Daylight Day 68: Carba-tec
Got chased by three sad elves. Weird and frightening. Began disguising myself with dark clothes and morose expression. Green hair unhelpful.
———————————
In another wildly off-topic celebration of Canberra, here’s a celebration of customer service:
I went to Carbatec in Fyshwick today (6/145 Gladstone St) looking for an obscure wood-shaping thingy. I found the right stuff, and went to pay for it. As I rambled chattily about what I wanted it for, the guy serving me stopped me buying his product, and directed me elsewhere (for a better one – and warning me it was “expensive” at $20 – so few shop people ever imagine $20 is a big deal, yet it so often is). Since Carba-tec is a shop devoted to anyone making stuff with wood (they even have clock engines and clock hands so you can make a clock out of any piece of wood – how cool!) it’s not like I’m likely to be a repeat customer.
Thus, I thank him here.
There is still good in the world.
Daylight Day 67: Hate Twilight? You may like. . .
Wandered the mall searching for anyone who wasn’t sparkling. I was all alone. Six Santas sat in a gutter, weeping and tolling their bells.
*
On “Top Gear”, Clarkson and James May hugged each other and wept. I lost my bet that Richard’d be the first to turn EMO. (It’s his hair.)
—————————
Lately I’ve been re-reading the Otori saga trilogy by Lian Hearn. The beauty of the writing takes my breath away.
The books are called (in order), “Across the Nightingale Floor”, “Grass for his Pillow” and “Brilliance of the Moon”. There are more books (which shall be mine, my precious, oh yes. . .), but those three do wrap up the two main plotlines.
The series is set in a fictional place similar to feudal Japan – including a Samurai-like warrior class, a Tribe of assassins with innate powers (such as acute hearing), and a pacifist sect called “The Hidden” who are hated because of their belief that even great Lords are only men – on the same level as outcasts.
The main character is born and raised by the Hidden, but his father was from the Tribe (which means he is both valuable and powerful – which is bad, because the Tribe will kill him if he doesn’t obey their laws – including killing people they don’t like). When his entire Hidden village is massacred, he is saved and adopted by the rightful head of the Otori warrior class. Further complications ensue.
And then there’s the girl. . .
I think it’s best described as a political thriller, as the hero attempts to survive intense political intrigues, conflicted loyalties, and assassinations. It’s also fantasy, and the romance is central (particularly since the girl is an extremely important bargaining piece – as she knows very well). A man’s sense of honour is also extremely important.
It’s worth noting that I generally dislike political thrillers. The writing is what makes these books sing, and there’s no way of describing it accurately. If you don’t like the first twenty pages, you won’t like it.
I’d rate them PG to M, depending on the book (PG for the first). There is plenty of violence, and some sex (rather gently described – more like a classic painting than a sex scene).
Also unlike “Twilight”, the characters care about more than just themselves and the person they think is really, like, hot. As a result, they do stuff other than sighing and lolling about. I like that.
Daylight Day 66: Guest author
Pi stumbled in holding his neck. Blood leaked through his fingers. As he fainted, he whispered, “It’s Mum’s behaviour, Bell, not her blood.”
*
“Please, Pi, try to focus. What did you mean it’s Mum’s behaviour? What is it she does that’s so different?”
He shrugged, “Who cares?”
*
Still not EMO. My poor brother. . . Dad bit humanity’s best hope of recovery.
Wait a sec. . . AM I EMO? That was practically poetry! Oh no!
——————————————-
Today’s visitor is Christopher James.
WAITING FOR LACHESIS
The waiting room of the Lachesis Centre was a sterile and impersonal place, and there was little distraction offered for the occupants except that which they could find in the other people waiting.
It was the young man that started them talking. Duncan was his name, Dunc to his mates. It was a bit of a funny thing the three of them were waiting for here, wasn’t it? Really, a bit morbid. Not that he was nervous or anything, after all, he was young and healthy now wasn’t he? He didn’t have to worry about it, he’d go in, have the test done, and then they’d give him his reading. His mates had bet him that he wouldn’t go through with it, but hey, it was no big thing, he wasn’t scared, it was just some number.
