Daylight Day 20: Blood
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.
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I have AB+ blood and my husband has B+ blood. That means I can take his blood, but he can’t take mine 🙂
What’s your blood type?
Daylight Day 19: Questacon
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.”
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Questacon the National Science and Technology Centre is probably the most enjoyable tourist attraction in Canberra – especially the freefall slide (which cunningly demonstrates the science of gravity) – it’s a slide about five metres high.
It’s polished daily (which I know, because I used to work there – and we’d finish off the polish job by going down the slide ourselves). It can be scary, though – some over-enthusiastic parents have pressured their children so hard that the child has literally (and yes I know what that word means) pooed their pants.
My two favourite galleries are “Awesome Earth” (which includes an earthquake house and artificial lightning), and “MiniQ”. “MiniQ” is ONLY for 6-year olds and their families – others aren’t allowed in. It has a tiny bakery, tiny construction site, underwater sensory world (complete with mysterious squishy things in holes) and. . . . a water play area. Borrow a child, take a camera, and don’t forget a change of clothes.
Daylight Day 18: Poetry
Still not EMO, despite Dad cornering me in the laundry to lecture me on the meaninglessness of his existence. Hope we find a cure.
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Okay you asked for it*
This certainly proves my claims to emo-ness.
The following poem is the first piece of writing I ever had published for money (on January 14, 1996, in The Canberra Times – which used to have a “Junior Times” section – when I was thirteen). Keep a bucket handy, people.
GOODBYE
Goodbye
I have to go
Leave you behind
My friend.
I don’t want to go
I will write
and so will you
But not all the time
Not looking at the blue sky
the trees, the water
the sea
Sharing happiness, sadness
love and fear.
Not any more.
We will change
Be different
not know each other.
I will come back
But not the same
to meet a different person
Be a different person.
I will miss you
Goodbye.
*Actually no-one ever did or would, but so?
The Fear
Yesterday I had an epiphany.
Everyone has certain friends they don’t like – people you quietly wish would leave your friendship group, but you know they never will.
Pause for a related tale:
When I was fifteen or sixteen, I had a crush on a boy. (Mostly because he’d fallen for me, and was incredibly good-looking AND incredibly romantic, AND one of my best friends). Since I was already deeply in love with someone else, I made the decision not to go out with him – but I was very tempted. I’ll call the TDH (tall dark and handsome) crush Fred.
Some months passed, and by chance I discovered that Fred was making up stories about mutual friends of ours. I was lucky enough to stumble across information that made his dishonesty absolutely clear.
I’ve never been a fan of people who make up lies (my biological father, apparently, used to do exactly the same thing – making up unneccessary lies that were sometimes less attractive than the truth). I quickly realised that he was probably making up stories about me, too – some of them based on true secrets I’d told him.
Trust is vital in friendship, but I realised I still enjoyed his company. All I had to do to remain friends was never tell him any secrets, and to accept that a lot of what he said was completely made up. It was like a friendship with one piece taken out – and it worked surprisingy well.
And back to the present:
Since I became a basket case, friendships have been a lot harder to maintain. There are two I’ve deliberately chosen to draw back from – one because her own anxiety brings me down the instant I so much as think of her, and one because I know one day she’ll get annoyed and write about my many flaws (specifically and by my real name) on facebook.
Three other friends have hurt me badly in various ways – but they’re very close friends, and deeply embedded in friendship groups I can’t leave. So for about a year now I’ve been struggling to know what to do – how to reconcile their cruelty with our unbreakable friendships.
Their cruelty didn’t bother me so much – my weakness does sometimes bring out a bad side in others – but I was very ashamed of my own inability to just let it go.
Finally I realised that I wasn’t angry with them – I’d forgiven them long ago – I was simply afraid, knowing I couldn’t trust them.
So all I have is another few friendships with a piece missing. I can handle that!
I’ll probably always be afraid of them, but so what? Sometimes getting in or out of my car is so conceptually difficult I have a panic attack.
I’m not a bad person for still having negative feelings about bad people. And now I can live with my conscience, I can endure them, too.
Daylight Day 17: Bell vs Bella
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).
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Differences:
While Bella’s parents are a bit dopey, at least they didn’t name their daughter after a musical instrument.
Bell has a younger brother.
Bell’s hair is naturally black (then green), whereas Bella’s is brown.
