If you've ever read Something Rotten, specifically that bit at the end when Granny Next dies, you'll know what turning seventeen was like for me. (That reminds me, I need to get the next Jasper Fforde books.) I lay very still and waited. Around midnight they came, and I felt their eyes on me as I drifted off to sleep. Maybe if I had stayed awake I would have died. I don't know. In any case, I think we all knew that something significant would happen.
I haven't aged. I've grown up, but I haven't gotten older. On the inside, I'm still thirteen... trapped in time at the moment my life fell apart.
I've never told anyone that.
Went to my third Kendo lesson today. My arms are a bit sore, and I suspect there's a blister on my left foot. After today I am now the proud owner of a bamboo shinai. It's mostly wood and string, nothing special about it... but I will make it special. I have named it Apprentice and I will craft it in my own image, warping its factory appearance into something powerful. I will focus myself into it. My staff will be my sword and vice versa. And I will be careful, because it's really easy to break these things. Seriously, one splinter and it becomes dangerous to use. The actual sword the shinai is based on is sharp enough to cut through pretty much anything, so there's never any need to hit things hard with it. A glancing blow is the most I'll ever do.
Our coffeehouse went well. I suppose. Hosting was stressful; I mean, I've been working onstage before, but being the co-star was something new. I've never liked being front and center. Although I am good at it... one night, not even reading anything, and I'm already accumulating fangirls. Sigh. Some parts ran more smoothly than others, of course. Nothing particularly memorable, I'm afraid... there was one reading about Bob the Atrocious Muffin that stuck in my mind, but aside from that not much. It takes a skilled reader to stick in the mind. Irritating that the one talent I'll admit to having is one that I hate. I have never liked public speaking. I'm just good at ignoring the audience.
There was an... incident, during rehearsals. Someone made a joke about rape. Normally I'm able to block these things out. Under most circumstances the r-word goes harmlessly right over my head. But this time, not so lucky. It might be because I was eating. Eating is a funny thing. It's a simple action that changes me slightly, makes me more aware of things, lower my shields. When I'm eating I can't read people as easily, can't stand to have holy symbols touching my skin, and evidently can't stand to be reminded of something traumatic. Exactly what it sparked in my mind is unknown, but suffice to say I lost my appetite and had to sit very still for awhile.
Sep 27, 2009
Sep 24, 2009
The Last Hurrah
Tomorrow is my birthday. I turn seventeen at 1:27 AM, Eastern Canada time.
I'm afraid that I'm going to die in the night.
And I don't really know how to say goodbye.
Just in case.
I love you.
Edit: I lived.
I'm afraid that I'm going to die in the night.
And I don't really know how to say goodbye.
Just in case.
I love you.
Edit: I lived.
Sep 21, 2009
Skins and retaliation
I feel like I've spent the day breathing in, as my mother calls it, other peoples' dirty laundry.
On the radio this morning one of the hosts was in tears because of a dispute with her boss. They brought the boss on the air to argue with him. They usually play music or read the news or talk about happy things. I still don't know what it was really about.
We had an assembly about conduct this morning. It was an awful lot of words to say be respectful and don't litter. The lady in charge wouldn't stop talking about her tip to Africa. I don't begrudge her it, but it really didn't seem like the time. Maybe I'm just tired.
Our Lit teacher wasted half an hour complaining about her father and things people drew on the chalkboard. My group mates for a project complained I wasn't pulling my weight. They were completely right to; I've had things on my plate and on my mind, so I'd put it to the absolute back of the pile. I wasn't being fair to them. I need to get my shit together.
Went to a presentation for Carleton University. Generic university stuff, no real deciding factors.
I'm not going on the Bio field trip. I feel it would be a waste of time. I have things that need doing. The new unit promises lots of long and complex terminology to learn.
English presentations are going slower and slower. One handsome young man - clearly the teacher's favorite - seems to be doing half the talking. I know discussion is encouraged, and I know his points are valid, but we do need to be moving on. Sometimes I have things to say, too. I don't often get the opportunity.
My head hurts. My limbs ache from Kendo. I've got an image looping in my head of a girl vomiting blood. I feel completely swamped in other peoples' lives.
I wonder if this is how I make people feel.
On the radio this morning one of the hosts was in tears because of a dispute with her boss. They brought the boss on the air to argue with him. They usually play music or read the news or talk about happy things. I still don't know what it was really about.