With the ice broken, the young lady, Helen, slowly began to open up. Well, it was really her fiancé’s idea. Yes, she was getting married, it was still a few months away but Andy said it was best if they started planning for their lives ahead now. Children and careers, retirement, everything could be much more neatly organised when they knew the results of her Lachesis test. He’d already had his done years ago. No, he couldn’t come down to the centre with her, he’d had a meeting, and he hadn’t wanted to pull out of it over such a little thing. After all, it was just test.
The last to speak, drawn out by the other two, was Henry. He’d just turned fifty and his employment contract was up for renewal, you see, and it was the policy in his department that everyone of his age had to provide the results of their Lachesis to ensure that they’d be able to fulfil their duties. Just an admin detail really. He’d always done his best, his manager would certainly have to take that into account, but… fifty wasn’t really that old, was it? It wasn’t as though he had any real health problems, nothing that could cause him to… fail in his duties.
They were called from their seats by a nurse who showed them each to separate scanning rooms. As the technicians attached wires and nodes, a pre-recorded voice droned on, using phrases like ‘bio-temporal signature’ and ‘quasi-chronal flux’, but none of them really listened. The science was beyond them, but they all knew what they were there for.
The wait for their results was filled with tense silence. As each one of them was called to the receptionist’s desk, they were handed a plain sealed envelope. Dunc weighed it up for a moment, then decisively ripped it open. He flipped through legal disclaimers and pamphlets on counselling until he finally came to the important information. And there it was, in simple type: The Lachesis Centre had determined that he, Duncan Edwards, would, through means natural or otherwise, die at the age of ninety-one. Ninety-one. An intoxicated grin spread across his face. Ninety-one, that was forever! He was immortal! A laugh worked its way up out of his throat, he had to tell his mates this, they’d be bloody jealous. He dashed outside and, like a salmon leaping up the rapids, he bounded through the pedestrian crowds and across the road. Then, like the paw of some great grizzly bear, the speeding truck swatted him out of the air. He bounced once, and then rolled, and his world cut to blackness. Much later, the sound of voices entered his ears, though he was not conscious to hear them. They were sorry, they really were, but there was no way to know when the poor boy would wake up. They’d just have to wait and see.
Helen took her envelope home unopened and waited until Andy arrived. He teased her lightly about her being scared of a letter, but he sat down with her as she broke the seal and read the conclusion. Sixty-four. That wasn’t too bad was it? It wasn’t as long as she’d hoped, but they could still build a life together, couldn’t they? Andy got up and started pacing the room. No, it could be worse, but he’d really… well, he was measured as living till he was eighty-eight. That was a whole twenty years more, he’d really expected their marriage to last, but if she was going to leave him when he still had so long to go… He really had to get some air, he’d be back in a bit. Grabbing his jacket, he swept out the door and left his dearly beloved to wait.
Henry had stared at his envelope for a while before he opened it. With his luck he’d probably be just short of whatever the number were that the department had set. It always did go like that with him. With a sigh he pulled out the results… and swallowed hard. He knew that date, he’d written it into his planner when he’d booked the appointment, it was that day. Frantically he looked around. It was coming for him. He frantically dashed out the doors. It could be anything, a car, a plane, a gun, a bomb. Wildly he weaved through the crowd, stumbling away from every possible threat. His breath was ragged, his chest felt like it was in a vice and it was too much, it was just too much, and with a shudder he grasped at his heart, and .. then… left all his worries behind.
As a new day dawned, the Lachesis Centre again opened for business and a new group of people came in and sat down to wait.
Daylight Day 65: Harry Potter VS Twilight
Pi followed Mum around with Mum2’s blood vial clutched in his free hand. By the end of the day, the blood was dried, smelly – and un-EMO.
