Strange Errors

Look at the author of Someone Like you.
That is all.

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.

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.

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.

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

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!!

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