We had an assembly about conduct this morning. It was an awful lot of words to say be respectful and don't litter. The lady in charge wouldn't stop talking about her tip to Africa. I don't begrudge her it, but it really didn't seem like the time. Maybe I'm just tired.
Our Lit teacher wasted half an hour complaining about her father and things people drew on the chalkboard. My group mates for a project complained I wasn't pulling my weight. They were completely right to; I've had things on my plate and on my mind, so I'd put it to the absolute back of the pile. I wasn't being fair to them. I need to get my shit together.
Went to a presentation for Carleton University. Generic university stuff, no real deciding factors.
I'm not going on the Bio field trip. I feel it would be a waste of time. I have things that need doing. The new unit promises lots of long and complex terminology to learn.
English presentations are going slower and slower. One handsome young man - clearly the teacher's favorite - seems to be doing half the talking. I know discussion is encouraged, and I know his points are valid, but we do need to be moving on. Sometimes I have things to say, too. I don't often get the opportunity.
My head hurts. My limbs ache from Kendo. I've got an image looping in my head of a girl vomiting blood. I feel completely swamped in other peoples' lives.
I wonder if this is how I make people feel.
Sep 19, 2009
Sep 13, 2009
Continuum
Went to Kendo today. First lesson. Well, more of an introductory thingy. There wasn't much time for a beginner class because history was being made. For the first time ever, three different clubs were gathered in one place to train together, led by three fifth degree black belts. It's the beginning of a revolution for the sport. Unlike most other martial arts it never branched apart; Kendo is almost exactly the same no matter where you go. Mostly seems to involve bashing people over the head with a sword. Now, all the different clubs are coming together. It's kind of a big deal. Anyways, I got to practice a bit with a bamboo sword, although I wasn't allowed to take the plastic wrap off. They make you wait awhile before you can buy your own sword; I guess they get a lot of early dropouts. We thought it was for 16+, but there were a lot of little kids there. Strange. It was fun, though, and I might come to enjoy it long-term. We'll see.
Went to my youth group the other day. Nice to see everyone again. Made me feel like shit, though. The message is always something about "you have to be a better person" and I just feel guilty and awful. It's all that about how God chooses the lowest of the low to do his work, because it's just that much more amazing when they do - like that quadriplegic evangelist, or the biblical Moses, who hated public speaking before the burning bush incident. Well, I'm pretty low. So that just puts more pressure on me to stand up and do something great. I see people around me living noble lives, going on mission trips and whatnot. Where does that put me? It's a miracle I can even function. I'm more likely to rip someone's head off at the moment than change their life in a beautiful way. So I'm just waiting for me to buckle up and improve myself. There's no reason I can't be perfect, after all. In theory. It's just motions, just words. Geh. I just want to sleep.
Jasmine invited me to her place to watch a movie. That sounds more intimate than it was; there were like six of us. Conveniently enough, this year I'm trying to get a social life. The movie was The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, about concentration camps. I confess I was half-asleep the whole evening. My mum fretted a bit, of course, since I never go out (anywhere, ever) but it turned out all right.
Jasmine is important. Or will be, someday. I'm not certain why.
I was reading our giant huge Lit textbook about the history of literature the world over. The topic I've ended up covering is the history of literature in India. Very ancient historical texts. There was a picture there of one of the Hindu gods carved from clay, a dancing woman with three arms. Something about it set something loose in my mind, but it was hours before it clicked. A creature grotesque yet elegant, beautiful yet surreal and deathlike, with too many limbs. The Orange Man. Possibilities blossomed; the Orange Man is one of many who might fit that description. It's maddening to think that people will worship anything that appears to be greater than them.
I wonder if there are those who worship Grandfather.
(I curse my habits but it's getting harder to refer to him by any other name. He is no father of mine.)
Went to my youth group the other day. Nice to see everyone again. Made me feel like shit, though. The message is always something about "you have to be a better person" and I just feel guilty and awful. It's all that about how God chooses the lowest of the low to do his work, because it's just that much more amazing when they do - like that quadriplegic evangelist, or the biblical Moses, who hated public speaking before the burning bush incident. Well, I'm pretty low. So that just puts more pressure on me to stand up and do something great. I see people around me living noble lives, going on mission trips and whatnot. Where does that put me? It's a miracle I can even function. I'm more likely to rip someone's head off at the moment than change their life in a beautiful way. So I'm just waiting for me to buckle up and improve myself. There's no reason I can't be perfect, after all. In theory. It's just motions, just words. Geh. I just want to sleep.
