I was copying/pasting my novella from here onto a word document and I realized just how many spelling mistakes there were. I apologize, and if you're anything like me, you hate spelling/grammar mistakes in writing. Oh well.
Christmas was fun; I got drunk twice in four days, met a new person, fell into a brief depression, and now here I am again, all fine and well, working off of two hours of sleep.
That's right. Yesterday, I woke up at one in the afternoon. My sleeping pattern was messed, so I decided to stay up all night. I looked at the clock at 6 and decided to take a break (I was on the computer). I didn't want to answer the questions my mother and step father would have for me when they walked down the stairs to see me at the computer at 6:15. I tried to stay awake, and for the most part I did. I was watching TV, and that's when it got me. I gave up and said if I'm gonna sleep, I'm gonna sleep.
To my good fortune, I woke up coughing violently (enough to wake me from my brief slumber) at eight thirty and decided to stay awake. It was almost three hours before anyone else woke up and from there, it has been shifts of watching movies, playing the Sims 2 and checking emails. Anyways.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
One Day Left
Yessir, there is only one day left before Christmas break.
YAY!
Tomorrow, we'll be starting Statistics and Probability in Math. English, we'll probably do nothing. Religion, we'll probably do nothing. At lunch we have the gift exchange. I still don't know who got my name, though everyone else probably does. Heh heh heh.
I know Martina won't be at school tomorrow, so I just want to say thanks for the candy cane and sorry I didn't get you one! I didn't think anyone would get me one. You're such a pal!
Christmas is soon.
CHRISTMAS IS SOON!
Sad thing, I won't be able to cook. I'm still sick. Sigh...
I will be with my buddies (my sisters and brothers) so that will be good.
On New Year's Eve, we're having a party and I hope my mom lets me and my friends drink. I bet she won't because Laura's gonna be there. And we all know she's still being punished for that going to school after having been drinking thing.
It was stupid, but my mother's done worse.
Anyways, I am really excited to find out what I got for my secret Santa gift. I know that's not what Christmas is about, but that's what it turned into, so let it go.
I hope Nicole doesn't have my name. She was sick a lot and has missed a lot of school, so if she's not there tomorrow, I'll be sad being the only one without a present (more that people will be like, "Oh poor Robyn, she didn't get a present"). If I didn't get one and nobody brought attention to that fact, I would be fine. Last Christmas I didn't even want presents, I even told my parents that, but they still got them.
Merry Christmas, and to those of you (as if anybody reads this blog anyways) who don't celebrate Christmas, enjoy your respective holiday.
YAY!
Tomorrow, we'll be starting Statistics and Probability in Math. English, we'll probably do nothing. Religion, we'll probably do nothing. At lunch we have the gift exchange. I still don't know who got my name, though everyone else probably does. Heh heh heh.
I know Martina won't be at school tomorrow, so I just want to say thanks for the candy cane and sorry I didn't get you one! I didn't think anyone would get me one. You're such a pal!
Christmas is soon.
CHRISTMAS IS SOON!
Sad thing, I won't be able to cook. I'm still sick. Sigh...
I will be with my buddies (my sisters and brothers) so that will be good.
On New Year's Eve, we're having a party and I hope my mom lets me and my friends drink. I bet she won't because Laura's gonna be there. And we all know she's still being punished for that going to school after having been drinking thing.
It was stupid, but my mother's done worse.
Anyways, I am really excited to find out what I got for my secret Santa gift. I know that's not what Christmas is about, but that's what it turned into, so let it go.
I hope Nicole doesn't have my name. She was sick a lot and has missed a lot of school, so if she's not there tomorrow, I'll be sad being the only one without a present (more that people will be like, "Oh poor Robyn, she didn't get a present"). If I didn't get one and nobody brought attention to that fact, I would be fine. Last Christmas I didn't even want presents, I even told my parents that, but they still got them.
Merry Christmas, and to those of you (as if anybody reads this blog anyways) who don't celebrate Christmas, enjoy your respective holiday.
Word of the Day, Malaise
malaise \muh-LAYZ; -LEZ\, noun:
1. A vague feeling of discomfort in the body, as at the onset of illness.
2. A general feeling of depression or unease.
I hadn't noticed the sky - I had been too preoccupied with my work - until it was just about sunset. The world had taken on a yellow glow and my first instinct (there would be a snow storm) had turned out to be false.
It was just past five o'clock and the sky had changed. Peach coloured stripes crossed the lavender sky. As the sun was going down, it left the evergreens and naked deciduous trees in silhouette. I had always been looking for breath-taking beauty (in nature, I assumed) and this was the most beautiful thing I had seen.
Alas, the sun set and the sky faded to a deep blue.
1. A vague feeling of discomfort in the body, as at the onset of illness.
2. A general feeling of depression or unease.
I hadn't noticed the sky - I had been too preoccupied with my work - until it was just about sunset. The world had taken on a yellow glow and my first instinct (there would be a snow storm) had turned out to be false.
It was just past five o'clock and the sky had changed. Peach coloured stripes crossed the lavender sky. As the sun was going down, it left the evergreens and naked deciduous trees in silhouette. I had always been looking for breath-taking beauty (in nature, I assumed) and this was the most beautiful thing I had seen.
Alas, the sun set and the sky faded to a deep blue.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
2 Days
Christmas break is starting late this year - or at least later than last year. This Friday (the 22nd) is our last day of classes. I thought this was cutting it a little close to Christmas, but that's just me. I wish we would have started holidays a week earlier, even if it meant coming back to school on the first or second of January (but I do see why that might not be the best of ideas). The thing is, there are only about two weeks after we get back from break until our Diploma exams start. For me, this is a bad thing because for things like, say Math, which I do better in when I study in a group, there is less time to review after school. This ultimately leads me to having to study over the Christmas holidays.
Speaking of that, it appears that I will actually have a lot of school work to do over Christmas holidays. I have to review the entire Math 30 Pure course so that I know what's going on in group study. I have to do some project Mrs. C keeps talking about but has yet to explain. I have to Finish writing out my math glossary and do my math journal. I have to finish my English project (which is doubling for a final exam, so that's fine with me).
I have to spend the first three or four days of the holiday with my father (and 10 other people -yeah big fricking family) in his tiny house, in which I know I won't be able to buckle down and do any of the actual work I need to do. Besides that, I have just started my period which means I'll still have it on Christmas (the first time in my life actually). That should be super fun.
As anyone who has eyes might know, I have also started revising/typing out my novel(la) which actually hasn't been all that bad. The beginning (I am about a sixth of the way through it - there are 17 chapters and I have finished 3) was painful to say the least. I rewrote it probably four or five times because I absolutely hated it. I just find my writing so juvenile, even though some of the most important parts of my life took place while I was writing it. It was even less than a year ago and now that I'm in grade 12, I am miraculously more mature in my writing. As if.
But I do actually like the clone story I wrote for English.
That's not the point.
There are two days until Christmas break, two days until the inevitable. Sixteen days later I will be freaking out about finals and Diplomas. God, what have I gotten into?
And to top it all off, I'm sick, so I can't do any Christmas cooking - the only reason I agreed to go early to my father's house - so most of my stay in Elk Point/Vermilion will be spent doing Math.
Oh joy of joys.
Speaking of that, it appears that I will actually have a lot of school work to do over Christmas holidays. I have to review the entire Math 30 Pure course so that I know what's going on in group study. I have to do some project Mrs. C keeps talking about but has yet to explain. I have to Finish writing out my math glossary and do my math journal. I have to finish my English project (which is doubling for a final exam, so that's fine with me).
I have to spend the first three or four days of the holiday with my father (and 10 other people -yeah big fricking family) in his tiny house, in which I know I won't be able to buckle down and do any of the actual work I need to do. Besides that, I have just started my period which means I'll still have it on Christmas (the first time in my life actually). That should be super fun.
As anyone who has eyes might know, I have also started revising/typing out my novel(la) which actually hasn't been all that bad. The beginning (I am about a sixth of the way through it - there are 17 chapters and I have finished 3) was painful to say the least. I rewrote it probably four or five times because I absolutely hated it. I just find my writing so juvenile, even though some of the most important parts of my life took place while I was writing it. It was even less than a year ago and now that I'm in grade 12, I am miraculously more mature in my writing. As if.
But I do actually like the clone story I wrote for English.
That's not the point.
There are two days until Christmas break, two days until the inevitable. Sixteen days later I will be freaking out about finals and Diplomas. God, what have I gotten into?
And to top it all off, I'm sick, so I can't do any Christmas cooking - the only reason I agreed to go early to my father's house - so most of my stay in Elk Point/Vermilion will be spent doing Math.
Oh joy of joys.
Just Flowers, Chapter 3
That's right, chapter 3
Chapter 3
May 10
Jen lay on the old sofa in the living room reading. The house was empty; her father was out on a lunch meeting with a client interested in his archetectureal work. The day was going so slowly, but Jen enjoyed it. She just wanted to stay in the house - on her bed, on the sofa, wherever - all day and veg.
The phone rang, sending jen up from her comfortable roost. The number on the call display was one she didn't recognize and she sat back down.
"Wrong number," she said to herself, turning on the TV. She flicked through a few channels and stopped on MTV. She put down the remote and continued reading, bobbing her head to the beat of the song playing.
A couple minutes later, the phone rang. Jen again removed herself from the couch and answered. "Hello?"
"Uh.. hi. Is Danny there?"
Ah great, she thought, another one of his bimbos.
"He isn't in at the moment. Can I take a message?" she asked in a mock-polite voice.
"Um, hold on. Wait, is this Jen?
Why is he telling them about me? So help me God if he's using the single father act to pick up women-
"Yeah, who's this?"
"Jen," the woman said, nervously lauging. "it's me. It's Mom."
On both sides of the line there was silence. Jen stood completely unaware of anything but the phone in her hand and the quiet on the other side.
"Jen?"
"Yeah?" she answered quickly, bringing her hand to her chest. She could feel her heart beating hard. It was happening.
"I was wondering if maybe you'd want to have coffee with me. You know, to talk."
They made plans to meet at lunch time at the food court in the mall. Jen tried calling Bryn but got a busy line. She logged onto her email account and typed.
To: BrynBryn
From: Jennifoxy
Subject: my mother
When she had finished, she moved the mouse to click 'send' but held it for a moment. Maybe Bryn didn't need to know about her mother just yet.
Maybe I should see how it goes before doing anything. She probably wouldn't even read the email until I've already told her. There's no harm in waiting.
Noticing the time, Jen saw that she was late. She was out the door when she realized her keys were still in the house. She went back and hurriedly rummaged through the things on her desk in her room, then went through the kitchen, and finally the living room. By the computer, she saw the shining metal keys. Reaching for them, she hit the mouse and inadvertedly sent the email.
Jen stood idle for a moment, then brused it off. No harm in sending it either.
She left without thinking again about it.
Jen was the first to arrive at the food court and got herself a Pepsi as she waited. Sitting alone, she could feel the eyes of others on her as she hunched over her drink waiting, secretly hoping the waiting would last forever. She didn't know what she was going to do. After all, it had been a long time.
A quarter of an hour passed, then half an hour, and Jen went through another pop and a plate of greasy fries.
At a quarter to one, Jen figured she had been stood up - her mother's cowardice was shining through once again - and she got up to leave. She threw away her garbage and started down the mall to the entrance.
Somebody called her name. She couldn't see the woman, but she knew who it was. her heart leapt and her hands started to shake. As she turned around, she thought, So this is it. It's really happening.
The woman waved to her from the table she had been sitting at. Jen took a deep breath, sat down across from the woman and looked into her face.
"Jen," her mother said as though she hadn't been expecting her.
"I thought you weren't coming. I was leaving." Jen was doing a good job being nonchalant, although she could feel the fries trying to make a reappearance.
"Sorry I was late," she said tapping her watch. "This thing is broken. I got it at the crappiest little place."
Sorry I was late? Is that all? Jen's mind screamed. You're about ten years late!
"Jenny, baby," she said, reaching across the table to take her daughter's hands. "My baby. You've grown so much."
"I guess I would look different. The last time you saw me, I was seven." Jen sucked her teeth and watched as her mother took her hands from Jen's to the edge of the table. She started picking at something.
After a moment, she timidly said, "You're right to be angry. What I did was terrible."
"What you did was abandon me!" Jen yelled. Her mother looked around and gave her the don't make a scene look.
"I didn't abandon you, Jen. You had your father. And Will."
As if that makes up for anything - "Do you even care how hard it was for me to come here? I have enough shit going on, I don't need you screwing it up even more."
"Jen!" Her mother caught her arm as she was about to leave. "I know what I did was wrong, unforgivable even. But I'm asking that you be the better person and forgive me."
