That is all.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
The Silent Bird
I didn't speak yesterday, didn't tweet or post anything on facebook, no answering of the phone and finger signing to answer questions in class and being translated by my friend Lindsey. It was odd because I felt like the great observer. I read everything, I listened to everything, I saw everything, but I wasn't changing any of it. It was almost like being invisible. I was going to write about the Vow of Silence and the way it felt and seemed and everything described above, but arriving at my house I saw a wing poking out of the leaf gutter above my porch. A bird had died, probably by hitting my parents' bedroom window, and then fallen into the pipe with the leaves and the rain. It made me indescribably sad to see, because I love birds and find far too many of them dead.
I put my things inside, got out the stepladder and the rag of one of my swaddling blankets from when I was a baby, which I never use for cleaning because it just seems wrong, but I couldn't think of a better shroud for a bird than one that kept three consecutive babies warm and safe, and then their dolls got dragged around in it and indoor picnics were had on it and it got too ragged to be used again.
I climbed up on the ladder, but I wasn't tall enough to see what I was doing, and it's a deep gutter and the ground the ladder was on was slightly uneven and no one was spotting me and I just couldn't do it. I carefully tucked the silvery, strong feathers over the edge so that my mum wouldn't see, then put the stepladder and rag in the carport and wrote a note to my dad to deal with it, since he's several inches taller. Then I had a panic attack. The birds make me sad, but I take the shovel and dig a hole in the forest a stone's throw from my house, bury the bird and sink an acorn a couple of inches deep over the small animal's grave, so that someday there will be a tree there to guard the poor little thing. But this time, I couldn't bury the bird. The bird was in the gutter and I couldn't get it out and I knew that my father would call me crazy for burying the bird and throw it into the garbage bin with a joke about carbon sequestering. And then I couldn't breathe and my hands were shaking so hard that I couldn't get a glass of water and had to put my face right down to the sink and drink from the tap, trying to get water through my constricted throat, trying to breathe. Slowly, it went away and I went back to my business, but that little bird is still in my thoughts. My dad said it was dealt with, but I was too afraid to ask what he'd done with it, too afraid that I knew the answer.
Poor little bird.
I put my things inside, got out the stepladder and the rag of one of my swaddling blankets from when I was a baby, which I never use for cleaning because it just seems wrong, but I couldn't think of a better shroud for a bird than one that kept three consecutive babies warm and safe, and then their dolls got dragged around in it and indoor picnics were had on it and it got too ragged to be used again.
I climbed up on the ladder, but I wasn't tall enough to see what I was doing, and it's a deep gutter and the ground the ladder was on was slightly uneven and no one was spotting me and I just couldn't do it. I carefully tucked the silvery, strong feathers over the edge so that my mum wouldn't see, then put the stepladder and rag in the carport and wrote a note to my dad to deal with it, since he's several inches taller. Then I had a panic attack. The birds make me sad, but I take the shovel and dig a hole in the forest a stone's throw from my house, bury the bird and sink an acorn a couple of inches deep over the small animal's grave, so that someday there will be a tree there to guard the poor little thing. But this time, I couldn't bury the bird. The bird was in the gutter and I couldn't get it out and I knew that my father would call me crazy for burying the bird and throw it into the garbage bin with a joke about carbon sequestering. And then I couldn't breathe and my hands were shaking so hard that I couldn't get a glass of water and had to put my face right down to the sink and drink from the tap, trying to get water through my constricted throat, trying to breathe. Slowly, it went away and I went back to my business, but that little bird is still in my thoughts. My dad said it was dealt with, but I was too afraid to ask what he'd done with it, too afraid that I knew the answer.
Poor little bird.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Power Outage
There was a power outage. I was feeling all smug and planning on blogging FROM THE POWER OUTAGE because of my magical laptop. It wasn't until I had booted it up when I spotted the flaw in the plan; the magical voodoo wireless box wouldn't work without electricity. I am so dumb.
Have a great day, and try to do clever things than seen above. I should not be anyone's role model.