*
Still not EMO, though Pi won’t stop coming up with ever-weirder theories about Mum’s self-curing ability. He dissected our guinea pig, too.
———————————————
This is VERY short, and says it all. . .
http://lifeofafi.wordpress.com/2009/11/30/harry-potter-v-twilight/
Daylight Day 64: Story so far
2 Oct
EMO used to stand for ‘emotional’ – the teen subgroup that’s only happy to be sad. Now it’s become a disease eerily similar to vampirism.
*
My name’s Bell. I considered being EMO once, but then I saw a pretty butterfly and got over myself. Got bored and decided to save the world.
*
This is the documentary tale of the brave few fighting to find a cure for EMO (or, failing that, a quick and easy way to kill all those vampires dead).
3 Oct
In Civic, Ed kissed me and sighed. “Oh, Bell. Cloudy days are so deep.”
“Oh no!” I cried. “Ed, tell me you haven’t been bitten by an EMO!”
*
He didn’t laugh once at our preview of “Saw VI”. I yanked him into a rare patch of sun – and he sparkled. My boyfriend had turned EMO!
*
Finally he confessed: “My mum bit me.”
“Your MUM!?”
He sighed, “Sad, I know.”
“Do you want to drink my blood now?”
“Er. . . no,” he lied.
4 Oct
On the news: “The EMO subculture has now become a pandemic. EMO teens can be recognised by their depression, dark clothes, and bad poetry.”
*
I walked in the yard just as Mum set some weeds on fire. “Mum,” I said through the smoke, “Ed’s EMO.”
“That’s nice dear.”
*
My name’s pretty bad, but my brother is Pi. He’s ten and wears a labcoat. I told him, “Ed’s EMO.”
“Hm. Can I do experiments on him?”
“NO!”
5 Oct
“Ed, it’s the holidays. Don’t you feel a LITTLE happy?”
“No,” he said. “Bell, would it be okay if I drank you – just a little?”
“NO!”
*
“Exodermal Melanin Occlusion is spreading fast,” the news said. “Symptoms now include sparkling in sunshine, darkening hair, and whining.”
*
Ed tried to bite me, and I tripped over another EMO as I dodged him. Bruised my knees. Still not EMO, despite my black hair and long fringe.
6 Oct
Still not EMO, despite drenching rain. All the EMOs are thrilled they’re not sparkling today (Ed almost smiled). Bring back the sun!
*
“Cheer up,” said Mum, “I’ve decided to have a wedding.”
“But. . . you’re married.”
“Don’t spoil it. It’s exactly what all those EMOs need.”
7 Oct
I was dying my hair when Ed called. “Want to play EMO baseball with my family?”
“No.”
He cried until I hung up.
My hair turned green. Oops.
8 Oct
Pi asked me for Ed’s old hairbrush, so I humoured him and brought it. He said, “Bell, I think there might be a cure for EMOs!”
*
Still not EMO, although Ed keeps trying to bite me. Awkward!
9 Oct
Mum said, “Don’t you just love weddings?”
“Does Dad even know?”
“Hush,” said Mum.
Our shopgirl wept quietly as she pinned Mum’s dress.
10 Oct
“Do you think a wedding could cure EMOs?” I asked.
Pi snorted and said, “Has Ed bitten you at all?”
“No, we just make out.”
Pi looked ill.
11 Oct
I saw Dad writing a journal and looking mournful. Uh-oh. Still not EMO myself, despite blood-starved boyfriend and lime green hair.
*
“Don’t let ANYONE drink your blood,” said the news. “Authorities recommend hitting EMOs with cricket bats. Stay alert, not alarmed.”
12 Oct
Ed wore an overcoat and hat to school. Our teachers freaked and put him in detention. I think he bit Mr Joh, the science teacher. Awkward!
*
Ed and I wandered the mall and saw heaps of decorations. Ed sighed, “Christmas is so deep. It makes me feel all –”
“Sad?”
“How’d you know?”