Jen was caught. Here she was, with the mother she had but never really had and all she wanted was to get away from her. She sat, against all reasoning. "I am the better person," she said, sulkily. It's too late for her to think I'm so well off. She probably knows I'm miserable.
"Okay. Now just hear me out." She looked for the acknowledgement in Jen's face. When she caught a glimpse of hope, she continued. "I know I've been gone for a while and I don't deserve any of your love anymore, but I'm asking as your mother. What do you think about me coming home?"
Come home?
Jen was hit out of the blue. She figured her mother wanted to start getting back in contact, but not just jump back into all of their lives.
How can she even ask that? Does she really believe she deserves us now? That we suddenly deserve her after all this time?
Once again, Jen was caught. She struggled with the idea of forvieness, seeing as her mother didn't deserve it in the least. Then again, she'd been dreaming of this day ever since her father signed the divorce papers and sent them to a lawyer with an address in Cuba. She'd never given up hope, not intentionally at least. Now that the opportunity presented itself - she could have her mother, they would make up for all the time lost - she couldn't see herself forgiving or forgetting. She was disgusted.
"Ten years."
"What?" Her mother looked confusedly at her.
"Why now? Why ten years?"
"Jen, you don't understand. I was just a child then."
"Twenty nine is not a child. Seven is a child. And you just did it without thinking of how you were hurting your seven year old child."
"I was wrong! Okay? I made a mistake and I want all of us to be a family again. I want to make it up to you."
"You're too late. Ten years too late," Jen said. Tears were streaming down her face and she left, avoiding the eyes of the mall-people. They didn't understand, they didn't deserve to stare.
Jen ran. As she approached her home, her throat dry, her lungs working too hard, she collapsed on the sidewalk.
There has to be something else, this can't be it.
She would have stayed there, the cement was cold on her back and legs but she didn't mind. What motivated her to move, at least far enough to get into the house, was the sound of a car driving by. They might stop, then Jen would have to explain what was going on. She didn't need to be more embarrassed than she had been at the mall. She didn't need more people staring, judging her.
Inside, the light on the phone that indicated a new message was flashing and without listening to it, Jen deleted it. It was her mother, she knew it. And to inhibit any more unwanted calls, she pulled the phone jack from the wall.
<><><>
Later that night, Will called, and a half drunk woman stumbled up the stairs to tell her daughter to answer the phone. Bryn picked up the cordless handset in her room and scoffed, then turned her attention to the man on the line.
"Hey, I didn't think you'd call."
"Why not?" he asked. Bryn could tell he was humouring her and that he had something in mind to say.
"Never mind. Why did you call? I mean, um, did you want to talk to me about something?"
"Yeah, sort of. Do you think we could go somewhere?"
"No problem," Bryn said quickly.
When she heard the sound of Will's car pulling up to the house, Bryn jumped fromthe couch and sprinted out the door and across the lawn. She sat down in the passenger's seat and before she could buckle, Will accelerated. Soon they stopped in a grocery store parking lot. They were close to the road and Bryn could hear the cars passing.
Will killed the engine.
"What's wrong?"
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and exhaled, looking out his window. Bryn turned her body to him and touched his shoulder. "You're obviously upset about something and want to talk to me about it, or else you wouldn't have called. You can tell me."
He dropped his arms to his lap and thumbed the side of his index finger. "It's just," he started, looking at her big green eyes. "My mom called."
"Oh my god," she said. An eerie feeling crept up her spine and she wondered what the odds were of her having just read Jen's email and now Will's contact with his mother.
"She showed up, actually," he continued, shaking his head. "Walked right up to the house like she still lived there. She was asking to talk to Jen." He said his sister's name as though it had a bad taste to it.
"What did you tell her?"
"The truth. That Jen died two weeks ago and that she had just missed her. And then I shut the door. Ya know, she didn't even ask about me before she asked for Jen. She acted as if she didn't know who I was. I'm her only living child for fuck's sake."
Bryn pushed him, causing him to hit his head on the window. "What the fuck?" he yelled.
She unbuckled, throwing the seatbelt voilently from her body and left the car. She stood a few steps away, arms crossed, shaking her head. Will began to get out of the car.
"Why the hell do you do that Will?" Bryn yelled.
"Hey, you pushed me. What the hell were you thinking?"
"I don't get you. I mean your sister just died and you act like everyone should be consoling you and crying for you. You're a goddam pitty whore!"
"Where the hell do you get off-"
"About the same fucking place as you do, I guess," she snapped.
Will started back towards the car.
"No, don't you run away, Will. Don't you dare say the shit you just said and walk away from me."
He turned and walked aggressively towards her. Stumbling over his words, he gave up and let out a yowl.
"Why are you so mad?" she asked, more calm, able to see his pain.
"I miss her. She was the only peron who knew, like actually knew what I was going through. She was my support. Now she's gone."
Bryn moved to him and took his face in her hands. "I know. It's not going to stop hurting though. You doing this - hating her - isn't going to change anything."
"I know it isn't. I just feel like the moment I let myself fully accept it, I'll wake up one day and I'll have forgotten her."
Bryn sighed and moved her hands down to his shoulders. "You're not going to forget her, Will. You love her and I love her and we'll never forget."
He pulled her in close. Looking up at him, Bryn felt her heart skip a beat. This is it, I just know it is.
She kissed him.
They parted for a moment and Bryn started to explain - thought it ws little more than stuttering - but was cut off by Will's tongue in her mouth.
Passersby either stared for an unbeleving second or averted their gaze altogether. They were lost in eachother for what seemed like days, until a voice called from the other side of the parking lot.
"Bryn!"
They separated, fixing themselves as the figure ran towards them. When he did arrive, they recognized him as Connor, Jen's boyfriend.
"Hey Bryn." He looked at will disapprovingly. "Will."
"Connor," Will said, almost sarcastically.
"Uh, Bryn can I talk to you," he said, eyeing Will, "alone?"
"Sure."
"I have to get going anyway." Will leaned in and kissed the corner of Bryn's mouth. He lingered by her, taking in her beauty, until Connor interrupted by loudly clearing his throat.
When the car had driven away, Connor started, "What was that about?"
"I think we have a little thing going between us."
"When did this happen?" he asked, almost outraged.
"Whoa, calm down. What does it even matter?"
He looked away. "It doesn't. Well I guess it does. I kind of wanted to talk to you about something."
He started walking down the street, towards the residential area and she followed. "Okay, shoot."
It was a block later when he spoke. "I know I'll sound like the biggest asshole in the world for bringin this up, but you know how the spring dance is coming?"
"Yeah," she answered cautiously.
"Are you going?"
"I hadn't really planned on it."
"Oh."
"Well it's just too soon, Connor. I'm not even doing the play anymore. I just need a while, you know?"
"No, I totally get it. My parents keep saying I need to keep my life moving in spite of everything."
"Makes sense." They turned into an empty street and continued.
"They said maybe going to the dance would do me some good. You know, start moving forward instead of dwelling."
"Okay."
"I thought I'd only go if I had someone to go with. Going alone would leave me thinking of her the whole time."
"What would be wrong with thinking of your girlfriend?"
He paused. "Nothing. But she wouldn't want me to be miserable for the rest of my life."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to go celebrating her death."
"I wouldn't be. Not her death. Her life. I want people to remember the person she was and the things that she did. I don't want her to be remembered as the girl who killed herself."
Bryn winced. She hadn't been thinking of Jen for a while. She didn't want to remember how she went.
"Look, I already asked Mrs. Dann to dedicate the dance to Jen. She said she'd love to. So either way - if I go or not - people are going to be celebrating."
"I still don't know."
"Bryn, you're allowed to have fun."
"I know, it's just that I feel guilty enough right now, talking to you about her like she didn't just die."
"I hate that you're not letting yourself be happy. You can be a good person and still go to a dance. All I'm asking is one dance."
She bit her lips together, searching her mind for a way out. "I guess it can't hurt."
"Awsome," he said, trying to appear as though he hadn't been pleading with her.
Bryn tried to smile genuinely. It wouldn't be so bad, she thought, after all, I did have a crush on him in junior high - what was I thinking? - but anyways, he's a good guy, a nice guy.
Chapter 3
May 10
Jen lay on the old sofa in the living room reading. The house was empty; her father was out on a lunch meeting with a client interested in his archetectureal work. The day was going so slowly, but Jen enjoyed it. She just wanted to stay in the house - on her bed, on the sofa, wherever - all day and veg.
The phone rang, sending jen up from her comfortable roost. The number on the call display was one she didn't recognize and she sat back down.
"Wrong number," she said to herself, turning on the TV. She flicked through a few channels and stopped on MTV. She put down the remote and continued reading, bobbing her head to the beat of the song playing.
A couple minutes later, the phone rang. Jen again removed herself from the couch and answered. "Hello?"
"Uh.. hi. Is Danny there?"
Ah great, she thought, another one of his bimbos.
"He isn't in at the moment. Can I take a message?" she asked in a mock-polite voice.
"Um, hold on. Wait, is this Jen?
Why is he telling them about me? So help me God if he's using the single father act to pick up women-
"Yeah, who's this?"
"Jen," the woman said, nervously lauging. "it's me. It's Mom."
On both sides of the line there was silence. Jen stood completely unaware of anything but the phone in her hand and the quiet on the other side.
"Jen?"
"Yeah?" she answered quickly, bringing her hand to her chest. She could feel her heart beating hard. It was happening.
"I was wondering if maybe you'd want to have coffee with me. You know, to talk."
They made plans to meet at lunch time at the food court in the mall. Jen tried calling Bryn but got a busy line. She logged onto her email account and typed.
To: BrynBryn
From: Jennifoxy
Subject: my mother
When she had finished, she moved the mouse to click 'send' but held it for a moment. Maybe Bryn didn't need to know about her mother just yet.
Maybe I should see how it goes before doing anything. She probably wouldn't even read the email until I've already told her. There's no harm in waiting.
Noticing the time, Jen saw that she was late. She was out the door when she realized her keys were still in the house. She went back and hurriedly rummaged through the things on her desk in her room, then went through the kitchen, and finally the living room. By the computer, she saw the shining metal keys. Reaching for them, she hit the mouse and inadvertedly sent the email.
Jen stood idle for a moment, then brused it off. No harm in sending it either.
She left without thinking again about it.
Jen was the first to arrive at the food court and got herself a Pepsi as she waited. Sitting alone, she could feel the eyes of others on her as she hunched over her drink waiting, secretly hoping the waiting would last forever. She didn't know what she was going to do. After all, it had been a long time.
A quarter of an hour passed, then half an hour, and Jen went through another pop and a plate of greasy fries.
At a quarter to one, Jen figured she had been stood up - her mother's cowardice was shining through once again - and she got up to leave. She threw away her garbage and started down the mall to the entrance.
Somebody called her name. She couldn't see the woman, but she knew who it was. her heart leapt and her hands started to shake. As she turned around, she thought, So this is it. It's really happening.
The woman waved to her from the table she had been sitting at. Jen took a deep breath, sat down across from the woman and looked into her face.
"Jen," her mother said as though she hadn't been expecting her.
"I thought you weren't coming. I was leaving." Jen was doing a good job being nonchalant, although she could feel the fries trying to make a reappearance.
"Sorry I was late," she said tapping her watch. "This thing is broken. I got it at the crappiest little place."
Sorry I was late? Is that all? Jen's mind screamed. You're about ten years late!
"Jenny, baby," she said, reaching across the table to take her daughter's hands. "My baby. You've grown so much."
"I guess I would look different. The last time you saw me, I was seven." Jen sucked her teeth and watched as her mother took her hands from Jen's to the edge of the table. She started picking at something.
After a moment, she timidly said, "You're right to be angry. What I did was terrible."
"What you did was abandon me!" Jen yelled. Her mother looked around and gave her the don't make a scene look.
"I didn't abandon you, Jen. You had your father. And Will."
As if that makes up for anything - "Do you even care how hard it was for me to come here? I have enough shit going on, I don't need you screwing it up even more."
"Jen!" Her mother caught her arm as she was about to leave. "I know what I did was wrong, unforgivable even. But I'm asking that you be the better person and forgive me."
Jen was caught. Here she was, with the mother she had but never really had and all she wanted was to get away from her. She sat, against all reasoning. "I am the better person," she said, sulkily. It's too late for her to think I'm so well off. She probably knows I'm miserable.
"Okay. Now just hear me out." She looked for the acknowledgement in Jen's face. When she caught a glimpse of hope, she continued. "I know I've been gone for a while and I don't deserve any of your love anymore, but I'm asking as your mother. What do you think about me coming home?"