Bell actually gets annoyed when her boyfriend is annoying.
Similarities:
Both stay with their very emo/EMO boyfriends. Both don’t seem to mind their boyfriend wants to drink their blood. Both are charmingly clutzy, and not the brightest spark in the fire.
Both have a horrible fate in store.
Daylight Day 16: Poetry
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.
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I’m too old to be emo, but all the elements are there. Including the poetry. For days now I’ve had a particular poem (of mine) in my head – mercifully, I can only remember a few lines. I’m proud to say this has never seen the light of day (and never should).
Brace yourselves. Here it is (insulting comments most welcome):
. . . Alone
In a crowd.
Lonely
Among friends. . .
Daylight Day 15: 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.
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And the weekly disclaimer: I’m making fun of the extreme end of emo stereotypical culture – not emo people (who have enough of a sense of humour to laugh at themselves, I suspect).
There’s a little emo in all of us. Me especially (I promise at least one blog will include my own – published and paid! – emo poetry. . . you have been warned!)
Mental Moments
Yesterday I went to our mechanic to arrange a time for my partner’s car to FINALLY get fixed (it’s been a saga going on for months – every time we take it in for one thing, they find another thing wrong). It’s a service station where I often get petrol, so people know me and both our cars very well – they’ll actually ask how one car or another is running when I buy petrol.
The main mechanic was serving someone when I arrived, so another one wrote down the appointment for me. “And what type of car is it?” he said.
And I froze. Just couldn’t remember. Was it a Mazda – or was that mine? What on earth was MY car (other than off-white. . .)?
“It’s a mazda wagon,” I said at last. “At least, I THINK it’s a mazda. Definitely a wagon. . . definitely. . .”
I wandered off with, as always, images of praire settler wagons in my head. Does anyone else think it’s wrong to call a car a wagon?
Anyway. . .
That wasn’t as bad as when I foolishly went shopping with my husband in an unfamiliar shopping centre. We only had a few things to buy – bread, milk, fruit, maybe a can of tuna or something. So we walked along the aisles together, looking at the signs so we knew where to go. I spotted a whole aisle for alcohol (unusual, since alcohol normally gets its own little section in a corner somewhere) and said, “Mmmm. . . . booooooze.”
My partner didn’t say anything, but what can one say to that? So I just kept walking, chatting away happily. He still didn’t reply, so I stopped and turned around to ask him a question.
Naturally, my husband had wandered off long ago and was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I faced a security guard wearing that, “Yes, I AM watching you” face.
At which point I stopped talking and went to find my straying husband.
Me? Crazy? My friend Bobby the Invisible Bear says I’m just fine.
Daylight Day 14: Shaun of the Dead
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.
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This is the point in the story that I realised my vampires were more than slightly zombie-like (this, and the infamous “kill them all” line). Consciously or otherwise, “Shaun of the Dead” will always be in my mind.
Lurking.
What Writers Should Expect
Yesterday I received word back from one of the publishers I’ve been waiting on (no not the main one; not yet – they’ve now had the full manuscript five and a half months).
I’m well aware that any publisher who I don’t have a personal connection to is going to send me a form rejection, no matter how close they come to accepting my book. This rejection was unusual because they replied by email (presumably because I’d gently nudged them about their lateness and my self-promotion via email).
It was also unusual because they didn’t bother actually sending it in the body of the email. The body of the email was completely blank. The rejection letter was an attachment – called “Rejection letter – kids”. It made me laugh out loud to be so streamlined. The letter itself was eerily familiar.
Here is what it said (with their picture and name and details at top and bottom):
Dear Ms. Bloomfield,
RE: [name of my book]
Thank you for sending your proposal to [publisher name] for our consideration.
Our editors have now considered the material and unfortunately we don’t feel that it is suitable for our publishing program. It is with regret that we decline your offer of publication.
We wish you every success in placing this manuscript with another publisher.
Yours sincerely
For the Children’s Submissions Editor
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And that’s that. I have one last chance to get a publication contract this year, and I sometimes just wish they’d hurry up and reject the darn thing.
Two more good chances for early next year, though. . .
My honest advice to anyone who’s been writing less than five years full-time remains a single word: Don’t.
If that just makes you go straight to your computer and write, then you might have the necessary mentality to keep going until you get somewhere. But probably not.
Felicity Banks 