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I should really be doing work today. I have several things due in the near future, and a whole day free today. But I haven't been able to contact my collaborator for the transcription exercise, so that'll have to wait till the Wednesday appointment we arranged, and I feel more than disinclined to begin my phonetics and phonology assignments. Instead, I'll read my article for ancient history this week, and make tokenistic stumblings towards linguistics work, as well as finishing Dreamcatcher - I'm so close to the end that it's making me a little crazy.
Andrew and I saw What A Girl Wants yesterday - we thought it looked a bit dodgy but hey, it has Colin Firth, and I thought I could put up with the terrible British/American humour for that reason, at least. As it happened, I quite enjoyed it, although at some points it was necessary to distance myself from the narrative - when Daphne cried, 'Thank you, London!' at the Royal Dress Show, it made me cringe. When all the rich boys said, 'What a delightful creature,' it squicked me. The endless trying-on-dresses-in-the-markets scenes shat me to tears, and at many points in the film I simply wanted the characters to interact with each other - would it be too much to ask for Daphne to tell the father she'd like to love her, or even the lovable grandmother, that the stepmother and stepsister were being truly appalling to her? The main problem was that I wasn't able to identify with Colin Firth as a father-figure, but since he's such a delicious creature himself, when he came to our protagonist with a heartfelt, 'I love you,' I had entirely the wrong reaction. There was a romantic subplot with Daphne's mother Libby, but there was so little interaction with her, seeing her primarily when she attempts to control her daughter's life to protect her, that I found it hard to accept the free-spirited portrait of her that the film offers. That didn't do it for me, although the happily-ever-after was rather spectacular.
I think I've complained in the past about work making me take out my more interesting jewellery. This afternoon I called my piercing place, who informed me that nobody makes clear retainers that aren't huge and visible, so I have to make my own out of 1-millimetre fishing line, melted into a flat disc on one end. There's my craft project for the week. The guy made me feel a bit guilty for taking out my jewellery all the time - as he put it, I've been playing Russian roulette with my piercing. It gets tight after eight hours with no jewellery, and it would be very easy for it to get irritated when I put it back in, and then I'd get a lovely big infection with a lump on the surface, and it's all downhill from there. I haven't been cleaning my piercings as often as I should, it's true.
The holidays are over, and uni would start again on Monday, except that my one class then has been cancelled. I might call my collaborator and see if we can get the transcription exercise started then. We're planning to do it on a piece of Arthurian legend which is almost legible, in which it becomes apparent that they had very different ideas about what constituted a complete sentence in the olden days. It's hard enough that we'll get marks for trying it, but close enough to the standardised Middle English that we've been studying for years that it's likely to be doable.
The burn's fine now, a few hours with a cold flannel cooled it down and I've applied various soothing ointments since then, and now it's just lick of pink around my wrist. I'm feeling better from my flu, now, but the Tuesday night plans for movies and romance were pretty much shot by my horrible stomach cramps, and later by the burn. I think I've reached a point where the sheer number of illnesses, injuries and other calamities in my life is simply ridiculous. It's not like it used to be, they're not stress-induced (or not in any direct, easily observable way), I'm just clumsy and susceptible to pretty much anything. Of course, it may just seem that way because my holidays has been taken up with two such woes.
Retrospective extrapolation from current events - It's the way of the future.
I'm planning to go into uni tomorrow to pick up a few books and start my English assignment. The assignment in question involves attempting a transcription of a section of a medieval manuscript, and then writing a report on the transcription. It's interesting, but the course is getting more and more obscure. I have a feeling that this is my initiation into the English department. I'm standing on the porch in the snow while they shout at me, "You're just not trying hard enough. Go home, fatty." Were this theory true, I'd be in if I just stuck it out long enough. We'll see. I was supposed to be doing this transcription with a friend, but she said on Wednesday that she'd e-mail me and she hasn't yet. I gave up waiting and e-mailed her this evening, but the message bounced because she's at her storage limit. It's most frustrating, I'll call her tomorrow, but if she's not available I'm going to get started alone. I have too many things due at about the same time to get waylaid now.
