I have a ca-aar! I have a ca-aar!
This is not a very new development, but I thought it was about time I talked a little bit about the love of my life, Jade.
She is a beautiful '97-ish Celica of a shady green color, small and sleek and with the loveliest little headlights you've ever seen. Of course, she's not TOTALLY mine until I can afford to pay for insurance, repairs, and gas (translation: until I accomplish my full driver's license and can get a job), but we still get along well enough.
For the most part.
If you've read my blog at all, you know what's coming next - - a full account of how I destroyed her in some despicable way.
And that's pretty much what this is.
On my birthday, the day she was given to me, the first time my poor mother ever rode with me, my sister's German tutor was visiting. Her car was parked in an exceedingly awkward place, so I veeeery carefully backed up... And my front bumper gently grated against her rear bumper as I went by.
Hissing between my teeth, I craned to see if there was any damage, sitting up tall in my seat and forgetting for a moment to brake...
My back bumper scraped against the wall of the house.
I cried out in frustration, while my mother did her best to assure me that it wasn't my fault I'd almost taken out both a visiting car and my own house. Desperate to get out of the driveway, I moved forward again....
And guess what my front bumper lovingly kissed?
I backed off once again and finally, FINALLY, I got down our driveway and onto the road!
My apology to my dear little car came in the form of giving her a thorough cleaning, inside and out, that very weekend.
"Well!" you say. "That's quite an adventure, Miss Monday! Good thing you didn't actually do any damage! Now you're going to tell us that everything has been spiffing since then, right?"
Don't mock me, rhetorical reader. You know me too well for that if you know me at all.
My first accident was far less traumatic than first accidents might be. No one was injured, except my pride and poor Jade.
I was at a busy intersection and very keen to get home. In order to do so, I had to take a left turn across two lanes of rapidly-approaching traffic. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, an opening came. It was a small one, but I thought I could make it... I lunged for it, so to speak, turning quickly as I swooped toward the narrow road.
I didn't turn quite quickly enough.
With a terrible, sickening, grating noise, the front right side of my little car was savagely torn by the curb. My heart lurched within me as the wheel seemed to fade away in my hands, already beginning to lose its strength. Jade and I staggered into the nearest turnoff: a gravel-lined parking lot in front of a rather shady preschool center. I sat there for a moment, hyperventilating and crying and in general losing my composure. I shakily got out of the car and went around to the front. I couldn't see any damage... Not really... Was Jade okay? Was I overreacting?
I got back in the car and drove in a few circles around the parking lot. All seemed well...
Until I tried to turn right.
Jade screeched in pain and weakly tried to do my bidding, but it was obvious that I was hurting her. I stopped at once, trying to think if I could get home without taking a right turn...
The thing was impossible.
Weeping openly over the injury to my poor little car, and over my seemingly desperate situation, I handed back a cell phone to my younger sister, who was sitting in the back seat. She called my brother and requested aid.
I listened to Enya and did (or tried to do) math problems while I waited for him to arrive.
He did his best to take off the wheel, but with a cap missing from one of the lug nuts, there was no way he could get it off. So we called a towing service and, as my poor little car was born away to a nearby garage, my accommodating brother took us home in his own small sedan.
All told, the damage cost a thousand dollars to repair. The wheel had been cracked, the tire burst, and the front drive shaft broken beyond repair. But Jade survived, and ever since then I have heeded my father's repeated advice and curbed my enthusiasm for curbs.
I'm sorry, Jade - - but all of us have to learn to drive sometime.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Thursday, May 16, 2013
More poetry
So, a little background info... My mother was recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. We all try to help her as best we can, but she spends most of her time being fretful and forgetful and scared. The same thing happened to my paternal grandmother. Basically, I've seen a lot more of this disease than I would have liked.
Anyway, if you can't guess what this poem is about after that...
Anyway, if you can't guess what this poem is about after that...
Swiftly, swiftly comes November
How much then will I remember?
The faintest glimpse of dream-like past?
Even that may not long last.
All too soon doth mem'ry fade,
Leaves in its wake unknowing's shade.
Swiftly, swiftly comes November
How much then will I remember?
Spring lies in me, pure and sweet,
But soon shall pass in passing fleet
Summer draws with each day nigh,
And after fall, and then I die.
But death itself I do not dread,
For Heaven's gate lies soft ahead.
Nay, 'tis fall that chills my very soul - -
The rending of a mind once whole.
Swiftly, swiftly comes November
How much then will I remember?
Two matriarchs, both wise and staid,
Have slipped 'neath that unknowing's shade
Must I follow where they led?
Oh, that I were rather dead!
But swiftly, swiftly comes November,
And how much then will I remember?