Come home?
Jen was hit out of the blue. She figured her mother wanted to start getting back in contact, but not just jump back into all of their lives.
How can she even ask that? Does she really believe she deserves us now? That we suddenly deserve her after all this time?
Once again, Jen was caught. She struggled with the idea of forvieness, seeing as her mother didn't deserve it in the least. Then again, she'd been dreaming of this day ever since her father signed the divorce papers and sent them to a lawyer with an address in Cuba. She'd never given up hope, not intentionally at least. Now that the opportunity presented itself - she could have her mother, they would make up for all the time lost - she couldn't see herself forgiving or forgetting. She was disgusted.
"Ten years."
"What?" Her mother looked confusedly at her.
"Why now? Why ten years?"
"Jen, you don't understand. I was just a child then."
"Twenty nine is not a child. Seven is a child. And you just did it without thinking of how you were hurting your seven year old child."
"I was wrong! Okay? I made a mistake and I want all of us to be a family again. I want to make it up to you."
"You're too late. Ten years too late," Jen said. Tears were streaming down her face and she left, avoiding the eyes of the mall-people. They didn't understand, they didn't deserve to stare.
Jen ran. As she approached her home, her throat dry, her lungs working too hard, she collapsed on the sidewalk.
There has to be something else, this can't be it.
She would have stayed there, the cement was cold on her back and legs but she didn't mind. What motivated her to move, at least far enough to get into the house, was the sound of a car driving by. They might stop, then Jen would have to explain what was going on. She didn't need to be more embarrassed than she had been at the mall. She didn't need more people staring, judging her.
Inside, the light on the phone that indicated a new message was flashing and without listening to it, Jen deleted it. It was her mother, she knew it. And to inhibit any more unwanted calls, she pulled the phone jack from the wall.
<><><>
Later that night, Will called, and a half drunk woman stumbled up the stairs to tell her daughter to answer the phone. Bryn picked up the cordless handset in her room and scoffed, then turned her attention to the man on the line.
"Hey, I didn't think you'd call."
"Why not?" he asked. Bryn could tell he was humouring her and that he had something in mind to say.
"Never mind. Why did you call? I mean, um, did you want to talk to me about something?"
"Yeah, sort of. Do you think we could go somewhere?"
"No problem," Bryn said quickly.
When she heard the sound of Will's car pulling up to the house, Bryn jumped fromthe couch and sprinted out the door and across the lawn. She sat down in the passenger's seat and before she could buckle, Will accelerated. Soon they stopped in a grocery store parking lot. They were close to the road and Bryn could hear the cars passing.
Will killed the engine.
"What's wrong?"
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and exhaled, looking out his window. Bryn turned her body to him and touched his shoulder. "You're obviously upset about something and want to talk to me about it, or else you wouldn't have called. You can tell me."
He dropped his arms to his lap and thumbed the side of his index finger. "It's just," he started, looking at her big green eyes. "My mom called."
"Oh my god," she said. An eerie feeling crept up her spine and she wondered what the odds were of her having just read Jen's email and now Will's contact with his mother.
"She showed up, actually," he continued, shaking his head. "Walked right up to the house like she still lived there. She was asking to talk to Jen." He said his sister's name as though it had a bad taste to it.
"What did you tell her?"
"The truth. That Jen died two weeks ago and that she had just missed her. And then I shut the door. Ya know, she didn't even ask about me before she asked for Jen. She acted as if she didn't know who I was. I'm her only living child for fuck's sake."
Bryn pushed him, causing him to hit his head on the window. "What the fuck?" he yelled.
She unbuckled, throwing the seatbelt voilently from her body and left the car. She stood a few steps away, arms crossed, shaking her head. Will began to get out of the car.
"Why the hell do you do that Will?" Bryn yelled.
"Hey, you pushed me. What the hell were you thinking?"
"I don't get you. I mean your sister just died and you act like everyone should be consoling you and crying for you. You're a goddam pitty whore!"
"Where the hell do you get off-"
"About the same fucking place as you do, I guess," she snapped.
Will started back towards the car.
"No, don't you run away, Will. Don't you dare say the shit you just said and walk away from me."
He turned and walked aggressively towards her. Stumbling over his words, he gave up and let out a yowl.
"Why are you so mad?" she asked, more calm, able to see his pain.
"I miss her. She was the only peron who knew, like actually knew what I was going through. She was my support. Now she's gone."
Bryn moved to him and took his face in her hands. "I know. It's not going to stop hurting though. You doing this - hating her - isn't going to change anything."
"I know it isn't. I just feel like the moment I let myself fully accept it, I'll wake up one day and I'll have forgotten her."
Bryn sighed and moved her hands down to his shoulders. "You're not going to forget her, Will. You love her and I love her and we'll never forget."
He pulled her in close. Looking up at him, Bryn felt her heart skip a beat. This is it, I just know it is.
She kissed him.
They parted for a moment and Bryn started to explain - thought it ws little more than stuttering - but was cut off by Will's tongue in her mouth.
Passersby either stared for an unbeleving second or averted their gaze altogether. They were lost in eachother for what seemed like days, until a voice called from the other side of the parking lot.
"Bryn!"
They separated, fixing themselves as the figure ran towards them. When he did arrive, they recognized him as Connor, Jen's boyfriend.
"Hey Bryn." He looked at will disapprovingly. "Will."
"Connor," Will said, almost sarcastically.
"Uh, Bryn can I talk to you," he said, eyeing Will, "alone?"
"Sure."
"I have to get going anyway." Will leaned in and kissed the corner of Bryn's mouth. He lingered by her, taking in her beauty, until Connor interrupted by loudly clearing his throat.
When the car had driven away, Connor started, "What was that about?"
"I think we have a little thing going between us."
"When did this happen?" he asked, almost outraged.
"Whoa, calm down. What does it even matter?"
He looked away. "It doesn't. Well I guess it does. I kind of wanted to talk to you about something."
He started walking down the street, towards the residential area and she followed. "Okay, shoot."
It was a block later when he spoke. "I know I'll sound like the biggest asshole in the world for bringin this up, but you know how the spring dance is coming?"
"Yeah," she answered cautiously.
"Are you going?"
"I hadn't really planned on it."
"Oh."
"Well it's just too soon, Connor. I'm not even doing the play anymore. I just need a while, you know?"
"No, I totally get it. My parents keep saying I need to keep my life moving in spite of everything."
"Makes sense." They turned into an empty street and continued.
"They said maybe going to the dance would do me some good. You know, start moving forward instead of dwelling."
"Okay."
"I thought I'd only go if I had someone to go with. Going alone would leave me thinking of her the whole time."
"What would be wrong with thinking of your girlfriend?"
He paused. "Nothing. But she wouldn't want me to be miserable for the rest of my life."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to go celebrating her death."
"I wouldn't be. Not her death. Her life. I want people to remember the person she was and the things that she did. I don't want her to be remembered as the girl who killed herself."
Bryn winced. She hadn't been thinking of Jen for a while. She didn't want to remember how she went.
"Look, I already asked Mrs. Dann to dedicate the dance to Jen. She said she'd love to. So either way - if I go or not - people are going to be celebrating."
"I still don't know."
"Bryn, you're allowed to have fun."
"I know, it's just that I feel guilty enough right now, talking to you about her like she didn't just die."
"I hate that you're not letting yourself be happy. You can be a good person and still go to a dance. All I'm asking is one dance."
She bit her lips together, searching her mind for a way out. "I guess it can't hurt."
"Awsome," he said, trying to appear as though he hadn't been pleading with her.
Bryn tried to smile genuinely. It wouldn't be so bad, she thought, after all, I did have a crush on him in junior high - what was I thinking? - but anyways, he's a good guy, a nice guy.
"I have to be home right away, so I'll see you later then," he said, happy to go on his way after getting what he sought.
"Bye."
Bryn watched him as he walked away. I wonder what I saw in him all those years ago. I wonder what Jen saw in him. She started down the street in the other direction. I wonder what Will's going to say when I tell him.
She wished he was there with her then, holding her, kissing her like he just had been.
At home she laid on the couch and fell asleep.
"Bye."
Bryn watched him as he walked away. I wonder what I saw in him all those years ago. I wonder what Jen saw in him. She started down the street in the other direction. I wonder what Will's going to say when I tell him.
She wished he was there with her then, holding her, kissing her like he just had been.
At home she laid on the couch and fell asleep.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Today's Word
impassive \im-PASS-iv\, adjective:
1. Devoid of or unsusceptible to emotion.
2. Showing no sign of emotion or feeling; expressionless.
His eyes were blank, and I could sense that it was the funeral that had left him impassive. I called out to him, "Adam," but he was still.
"Adam," I repeated. "You have to eat something. You'll make yourself sick if you don't."
I hated pressing it on him; it seemed too insignificant a thing to do after his sister's death.
"I'm not hungry now. Maybe later," he said barely breaking a whisper. I nodded and left the room. I was unable to look at him. He had changed.
I suddenly felt guilty as I sat on the wooden chair in our bedroom. True, he wasn't the man I had fallen in love with, he hadn't been for some time, but he needed time to pass through this rough patch. He would smile again, I knew.
I would love him again when he smiled.
1. Devoid of or unsusceptible to emotion.
2. Showing no sign of emotion or feeling; expressionless.
His eyes were blank, and I could sense that it was the funeral that had left him impassive. I called out to him, "Adam," but he was still.
"Adam," I repeated. "You have to eat something. You'll make yourself sick if you don't."
I hated pressing it on him; it seemed too insignificant a thing to do after his sister's death.
"I'm not hungry now. Maybe later," he said barely breaking a whisper. I nodded and left the room. I was unable to look at him. He had changed.
I suddenly felt guilty as I sat on the wooden chair in our bedroom. True, he wasn't the man I had fallen in love with, he hadn't been for some time, but he needed time to pass through this rough patch. He would smile again, I knew.
I would love him again when he smiled.
AHHHH!
I recently made a new blog so, my computer, being the a-hole it is, didn't show my old blog in the right spot. I accidentally published Chapter 2 of Just Flowers in my new blog, so go there.
www.brynsdiary.blogspot.com Damn I'm so mad. I would just copy and paste, but the whole alignment is off.
ANGER.
www.brynsdiary.blogspot.com Damn I'm so mad. I would just copy and paste, but the whole alignment is off.
ANGER.
Saturday, December 9, 2006
Checkers
So part of the reason I even wrote my novel(la - as Touer puts it), is actually because of Touer. Yesterday, I got an email from him that included his novella. He had asked me (and two other people, as it was addressed to multiple people) to read it and give constructive criticism. Finally, after almost four months, I got to read it, the little piece of his soul he had written over the summer.
While I was reading it, I was overwhelmed with the desire to write my own story (or to finish at least the second draft). I was sad, however after the first chapter of my own story that the dialogue was not believable, the characters were somewhat melodramatic and the plot just was not realistic enough to have people suspend thier disbelief.
Touer's such a good writer, and although I do enjoy writing, making up characters and plots and dialogues, I have this feeling of standing in his shadow. In my grade, I may be one of the better writers, but that is just a big fish in a small pond, so to speak. When you're surrounded by people who can't do something, you look all the better for being able to do it.
Yes I'm better than my friends at writing, and they know it. KC doesn't write fiction, and I can't even fathom Janelle sitting down to write a serious piece of literature. It's nothing against them, it's just that that is not who they are.
This is perhaps the same reason that in eight months I will be (hopefully) starting my diploma course for Pharmacy Technician as opposed to a BA in Fine Arts. In my family, I am the only one who paints (or at least I have felt like starting up again) and support is there in the form of "oo I like this one". Of course, I may be too sensitive to enter into an arts profession professionally. It was Caitlyn (and Janelle and KC, actually) who had said that the painting I sold was my best.
I took this in the wrong way, of course. Their words, though sounding perfectly nice to them, meant to me that I had hit my high point (it must have been when I was around 14, since we still lived in the white house in Veg) and everything was downhill from there. Subsequently, I stopped painting.
It wasn't my art course I took (I took it only because in grade 11 I dropped physics and needed to make up for the lost credits) that made me feel like painting again, I don't think there was one occasion in particular, but I've had the want to do it. I think over the Christmas holidays I will bring my paint to Sherwood park and paint.
The problem with it is that I don't start out with an idea. I mostly do abstract paintings and they all come out seeming like I try too hard. Maybe because I don't really know how to paint. Maybe because I have no formal training, but I personally feel that that can ruin creativity (or maybe I'm just saying that because I suck at painting). No offense if anyone who reads this has been formally trained in painting.