Have a great day, and try to do clever things than seen above. I should not be anyone's role model.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Unexpected Baptism
I meant to write about all sorts of other things, but something extraordinary just happened to me, and I have to write about it before it disappears.
I was biking home from school, thinking about this new, seemingly impossible assignment in Lit, an essay on the one thing in your life that connects people, that makes you feel like a little kid, the most joyful and challenging thing that runs you, and I am so panicked, you would not believe. At the same time, I was admiring the way the almost white sunlight was making the wet concrete gleam and the yellow leaves on the trees and ground glow. I crossed the bridge in the park, slowed down between the two trees, twisted around the corner, and yanked on the brakes. In the middle of the grass sports field, the sprinklers were on, four in all, spraying water every which way in the wettest month of the year, and that's saying something for Vancouver.
I rode my bike through the gate, leaned it against the fence post, setting my bag and sweater with it, out of reach of the sprinklers. I intended to let some of this odd water fall on my face in a light mist, to cool me off from the ride and the anxiousness of this time in my life. First, the mist hit me, then got a bit stronger. Droplets beaded on my shirt, my hair, my eyelashes. I took a step closer, then another, chasing the sprinkler as it turned its slow circle. Eventually I ran under it and let it wash over me, soaking me to the bone. It was like a baptism, like all my sins and worries and fears and angers washing away in the rainbow water. I felt this immense sense of relief and happiness, and I raised my arms above my head and laughed like a little kid, letting it all fall on me and then off again.
It was only a minute until the sprinklers turned off of their own accord, and I realized that I didn't care that the guys in the skate park were watching me, no doubt talking about how high I was (I wasn't. I don't do drugs.) I got back on my bike and came the rest of the way home, water dripping off my face.
My jeans were so wet that they literally fell off as soon as I unzipped them and my hair is still dripping down the back of my neck as I write this, but I still don't care. Everything just seems so much better now.
I was biking home from school, thinking about this new, seemingly impossible assignment in Lit, an essay on the one thing in your life that connects people, that makes you feel like a little kid, the most joyful and challenging thing that runs you, and I am so panicked, you would not believe. At the same time, I was admiring the way the almost white sunlight was making the wet concrete gleam and the yellow leaves on the trees and ground glow. I crossed the bridge in the park, slowed down between the two trees, twisted around the corner, and yanked on the brakes. In the middle of the grass sports field, the sprinklers were on, four in all, spraying water every which way in the wettest month of the year, and that's saying something for Vancouver.
I rode my bike through the gate, leaned it against the fence post, setting my bag and sweater with it, out of reach of the sprinklers. I intended to let some of this odd water fall on my face in a light mist, to cool me off from the ride and the anxiousness of this time in my life. First, the mist hit me, then got a bit stronger. Droplets beaded on my shirt, my hair, my eyelashes. I took a step closer, then another, chasing the sprinkler as it turned its slow circle. Eventually I ran under it and let it wash over me, soaking me to the bone. It was like a baptism, like all my sins and worries and fears and angers washing away in the rainbow water. I felt this immense sense of relief and happiness, and I raised my arms above my head and laughed like a little kid, letting it all fall on me and then off again.
It was only a minute until the sprinklers turned off of their own accord, and I realized that I didn't care that the guys in the skate park were watching me, no doubt talking about how high I was (I wasn't. I don't do drugs.) I got back on my bike and came the rest of the way home, water dripping off my face.
My jeans were so wet that they literally fell off as soon as I unzipped them and my hair is still dripping down the back of my neck as I write this, but I still don't care. Everything just seems so much better now.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Crazy Happenings
This has been the weirdest week. I'll probably write more about it later, but today especially has been positively coconuts, so I'll chatter about that for a while.
I skipped my first class. Why? I'm really not sure. Moving on.
Third period I had English/Lit, because I have both of them together but for twice as much time in this weird and wacky system working out by the local bureaucracy. Anyways, we were doing English stuff today, prepping for the Provincial, which is this big exam that Lit students take in January and everyone else takes in June. Americans should think SATs, but only applies to your state. Sort of. Ish. The one Russian person who ended up on my blog, I have no analogy. Sorry.