How much then will I remember?
The faintest glimpse of dream-like past?
Even that may not long last.
All too soon doth mem'ry fade,
Leaves in its wake unknowing's shade.
Swiftly, swiftly comes November
How much then will I remember?
Spring lies in me, pure and sweet,
But soon shall pass in passing fleet
Summer draws with each day nigh,
And after fall, and then I die.
But death itself I do not dread,
For Heaven's gate lies soft ahead.
Nay, 'tis fall that chills my very soul - -
The rending of a mind once whole.
Swiftly, swiftly comes November
How much then will I remember?
Two matriarchs, both wise and staid,
Have slipped 'neath that unknowing's shade
Must I follow where they led?
Oh, that I were rather dead!
But swiftly, swiftly comes November,
And how much then will I remember?
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Play Malarkey
What? I haven't dropped off the face of the earth into a bottomless volcano of doom?
Then why haven't I been posting?
Short version:
Life
Long version:
Physics, algebra II, French, creative writing (harder than it sounds!), chorus, play (acting AND tech directing), another play before that (bigger role, also full-on directing), novel, anxiety attacks, a loved one's ill health, and a pothersome male personage.
Fortunately, things have begun to calm down now. Stresses are slowly beginning to be weeded out with the end of the semester, and one enormous stress is finally coming to a close: The Butler Did It, Again!
Now, don't take this the wrong way: it's actually loads of fun (I live for drama), but between tech directing and a small role I've been kept busy. I do really enjoy my role - - I'm essentially playing a louder, clumsier version of Lina Lamont from Singin' In The Rain. Plus, I'm engaged to my favorite character, which is pretty sweet.
And now, after paragraphs of lead-up, we come to the point of this post.
I must admit that I find the romantic scene vastly amusing. I'm usually quite reserved around those I'm not as well acquainted with (read: I'm prim until I know you, and then you have to scrape me off with a spatula), but obviously a romantic scene requires SOME demonstration of affection.
And, considering the fact that both of us are homeschooled teenagers, comedy naturally ensued.
After changing the blocking time and time again, we were getting weary of the scene. It was tech rehearsal, one of the last two rehearsals before the play, and we had two guest directors who had their own ideas about what would look good.
So we tried having the usual jump-and-twirl. It was working beautifully: we rushed towards each other, delighted to be meeting again, and he caught me up and whirled me around.
I should pause here to mention the wig.
It's a lovely little thing, a blonde bob with long bangs and lots of fluff. I've been wearing it for weeks now, and usually it stays firmly in place...
But mid-turn it went whirling away across the stage. He set me down a little clumsily, both of us laughing, and an ominous riiiiiip was heard as I set my heel down on the underskirt of my dress. One of my shoes was coming off, but I tried to press on with the scene through my laughter.
It was a hopeless case. I was falling to pieces!
My fiance cried "WHAT?! You've been lying to me this whole time? I thought you were BLONDE!"
One of the guest directors called "But apart from that, it was the best I've seen!"
I gave up on trying to stay in character after that.
Then why haven't I been posting?
Short version:
Life
Long version:
Physics, algebra II, French, creative writing (harder than it sounds!), chorus, play (acting AND tech directing), another play before that (bigger role, also full-on directing), novel, anxiety attacks, a loved one's ill health, and a pothersome male personage.
Fortunately, things have begun to calm down now. Stresses are slowly beginning to be weeded out with the end of the semester, and one enormous stress is finally coming to a close: The Butler Did It, Again!
Now, don't take this the wrong way: it's actually loads of fun (I live for drama), but between tech directing and a small role I've been kept busy. I do really enjoy my role - - I'm essentially playing a louder, clumsier version of Lina Lamont from Singin' In The Rain. Plus, I'm engaged to my favorite character, which is pretty sweet.
And now, after paragraphs of lead-up, we come to the point of this post.
I must admit that I find the romantic scene vastly amusing. I'm usually quite reserved around those I'm not as well acquainted with (read: I'm prim until I know you, and then you have to scrape me off with a spatula), but obviously a romantic scene requires SOME demonstration of affection.
And, considering the fact that both of us are homeschooled teenagers, comedy naturally ensued.
After changing the blocking time and time again, we were getting weary of the scene. It was tech rehearsal, one of the last two rehearsals before the play, and we had two guest directors who had their own ideas about what would look good.
So we tried having the usual jump-and-twirl. It was working beautifully: we rushed towards each other, delighted to be meeting again, and he caught me up and whirled me around.
I should pause here to mention the wig.
It's a lovely little thing, a blonde bob with long bangs and lots of fluff. I've been wearing it for weeks now, and usually it stays firmly in place...