13 Oct
Mr Joh burst into tears while telling us about the reproductive cycle of fruit flies. Ed gave him tissues. This EMO pandemic is so wrong.
14 Oct
Maths class was full of sighs and weeping. (Life hasn’t changed much.) I was put on detention for being insensitive about life’s deep pain.
*
The principal ran detention. He looked thirsty. I shrank in my seat. “Tomorrow,” he told me, “come to my office. Bring your school spirit.”
15 Oct
I brought my school spirit and a cricket bat. The principal grabbed my arm but I whacked him and dived under his desk until the bell rang.
*
Still not EMO, despite listening to principal discuss philosophy for the entire lunch hour. Thank you, cricket bat, thank you.
16 Oct
Ed took me to a graveyard for a date. It was crowded. He licked me on the neck, and I kneed him in the groin. “Don’t you love me?” he wept.
*
Still not EMO, despite kneeing EMO boyfriend in the groin. Actually, that was pretty fun.
17 Oct
I said to Pi, “You know how you wanted to experiment on Ed? Go for it.”
“Thank you thank you!”
It was great to see his childish joy.
18 Oct
Ed called and said, “My Mum wants to know how you got that lovely green in your hair.”
“Well, I –”
“Oh, what’s the point?!” he cried.
*
Pi and I snuck over, gagged Ed, and dragged him home. He sparkled all the way. We locked him in the spare room with a saucer of rat’s blood.
Still not EMO, despite Ed’s slurping of his rat blood. He always was a messy eater. Now he stinks too (he owns only one all-black outfit).
19 Oct
Still not EMO, despite Dad cornering me in the laundry to lecture me on the meaninglessness of his existence. Hope we find a cure.
20 Oct
Caught Pi measuring Ed’s fringe. “When do you start experimenting on him?” I asked.
He said, “Soon. I’m gathering data.”
Still not EMO.
*
Pi said, “Should we ungag Ed? Mum and Dad are fine with him being here.”
“No,” I said, “If we did that, he might start talking again.”
21 Oct
Is being obsessed with Ed’s hair a symptom of EMO? Pi was measured it AGAIN. I wish he’d go into the sunshine so I could see if he sparkles.
22 Oct
“Eureka!” Pi yelled from the EMO room. I ran in. Pi brandished his clipboard. “EMO makes your fringe grow!”
“How is that useful exactly?”
*
Still not EMO, even though my boyfriend has better hair than me. On the up side, Pi stood in sunlight for me – no sparkles. Unlike Dad.
23 Oct
“Oh,” Dad sighed, “weddings always make me cry.”
“No they don’t! You always laugh at the priest wearing a dress. Won’t that be fun?”
“No.”
24 Oct
I felt mean and gave Ed his ipod and speaker. He played “Bleeding Love” for twelve hours. Still not EMO, though after that I do want to cry.
25 Oct
Ed’s Mum rang. I said, “Erm. . . Did you want Ed back?”
She sighed and said, “I don’t deserve him. You keep him.”
“Thanks. Thanks SO much.”
26 Oct
Came home from school to find Pi wrestling Ed. They broke apart and looked at me guiltily. “Ed! No biting!” I said.
“Who me?” he said.
*
Dobbed on Pi, but Mum wasn’t concerned. “Healthy exercise is just what EMOs need. What do you think about a red colour scheme?”
“Mu-um!”
27 Oct
Found Ed pinned helplessly under Pi’s ten-year old foot. “This gets easier by the day!” said Pi.
I said, “We already KNEW EMOs were weak.”
Still not EMO, despite my boyfriend getting regularly beaten up by my nerdy little brother. Dad said red is a very emotional colour. Great.
28 Oct
Mr Joh said life is a meaningless series of unconnected events, so there’s no point studying. Finally this pandemic has an up side!
29 Oct
Pi enjoyed demonstrating his ability to restrain Ed with a single finger.
Mum and Dad’s wedding is set for thirty November.
Still not EMO.