Yes, I just finished Island in the Sea of Time yesterday. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I'm looking forward to reading the sequel. My next book is Dreamcatcher. I'm a bit nervous about the freaky dreams I'll have while reading that.
So, I stood and minded the bags while Mum and Abby went on the Ferris Wheel. I was pretty exhausted by this point, it must be noted, and standing still for a few minutes was a welcome change. It rained all day, and I formed a strong bond with my woollen coat (the one I have referred to as 'Madeline') and umbrella. We watched Clydesdales being shod, saw the finals of my beloved Tree Felling, and patted tiny pink piglets. We ate pancakes, hot crisps with cheese sauce and vienna almonds from a paper cone. I bought a beautiful pewter knotwork barrette for my hair, as well as a hematite ring (which now appears too big) and the ubiquitous frippery showbag.
We collapsed onto the bus home, one which thankfully went almost directly to our house. Mum and I sat downstairs, exploring our purchases, and both developed runny noses and that weary feeling that presages the flu proper. I went to bed and woke up nearly twelve hours later, experiencing aching limbs and sinus pain. Flu drugs are my friend, as are the chewy sweets that came in my showbag. I had planned to visit my father today, as he is very soon travelling overseas for an extended period. This visit now seems unwise, and with the information that some airports are not allowing passengers with fever to travel in an attempt to halt the spread of SARS, I'm most unwilling to risk his travel plans. Instead, I'm having a quiet day at home, in the hope that such rest will allow me to recuperate sufficiently to return to work tomorrow. I started writing my fic again the other night, so there might be some of that going on, as well.
Where is the humour that is usually the one benefit of my illness? I'm most seriously displeased.
It was a lovely, rainy Good Friday. I spent the day at home with my family, cleaning. We're a fairly messy bunch, and we don't always find time to clean up on weekends so it becomes a major hassle to clean the house from time to time. We had fun, though, managed to thoroughly clean downstairs and had fun doing it, breaking regularly for hot cross buns and coffee. I think the rain helped - wet weather always seems to create an atmosphere of cosy domesticity, so cleaning the house was enjoyable. I found a few things I hadn't seen in ages, including my tax pack, my velvet jacket and one of my favourite shirts. I want to work on my room, but I'm not sure it'll happen soon.
Tomorrow, I'm going to the Easter Show with my mother and sister. I've been looking forward to it for ages. When I went to the Show in kindergarten, the teacher had us all singing for weeks beforehand a song that was largely the line, 'We are going to the show, today' repeated with slight variations in tune and a chorus that was more of the same. I'll bet she regretted teaching us that one. It's stuck with me to this day, coming up whenever I began to plan trips to the show, or (with slight variations) the zoo. It's even got stuck in my head at various times completely unrelated to the Easter Show. We plan to spend a lot of time looking at the animals and handcrafts, along with a lengthy stopoff at the woodchop for me (if it's fine enough) because I'm obsessed with it. Rides and showbags aren't a big deal any more, but I am hoping to get another bottle of the vanilla and cinnamon syrup I bought last year. It's delicious and have been drinking it in my coffee since then, so I'm just about out. We are going to the show, tomorrow...
Highlights of the blog-year include:
I have a week off for Easter and I must say I'm grateful for the break. Working one's arse off is really quite tiring, but nourising in that I love what I do so recreation isn't so important. Over the break I want to get lots of work done. I came home this afternoon and wrote a list of simple things I can do to catch up where I'm behind, and add confidence where I'm not. There are fifteen items on the list, and this evening I made a start by completing three of them.
This week I also want to do my taxes (six months late and counting...), visit the Easter Show with my mother, clear some of the obvious crap out of my room and spend a whole day with Andrew. Soon, possibly tomorrow, I'm going to buy Dreamcatcher and Chamber of Secrets on DVD. I'm really looking forward to reading Dreamcatcher - it was a long film packed full of stuff, some of it not terribly well explored or explained, so I hope/suspect that the book will be even better.