Jasmine invited me to her place to watch a movie. That sounds more intimate than it was; there were like six of us. Conveniently enough, this year I'm trying to get a social life. The movie was The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, about concentration camps. I confess I was half-asleep the whole evening. My mum fretted a bit, of course, since I never go out (anywhere, ever) but it turned out all right.
Jasmine is important. Or will be, someday. I'm not certain why.
I was reading our giant huge Lit textbook about the history of literature the world over. The topic I've ended up covering is the history of literature in India. Very ancient historical texts. There was a picture there of one of the Hindu gods carved from clay, a dancing woman with three arms. Something about it set something loose in my mind, but it was hours before it clicked. A creature grotesque yet elegant, beautiful yet surreal and deathlike, with too many limbs. The Orange Man. Possibilities blossomed; the Orange Man is one of many who might fit that description. It's maddening to think that people will worship anything that appears to be greater than them.
I wonder if there are those who worship Grandfather.
(I curse my habits but it's getting harder to refer to him by any other name. He is no father of mine.)
Sep 6, 2009
Considering it
Last night my brother went shopping for movies. Came back with some real charmers: Jaws 2, Diary of the Dead, Alien Apocalypse. He insisted that we watch The Butterfly Effect. He seemed certain that I would like it.
Afterwards I gave a few thoughts, wished everyone goodnight, then locked myself in the bathroom so I could cry.
Well, I say cry. I don't actually cry any more. What approximates crying for me. I don't actually remember most of it. Pacing back and forth, breathing fast, scratching at my neck and pulling at my hair, sobbing painful words until my legs buckle beneath me. When I woke up half an hour had passed. I was so weak I could barely stand. I did not sleep that night.
To be expected, I guess. Ten minutes in I'd started to feel sick. A film about suppressed childhood memories, what did you think would happen? Parts of it touched me deeply, in the sense of punching an open wound. I love my brother but sometimes he's painfully insensitive.
Afterwards I gave a few thoughts, wished everyone goodnight, then locked myself in the bathroom so I could cry.
Well, I say cry. I don't actually cry any more. What approximates crying for me. I don't actually remember most of it. Pacing back and forth, breathing fast, scratching at my neck and pulling at my hair, sobbing painful words until my legs buckle beneath me. When I woke up half an hour had passed. I was so weak I could barely stand. I did not sleep that night.
To be expected, I guess. Ten minutes in I'd started to feel sick. A film about suppressed childhood memories, what did you think would happen? Parts of it touched me deeply, in the sense of punching an open wound. I love my brother but sometimes he's painfully insensitive.
Sep 2, 2009
Yeggs
Day two. Big times.
Through another hiccup Tasha and I have been put in all three classes together. A year ago that might have bothered me. It's kind of ironic. I used to envy her for being able to move on with her life so easily, while I still hurt whenever I looked at her. Eventually I got used to the pain. Eventually it stopped hurting. Now I'm fine and she still refuses to look at me. Strange world.
Now that I've been so long without a girlfriend/boyfriend, I think I can see myself surviving. It was nice to have someone in love with me, but I'm living without it. It's not like I'm alone. I have friends. I have people to talk to, should things go flipside. I'm not looking for someone to love at the moment, not in that way. Maybe in ten years or so I'll find someone. Maybe by then I'll be ready. We'll see.
I think a lot of it might be my warping physicality and sexuality. Something broke in me awhile back, I'm not sure when, and since then I've become more and more sensitive to touch. It used to be that I didn't like people touching my back. Now just brushing against someone can make me flinch. I'm not certain I could stand to be close to someone. I hope I'm not that far gone. In consequence of this, my sexual identity is a bit twisted. My teenage hormones and animal desire for sex seems to exactly match my fear and loathing of it, leaving me in a kind of awkward, solitary purgatory. I'm going to choose to accept this as a good thing.
I'm procrastinating again. Uh-oh.
There's an old project I need to dig out and work upon. I will do that. I need to keep myself busy or I'll slip into something terrible again.
Through another hiccup Tasha and I have been put in all three classes together. A year ago that might have bothered me. It's kind of ironic. I used to envy her for being able to move on with her life so easily, while I still hurt whenever I looked at her. Eventually I got used to the pain. Eventually it stopped hurting. Now I'm fine and she still refuses to look at me. Strange world.