Anyways, I'm way off topic. The point is that I ended up crying silently in my English class while the guy who sits next to me handed me tissues and seemed uncomfortable. I had started writing about my Opa's death from brain cancer, and it just got really heavy, really fast.
After that class, I had to go and see the grade nine counsellor. I'm in grade twelve. I said my day was weird. I didn't know until I got there why he wanted to see me. Apparently, he wants me to be on CTV tomorrow.
What?
Yeah. That's what I thought. It's got to do with the Schools for Africa club and the stuff I'm doing within it for UNICEF. I get to make my speal in front of an inattentive class of eighth graders and then be interviewed.
So I had laid out my clothes for tomorrow, because although I am not a clothes-conscious person, it will be shown on a major television station, and had gotten into bed. Just settling in, and a loud, warbly rattle comes from upstairs, at a deafening level. I start running, laptop flying, slipping on the rug, clipping elbow on the doorframe and booking it upstairs, to run into my father, coming down from the top floor. He had been using the air compressor to clean out the inside of a computer and had forgotten to unplug it. Let it leak air for several hours and then blam, you have a ten-thirty pm panic attack. I've sat here writing that whole thing and my heart is still racing.
Wish me luck with the TV stuff. I'll probably need it; in case you hadn't realized by my previous posts, I'm kind of a nerd.
Crossies totally count,
Elle
I skipped my first class. Why? I'm really not sure. Moving on.
Third period I had English/Lit, because I have both of them together but for twice as much time in this weird and wacky system working out by the local bureaucracy. Anyways, we were doing English stuff today, prepping for the Provincial, which is this big exam that Lit students take in January and everyone else takes in June. Americans should think SATs, but only applies to your state. Sort of. Ish. The one Russian person who ended up on my blog, I have no analogy. Sorry.
Anyways, I'm way off topic. The point is that I ended up crying silently in my English class while the guy who sits next to me handed me tissues and seemed uncomfortable. I had started writing about my Opa's death from brain cancer, and it just got really heavy, really fast.
After that class, I had to go and see the grade nine counsellor. I'm in grade twelve. I said my day was weird. I didn't know until I got there why he wanted to see me. Apparently, he wants me to be on CTV tomorrow.
What?
Yeah. That's what I thought. It's got to do with the Schools for Africa club and the stuff I'm doing within it for UNICEF. I get to make my speal in front of an inattentive class of eighth graders and then be interviewed.
So I had laid out my clothes for tomorrow, because although I am not a clothes-conscious person, it will be shown on a major television station, and had gotten into bed. Just settling in, and a loud, warbly rattle comes from upstairs, at a deafening level. I start running, laptop flying, slipping on the rug, clipping elbow on the doorframe and booking it upstairs, to run into my father, coming down from the top floor. He had been using the air compressor to clean out the inside of a computer and had forgotten to unplug it. Let it leak air for several hours and then blam, you have a ten-thirty pm panic attack. I've sat here writing that whole thing and my heart is still racing.
Wish me luck with the TV stuff. I'll probably need it; in case you hadn't realized by my previous posts, I'm kind of a nerd.
Crossies totally count,
Elle
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Tuesday
This is a very strange day. My first class was Writing with the greatest crazy teacher on the planet where we watched Paul's Gang, a documentary about a band called the Beautiful South, which I love dearly.
I realized during that class, when I felt all twitchy and strange in the best way possible, that I had forgotten half the things I needed for that day, including my wallet, my Lit homework, and my Spanish textbook. I came home during my spare, and was just walking down this hilly little concrete path thing when my left foot hit gravel and slid out. I went down on my right knee and ripped it open. I didn't even notice anything more than a slight stinging until I realized that blood was making my jeans stick to my knee.
That pretty much got rid of the jittery feeling, and it was nice being outside at a time of day when I'm usually not, and on such a nice day too. I'd post a picture, but image uploads are disabled right now. So now I'm eating leftover acorn squash, pleased to be having lunch at such a weird time and pleased that I'm eating local squash with local apples and BC butter. Yum.