30 October
Mum said, “Be my bridesmaid.”
“Sure – but won’t it be hard to keep your guests from biting one another – enclosed spaces, and all that?”
31 Oct
Finally a weekend! No more sightings of Mr Joh and the principal sharing a tissue box. No more in-class essays on HOW I FEEL. Just Ed. D’oh!
1 November
“Can you believe it’s my wedding month already?” trilled Mum.
Dad and I exchanged a glance of woe. I caught myself and checked for sparkles.
*
Still not EMO. How can my hair be so green without falling out? Maybe I’ve become an anti-EMO. If only I could believe that.
2 Nov
Someone with a hand-drawn Red Cross badge came looking for donations today. I’m pretty sure they don’t usually collect blood door-to-door.
3 Nov
The art teacher made us draw self-portraits. Most of the class mixed their paint with real tears. Went home and bashed head against wall.
4 Nov
The newsreader said, “Our alert has been raised to red – a deep, emotional red. You may as well get bitten. What does it matter anyway?”
5 Nov
All TV cancelled in favour of OC re-runs. Pi and I sat watching Ed cry for two hours. His fringe grew visibly. Still not EMO (pretty sure).
6 Nov
Spent our date night feeding Ed different types of animal blood. He likes dog best. I chose not to ask where Pi got it from. Dad likes cat.
7 Nov
Ed played “Bleeding Love” until I smashed his ipod speaker. He said I was unsupportive and tried to bite me. I’ve got to stay alert!
8 Nov
Decided to confirm Pi’s previous experiment, and challenged Ed to fisticuffs. Beat him easily every time. Science is fun.
9 Nov
I asked the school counsellor for advice on helping friends with EMO-related depression.
“It’s not depression,” she said, “It’s TRUTH.”
10 Nov
For English, Miss Winter read “Wuthering Heights”. It was impossible to understand, because she was sobbing so hard.
Still not EMO.
11 Nov
Our French teacher lectured us today on the deep sadness of all European nations. Luckily, she did most of it in French.
Still not EMO.
12 Nov
In History, Mr Theo told us the World Wars were largely pointless. And so was the Industrial Revolution. And everything else.
Still not EMO.
13 Nov
The principal interrupted maths to bite most of the front row. When the sun shone in the window, the sparkles were blinding.
Still not EMO.
14 Nov
Ed said if I loved him I’d let him bite me. He was too weak to try, but I kicked him in the groin anyway. Suddenly my week got better.
15 Nov
Mum hung out washing and my heart stopped. She was sparkling.
“Mum! You’re EMO!” I cried.
She said, “Nonsense. Look again.”
She was fine.
*
“Pi, I swear she was sparkling one moment and not sparkling the next.”
“Impossible,” he said.
I said, “You’re right. It must be the stress.”
16 Nov
“Two weeks to the wedding!” Mum yelled, waking me.
At least I could be certain she wasn’t EMO. Dad drew sad smileys on the invitations.
17 Nov
Mum picked fresh tomatoes for our dinner, and once again I could have sworn she was sparkling. But when I blinked, she wasn’t. Weird.
18 Nov
“Bell! Bell!” said Pi.
I said, “What?”
“You were right! Mum has a natural immunity.”
“Fantastic.”
“I know. We have to clone her!”
“Pardon?”
19 Nov
“I have to what now?” I asked Pi.
He said, “Just ask Dad how often he bites Mum.”
“But –”
“We need to know. And I’m WAY too young to ask.”
*
Still not EMO, despite finding out Dad gives Mum hickies “every day or two”. I certainly FEEL sick. But will their grossness save the world?
20 Nov
I helped Pi get his cloning machine out of the shed. “And you DIDN’T win the science prize for this?”
He shrugged and said, “Nah. Volcanos.”
21 Nov
I got Mum to agree that she wished there were two of her doing all that wedding prep. She sat in Pi’s cloning machine and BOOM! Two Mums.