Now that I've been so long without a girlfriend/boyfriend, I think I can see myself surviving. It was nice to have someone in love with me, but I'm living without it. It's not like I'm alone. I have friends. I have people to talk to, should things go flipside. I'm not looking for someone to love at the moment, not in that way. Maybe in ten years or so I'll find someone. Maybe by then I'll be ready. We'll see.
I think a lot of it might be my warping physicality and sexuality. Something broke in me awhile back, I'm not sure when, and since then I've become more and more sensitive to touch. It used to be that I didn't like people touching my back. Now just brushing against someone can make me flinch. I'm not certain I could stand to be close to someone. I hope I'm not that far gone. In consequence of this, my sexual identity is a bit twisted. My teenage hormones and animal desire for sex seems to exactly match my fear and loathing of it, leaving me in a kind of awkward, solitary purgatory. I'm going to choose to accept this as a good thing.
I'm procrastinating again. Uh-oh.
There's an old project I need to dig out and work upon. I will do that. I need to keep myself busy or I'll slip into something terrible again.
Sep 1, 2009
People don't talk to me
First day of school. Grade 12. Big times.
Through some scheduling hiccup I've ended up with a free first period. No, sorry, it's not a free, it's a study period. Big difference. Evidently there are just about no grade 12 courses first thing, because about half of everyone has that period free. I spent most of the time wandering. For the first time in years, I had class time and absolutely nothing to do. Didn't really know what to make of it. Talked to some people, caught up a bit. I'm constantly reminded that I have nothing in common with these people. Well, not much. There are some things, of course.
New Lit teacher. She seems a bit of a loose cannon, from what I've heard. She seems nice enough. I'm sure we'll get on fine, and I hope she doesn't think I'm too crazy. In the past she's been openly against people putting anything out that's pushing boundaries; the graveyard incident springs to mind. We'd put up little paper gravestones on the wall in the Lit Lab for the people who'd left the class (and a ghost for one who just never turned up) and she... well, to be honest, I don't remember it as being her, but people are saying it was and they're more likely to know than I am. But anyways, it didn't end well for us. Something about being offensive. I hope she's not going to hit the wall about everything like that.
Biology and English look promising. Nice teachers. Should be a laugh.
The first day of the first grade, I just up and disappeared. My teacher and I did not like one another. At the end of the day I wandered off, and no one knew where I was. Eventually I turned up. Of course, I don't remember this myself. The first grade is an oddity in that I have no recollection of it at all, not even a tiny flash. It's just... gone. I wonder why.
I'll be starting Kendo soon, Sundays with my da. The fine Japanese art of hitting people with bamboo sticks. Sounds like a laugh. I think I'll do more baking, too.
Through some scheduling hiccup I've ended up with a free first period. No, sorry, it's not a free, it's a study period. Big difference. Evidently there are just about no grade 12 courses first thing, because about half of everyone has that period free. I spent most of the time wandering. For the first time in years, I had class time and absolutely nothing to do. Didn't really know what to make of it. Talked to some people, caught up a bit. I'm constantly reminded that I have nothing in common with these people. Well, not much. There are some things, of course.
New Lit teacher. She seems a bit of a loose cannon, from what I've heard. She seems nice enough. I'm sure we'll get on fine, and I hope she doesn't think I'm too crazy. In the past she's been openly against people putting anything out that's pushing boundaries; the graveyard incident springs to mind. We'd put up little paper gravestones on the wall in the Lit Lab for the people who'd left the class (and a ghost for one who just never turned up) and she... well, to be honest, I don't remember it as being her, but people are saying it was and they're more likely to know than I am. But anyways, it didn't end well for us. Something about being offensive. I hope she's not going to hit the wall about everything like that.
Biology and English look promising. Nice teachers. Should be a laugh.
The first day of the first grade, I just up and disappeared. My teacher and I did not like one another. At the end of the day I wandered off, and no one knew where I was. Eventually I turned up. Of course, I don't remember this myself. The first grade is an oddity in that I have no recollection of it at all, not even a tiny flash. It's just... gone. I wonder why.
I'll be starting Kendo soon, Sundays with my da. The fine Japanese art of hitting people with bamboo sticks. Sounds like a laugh. I think I'll do more baking, too.
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