Happy Tuesday!!
I realized during that class, when I felt all twitchy and strange in the best way possible, that I had forgotten half the things I needed for that day, including my wallet, my Lit homework, and my Spanish textbook. I came home during my spare, and was just walking down this hilly little concrete path thing when my left foot hit gravel and slid out. I went down on my right knee and ripped it open. I didn't even notice anything more than a slight stinging until I realized that blood was making my jeans stick to my knee.
That pretty much got rid of the jittery feeling, and it was nice being outside at a time of day when I'm usually not, and on such a nice day too. I'd post a picture, but image uploads are disabled right now. So now I'm eating leftover acorn squash, pleased to be having lunch at such a weird time and pleased that I'm eating local squash with local apples and BC butter. Yum.
Happy Tuesday!!
Monday, October 18, 2010
Today I...
-knit a whole sock in two days. It's stripy and I really like it. It's the first of a pair that's a Christmas gift for my friend Kirsten.
-wrote an e-mail to an ex-boyfriend, telling him that I miss shooting pool and talking about the Beatles together.
-got really frustrated by my mother's nagging. I love her, but she needs to accept that I'm old enough to be responsible for myself.
-restrained myself from getting angry at a friend who was being stupid and petty and pouty and childish.
-bailed on my hard tile floor after slipping on my little brother's wet footprints on my bedroom floor that he didn't mop up after showering.
-listened to The Smiths, The Violent Femmes, Black Lips, Regina Spektor, Coldplay, and The Temper Trap. This is unusual.
- watched too much television.
- forgot to eat dinner.
- wrote on a blog that no one reads.
Cheers!
Elle
-wrote an e-mail to an ex-boyfriend, telling him that I miss shooting pool and talking about the Beatles together.
-got really frustrated by my mother's nagging. I love her, but she needs to accept that I'm old enough to be responsible for myself.
-restrained myself from getting angry at a friend who was being stupid and petty and pouty and childish.
-bailed on my hard tile floor after slipping on my little brother's wet footprints on my bedroom floor that he didn't mop up after showering.
-listened to The Smiths, The Violent Femmes, Black Lips, Regina Spektor, Coldplay, and The Temper Trap. This is unusual.
- watched too much television.
- forgot to eat dinner.
- wrote on a blog that no one reads.
Cheers!
Elle
Monday, October 11, 2010
Ten Things About Today
1. I had pumpkin pie for breakfast. Yum.
2. Today is going to be the day in which I complete a handknit sock in two days. I'm halfway done the sock. I started yesterday. I'm going to rock this foot.
3. It's International Coming Out Day. Congratulations!
4. The Sun sessions of Sons of Admirals came out today and they rock.
5. I'm cleaning things. This is exciting.
6. I need to get around to cleaning myself.
7. I've been looking at the website of the university I want to go to and it's scary but also really exciting.
8. I had a really wacked-out dream last night in which the library in my high school was a bookstore and they were selling merch for all my favourite nerdy bands.
9. Did I mention that whole lovely new laptop thing? Hooray.
10. That funky Thanksgiving thing. My family isn't having a big dinner or anything, but the whole giving thanks thing is cool. One of my secrets is that I actually say grace before I eat. I'm not Christian or anything, I'm more agnostic, but even that isn't right. I suppose that 'spiritual' would be a better word, but that makes me sound like I'm one of those people who practices family bed and eats wheatgerm three meals a day. Anyways, I like to give thanks to the universe at large for my food and everything I have, even if I usually do it silently to avoid awkward discussions of religion and the existence of a higher being with my family. I don't think that either the Christian or the Atheist would understand.
And in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for all the things listed above, that I have a home and family and friends who love me (yes, the home loves me) and that I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world.
Love.
2. Today is going to be the day in which I complete a handknit sock in two days. I'm halfway done the sock. I started yesterday. I'm going to rock this foot.