For starters, the shop is fiercely air conditioned to the extent that we have staff shivering and rubbing goosepimpled arms some days. Once one acclimatises to this, however, a step into the cool room is still refreshing. The coldness began to affect me by chilling my body such that I felt cold on the outside, but my body temperature was still comfortable. Following this, I found that the light fabric of my work clothes became cold and almost crisp, and where it touched my skin it felt very strange, as though the friction of fabric against skin were likely to cause frozen fabric to snap. I soon developed goosebumps, and became even colder when I leaned against the wall to attach a sign and found that it was also icy metal. When I could justify staying in the freezer no longer, I headed out and found that the (cold by normal standards) air in the shop was incredibly warm, like the toastiness trapped under a quilt as you lie in bed on a cold morning. My glasses fogged up with the sudden warmth.
I have a feeling my undue interest in the affects of cold and hunger on my body could be a bad thing. The foolish curiosity of a well-fed, healthy person from a warm climate.
Since buying my discman, and particularly since obtaining the case for it, I've been listening to a lot of music. Bus trips have traditionally been a time for reading whatever novel I happen to be ensconced in at the time, but sometimes music is the way to go. Last night on the bus, the light above my seat was broken, leaving me with insufficient light to read, so I listened to The Best of Blur. On Saturday morning, my mother got sick of the next-door-neighbours' incessant piano playing and cranked up her Eagles CD far louder than I never would. Now, I loathe Sylvia's Mother. It's a bitterly sad song, and has an unsurpassed capacity for getting stuck in my head, leaving me in a funk for days. I put on my headphones and listened to the American Beauty score. And today I've been listening to 18 in between writing chunks of my essay. I'm amazed at how immersive music can be when I listen to it in this way. I close my eyes, sigh, and feel the tension drain out of me. I have only a mild synaesthesia associated with music, but I find that the colours and textures connoted by my favourite music wash over me when I listen like this. In many ways it's more refreshing than sleep, and I wonder how I used to manage without my own little world of music.
Party last night was great. It was, in fact, a freaking long way away, but I had a greally good time. I drank a bit too much and it hit me all at once, then I started to feel a bit sick so Andrew sat with me outside, in the icy night air, and made me drink water. Kissing while drunk is like kissing for the first time, slow and uncoordinated and spread beyond the usual areas of kissing.
This morning was even better, and is going on my list of Best Mornings Ever. I'm in one of those amazingly contented moods, all is right with the world and all in it. I'm going to write more of my essay now.
I saw Dreamcatcher with Andrew on Monday. It was a damn fine film. Although its classic horror movie monsters were completely laughable, there was some interesting portrayal of psychic abilities and possession. In addition, I found the use of visual metaphor, such as the Memory Warehouse, completely fascinating. I want to see it again, and my rhapsodising has almost convinced my mother to see it with me sometime soon, despite her hatred of horror movies.
Things with Andrew are so wonderful right now. I'm frequently surprised by how easy it is to forget to be romantic, to just muddle along together getting life done, and forget to enjoy each other. This often happens for a couple of weeks, and then we rediscover each other and it's all good. When things are good, it's so easy to continue to enjoy the relationship that it's not an effort, and then when effort is required the need is not recognised and we slide into another ho-hum period. Or something. Don't get me wrong, even when things are bad they're still pretty good, but wonderful is better.
Aside from all that, my life is pretty much on hold until I finish this tute paper. It's due next Tuesday, but I'm afraid of the stress and depression that comes with hurried essays, so I've read almost all I need to read and I'm going to start writing it tomorrow. This would seem like a rather sensible notion, if common sense were my motivator rather than fear. After all, these papers aren't supposed to take more than a week. I heard the lecturer talking to some people about the topic when I was on my way to my Linguistics tute. If they're just now deciding what sources to focus on, chances are I'm a fair way ahead of them. I'm also compensating for my working life, however, as I'm working tomorrow night and Friday night, and it's altogether possible that I will be working on Monday. Fingers crossed that I'm not, but I've been rostered on the last two Mondays, so my chances don't look good. And the weekend's not great since I'm going to a party on Saturday night, the first I've attended since starting work in my bottle shop, and I intend to develop a professional opinion on several of the wares.