But mid-turn it went whirling away across the stage. He set me down a little clumsily, both of us laughing, and an ominous riiiiiip was heard as I set my heel down on the underskirt of my dress. One of my shoes was coming off, but I tried to press on with the scene through my laughter.
It was a hopeless case. I was falling to pieces!
My fiance cried "WHAT?! You've been lying to me this whole time? I thought you were BLONDE!"
One of the guest directors called "But apart from that, it was the best I've seen!"
I gave up on trying to stay in character after that.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
I have passed through clumsiness and found new grace.
I am clumsy.
Very clumsy.
In spite of six years of ballet, which one might think would lead to an instinctive poise and grace, I find myself routinely stubbing toes, ramming elbows into walls, tripping over nothing and generally being a danger to myself and everyone around me. I knock books off the corner of my bed, stab people with a carelessly-swung outstretched finger, drop celery and chicken everywhere when making chili, spill tea on my laptop, drop my laptop on tiled floors (one panel on the bottom still doesn't fit quite right), practically anything you can think of.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I pass through to the other side of clumsiness and become unbelievably graceful.
It's rare, but amazing to watch.
For example, a few months ago I was rushing about the house for some reason or another at five AM, a time some three hours before my usual wake-up time. I somehow managed to trip over my own feet, tiny as they are, and plummeted towards the kitchen floor. Astonishingly, I managed to catch myself with an enormous step, though I should have already passed the tipping point. I was left with a feeling of accomplishment for the rest of the day.
Something similar happened to me this very evening. I realized that a show I wanted to watch was on, slammed my computer shut and leaped off the couch, turning a tight corner. I was very overbalanced, and should have fallen, but by grabbing and bouncing off of various objects I managed to reach the stairs completely intact. Am I proud of myself? Of course.
I can't really think of any other examples right now, which is actually kind of sad. But yay, me! I didn't fall down! :D
...I'm going to go back to writing that stupid novel. Why can't I just skip to the tiger mauling?
Very clumsy.
In spite of six years of ballet, which one might think would lead to an instinctive poise and grace, I find myself routinely stubbing toes, ramming elbows into walls, tripping over nothing and generally being a danger to myself and everyone around me. I knock books off the corner of my bed, stab people with a carelessly-swung outstretched finger, drop celery and chicken everywhere when making chili, spill tea on my laptop, drop my laptop on tiled floors (one panel on the bottom still doesn't fit quite right), practically anything you can think of.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I pass through to the other side of clumsiness and become unbelievably graceful.
It's rare, but amazing to watch.
For example, a few months ago I was rushing about the house for some reason or another at five AM, a time some three hours before my usual wake-up time. I somehow managed to trip over my own feet, tiny as they are, and plummeted towards the kitchen floor. Astonishingly, I managed to catch myself with an enormous step, though I should have already passed the tipping point. I was left with a feeling of accomplishment for the rest of the day.
Something similar happened to me this very evening. I realized that a show I wanted to watch was on, slammed my computer shut and leaped off the couch, turning a tight corner. I was very overbalanced, and should have fallen, but by grabbing and bouncing off of various objects I managed to reach the stairs completely intact. Am I proud of myself? Of course.
I can't really think of any other examples right now, which is actually kind of sad. But yay, me! I didn't fall down! :D
...I'm going to go back to writing that stupid novel. Why can't I just skip to the tiger mauling?
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Writing is hard, you guys. :(
Hey, so, I'm writing a novel.
It's a nice little fantasy novel, and it and I get along pretty well, for the most part.
I'm hoping to finish it by the end of the year, actually...
That is, the first draft.
You see, I've been working on this novel for two years, give or take. I had about 30 pages at one point, but then I decided to change the setting, which meant I had to scrap the whole thing.
That was draft 0.5, because it doesn't really count as a first draft (imho) unless you actually finish it.
Anyhoo, I'm about 37,000 words into draft one, but I'm beginning to suspect that I'm a bad writer.
I don't mean in the sense that I can't write a good story - I like to think that I'm fairly skilled in that respect.
No, I mean that I can't seem to realize that writing takes work. My first draft has to be perfect, apparently, which means that I just wander off and let my book get lonely for weeks on end if I'm not struck with a blinding flash of inspiration. If I had a publisher, said publisher would be quite out-of-temper with me by this point.
I guess what I'm getting at is that I'm ridiculously lazy. "January?" I think to myself. "That'll never get here! I have plenty of time before my self-assigned deadline! Let's go watch 'Dumb Ways to Die'* again!"
I wrote all of 1,300 words today. That may sound like a lot, but since I'm shooting for somewhere between 50,000 and 75,000 words and this is the most I've written in weeks, I'm getting the sinking feeling that it's entirely inadequate.