3. It's International Coming Out Day. Congratulations!
4. The Sun sessions of Sons of Admirals came out today and they rock.
5. I'm cleaning things. This is exciting.
6. I need to get around to cleaning myself.
7. I've been looking at the website of the university I want to go to and it's scary but also really exciting.
8. I had a really wacked-out dream last night in which the library in my high school was a bookstore and they were selling merch for all my favourite nerdy bands.
9. Did I mention that whole lovely new laptop thing? Hooray.
10. That funky Thanksgiving thing. My family isn't having a big dinner or anything, but the whole giving thanks thing is cool. One of my secrets is that I actually say grace before I eat. I'm not Christian or anything, I'm more agnostic, but even that isn't right. I suppose that 'spiritual' would be a better word, but that makes me sound like I'm one of those people who practices family bed and eats wheatgerm three meals a day. Anyways, I like to give thanks to the universe at large for my food and everything I have, even if I usually do it silently to avoid awkward discussions of religion and the existence of a higher being with my family. I don't think that either the Christian or the Atheist would understand.
And in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for all the things listed above, that I have a home and family and friends who love me (yes, the home loves me) and that I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world.
Love.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
How To Kill Twelve Minutes, or Loading The Middleman onto My New Laptop
1. Bitch quietly to yourself about how much your teeth hurt (because dentists who twist one of your teeth 30 degrees and make you bleed and cry are evil.)
2. Rejoice at the fact that this laptop is superior to the last one because it actually has internet and you can blog more, because you don't have to fight your brother for computer time.
3. Cuss at the weird doohickey, because you're used to a touch pad.
4. Find lolcat pictures on your old laptop.
5. Have no idea how they got there.
6. Look forward to watching The Middleman.
7. Look forward to the dinner that your mother is making you. Be glad that it's something you can eat.
8. Contemplate beginning to knit yourself a pair of socks. Recognize that you MUST. FINISH. YOUR. SISTER'S. SOCKS. before you begin another pair. Second Sock Syndrome is a bitch.
9. Prepare your old laptop files for transfer.
10. Acknowledge that most of this writing is crap, but you can't bear to part with it. Accept that, since it is not on paper, it is not doing any harm.
11. Be happy. You now have two fully functional USB ports when you used to have ZERO on the craptop.
12. Rejoice! The Middleman has transferred.
Catch you!!
Elle
2. Rejoice at the fact that this laptop is superior to the last one because it actually has internet and you can blog more, because you don't have to fight your brother for computer time.
3. Cuss at the weird doohickey, because you're used to a touch pad.
4. Find lolcat pictures on your old laptop.
5. Have no idea how they got there.
6. Look forward to watching The Middleman.
7. Look forward to the dinner that your mother is making you. Be glad that it's something you can eat.
8. Contemplate beginning to knit yourself a pair of socks. Recognize that you MUST. FINISH. YOUR. SISTER'S. SOCKS. before you begin another pair. Second Sock Syndrome is a bitch.
9. Prepare your old laptop files for transfer.
10. Acknowledge that most of this writing is crap, but you can't bear to part with it. Accept that, since it is not on paper, it is not doing any harm.
11. Be happy. You now have two fully functional USB ports when you used to have ZERO on the craptop.
12. Rejoice! The Middleman has transferred.
Catch you!!
Elle
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Catching Up
Here is my last post, which I didn't actually post due to issues of apathy.
Deprivation Week; Day Five
Today is officially the day when I am fed up. I'm sick of people being scattier than me, I'm sick of them mistaking days and screwing up and changin minds. It's taken eight days of classes, but I'm sick of school as well. I'm sick of sitting through eighty minutes of grammar every day, of trying to relearn the preterite and imperfect tenses in Spanish and sick to death of all the stupid people that surround me. I'm sick of not drinking coffee and not writing on my laptop and not distracting myself with audiobooks and movies. I know that's petty and stupid, but I don't care. I'm going to pick up soy milk on the way home and comfort myself with chocolate-banana pancakes for dinner.