It was funny... I was just thinking about when people ask if you are a social-language arts person or a math-sciences person. I'm actually an language arts-sciences person. Biology for sciences, and pretty much anything except for Shakespeare reading comprehension in Language arts. Maybe it's just all plays or all Shakespeare. I don't do all that well when there is only dialogue in a story (adding to the reasons that I am so bad at writing believable dialogue in stories) or play.
Well now I'm playing internet checkers - something very frustrating so I'm gonna pay attention to my game. HEH HEH HEH
While I was reading it, I was overwhelmed with the desire to write my own story (or to finish at least the second draft). I was sad, however after the first chapter of my own story that the dialogue was not believable, the characters were somewhat melodramatic and the plot just was not realistic enough to have people suspend thier disbelief.
Touer's such a good writer, and although I do enjoy writing, making up characters and plots and dialogues, I have this feeling of standing in his shadow. In my grade, I may be one of the better writers, but that is just a big fish in a small pond, so to speak. When you're surrounded by people who can't do something, you look all the better for being able to do it.
Yes I'm better than my friends at writing, and they know it. KC doesn't write fiction, and I can't even fathom Janelle sitting down to write a serious piece of literature. It's nothing against them, it's just that that is not who they are.
This is perhaps the same reason that in eight months I will be (hopefully) starting my diploma course for Pharmacy Technician as opposed to a BA in Fine Arts. In my family, I am the only one who paints (or at least I have felt like starting up again) and support is there in the form of "oo I like this one". Of course, I may be too sensitive to enter into an arts profession professionally. It was Caitlyn (and Janelle and KC, actually) who had said that the painting I sold was my best.
I took this in the wrong way, of course. Their words, though sounding perfectly nice to them, meant to me that I had hit my high point (it must have been when I was around 14, since we still lived in the white house in Veg) and everything was downhill from there. Subsequently, I stopped painting.
It wasn't my art course I took (I took it only because in grade 11 I dropped physics and needed to make up for the lost credits) that made me feel like painting again, I don't think there was one occasion in particular, but I've had the want to do it. I think over the Christmas holidays I will bring my paint to Sherwood park and paint.
The problem with it is that I don't start out with an idea. I mostly do abstract paintings and they all come out seeming like I try too hard. Maybe because I don't really know how to paint. Maybe because I have no formal training, but I personally feel that that can ruin creativity (or maybe I'm just saying that because I suck at painting). No offense if anyone who reads this has been formally trained in painting.
It was funny... I was just thinking about when people ask if you are a social-language arts person or a math-sciences person. I'm actually an language arts-sciences person. Biology for sciences, and pretty much anything except for Shakespeare reading comprehension in Language arts. Maybe it's just all plays or all Shakespeare. I don't do all that well when there is only dialogue in a story (adding to the reasons that I am so bad at writing believable dialogue in stories) or play.
Well now I'm playing internet checkers - something very frustrating so I'm gonna pay attention to my game. HEH HEH HEH
Just Flowers, Chapter 1
**++ Just so you know, I'm not posting this because I think I'm this great writer and that you'll be better off having read my work. I'm posting this because I need some way to get my typed story to Sherwood Park from Veg and traditional methods (printing or disk) do not work (no printer, no disk drive). So, if you'd like to read and leave comments, feel free to and I hope you enjoy. Also, if you don't like swears, there are a few, so either deal with it, or don't read it.
It was 1 a.m. and Bryn sat in the extra bedroom staring at the computer screen, unable to believe what she was reading. Chris had sent her an email. Her eyes moved across the words -
Her mouth agape, Bryn exited her inbox and shut off the computer. Tears followed, and as she walked to her room, she had a hard time believing that she was awake. She felt the wet on her cheeks, the pain in her heart.
She was awake, alright.
<><><>
Bryn snapped awake. She had fallen asleep again and missed another fifteen minutes of math class. Suddenly they had jumped from the Binomial Theorem to Pascal's Triangle, and she was lost. She loooked around the room making no effort to conceal the fact that she was looking for the clock. She found there was still ten minutes left before school ended, and slid father down her chair until her head leaned on the back of it.
The day had been hard, that was no question, but the lack of sleep, the mounting tension between she and Chris and then Jen being absent made things harder. She gritted her teeth staring at the back of Chris's head. She wanted to hit him, to yell and scream. More than anything, though, she wanted Jen to be there. She would comfort her, make things seem better, or at least get her through the day.
"Bryn?"
She looked to the front of the class. Everyone was staring back at her.
"Well?"
"What?" she asked, too tired to care that she had been put on the spot.
"The answer to number 4. What is it?"
"I dunno."
Mr. Booker sighed. He turned back to the board and finished the question. Bryn slipped right out of consciousness again.
The bell rang.
"Have a good day, everyone. And don't forget to do the whole assignment. I'll be checking tomorrow."
Bryn closed her books and packed up her pencil case. "Bryn, I'd like you to stay for a moment."
Some of the remaining students "oooed" at her, and Mr. Booker's response was two claps and "Chop, chop."
He sat down at his desk as the others left and Bryn swayed from left to right, holding her books. "What do you want?"
"Sit down. And it wouldn't kill you to be polite."
She stepped four paces forward.
"I noticed that you fell asleep again."
"So?"
"Is something going on at home that you need to talk to me about?"
His mention of home brought back memories of when Ellie had blabbed to the school counsellor about their mom.
"It's nothing. I've just been staying up too late."
"Are you sure," he asked, moving closer to her. "I know how parents can be."
"I told you, it's nothing. Why do you assume it's my home life that's fucked up-"
"Bryn!"
"Maybe it's your teaching that's putting me to sleep."
Mr. Booker watched her get her books. "That wasn't necessary. I'm just concerned about your performance in class. Your marks have dropped since midterms and I want to see that all my students get a good education."
Bryn scoffed. "Fine. I'll study more."
She was at the door when he spoke next. "I want to set up a meeting with your mother. It's just to talk about what's going on. Nothing bad. No accusations. If you give her this," he said, taking an envelope from the corner of his desk, "then we can get this over with."
She took the envelope and left without another word. However, she heard Mr. Booker mutter something along the lines of, "Why can't she be more like her sister?"
Stuffing homework she knew she wouldn't do into her backpack, she tried to calm down. All she needed was another thing, anything to upset her and she would officially lose it. "Why isn't Jen here?" she asked her locker as she closed it. "She'd be able to help me."
Once outside as the sun hit her face and the sweet May breeze flowed around her, she felt better, more calm. She would have to walk home alone, and that was fine. She could put together the words she wanted to say to Chris. She could play out the scenario of his humiliation at graduation when he had to enter the Ceremonies Hall alone. She would laugh too, not even hold anything in. He deserved it.
Stay friends, my ass.
She started across the lawn whose grass was much too long for the season and turned right at the corner on the way to her house. Bryn pulled out her cell phone, maneuvering her backpack from one arm to the other as she checked every picket in her jeans and jacket. She swung the pack over her shoulders and began dialing. Holding teh phone up to her ear, Bryn expected to hear a rining, but when there was none, she looked at the screen just in time to see the image f an empty battery flash. It turned off and she shobed it in with the envelope in her pocket.
"Hmph."
There were people outside, walking hand in hand or pushing a stroller, or with a trail of their own little ducklings after them. The temperature was perfect. The sky was clear and blue. The atmosphere surrounding Bryn conflicted greatly with they way she felt. She was single again, only recently, and the break up was not easy.
She stood at the end of the driveway and stared at her house. Whether or not to go in became the question.
"Oh yeah." Bryn sighed, kicking the ground. Before school and the night earlier, she and her mother had fought about responsibilities, or something just as notably absent from the matriarch's mind. She had yelled, and cursed her daughter with the same words Mr. Booker had. "Why can't you be more like your sister?"
Bryn had stormed out, glad to be away from the woman. It somehow hadn't occured to her that she would have to face her eventually. And 'eventually' had turned up pretty quickly. She expelled the thought of going right to Jen's - her father wouldn't allow visitors if she had been sick enough to stay home.
She disappointedly breathed and entered the house, expecting to be bombarded by Angelica's angry voice and idiotic fiats she had undoubtedly spent the day coming up with. When she found herself standing in the dark, Bryn figured her mother was asleep, which meant she was safe enough to get to her room. She moved to the kitchen for some Tylenol (Angelica insisted on keeping it there; it made it easier to find with a hangover) and dropped her backpack. After fumbling on the wall for the lightswitch, Bryn found herself looking at what she had that morning. Everything was the same, save for the open bottle of vodka standing beside the Lucky Charms.
"Oh mom."
She couldn't help but feel responsible for this, and she was disappointed when she felt lucky for getting home before Ellie. Why do I continue to clean up her image when she does nothing to take care of it herself? Bryn wondered. Ellie was still young. Even though she was only sixteen, she was naive, and Bryn didn't want to see that spoiled at the hands of their mother.
She capped the vodka and put it back in the freezer (a ritual she had become accustomed to over the years since her father's heart attack). She had given up pouring out the alcohol in the sink years ago, only because it ended up with her being punished and Angelica crying, locked in her own room with another bottle.
She was stacking dishes in the sink as her mother entered the room. "Bryn, we need to talk."
Bryn paused for a moment, pushing her hands to the edge of the counter to keep from throwing a plate. She couldn't hold in the anger though. "You managed to sound sober there, Mom. I didn't recognize you."
"Bryn, please," she said. By mere lack of retort, Bryn began to get worried. Something must be wrong.
Her choler swallowed the concern she had momentarily felt. "No don't 'Bryn please'!" She whipped around to face the woman. Her trademark bed-head was sitting as usual atop her crown but for some reason, Bryn had a hard time convincing herself that her mother's red nose was from the vodka. Her eyes were pleading with her daughter for something, solace maybe. "What do you want?"
"Before I say anything, I want you to remember that I love you. In spite of everything, I love you."
Amazed, and stupid for her compassion, Bryn said, "Gee, what a bittersweet moment, Mom. Why don't we celebrate with a swig of Smirnoff?" She pushed past her mother and continued purging the room of the day-old dirty dishes.
"Bryn, stop it now. I have to tell you something important." Angelica watched her daughter avoid her gaze. "It's about Jen."
Oh shit.
Bryn stood still and endured the silence as her mother decided how to put her words. "This afternoon, I got a call from Danny - Mr. Currant - and he was really upset. He told me that, oh God, how do I say this? He wanted me to come over because, well, because -"
"Mom. Focus."
"Dammit. Okay." The woman breathed and wiped what was running from her nose onto her sleeve. "He told me that Jen was dead."
Bryn dropped the plate she was holding. As it crashed on the floor, she only stood, taking in everything her mother had said. Dead? Jen? No, it's not true. It's not real. Her breathing near halted and she was unable to hear anything but deafening silence.
A thousand images - Jen a year ago, smiling in the sun, Jen at the park when they were kids, Jen just yesterday when they parted for their houses - passed through her mind and she could feel her lunch churning in her stomach.
Sheer disbelief had kept her in a cocoon, a place with no time and no death, but as she looked upon her mother's face, she realized what was really going on.
"I know it hurts," Angelica said, pulling her daughter into an embrace. She held her tight, like she used to when Bryn was a child. "Don't worry, Bryn. We'll get through this."
Her mother's words were far away, too far to console her, and her touch was unnerving. Tired with grief, Bryn cried. She did not fight her mother's grasp. She would never admit it, but at that moment, she was safe. She was with the woman who fought off danger, who used to be the best mother in the world. She had, though, overlooked this incident and let it slip by.
Bryn shook, and though tears and mucus were stopping her from being entirely coherent, she managed to say, "She's dead."
Out loud, it sounded ludicrous. She wanted to take it back, so that somehow it would take back the day.
"It's okay. We're all here together. We'll get over this together."
Bryn pulled away. She felt a blind hate for the woman before her. How can she say that?
Unable to speak, she walked to her room. Ever step seemed like a mile.
When she finally reached her haven, Bryn closed the door. Weak, she slid to the floor against it and looked around. Her eyes burned with tears and she closed them tight. It's over. It's over. It's over.
She looked upon her room. It had changed somehow. The bright green walls mocked her, said to her "Cheer up, honeybuns, it's not the end of the world."
But it is.
Bryn got up and stumbled to her bed. She fell on it and, although she felt the tears run down her face, she did nothing to inhibit her crying. Jen is worth the tears. Honestly, she would have felt worse if she hadn't been crying.
Her clock told her that it had been nearly an hour since she left school. It could have possibly been the worst hour of her life. Or at least a close second. What she felt only opened wounds of when Angelica had found her husband lying dead on the living room floor on a crisp July evening. She again had been the one to break the news to her daughters.
