perfect because we had to hand it in and it was worth marks and etc. etc.
I told her that I wasn't suggesting that it wasn't important, but that the little details about props that aren't important to the play can be generalized. She marched up to the teacher with her question and came back triumphant.
"We do have to hand this in! It's worth 50% of our mark! It's important!"
I kid you not. She hadn't heard a word I said. I started to explain that no one suggested that it wasn't, or that we didn't have to hand it in, only that--
She cut me off snippily. Not that I wasn't being snippy as well. The bitch pisses me off.
"You know Aya, some of us care about our marks. And some of us want to do well on this project."
"Some of us don't have a stick shoved so far up our ass you can see it everytime they open their mouths. Which in your case, is often," I retorted.
Voice In The Mist: Yowch.
Yeah. Yowch. She deserved it. She'd been reprimanding us all afternoon about how much we sucked, what wasn't good enough, or right, etc. On the other hand, she kept messing up the lights, refused to take our suggestions on better lighting, and missed half her cues. Can you spell H-Y-p-O-C-R-I-T-E?
At this point, Lexi broke it up and I talked with Blair calmly until class was over.
And that was the sum of my bitch fight. It was short and sweet. Does it take a bitch to know a bitch? Hell yeah. She brings out the worst in me. It shames me to say this, but the fact that she's petite, blonde, blue-eyed and has an irritating girly voice (not squeaky, jsut girly) probably helped grate on my nerves a little.
VITM: She doesn't sound too nice to me. I think you should have confronted her earlier. At the least it might have cleared the air a little, instead of all that nastiness building up.
MW: You know that I don't like confrontations unless they're necessary.
VITM: Don't tell me that you didn't enjoy insulting her like that and seeing the look on her face.
MW: Well... some stupid treacherous voice that sounded a lot like you told me that I not only liked it, I would have liked to see that pretty face of hers dissolve into tears so that she can feel how we've felt over the past month.
VITM: You would have felt terrible after if she did.
MW: Yeah. I know. It's a terrible thought. Can't help it though. That treacherous voice gets to me sometimes.
VITM: It always will.
MW: I know. But... did I go too far?
VITM: Do you always go around insulting people like that?
MV: No... I used to give lots of comebacks like that but I hated hurting people's feelings accidentally so I stopped. I also stopped listening to that voice...
VITM: Did it ever occur to you that that's why I'm here? And you know, that little voice doesn't always tell you bad things. Maybe it just tells you the truth. Like when it talks about possibilities that you refuse to even consider because you're i-n-s-e-c-u-r-e!
MW: Stop it! Shut up! How did a part of my head become so independant? I don't want to hear this!
VITM: I'll shut up. For now...
MistWeaver
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