I have this friend, and for the sake of this, we'll call her Norma. I assure you that this is in no way even remotely close to her real name. *cough, liar, cough* ANYWAYS, Norma is my age, but partially deaf so she often talks really loudly, like your grandmother does. And she always thinks I'm funniest when I'm in a horrible mood and being a complete bitch. Like the time that we were walking to her house to get something and she was being so loud and in my bubble that I had her walk on the other side of the quiet suburban street. She's killing herself laughing as she steps closer and closer until I can push her away, pointing to the other side of the street, yelling 'Back, back!', pissed off and laughing. Sometimes, I need friends to get out of a mood like this.
I have another post to type in, but I'll have to do that tonight, because my fingers are freezing off and I have to leave for school. Adios~!
Deprivation Week; Day Five
Today is officially the day when I am fed up. I'm sick of people being scattier than me, I'm sick of them mistaking days and screwing up and changin minds. It's taken eight days of classes, but I'm sick of school as well. I'm sick of sitting through eighty minutes of grammar every day, of trying to relearn the preterite and imperfect tenses in Spanish and sick to death of all the stupid people that surround me. I'm sick of not drinking coffee and not writing on my laptop and not distracting myself with audiobooks and movies. I know that's petty and stupid, but I don't care. I'm going to pick up soy milk on the way home and comfort myself with chocolate-banana pancakes for dinner.
I have this friend, and for the sake of this, we'll call her Norma. I assure you that this is in no way even remotely close to her real name. *cough, liar, cough* ANYWAYS, Norma is my age, but partially deaf so she often talks really loudly, like your grandmother does. And she always thinks I'm funniest when I'm in a horrible mood and being a complete bitch. Like the time that we were walking to her house to get something and she was being so loud and in my bubble that I had her walk on the other side of the quiet suburban street. She's killing herself laughing as she steps closer and closer until I can push her away, pointing to the other side of the street, yelling 'Back, back!', pissed off and laughing. Sometimes, I need friends to get out of a mood like this.
I have another post to type in, but I'll have to do that tonight, because my fingers are freezing off and I have to leave for school. Adios~!
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Donald H. Rumsfield
No photos today, but I do have a quote;
If you are not criticized, you may not be doing much.
- Donald H. Rumsfield
Now, I have absolutely no idea of who Donald H. Rumsfield is (was?), but I could not think of a better quote to run into on my first week of yarn storming. (I have decided to steal the term yarn-storming from British knitsters Knit the City (http://knitthecity.com/) on the basis that I live in Vancouver shortly before the 2010 Olympics, and 'bomb' is probably the last word the city wants right now. Especially since I'm planning a wooly assault on Robson Square, right near the Hotel Vancouver, where all the foreign dignitaries are staying...can't see that going over too well with the coppers.)
Yarn-storming aside, this week has been crappy, as previously stated. All I really want to do tonight was bum around the house in my blue-striped pj's and slippy-slidy knitted slippers, making pancakes for dinner and watch a Hugh Grant double feature on the W Network. Instead, I have to go to the sixtieth birthday of my uncle, while my best friend is pissed off at me that I'm missing her birthday party, although she knows that this one is parent-mandated.
Anyways, here's to hoping that this week will be better than the last.
- Donald H. Rumsfield
Now, I have absolutely no idea of who Donald H. Rumsfield is (was?), but I could not think of a better quote to run into on my first week of yarn storming. (I have decided to steal the term yarn-storming from British knitsters Knit the City (http://knitthecity.com/) on the basis that I live in Vancouver shortly before the 2010 Olympics, and 'bomb' is probably the last word the city wants right now. Especially since I'm planning a wooly assault on Robson Square, right near the Hotel Vancouver, where all the foreign dignitaries are staying...can't see that going over too well with the coppers.)
Yarn-storming aside, this week has been crappy, as previously stated. All I really want to do tonight was bum around the house in my blue-striped pj's and slippy-slidy knitted slippers, making pancakes for dinner and watch a Hugh Grant double feature on the W Network. Instead, I have to go to the sixtieth birthday of my uncle, while my best friend is pissed off at me that I'm missing her birthday party, although she knows that this one is parent-mandated.
Anyways, here's to hoping that this week will be better than the last.
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