I remember seeing a film (possibly Roman Holiday) when I was younger, in which the main (female) character declared her personal motto to her love interest while he lit her cigarette. Ever since then, I've considered possible mottos from time to time but rejected them all as being too simplistic to be applied to most situations. I read a while back that Elvis' motto was Taking Care of Business (Get it Done in a Flash!). This seems to me to be a sensible motto, and one that I can usefully apply to many situations in my life. It's not terribly inspiring, mind you, but airy-fairy aphorisms don't help me much.
I was supposed to be working this evening, but on Saturday I organised a mutually beneficial swap with one of the others at work. My next shift isn't till Thursday, so I'm hoping to get my incredibly comfy yet broken boots fixed before then. To that end, I'm planning to hurry to the bootmaker's tomorrow before my first class, having failed to do it before my midday tutorial today. I really must get going earlier in the mornings, but the workful weekend was free from administrative or academic activities, so I also had to check online to see what books were due back at the library and try to download some of my readings. I started my readings for the Ancient History essay due in a bit over a week, and they're rather inspiring. If any of the others are half as kickarse as Hortensia's Speech (Appian, Civil Wars 4.32-4) I'll be one very happy chappie.
My nights are filled with odd dreams. There are ones in which I go on safari, and live in a shack perched high in a gorge, then have to hurry to close the door to keep the vultures out. Objects are treated in such a functional way that I know I've been playing too many adventure games, primarily Monkey Island 2. Then there are the ones where my current shopping research project rears its obsessive head, and I dream of exactly the right discman case for cheap. My desperation for immersive reading material is such that I accepted a recommendation from my sister for The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic. However, I found that it was not only full of those cringeworthy moments that I hate, but also primarily concerned with the protagonist fucking up her life. I found it most unsatisfactory, and despite being assured that it would get better I abandoned the novel after about a hundred pages. I've since moved onto Island in the Sea of Time on loan from Andrew, and just three pages in I'm hooked as well as most impressed with the characterisation.
I'm working tonight. I'm also working on Saturday, Sunday and Monday. I'm calling it my 24-hour weekend as that's the number of hours I'm working. It's a fairly interesting interpretation of the 15 hours I said I was available to work. Mind you, I could hassle them about giving me so many shifts, but I love having a job and I love earning the money, I love that I'm good enough at it that they'll call me up and beg me to come in an hour early. I think they're planning to go to my requested number of shifts once things settle down, although there's no telling when that'll be when they're still rostering insufficiently so they still have to call people up. The worry is just that I have a History essay due in a week and a half and I haven't really started. 2,500 words on the images of women in Civil War-era Rome. I'll have to read bits and pieces of the sources this weekend, then worry about modern historians later.
You may recall my disgruntlement about the difficulty of obtaining my work uniform. I wrote that on Friday afternoon, the day before the shop was due to open. On Saturday morning I went out to my op-shop and found myself a credible ersatz of the official shirt - apparently identical apart from the absence of the shop's name embroidered above the pocket. It was a bit big, but it was $6 as opposed to the $30 or so for the official shirt, and I figured I could simply use it as a stop-gap measure until I was able to order a proper one. However, the shirt is so like the official ones that I am disinclined to shell out for another. When I went to sign on on Saturday afternoon, the manager who was unable to find me a shirt said, "How'd you go with the shirt?" before doing a double-take. "Even the pockets are right!" he exclaimed. I felt pretty odd at first, wandering around with my shirt tucked in and my scarf arranged much like a cravat, but since everyone else looks like that, it's not so bad. I realise this means I'm voluntarily homogenising myself - I don't even mind taking out my nose stud for the sake of my employment. But it's worth it to me, I don't mind being a slightly different person at work since the payment that comes with employment makes me more able to live the lifestyle I desire the rest of the time.