*
Still not EMO, despite suddenly copping twice as much wedding talk. I wish we could cure EMOs without actually talking to people.
22 Nov
Mum2 refused to get bitten. “Clones are people too. We have rights.”
“We?” said Pi.
That’s when Mum2 introduced Mum3, Mum4 and Mum5.
23 Nov
“Bell,” said Mum, “don’t be upset, but I’m going to be my own bridal party. Won’t it be fun?”
“Are ANY of you EMO yet?”
“Just your fathers.”
24 Nov
Ed’s coming to the wedding, because “it’ll be SUPER deep.” Tissue prices are rising. Still not EMO, despite getting shafted as bridesmaid.
25 Nov
Mum spent an hour crying due to Mum3 fitting her wedding dress better. I definitely saw sparkles. Then she went for a walk and got better.
26 Nov
Dad’s hair was already darkening because of EMO. He dyed it black for the wedding. His fringe is nearly chin-length. Still not EMO.
*
Pi crept into my room at night with a handful of syringes. “We need their blood! The Mums. Any one will do.”
I’m not sure he’s coping.
27 Nov
Tried to corner Mum5 but she just laughed at me. “I know a million more tricks than you, sweetheart!”
Still not EMO, despite my ten parents.
28 Nov
Pi yelled, “Bell! Mum3 is sparkling. We can grab her while she’s EMO and weak!
I ran out, but by the time we reached her Mum3 was fine.
*
Still not EMO, despite a clone of my Mum giving me a smack for being disrespectful. I hate it when that happens.
29 Nov
Tried to reason with the Mums. Big mistake. They were far too busy experimenting with hairstyles to want to hear how to save humanity.
*
Still not EMO, despite ten parents alternately telling me to (1) cheer up or (2) stop being so shallow now the wedding’s tomorrow. Bite me.
30
Dad avoided a ray of stained-glass sunlight. All the Mums glowed, and Mum3 sparkled. Mum walked down the aisle with a huge smile. . .
*
. . . and was tackled by Mum2. “This moment belongs to ME!” screamed Mum4, and jumped on top. Mum5 weighed in. Mum3 bit Mum5 on the leg.
*
I comforted Mum, saying the wedding was certainly lively. She passed me a full syringe. “I drew blood from Mum2 after Mum4 knocked her out.”
1 Dec
It was a relief to be back at school, even with Mr Joh’s sudden fascination with every Tim Burton movie ever made. Still not EMO.
2 Dec
Pi woke me, yelling, “It’s aliiiiive!”
“What?” “Mum2’s blood. I got Dad to drink a bit, and now the rest’s gone EMO.”
I went back to sleep.
*
Still not EMO, despite little brother developing his muttering skills suddenly. Poor Pi. He might not be EMO, but he’s also not. . . right.
3 Dec
Awoke with horrible thought and went to Pi. “You said Dad drank some of the blood sample. So his BACKWASH turned it EMO?”
“Yep. Ed’s, too.”
*
Still not EMO, despite beginning to wonder if blood tastes good. Ed says it’s like milo combined with tabasco sauce. I need to get out more.
4 Dec
The 7pm Project began with ten minutes of solemn reflection (Dave cried, then bit Carrie). Marge Simpson now wears black. I’m still not EMO.
Me Write Good
I wrote this on the 26th of November, but was apparently too addled to correctly publish it online. So, conveniently, I have some good news to balance the post I just wrote. (And the dieting – except for the uncontrollable rage – is going surprisingly well, thank you.)
——————————————
Last night, around midnight, I finished my National Novel Writing Month book (adding a completely useless conversation to fill in the last five hundred words. As you do).
This is the first time I’ve written a fifty-thousand word manuscript since 2005. (2005 was about the time when I noticed I was losing my mind, and that’s not very confidence-inducing.)