Bryn sat up and reached for a frame on her dresser. The picture was of her, Jen and Ellie at the old playground. They were squished into the yellow plastic slide; Jen and Bryn in front, and Ellie behind them, her face popped between the other girls. She remembered the day that they tore down the playground. The city was building a memorial garden for WWII veterans; something done maybe 40 years late, Bryn had thought later on.
Jen had cried that day, knowing she'd never get to spit in the sand to make mud castles or swing as hard as she could in hopes of going all the way around the top bar. Bryn cried because she realized that nothing is permanent (this realization was only reinforced by the absence of her father a few years later). The two ten year olds stood at the corner across the street and emptied their eyes for something they would forget about a year later. There would be other parks, other swings.
Now, almost eight years later, Bryn sat on her bed crying for the friend she loved so much but knew she would never see again. That she was so much like Jen made her cry harder. Jen had taken a piece of Bryn with her when she died.
The doorhandle turned halfway, paused, and finished turning, and the door opened, letting a crying Ellie in.
"Bryn," she said bewteen two sniffles. She was a mess.
She ran to her sister and hugged her. As they collided, Bryn dropped the picture and the frame and glass broke on the floor. She pushed Ellie away and dropped beside one of the only good childhood memories she held onto.
"I'm so sorry!" Ellie whispered, touching her sister's back.
She moved away again and picked up the glass, carefully making sure not to cut herself. If there was anything she didn't need that day, it was another reason to cry.
"Bryn..."
Ellie reached out, and pulled back. "Bryn!"
"What?" Bryn yelled.
"You don't have to do that," Ellie said, kneeling beside her.
"If I don't we'll cut our feet."
Ellie smiled sadly. "No. I mean you don't have to pull away. I want you to be here to help me. I need you to." She wiped her tears with her forearm. "I love you Bryn. Jen did too. She probably waited so long just because of you."
Bryn stood and put the broken glass into her trash can. Turning back, she asked, "What do you mean waited so long?"
"Didn't Mom tell you?"
"Does it look like she told me?" Bryn asked, helplessly.
"Oh." Ellie watied for a long time trying to find the best way to say what she had to say.
"She committed suicide."
Suicide? No, never!
It was bad enough that Jen was dead, but to know that her friend, her VERY BEST FRIEND killed herself was too much.
"No," she whispered. She just couldn't believe it.
"What?"
"No. Jen wouldn't do that."
Ellie held her sister's arm. "You and me both saw the scars. We knew what was going on."
"No."
"We tried to help her. We did, but she didn't want it. Remember that she loved us. She just didn't think we'd understand."
"I need to be alone," she told herself as she made her way to the street corner across from a beautiful memorial park. Watching the bluebirds bring twigs to half-built nests, she cried. What had been was now no more and what could have, had been destroyed with Jen's last breath.
It's my fault.
I didn't help her.
I could have, but I didn't.
Why didn't I press it more. I should have told her to get help. She would've hated me, but she'd still be alive.
Oh, God this is all my fault! I killed my best friend.
She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. Now I'll fail finals, she thought, and as if she had thought something perverse, cursed herself for it.
After a long time, once the sun had set and the streetlamps turned on, Bryn told herself that she would find out.
I need to know.
Just Flowers
Chapter 1
It was 1 a.m. and Bryn sat in the extra bedroom staring at the computer screen, unable to believe what she was reading. Chris had sent her an email. Her eyes moved across the words -
Bryn,
I shouldn't have been so quick to say I love you. I didn't really know the depth of what I was saying until I started talking to Lucas. I know you can trust him at least, since him and your sister... well, you know. I'm really sorry and I hope we can be friends, but I just don't think we should date anymore. Besides, we were gonna break up after grad, right?
-Chris
I shouldn't have been so quick to say I love you. I didn't really know the depth of what I was saying until I started talking to Lucas. I know you can trust him at least, since him and your sister... well, you know. I'm really sorry and I hope we can be friends, but I just don't think we should date anymore. Besides, we were gonna break up after grad, right?
-Chris
Her mouth agape, Bryn exited her inbox and shut off the computer. Tears followed, and as she walked to her room, she had a hard time believing that she was awake. She felt the wet on her cheeks, the pain in her heart.
She was awake, alright.
<><><>
Bryn snapped awake. She had fallen asleep again and missed another fifteen minutes of math class. Suddenly they had jumped from the Binomial Theorem to Pascal's Triangle, and she was lost. She loooked around the room making no effort to conceal the fact that she was looking for the clock. She found there was still ten minutes left before school ended, and slid father down her chair until her head leaned on the back of it.
The day had been hard, that was no question, but the lack of sleep, the mounting tension between she and Chris and then Jen being absent made things harder. She gritted her teeth staring at the back of Chris's head. She wanted to hit him, to yell and scream. More than anything, though, she wanted Jen to be there. She would comfort her, make things seem better, or at least get her through the day.
"Bryn?"
She looked to the front of the class. Everyone was staring back at her.
"Well?"
"What?" she asked, too tired to care that she had been put on the spot.
"The answer to number 4. What is it?"
"I dunno."
Mr. Booker sighed. He turned back to the board and finished the question. Bryn slipped right out of consciousness again.
The bell rang.
"Have a good day, everyone. And don't forget to do the whole assignment. I'll be checking tomorrow."
Bryn closed her books and packed up her pencil case. "Bryn, I'd like you to stay for a moment."
Some of the remaining students "oooed" at her, and Mr. Booker's response was two claps and "Chop, chop."
He sat down at his desk as the others left and Bryn swayed from left to right, holding her books. "What do you want?"
"Sit down. And it wouldn't kill you to be polite."
She stepped four paces forward.
"I noticed that you fell asleep again."
"So?"
"Is something going on at home that you need to talk to me about?"
His mention of home brought back memories of when Ellie had blabbed to the school counsellor about their mom.
"It's nothing. I've just been staying up too late."
"Are you sure," he asked, moving closer to her. "I know how parents can be."
"I told you, it's nothing. Why do you assume it's my home life that's fucked up-"
"Bryn!"
"Maybe it's your teaching that's putting me to sleep."
Mr. Booker watched her get her books. "That wasn't necessary. I'm just concerned about your performance in class. Your marks have dropped since midterms and I want to see that all my students get a good education."
Bryn scoffed. "Fine. I'll study more."
She was at the door when he spoke next. "I want to set up a meeting with your mother. It's just to talk about what's going on. Nothing bad. No accusations. If you give her this," he said, taking an envelope from the corner of his desk, "then we can get this over with."
She took the envelope and left without another word. However, she heard Mr. Booker mutter something along the lines of, "Why can't she be more like her sister?"
Stuffing homework she knew she wouldn't do into her backpack, she tried to calm down. All she needed was another thing, anything to upset her and she would officially lose it. "Why isn't Jen here?" she asked her locker as she closed it. "She'd be able to help me."
Once outside as the sun hit her face and the sweet May breeze flowed around her, she felt better, more calm. She would have to walk home alone, and that was fine. She could put together the words she wanted to say to Chris. She could play out the scenario of his humiliation at graduation when he had to enter the Ceremonies Hall alone. She would laugh too, not even hold anything in. He deserved it.
Stay friends, my ass.
She started across the lawn whose grass was much too long for the season and turned right at the corner on the way to her house. Bryn pulled out her cell phone, maneuvering her backpack from one arm to the other as she checked every picket in her jeans and jacket. She swung the pack over her shoulders and began dialing. Holding teh phone up to her ear, Bryn expected to hear a rining, but when there was none, she looked at the screen just in time to see the image f an empty battery flash. It turned off and she shobed it in with the envelope in her pocket.
"Hmph."
There were people outside, walking hand in hand or pushing a stroller, or with a trail of their own little ducklings after them. The temperature was perfect. The sky was clear and blue. The atmosphere surrounding Bryn conflicted greatly with they way she felt. She was single again, only recently, and the break up was not easy.
She stood at the end of the driveway and stared at her house. Whether or not to go in became the question.
"Oh yeah." Bryn sighed, kicking the ground. Before school and the night earlier, she and her mother had fought about responsibilities, or something just as notably absent from the matriarch's mind. She had yelled, and cursed her daughter with the same words Mr. Booker had. "Why can't you be more like your sister?"
Bryn had stormed out, glad to be away from the woman. It somehow hadn't occured to her that she would have to face her eventually. And 'eventually' had turned up pretty quickly. She expelled the thought of going right to Jen's - her father wouldn't allow visitors if she had been sick enough to stay home.
She disappointedly breathed and entered the house, expecting to be bombarded by Angelica's angry voice and idiotic fiats she had undoubtedly spent the day coming up with. When she found herself standing in the dark, Bryn figured her mother was asleep, which meant she was safe enough to get to her room. She moved to the kitchen for some Tylenol (Angelica insisted on keeping it there; it made it easier to find with a hangover) and dropped her backpack. After fumbling on the wall for the lightswitch, Bryn found herself looking at what she had that morning. Everything was the same, save for the open bottle of vodka standing beside the Lucky Charms.
"Oh mom."
She couldn't help but feel responsible for this, and she was disappointed when she felt lucky for getting home before Ellie. Why do I continue to clean up her image when she does nothing to take care of it herself? Bryn wondered. Ellie was still young. Even though she was only sixteen, she was naive, and Bryn didn't want to see that spoiled at the hands of their mother.
She capped the vodka and put it back in the freezer (a ritual she had become accustomed to over the years since her father's heart attack). She had given up pouring out the alcohol in the sink years ago, only because it ended up with her being punished and Angelica crying, locked in her own room with another bottle.
She was stacking dishes in the sink as her mother entered the room. "Bryn, we need to talk."
Bryn paused for a moment, pushing her hands to the edge of the counter to keep from throwing a plate. She couldn't hold in the anger though. "You managed to sound sober there, Mom. I didn't recognize you."
"Bryn, please," she said. By mere lack of retort, Bryn began to get worried. Something must be wrong.
Her choler swallowed the concern she had momentarily felt. "No don't 'Bryn please'!" She whipped around to face the woman. Her trademark bed-head was sitting as usual atop her crown but for some reason, Bryn had a hard time convincing herself that her mother's red nose was from the vodka. Her eyes were pleading with her daughter for something, solace maybe. "What do you want?"
"Before I say anything, I want you to remember that I love you. In spite of everything, I love you."
Amazed, and stupid for her compassion, Bryn said, "Gee, what a bittersweet moment, Mom. Why don't we celebrate with a swig of Smirnoff?" She pushed past her mother and continued purging the room of the day-old dirty dishes.
"Bryn, stop it now. I have to tell you something important." Angelica watched her daughter avoid her gaze. "It's about Jen."
Oh shit.
Bryn stood still and endured the silence as her mother decided how to put her words. "This afternoon, I got a call from Danny - Mr. Currant - and he was really upset. He told me that, oh God, how do I say this? He wanted me to come over because, well, because -"
"Mom. Focus."
"Dammit. Okay." The woman breathed and wiped what was running from her nose onto her sleeve. "He told me that Jen was dead."
Bryn dropped the plate she was holding. As it crashed on the floor, she only stood, taking in everything her mother had said. Dead? Jen? No, it's not true. It's not real. Her breathing near halted and she was unable to hear anything but deafening silence.
A thousand images - Jen a year ago, smiling in the sun, Jen at the park when they were kids, Jen just yesterday when they parted for their houses - passed through her mind and she could feel her lunch churning in her stomach.
Sheer disbelief had kept her in a cocoon, a place with no time and no death, but as she looked upon her mother's face, she realized what was really going on.
"I know it hurts," Angelica said, pulling her daughter into an embrace. She held her tight, like she used to when Bryn was a child. "Don't worry, Bryn. We'll get through this."
Her mother's words were far away, too far to console her, and her touch was unnerving. Tired with grief, Bryn cried. She did not fight her mother's grasp. She would never admit it, but at that moment, she was safe. She was with the woman who fought off danger, who used to be the best mother in the world. She had, though, overlooked this incident and let it slip by.
Bryn shook, and though tears and mucus were stopping her from being entirely coherent, she managed to say, "She's dead."
Out loud, it sounded ludicrous. She wanted to take it back, so that somehow it would take back the day.
"It's okay. We're all here together. We'll get over this together."
Bryn pulled away. She felt a blind hate for the woman before her. How can she say that?
Unable to speak, she walked to her room. Ever step seemed like a mile.
When she finally reached her haven, Bryn closed the door. Weak, she slid to the floor against it and looked around. Her eyes burned with tears and she closed them tight. It's over. It's over. It's over.
She looked upon her room. It had changed somehow. The bright green walls mocked her, said to her "Cheer up, honeybuns, it's not the end of the world."
But it is.