I have all of two plot points for the second half of my book.
I still haven't ended Chapter IV.
I was severely tempted to skip over this whole 'romance' thing so I could just kill the love interest already (TIGER MAULING! :D).
In short, I have a loooooot of work to do.
And then, when this draft is finished, I get to send it off to the unwary friends and family members I've coerced into editing duties, fix it up a bit, find a literary agent, get this book published and start on that trilogy I've been bouncing around in my head for so long.
Oh, hey, life, what's that? I've still got to sort out the rest of you?
...If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go hide in my pillow fort and watch Disney movies. Adieu (and yes, I know it means goodbye forever)!
*Oh, hi! Did you follow me all the way down here to see where the asterisk led? Well, this is the video that's been slowly taking over my life: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJNR2EpS0jw
It's a nice little fantasy novel, and it and I get along pretty well, for the most part.
I'm hoping to finish it by the end of the year, actually...
That is, the first draft.
You see, I've been working on this novel for two years, give or take. I had about 30 pages at one point, but then I decided to change the setting, which meant I had to scrap the whole thing.
That was draft 0.5, because it doesn't really count as a first draft (imho) unless you actually finish it.
Anyhoo, I'm about 37,000 words into draft one, but I'm beginning to suspect that I'm a bad writer.
I don't mean in the sense that I can't write a good story - I like to think that I'm fairly skilled in that respect.
No, I mean that I can't seem to realize that writing takes work. My first draft has to be perfect, apparently, which means that I just wander off and let my book get lonely for weeks on end if I'm not struck with a blinding flash of inspiration. If I had a publisher, said publisher would be quite out-of-temper with me by this point.
I guess what I'm getting at is that I'm ridiculously lazy. "January?" I think to myself. "That'll never get here! I have plenty of time before my self-assigned deadline! Let's go watch 'Dumb Ways to Die'* again!"
I wrote all of 1,300 words today. That may sound like a lot, but since I'm shooting for somewhere between 50,000 and 75,000 words and this is the most I've written in weeks, I'm getting the sinking feeling that it's entirely inadequate.
I have all of two plot points for the second half of my book.
I still haven't ended Chapter IV.
I was severely tempted to skip over this whole 'romance' thing so I could just kill the love interest already (TIGER MAULING! :D).
In short, I have a loooooot of work to do.
And then, when this draft is finished, I get to send it off to the unwary friends and family members I've coerced into editing duties, fix it up a bit, find a literary agent, get this book published and start on that trilogy I've been bouncing around in my head for so long.
Oh, hey, life, what's that? I've still got to sort out the rest of you?
...If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go hide in my pillow fort and watch Disney movies. Adieu (and yes, I know it means goodbye forever)!
*Oh, hi! Did you follow me all the way down here to see where the asterisk led? Well, this is the video that's been slowly taking over my life: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJNR2EpS0jw
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
To my little Teflon pot
Dear pot,
I'm sorry for your traumatic adventure of the other night. You've always been a good pot to me, boiling water and steeping tea without a care in the world. Without you, I would likely still be spending a dollar a day buying sweet tea from the convenience store down the road. But you saved me from that! You help me to make tea of my own, enough to last several days.
But the other day, I let you down.
I'm so sorry I left you boiling for an hour. My memory was never very good, you must understand. It wasn't until I smelled smoke that I realized my mistake. There you were, smoking on a hot burner, all your water gone, your Teflon coating melted on the bottom. Your once-silver outlines were blackened with soot. I poured water in you at once, but it was too late. You'd been in agony for far too long.
And so, my dear little pot, please forgive me for my inadequacies as an owner. I managed to clean you up yesterday, and you still made tea for me, as patient and industrious as ever.
I'll try to be kinder to you in the future.
Your apologetic owner,
~Miss Monday
I'm sorry for your traumatic adventure of the other night. You've always been a good pot to me, boiling water and steeping tea without a care in the world. Without you, I would likely still be spending a dollar a day buying sweet tea from the convenience store down the road. But you saved me from that! You help me to make tea of my own, enough to last several days.
But the other day, I let you down.
I'm so sorry I left you boiling for an hour. My memory was never very good, you must understand. It wasn't until I smelled smoke that I realized my mistake. There you were, smoking on a hot burner, all your water gone, your Teflon coating melted on the bottom. Your once-silver outlines were blackened with soot. I poured water in you at once, but it was too late. You'd been in agony for far too long.
And so, my dear little pot, please forgive me for my inadequacies as an owner. I managed to clean you up yesterday, and you still made tea for me, as patient and industrious as ever.
I'll try to be kinder to you in the future.
Your apologetic owner,
~Miss Monday
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)