Finishing something (even a hideously flawed first draft) this big is VERY confidence-inducing. It also means that I have a better feel for what 50,000 words looks like when I rewrite the second and third books in my young adult trilogy (I’m still waiting for the publisher to reply on the first one – they’ve now made a new Australian record for Slowest Response Ever, further supporting my, “They’ll probably say yes” theory and sending me deeper into hope-induced madness). Incidentally, that first young adult book is also a NaNo book, which grew to over double its original size during the editing process.
I might not be very good at walking or talking but I am truly extraordinary at producing novels fast. During the process of writing, I noticed that I often wrote at a rate of two THOUSAND words an hour. That even boggles my mind. I really wish I could apply that kind of skill level to something a little more practical, but at least I can do something not everyone in the world can do.
Now seems as good a time as any to say that my friend’s sick baby is home and appears to be completely unharmed. Today I’ll also begin a new attempt at losing some of the fifteen kilos I’ve gained this year, utilising the post-NaNo high.
Some of you already know that I didn’t plan to do NaNo this year (mainly because the logical book to work on is book 2 of the young adult trilogy, which has large good chunks which I’ll cut and paste into the new version). So here is how it happened:
On Thursday 12th November I woke up from a dream which I thought had some moderately interesting elements – an empath community that had a large underground sanctuary made of stone, and that could track each other by thought. I also had two scenes in my head – one involving kidnapping, in which my hero rescued a child but wasn’t able to save his mother; and one in which the baddie shot at the hero and killed her closest ally. From that, I started writing. I have a bad habit of letting my characters sit around and chat, so I worked on making sure every chapter had some direct physical conflict (eg baddie fights hero, baddie fights hero in different location, hero is chased by police, heroes run away from fire set by baddie). One of the interesting side effects is that I did a little editing of another novel of mine at the same time, and REALLY noticed how much I need more action (something publishers have been telling me for years). Hopefully this is a handy epiphany that I can apply to all my work. And when I go back and edit the NaNo novel, I can cut the talky bits and expand the action.
One of the fabulous things about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month – which is actually international) is the truly apalling writing that spews forth unchecked. At one point I noticed that (of about 13 named characters including four cats) I had a Ginny, a Jenny, and a Johnny (Jenny and Johnny are students in the same class, and Ginny is a teacher). Hm.
Total body count: 8 (at the moment)
Personal favourite moment: In the climax, as the baddie is enacting a plan to turn the world into mindless automatons, a two-month old kitten saves the world by biting the Prime Minister at just the right time. (The kitten’s name is Fluffy.)
Worst plot point: a baby is left on the communal doorstep at one point, and performs no useful function whatsoever. (Because hey, it’s a baby.) I gotta either work on that or delete it.
I also wrote this beautiful sentence (and many others like it):
In her place, I didn’t think I’d still be thanking the person who had unsuccessfully tried to protect me from someone who wouldn’t have attacked them if I wasn’t there.
What Edward and I have in common
I know what it’s like to snap slowly and I know what it’s like to snap quickly.
Snapping slowly is what happens when you’re living on a few dollars a week, and eating nothing but a single meal (of rice fried with sugar and an egg) each day, and then suddenly you buy $3 worth of chips. That $3 was meant to last a week, and you know you’ll regret spending it even as you do so (walking to the cash register, ordering, and paying).
Snapping quickly is when you bring a glass into the kitchen, meaning to put it on the bench, then you see the dishes (his job that night) aren’t even started, and you suddenly hurl the glass into the sink and watch it shatter – surprising yourself more than him. (This happens last night, and since I threw my laptop at him in September, it’s no longer a one-off incident.)
Both types of snapping have similar thought patterns, “Don’t do it. This is stupid. You don’t want to do it, stop! Arg!” The main difference is that when I snap slowly, I get to pick HOW I snap. It feels like it’s me doing it.
When I snap quickly, I am literally unable to stop myself. It’s like a reflex. I can modify my actions (eg throwing more slowly, aiming for the sink instead of somewhere messier, throwing an innocent glass instead of punching an innocent man – who was, of course, already wearing dish gloves and clearly doing exactly what he said he’d do). That’s all. I hardly believe it myself, especially since I spend so much time controlling similar urges successfully.