Bryn got up and stumbled to her bed. She fell on it and, although she felt the tears run down her face, she did nothing to inhibit her crying. Jen is worth the tears. Honestly, she would have felt worse if she hadn't been crying.
Her clock told her that it had been nearly an hour since she left school. It could have possibly been the worst hour of her life. Or at least a close second. What she felt only opened wounds of when Angelica had found her husband lying dead on the living room floor on a crisp July evening. She again had been the one to break the news to her daughters.
Bryn sat up and reached for a frame on her dresser. The picture was of her, Jen and Ellie at the old playground. They were squished into the yellow plastic slide; Jen and Bryn in front, and Ellie behind them, her face popped between the other girls. She remembered the day that they tore down the playground. The city was building a memorial garden for WWII veterans; something done maybe 40 years late, Bryn had thought later on.
Jen had cried that day, knowing she'd never get to spit in the sand to make mud castles or swing as hard as she could in hopes of going all the way around the top bar. Bryn cried because she realized that nothing is permanent (this realization was only reinforced by the absence of her father a few years later). The two ten year olds stood at the corner across the street and emptied their eyes for something they would forget about a year later. There would be other parks, other swings.
Now, almost eight years later, Bryn sat on her bed crying for the friend she loved so much but knew she would never see again. That she was so much like Jen made her cry harder. Jen had taken a piece of Bryn with her when she died.
The doorhandle turned halfway, paused, and finished turning, and the door opened, letting a crying Ellie in.
"Bryn," she said bewteen two sniffles. She was a mess.
She ran to her sister and hugged her. As they collided, Bryn dropped the picture and the frame and glass broke on the floor. She pushed Ellie away and dropped beside one of the only good childhood memories she held onto.
"I'm so sorry!" Ellie whispered, touching her sister's back.
She moved away again and picked up the glass, carefully making sure not to cut herself. If there was anything she didn't need that day, it was another reason to cry.
"Bryn..."
Ellie reached out, and pulled back. "Bryn!"
"What?" Bryn yelled.
"You don't have to do that," Ellie said, kneeling beside her.
"If I don't we'll cut our feet."
Ellie smiled sadly. "No. I mean you don't have to pull away. I want you to be here to help me. I need you to." She wiped her tears with her forearm. "I love you Bryn. Jen did too. She probably waited so long just because of you."
Bryn stood and put the broken glass into her trash can. Turning back, she asked, "What do you mean waited so long?"
"Didn't Mom tell you?"
"Does it look like she told me?" Bryn asked, helplessly.
"Oh." Ellie watied for a long time trying to find the best way to say what she had to say.
"She committed suicide."
Suicide? No, never!
It was bad enough that Jen was dead, but to know that her friend, her VERY BEST FRIEND killed herself was too much.
"No," she whispered. She just couldn't believe it.
"What?"
"No. Jen wouldn't do that."
Ellie held her sister's arm. "You and me both saw the scars. We knew what was going on."
"No."
"We tried to help her. We did, but she didn't want it. Remember that she loved us. She just didn't think we'd understand."
"I need to be alone," she told herself as she made her way to the street corner across from a beautiful memorial park. Watching the bluebirds bring twigs to half-built nests, she cried. What had been was now no more and what could have, had been destroyed with Jen's last breath.
It's my fault.
I didn't help her.
I could have, but I didn't.
Why didn't I press it more. I should have told her to get help. She would've hated me, but she'd still be alive.
Oh, God this is all my fault! I killed my best friend.
She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. Now I'll fail finals, she thought, and as if she had thought something perverse, cursed herself for it.
After a long time, once the sun had set and the streetlamps turned on, Bryn told herself that she would find out.
I need to know.
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
Happy Birthdays
Happy Birthday Caitlyn!
I guess you got your learner's licence and I still haven't. SIGH!
Have fun being 14.
I guess you got your learner's licence and I still haven't. SIGH!
Have fun being 14.
Religion Project, Human Cloning
As our society progresses, so change our technology, science, morals and ethics. The topic of human cloning has been in the media for decades, and this may have dulled us to the severity of it. Movies depict cloning as a radical extreme that is far from what we are able to accomplish at present, but they have introduced us to the idea of a society where humans have been cloned. The problem is that some people want this society now.
One of the major problems with human cloning, and cloning in general, is how much effort is wasted on failed projects. "Over 90% of cloned embryos miscarry or are stillborn. Dolly the cloned sheep was the sole survivor out of 277 attempts. Those few who survive to birth have serious medical problems. Dolly, for example, developed premature arthritis and lived only half a normal life span." [1]. Mammalian cloning has proved very unsuccessful. "An attempt to clone a guar failed, it died 2 days after birth. [An] argali sheep [was not able to] produce viable embryos. [All in all], the uncertainties of cloning attempts are outweighed by the benefits." [2].
It must be said that though we have a lot of control over our lives nowadays, the future does not bode well for our humanity if we keep on this path. Being able to clone oneself is not the way we were intended to produce offspring. "Cloning personifies our desire fully to control the future, while being subject to no controls ourselves... [and] thanks to modern notions of individualism and the rate of cultural change, we see ourselves not as linked to ancestors and defined by traditions, but as projects of our own self creation, not only as self made men but also as man-made selves, and self cloning is simply an extension of such rootless and narcissistic self creation."[3].
We are gifts from God and should be treated as such. Because "[t]he human person is not just a body, a physical being, and human procreation cannot be considered just a biological process[,]" [4] we must look at human cloning as an unnatural process, and therefore, not a good thing. With this reasoning, people may start to question in vitro fertilization as a natural process. Though it is not technically natural, all the elements, sperm and egg, are present. *POSTER*
The church's view resides with this statement: "Asexual reproduction violates the fundamental nature and dignity of human sexuality... cloning or parthenogenesis are to be considered contrary to the moral law, since they are in opposition to the dignity both of human procreation and of the conjugal union."[5].
In conclusion, human cloning should remain a thing for the movies, as it is safer for us all in our imaginations. Our morals, ethics and our very humanity are at stake here, and we need to know that "any procedure that would place a human embryo or fetus at disproportionate risks would be immoral." [6]. Pope John Paul II has said this on the topic. "The killing of innovent human creatures, even if carried out to help others, constitutes and absolutely unacceptable act." Cloning is essentially at the heart of his words.
*POSTER 2*
[1] Human Cloning vs. Human Dignity, Richard M. Doerflinger http://www.nccbuscc.org/prolife/programs/rlp//03doerflinger.htm
[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dolly_the_Sheep
[3] http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_n10_v114/ai_19283418
[4] Respecting Human LIfe at Its Beginning, The Catholic Moral Tradition
[5] Same as last
[6] Same as last
Just so you all know, I am not actually against human cloning. I am not exactly for it, not having studied it and all, but I had to pick a topic for my respect for life speech and since I was writing my final project story for English about cloning, I figured I could kill two birds with one stone. It turns out though that I made up most of the information for my story leaving me until the very last night to write this. Ah well... I know it isn't really a good speech, but it's the best i could do in an hour, so I'm sure my mark will reflect that.
One of the major problems with human cloning, and cloning in general, is how much effort is wasted on failed projects. "Over 90% of cloned embryos miscarry or are stillborn. Dolly the cloned sheep was the sole survivor out of 277 attempts. Those few who survive to birth have serious medical problems. Dolly, for example, developed premature arthritis and lived only half a normal life span." [1]. Mammalian cloning has proved very unsuccessful. "An attempt to clone a guar failed, it died 2 days after birth. [An] argali sheep [was not able to] produce viable embryos. [All in all], the uncertainties of cloning attempts are outweighed by the benefits." [2].
It must be said that though we have a lot of control over our lives nowadays, the future does not bode well for our humanity if we keep on this path. Being able to clone oneself is not the way we were intended to produce offspring. "Cloning personifies our desire fully to control the future, while being subject to no controls ourselves... [and] thanks to modern notions of individualism and the rate of cultural change, we see ourselves not as linked to ancestors and defined by traditions, but as projects of our own self creation, not only as self made men but also as man-made selves, and self cloning is simply an extension of such rootless and narcissistic self creation."[3].
We are gifts from God and should be treated as such. Because "[t]he human person is not just a body, a physical being, and human procreation cannot be considered just a biological process[,]" [4] we must look at human cloning as an unnatural process, and therefore, not a good thing. With this reasoning, people may start to question in vitro fertilization as a natural process. Though it is not technically natural, all the elements, sperm and egg, are present. *POSTER*
The church's view resides with this statement: "Asexual reproduction violates the fundamental nature and dignity of human sexuality... cloning or parthenogenesis are to be considered contrary to the moral law, since they are in opposition to the dignity both of human procreation and of the conjugal union."[5].
In conclusion, human cloning should remain a thing for the movies, as it is safer for us all in our imaginations. Our morals, ethics and our very humanity are at stake here, and we need to know that "any procedure that would place a human embryo or fetus at disproportionate risks would be immoral." [6]. Pope John Paul II has said this on the topic. "The killing of innovent human creatures, even if carried out to help others, constitutes and absolutely unacceptable act." Cloning is essentially at the heart of his words.
*POSTER 2*
[1] Human Cloning vs. Human Dignity, Richard M. Doerflinger http://www.nccbuscc.org/prolife/programs/rlp//03doerflinger.htm
[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dolly_the_Sheep
[3] http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_n10_v114/ai_19283418
[4] Respecting Human LIfe at Its Beginning, The Catholic Moral Tradition
[5] Same as last
[6] Same as last
Just so you all know, I am not actually against human cloning. I am not exactly for it, not having studied it and all, but I had to pick a topic for my respect for life speech and since I was writing my final project story for English about cloning, I figured I could kill two birds with one stone. It turns out though that I made up most of the information for my story leaving me until the very last night to write this. Ah well... I know it isn't really a good speech, but it's the best i could do in an hour, so I'm sure my mark will reflect that.
Monday, December 4, 2006
Vampires and Dreams
Today marks the first of three Mondays that must pass until I go home. It will be excrutiating if I sit and think that there are nineteen days (that's Vegreville Hours, so they pass almost twice as long as normal hours) until I can sleep in a room with heat, see my sisters (and brothers - it will be Christmas after all), and just be able to relax before the Diploma tests in January.
Today was strange. I woke up from a dream that actually had something to do with what is going on in school (which almost never happens to me, I guess it's effecting me more than I thought). In the dream, KC, Janelle, Celeste(I was surprised too) and I were camping at this resort in the mountains and I guess Janelle had left a school photo of herself in the medicine cabinet for Celeste, and wrote on it that she expected one back from her. All of a sudden, Melanie shows up and gets mad that Janelle wanted a picture of Celeste and not her. At that point, I woke up (for the drive into Veg) and have been pondering it's meaning ever since.
I rarely dream of things that are going on in my life (the whole conflict with Melanie, Celeste, KC, Janelle, Laura(the bitch, not my sister), Kyla and I is still fairly new, so maybe that's what the problem is). I almost never dream about people I know, and for that matter, I almost never dream about myself.
Anyways...
Wednesday is Caitlyn's birthday, she turns 14. HOORAY... yeah right. Big Whoop. Just kidding, but I am actually going to the play "A Christmas Carol" at the Citadel that day with my drama club and I get to miss math!!! I'm so happy!
I'll probably be at drama tech meetings all this week. Next week the play goes on, so I'll be at school for that too. Next Monday is my math field test. I do have a few things to occupy my mind until my time here is up.
Hey, I forgot! Touer's coming home on the 16th, so I get to see him for the first time since the summer. I've only talked to him twice (THANKS A LOT FOR CALLING MAN!) since, and Christmas break should be fun. I have to get him to look over my English project.
On the topic of stories - my English project is a story which is now finished, or the first draft at least - I have been thinking about writing another one. Recently, I've been a little obsessed with vampires and I have three story ideas for them.
1. The country is suffering from an epidemic, and to make things worse, vampires are a part of everyday life. This is the future, by the way. Magnolia is a young woman who has lived with a group of vampires (the head of the household is supposedly the original vampire, Rosalind) and provides blood through her work (she works at a blood bank, predictable, I know)for the family's food supply. Magnolia is in love with one of Rosalind's "Sons", that is, one of the young men she 'turned', named Tristan. When Magnolia is infected with the plague and begins to die, she is glad (she has been miserable since the death of her mother by Rosalind's hand and hates all vampires - except for Tristan), but Tristan is on the verge of hysterical. He takes it upon himself to 'turn' her (the introduction of his vampire blood antigens into bloodstream) and she wakes up very disappointed, and a vampire. To get revenge on Rosalind, for in her pseudo death she can have her revenge, Magnolia makes an offer to a bounty hunter (Dan, who has recently sworn to kill all vampires since the death of his girlfriend who was assumed to have died because of a vampire bite that bled out, but it really turns out that she got infected with the plague). She says that she will conspire with him to kill Rosalind, and during their planning, Dan falls in love with Magnolia. After their first attempt at the coup goes badly, they try again, but in the moment Dan has a chance to kill Rosalind for sure, he discusses the idea with himself (he is hesitant only because of a myth that once the original vampire is destroyed, all other vampires will either turn to dust - because of the hundreds of years of delayed aging - or die of suffocation - the vampire antigens absorb all other bloodcells and carry the oxygen themselves, but once the heart is penetrated, pollution kills the cells and no oxygen-CO2 exchange is available, thereby causing suffocation). He is unsure that is what he wants anymore because of Magnolia, and he is struck down, his neck cut open, infecting him with the plague, but killing him just because of the depth of the wound. Magnolia kills Rosalind, and drinks her blood as her revenge. I think that's how it will end anyway.
2. Harrison gets the idea into his head that he is a vampire. He meets a girl named Gypsy and they have their little affair. Since both of them are outcasts at school, they team up. Harrison talks about drinking people's blood and Gypsy takes it only as dirty talk. Hijynx ensue and it ends up that Harrison ties Gypsy up to a chair, kills a jogger in the park and brings him back to their hotel room to drink his blood, and when he finally loses his mind, he tries to convince her to drink his blood, then when she refuses, he beats her. And that's how that ends.
3. The third one, which happens to be the most recent and is still in developmental stages goes like this. Luxe is a girl in the future, also when vampires are a part of life. It is well after the time of the plague story, though, and at this time, the world is in a human vs. vampire all out war. Luxe's father has recently been initiated into Vampirehood or whatever you want to call it, and is seen as a traitor to the human race. Luxe and her team are trying to stop the vampires from doing something really bad - I haven't figured out what. I don't know how it will end, so that is for my dreams to decide!
Anyways, this blog is getting long, so I'll call it quits here.
Today was strange. I woke up from a dream that actually had something to do with what is going on in school (which almost never happens to me, I guess it's effecting me more than I thought). In the dream, KC, Janelle, Celeste(I was surprised too) and I were camping at this resort in the mountains and I guess Janelle had left a school photo of herself in the medicine cabinet for Celeste, and wrote on it that she expected one back from her. All of a sudden, Melanie shows up and gets mad that Janelle wanted a picture of Celeste and not her. At that point, I woke up (for the drive into Veg) and have been pondering it's meaning ever since.
I rarely dream of things that are going on in my life (the whole conflict with Melanie, Celeste, KC, Janelle, Laura(the bitch, not my sister), Kyla and I is still fairly new, so maybe that's what the problem is). I almost never dream about people I know, and for that matter, I almost never dream about myself.
Anyways...
Wednesday is Caitlyn's birthday, she turns 14. HOORAY... yeah right. Big Whoop. Just kidding, but I am actually going to the play "A Christmas Carol" at the Citadel that day with my drama club and I get to miss math!!! I'm so happy!
I'll probably be at drama tech meetings all this week. Next week the play goes on, so I'll be at school for that too. Next Monday is my math field test. I do have a few things to occupy my mind until my time here is up.
Hey, I forgot! Touer's coming home on the 16th, so I get to see him for the first time since the summer. I've only talked to him twice (THANKS A LOT FOR CALLING MAN!) since, and Christmas break should be fun. I have to get him to look over my English project.
On the topic of stories - my English project is a story which is now finished, or the first draft at least - I have been thinking about writing another one. Recently, I've been a little obsessed with vampires and I have three story ideas for them.
1. The country is suffering from an epidemic, and to make things worse, vampires are a part of everyday life. This is the future, by the way. Magnolia is a young woman who has lived with a group of vampires (the head of the household is supposedly the original vampire, Rosalind) and provides blood through her work (she works at a blood bank, predictable, I know)for the family's food supply. Magnolia is in love with one of Rosalind's "Sons", that is, one of the young men she 'turned', named Tristan. When Magnolia is infected with the plague and begins to die, she is glad (she has been miserable since the death of her mother by Rosalind's hand and hates all vampires - except for Tristan), but Tristan is on the verge of hysterical. He takes it upon himself to 'turn' her (the introduction of his vampire blood antigens into bloodstream) and she wakes up very disappointed, and a vampire. To get revenge on Rosalind, for in her pseudo death she can have her revenge, Magnolia makes an offer to a bounty hunter (Dan, who has recently sworn to kill all vampires since the death of his girlfriend who was assumed to have died because of a vampire bite that bled out, but it really turns out that she got infected with the plague). She says that she will conspire with him to kill Rosalind, and during their planning, Dan falls in love with Magnolia. After their first attempt at the coup goes badly, they try again, but in the moment Dan has a chance to kill Rosalind for sure, he discusses the idea with himself (he is hesitant only because of a myth that once the original vampire is destroyed, all other vampires will either turn to dust - because of the hundreds of years of delayed aging - or die of suffocation - the vampire antigens absorb all other bloodcells and carry the oxygen themselves, but once the heart is penetrated, pollution kills the cells and no oxygen-CO2 exchange is available, thereby causing suffocation). He is unsure that is what he wants anymore because of Magnolia, and he is struck down, his neck cut open, infecting him with the plague, but killing him just because of the depth of the wound. Magnolia kills Rosalind, and drinks her blood as her revenge. I think that's how it will end anyway.
2. Harrison gets the idea into his head that he is a vampire. He meets a girl named Gypsy and they have their little affair. Since both of them are outcasts at school, they team up. Harrison talks about drinking people's blood and Gypsy takes it only as dirty talk. Hijynx ensue and it ends up that Harrison ties Gypsy up to a chair, kills a jogger in the park and brings him back to their hotel room to drink his blood, and when he finally loses his mind, he tries to convince her to drink his blood, then when she refuses, he beats her. And that's how that ends.
3. The third one, which happens to be the most recent and is still in developmental stages goes like this. Luxe is a girl in the future, also when vampires are a part of life. It is well after the time of the plague story, though, and at this time, the world is in a human vs. vampire all out war. Luxe's father has recently been initiated into Vampirehood or whatever you want to call it, and is seen as a traitor to the human race. Luxe and her team are trying to stop the vampires from doing something really bad - I haven't figured out what. I don't know how it will end, so that is for my dreams to decide!
Anyways, this blog is getting long, so I'll call it quits here.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Geanealogy of Robyn
My family returned from Mexico at 1 am on Saturday. I didn't know how much I miss talking to my sisters until they were out of the country for eight days. Yesterday I called Caitlyn and she blew me off pretty quickly (her reasoning was that she had to get ready for a party) then I talked to Laura for about half an hour (which is sort of strange, only because there are usually long pauses of silence in our phone conversations) and she decided she should call her friend. I guess I could have called my friends, but everyone except for Janelle is weird to talk to on the phone. I'm better at talking to people in person than on the phone, but that is only for family and friends. I'm very shy, even with the people I've gone to school with all my life.
We've decided that after college and when I've saved up enough money, Caitlyn, Laura and I are going to go to Ireland (aparently on my dime). I chose Ireland because it would be nice to see my "motherland." I wish I knew more about my culture, but I am a third generation Canadian (my great grandmother on my mother's side was born in Ireland) on my mother's side, and a couple more generations more from my father's side, and I sort of feel like I have no culture.
My grandmother didn't pass any traditions down to my mother (maybe because of her mother, or someone farther up the line) and I haven't lived with my father since I was five so I am left without that which others hold close. I barely know anything about my family history, which doesn't really stir up any sadness, but it would be nice to know.
I do, however, like to promote my Irish heritage. I know very little about my father's mother (and also my mother's father, but that is another story) and his father, for that matter, maybe because my childhood has been one that is different from all my friends, and seemingly, every other person I know. I know my father's mother had to stop going to school at grade 4 to take care of her mother and siblings and that she was treated badly by her step father and left with nothing upon his death. She got pregnant before she met my grandfather and the father of my first uncle (uncle Harvey, who I never got to know: his death preceded my birth) left her alone. My grandfather married her, though he was over twenty years older than she was. Together, they had four boys; Bill, Ed, Jim and last (and unfortunately, my father) John.
My mother's side story goes as follows.
Tess (Theresa, actually, my great-grandmother and the namesake for my own mother) was born in Ireland (I know not where) and once the second world war broke out, moved to England and met my great-grandfather, Stu (he was a Canadian soldier- how romantic). They moved back to Canada, married and had four children: Bernadette (my grandmother), Doug, Patrick, and Maureen. My grandmother met my grandfather (whom I have only met a handful of times), got married, had my mother, Theresa, my uncles, Sean and Michael then divorced. My mom met my dad, married, had my two brothers, two sisters and I, then divorced. Now here I am. This is my family history to the best of my knowledge, but if I forgot one of my grandmother's brothers (which I have a feeling I did), I can't be held responsible because of never being told and never asking. I only know what I do about my mother's side is because I only remember living with my mother (the memories of our whole family living on the farm in central Alberta are few and far between) and though projects of family trees have come up through the years, mine were usually incomplete on my father's side and vague on my mother's.
Oh well.
My real point is that someday I want to travel to Ireland. I want to go to a speakeasy and walk through an ancient castle. I love being Irish!
We've decided that after college and when I've saved up enough money, Caitlyn, Laura and I are going to go to Ireland (aparently on my dime). I chose Ireland because it would be nice to see my "motherland." I wish I knew more about my culture, but I am a third generation Canadian (my great grandmother on my mother's side was born in Ireland) on my mother's side, and a couple more generations more from my father's side, and I sort of feel like I have no culture.
My grandmother didn't pass any traditions down to my mother (maybe because of her mother, or someone farther up the line) and I haven't lived with my father since I was five so I am left without that which others hold close. I barely know anything about my family history, which doesn't really stir up any sadness, but it would be nice to know.
I do, however, like to promote my Irish heritage. I know very little about my father's mother (and also my mother's father, but that is another story) and his father, for that matter, maybe because my childhood has been one that is different from all my friends, and seemingly, every other person I know. I know my father's mother had to stop going to school at grade 4 to take care of her mother and siblings and that she was treated badly by her step father and left with nothing upon his death. She got pregnant before she met my grandfather and the father of my first uncle (uncle Harvey, who I never got to know: his death preceded my birth) left her alone. My grandfather married her, though he was over twenty years older than she was. Together, they had four boys; Bill, Ed, Jim and last (and unfortunately, my father) John.
My mother's side story goes as follows.
Tess (Theresa, actually, my great-grandmother and the namesake for my own mother) was born in Ireland (I know not where) and once the second world war broke out, moved to England and met my great-grandfather, Stu (he was a Canadian soldier- how romantic). They moved back to Canada, married and had four children: Bernadette (my grandmother), Doug, Patrick, and Maureen. My grandmother met my grandfather (whom I have only met a handful of times), got married, had my mother, Theresa, my uncles, Sean and Michael then divorced. My mom met my dad, married, had my two brothers, two sisters and I, then divorced. Now here I am. This is my family history to the best of my knowledge, but if I forgot one of my grandmother's brothers (which I have a feeling I did), I can't be held responsible because of never being told and never asking. I only know what I do about my mother's side is because I only remember living with my mother (the memories of our whole family living on the farm in central Alberta are few and far between) and though projects of family trees have come up through the years, mine were usually incomplete on my father's side and vague on my mother's.
Oh well.
My real point is that someday I want to travel to Ireland. I want to go to a speakeasy and walk through an ancient castle. I love being Irish!
Helen Hunt in the Thirties
I think if I were to have one song stuck in my head for the rest of my life, it would be Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Don't go thinking I'm one of those genius teenagers who listens to classical music, because other than that particular song, I can't name classical music by either title or composer.
I do think that song, that sonata is the most beautiful song in the world. But that's just me.
Now then. I may have another movie review. It seems that I'm only reviewing movies lately, maybe because I have nothing else to do, and maybe I need to improve my writing by practicing every day. I should maybe do some narrative stuff then, but anyways, here is my review.
A Good Woman was generally a good movie. Helen Hunt (whom I personally haven't seen in a movie since What Women Want, but I digress) plays a woman who lives off the generosity of men, if you know what I mean, and after becoming known as somewhat of a tramp in 1930's New York by the socialite women whose husbands have been supporting her, she decides to go to Italy.
The reason, which we find out later (or maybe it was earlier on, but I might just be slow in figuring things out) is that she wants to contact the daughter she ran away from twenty years before. Her daughter, played by Scarlett Johansson, is married to a rich insurance salesman and their photo is in a newspaper, which is how Helen Hunt knew of her daughter's whereabouts.