After a slow snap there are consequences – such as having no food at all for a day or two. But there’s also a certain joy in doing something a bit dumb (which is why I will often, now I’m not in danger of going hungry, spend my last $10 on chocolate). After a slow snap there are consequences too, but the most important aftertaste is fear. Because I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do next. Will I hit my husband? Will I drive my car into a light post? Would this other version of me ever hit a child? I don’t know the answers any more.
There’s also a light of pleasurable relief, because it’s moments like these I can feel at peace – yes I really am insane, not lazy (as I’ve been told by various people who are really, really selfish and dumb – and close to me).
This kind of abusive behaviour (being violent toward objects; it’s a classic) is what I have in common with Edward Cullen. (On the up side, I might be mental but I’m not nearly as emo as he is. And I’m pretty sure I have better hair).
I don’t THINK I’m a danger to anyone (not even myself, definitely the most annoying individual around). Otherwise I’d be morally bound to apply some anti-depressants, stat. I do notice that every time I take happy pills I immediately (faster than medical testing would suggest is genuinely medication-related) feel more rational, and wonder why I don’t take pills all the time. Bingeing daily on chocolate also helps. But both ‘medications’ also cause me to gain weight. Which sounds pretty mild compared to potentially harming someone, but my forgiving metabolism is the only thing that keeps me eating (more or less) properly, and exercising regularly, and venturing out into public places. Those are all really difficult things to do, and with medication screwing up my metabolism I just don’t have enough mojo to bother. So I’m prioritising physical health and social/working ability over mental health.
It might be the wrong choice. I’m not sure.
Daylight Day 63: Yay for the internet
Awoke with horrible thought and went to Pi. “You said Dad drank some of the blood sample. So his BACKWASH turned it EMO?”
“Yep. Ed’s, too.”
*
Still not EMO, despite beginning to wonder if blood tastes good. Ed says it’s like milo combined with tabasco sauce. I need to get out more.
——————————————
Observant readers will notice that I appear to be using the internet. Yes, it’s true. The internet is all better now and life goes on.
Here’s today’s “Twilight”-mocking article (it also has a fun video):
http://www.wired.com/underwire/2009/11/twilight-lessons-girls-learn/
Daylight Day 61-62
Hello pandemic survivors.
My Telstra USB modem just died, and they’re not replacing it. I will buy me some proper internet from a different company, but in the meantime here’s two days’ worth of wonderfulness:
First, the signs that Bella and Edward are in an abusive relationship:
http://io9.com/5413428/official-twilights-bella–edward-are-in-an-abusive-relationship
Second, how the “Twilight” saga isn’t a fab example of how love should be:
http://skepchick.org/blog/2009/11/ew-moon-why-twilight-continues-to-hurt-america/
See you again on Thursday!
And remember kids. . . if your date has fangs, GO HOME!
Sick and Wrong
My brother’s wedding was lovely (except for a certain Felicity sitting stiff and skulking in a corner since that is, apparently, all the manners I am capable of). My writing weekend at the Sydney FreeCon was great and went swimmingly. I am eating better, and beginning to lose weight (lack of chocolate results in headaches and ANGER but is important nonetheless).
Yesterday, my internet broke. This is NOT good. After many hours chatting to Indian people (who couldn’t actually understand ME, let alone vice versa), I was advised that my USB modem was broken, and told to go get a new one. This conversation cost me around $70, since I don’t have a landline.
I went to the shop, and naturally my warranty has expired – a few weeks ago. I had $74 credit remaining (to put that in perspective, I usually aim to spend around $20-$40 per month).
The nice man at the shop said it’d be cheaper for me to buy a new one. (Mine cost $150.)
In a shocking twist, I won’t be buying from that company again.
And yes, it was Telstra.
By sheer good luck I had just one hour of work today. I just called in sick, and went to my parents’ internet connection instead.
Felicity Banks 