Gossip, blackmail and protection are at the heart of this story, in which, once in Italy, Hunt threatens Johansson's husband that she will reveal her identity to her daughter, and he is, for one reason or another, against the idea. Weeks of blackmail in the form of him buying Hunt expensive clothes and paying her rent stirs gossip among the local women who are too rich to do anything but talk about the scandals of others.
Johansson's 21st birthday party brings the climax of the movie. Johansson is fed up with what she thinks is her husband's affair and, through a miscommunication on a widely proclaimed ladies man's yacht, Hunt ends up looking like a tramp.
The ending is happy, though. The man Hunt was supposed to marry decides he still wants to marry her (only after much off screen explanation from Johansson). Hunt doesn't tell Johansson of their relation, but in that, doesn't spoil the pedestal figure of a mother Johansson had kept with her all her life.
It was a pretty good movie, but some parts (about the first 20-30 minutes) were kind of slow, with only conversations between characters at various locations. It did pick up, however with the many audience-assumed love triangles. It was well written and well directed and kept me thinking that Hunt and Johansson's husband were having an affair almost until the end.
I do think that song, that sonata is the most beautiful song in the world. But that's just me.
Now then. I may have another movie review. It seems that I'm only reviewing movies lately, maybe because I have nothing else to do, and maybe I need to improve my writing by practicing every day. I should maybe do some narrative stuff then, but anyways, here is my review.
A Good Woman was generally a good movie. Helen Hunt (whom I personally haven't seen in a movie since What Women Want, but I digress) plays a woman who lives off the generosity of men, if you know what I mean, and after becoming known as somewhat of a tramp in 1930's New York by the socialite women whose husbands have been supporting her, she decides to go to Italy.
The reason, which we find out later (or maybe it was earlier on, but I might just be slow in figuring things out) is that she wants to contact the daughter she ran away from twenty years before. Her daughter, played by Scarlett Johansson, is married to a rich insurance salesman and their photo is in a newspaper, which is how Helen Hunt knew of her daughter's whereabouts.
Gossip, blackmail and protection are at the heart of this story, in which, once in Italy, Hunt threatens Johansson's husband that she will reveal her identity to her daughter, and he is, for one reason or another, against the idea. Weeks of blackmail in the form of him buying Hunt expensive clothes and paying her rent stirs gossip among the local women who are too rich to do anything but talk about the scandals of others.
Johansson's 21st birthday party brings the climax of the movie. Johansson is fed up with what she thinks is her husband's affair and, through a miscommunication on a widely proclaimed ladies man's yacht, Hunt ends up looking like a tramp.
The ending is happy, though. The man Hunt was supposed to marry decides he still wants to marry her (only after much off screen explanation from Johansson). Hunt doesn't tell Johansson of their relation, but in that, doesn't spoil the pedestal figure of a mother Johansson had kept with her all her life.
It was a pretty good movie, but some parts (about the first 20-30 minutes) were kind of slow, with only conversations between characters at various locations. It did pick up, however with the many audience-assumed love triangles. It was well written and well directed and kept me thinking that Hunt and Johansson's husband were having an affair almost until the end.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Our Love Brought Down A Kingdom
I have to confess, I may have been wrong about the Romeo & Juliet genre movies. Yesterday, I watched Tristan and Isolde, and though the movie was never promoted as a R&J type, it had some similar elements. Two young people who are not supposed to like each other (Tristan - James Franco - a British warrior, second to the throne and Isolde - Sophia Myles - the princess of Ireland) because their countries are in the midst of a feud, fall in love. Here's a little bit about the movie - I am writing this not because it is a review or I mean to spoil the ending, which I'm going to do anyways, but because after watching the movie I was so depressed at the character's love and I absolutely love the movie.
When Tristan is a young boy his village is raided by the Irish. His father dies, and his uncle loses his hand saving him. All around the country, villages are destroyed and pretty much in the ruins. They rebuild.
A few years pass, letting the boy-Tristan grow into the beautiful James Franco and turn him into a ruthless warrior. Over in Ireland, Isolde is promised to an Irish warrior and she loathes the very thought.
Back in Britain, the Brits attack a group of Irish warriors travelling through (I figure they were on their way to kill some more British folks) the country and, surprise, surprise, Tristan kills Isolde's betrothed. That is, of course, after he gets a chop to the stomach from the guy's sword which has to be laced with nerve killing poison. The Brits win the battle, but Tristan and another guy die and are set out on the sea on burning boats.
Tristan's boat doesn't burn him up, and eventually he washes up on the Irish shore where good old Isolde and Brania (her caretaker) are taking a stroll. Over a few days or weeks, Isolde nurses Tristan back to health (she cures his poisoning only because she is somewhat of a potion maker). She is warned by Brania not to tell him her real name and so tells him her name is Brania. "Brania" and Tristan canoodle.
After the Irish King finds Tristan's funeral boat on the beach, "Brania" has to get him out of the country quickly. Before he gets into his paddleboat, he begs her to come with him, and of course she can't. He goes back to Britain.
There is a traitor to the Brits, I can't remember his name, but he schemes with the Irish King so that he can become king of Britain. The King agrees.
He sets up a contest so that whoever wins gets to marry Isolde, thereby making him the king of Britain. Tristan enters on behalf of his uncle, completely oblivious to the fact that Isolde is "Brania", therefore, setting himself up for disaster.
Tristan wins the contest, much to the excitement of Isolde who watches, veiled, from her seat in the stands, but when he realizes she is the girl who saved him, he is sad, and when she learns that he has won her for another man, she is sad.
Tristan, true to his uncle and king, mopes around and doesn't try to get Isolde at all. It is only during a very fun-for-the-audience scene when the British King ushers Tristan to have love in his life (Isolde is there too, speaking poeticly about love to Tristan in front of her husband) that Tristan and Isolde start their secret affair.
After a while, they are caught kissing in the woods by the Irish King, who has a spazz attack and starts a war with the British King. The British King is crushed that his nephew, whose life, if you remember, he saved at the loss of his hand, would do that to him.
Of course, Isolde tells her husband of how they met, and, being the good guy he is, he lets them go. A boat is left at the riverside for their escape, then, my favourite line in the movie:
(Isolde is in the boat and Tristan is pushing it out. She thinks he will jump in once they get far enough, but then he says this)
"For all time they will say it was our love, brought down a kingdom. Remember us."
(then he pushes the boat away).
It is the most heartbreaking thing in the world.
Then he goes back to the castle and fights and tries to help out his uncle, who even after all the drama, is happy to see him. Tristan kills the traitor, the one who will signal the Irish King to invade once the British King is dead. Of course, the traitor stabs Tristan through the heart.
Tristan cuts off his head, then he, the survivors, and the British King go to the drawbridge and make a speech to the warriors outside. They all end up killing the Irish King (who is standing there waiting for the warriors to kill the British King et al), and Tristan falls, starts to die on the drawbridge. The British King takes him to the riverside, per Tristan's request and Isolde is brought there too (I guess she paddled back to shore). Tristan dies.
The epilogue (the only way they actually can do an epilogue during a movie - a small explaitory paragraph) said that she put his ashes in a monument after his cremation. It went on to say that, in fact, their love had not brought down a kingdom, but instead lead it to Britain's end of submission under Ireland and prosper after the fall of the Roman Empire.
The End.
I absolutely loved this movie. And not just because I'm a girl. There was a spectacular amount of romance and subtle looks and how people said things that made it perfect. There were a lot of sex scenes (all tastefully done, of course), but it kind of got a bit much after the third or fourth one. I guess they were necessary to show how many places Tristan and Isolde got it on, but hey, they were in love so whatever. There were a lot of war scenes as well. A lot of it was very fast, so sometimes I couldn't tell what was going on or who was just killed or who just killed who, and the fact that neither side had distinguishing clothing or marks to say which side they were on made it just a little confusing. But, all in all, the movie was spectacular, and I usually stray away from movies with the theme of "eternal love". I love James Franco, and after watching Rufus Sewell (the King of Britain) in the first good guy role I've seen him in, I love him too. I love the movie. I love that it didn't end entirely happy. I love that the movie was perfect from opening credits to epilogue and I want to buy it so I can become obsessed with it like I'm obsessed with The Nightmare before Christmas.
Perhaps I will ask for it for Christmas.
Perhaps, perhaps.
When Tristan is a young boy his village is raided by the Irish. His father dies, and his uncle loses his hand saving him. All around the country, villages are destroyed and pretty much in the ruins. They rebuild.
A few years pass, letting the boy-Tristan grow into the beautiful James Franco and turn him into a ruthless warrior. Over in Ireland, Isolde is promised to an Irish warrior and she loathes the very thought.
Back in Britain, the Brits attack a group of Irish warriors travelling through (I figure they were on their way to kill some more British folks) the country and, surprise, surprise, Tristan kills Isolde's betrothed. That is, of course, after he gets a chop to the stomach from the guy's sword which has to be laced with nerve killing poison. The Brits win the battle, but Tristan and another guy die and are set out on the sea on burning boats.
Tristan's boat doesn't burn him up, and eventually he washes up on the Irish shore where good old Isolde and Brania (her caretaker) are taking a stroll. Over a few days or weeks, Isolde nurses Tristan back to health (she cures his poisoning only because she is somewhat of a potion maker). She is warned by Brania not to tell him her real name and so tells him her name is Brania. "Brania" and Tristan canoodle.
After the Irish King finds Tristan's funeral boat on the beach, "Brania" has to get him out of the country quickly. Before he gets into his paddleboat, he begs her to come with him, and of course she can't. He goes back to Britain.
There is a traitor to the Brits, I can't remember his name, but he schemes with the Irish King so that he can become king of Britain. The King agrees.
He sets up a contest so that whoever wins gets to marry Isolde, thereby making him the king of Britain. Tristan enters on behalf of his uncle, completely oblivious to the fact that Isolde is "Brania", therefore, setting himself up for disaster.
Tristan wins the contest, much to the excitement of Isolde who watches, veiled, from her seat in the stands, but when he realizes she is the girl who saved him, he is sad, and when she learns that he has won her for another man, she is sad.
Tristan, true to his uncle and king, mopes around and doesn't try to get Isolde at all. It is only during a very fun-for-the-audience scene when the British King ushers Tristan to have love in his life (Isolde is there too, speaking poeticly about love to Tristan in front of her husband) that Tristan and Isolde start their secret affair.
After a while, they are caught kissing in the woods by the Irish King, who has a spazz attack and starts a war with the British King. The British King is crushed that his nephew, whose life, if you remember, he saved at the loss of his hand, would do that to him.
Of course, Isolde tells her husband of how they met, and, being the good guy he is, he lets them go. A boat is left at the riverside for their escape, then, my favourite line in the movie:
(Isolde is in the boat and Tristan is pushing it out. She thinks he will jump in once they get far enough, but then he says this)
"For all time they will say it was our love, brought down a kingdom. Remember us."
(then he pushes the boat away).
It is the most heartbreaking thing in the world.
Then he goes back to the castle and fights and tries to help out his uncle, who even after all the drama, is happy to see him. Tristan kills the traitor, the one who will signal the Irish King to invade once the British King is dead. Of course, the traitor stabs Tristan through the heart.
Tristan cuts off his head, then he, the survivors, and the British King go to the drawbridge and make a speech to the warriors outside. They all end up killing the Irish King (who is standing there waiting for the warriors to kill the British King et al), and Tristan falls, starts to die on the drawbridge. The British King takes him to the riverside, per Tristan's request and Isolde is brought there too (I guess she paddled back to shore). Tristan dies.
The epilogue (the only way they actually can do an epilogue during a movie - a small explaitory paragraph) said that she put his ashes in a monument after his cremation. It went on to say that, in fact, their love had not brought down a kingdom, but instead lead it to Britain's end of submission under Ireland and prosper after the fall of the Roman Empire.
The End.
I absolutely loved this movie. And not just because I'm a girl. There was a spectacular amount of romance and subtle looks and how people said things that made it perfect. There were a lot of sex scenes (all tastefully done, of course), but it kind of got a bit much after the third or fourth one. I guess they were necessary to show how many places Tristan and Isolde got it on, but hey, they were in love so whatever. There were a lot of war scenes as well. A lot of it was very fast, so sometimes I couldn't tell what was going on or who was just killed or who just killed who, and the fact that neither side had distinguishing clothing or marks to say which side they were on made it just a little confusing. But, all in all, the movie was spectacular, and I usually stray away from movies with the theme of "eternal love". I love James Franco, and after watching Rufus Sewell (the King of Britain) in the first good guy role I've seen him in, I love him too. I love the movie. I love that it didn't end entirely happy. I love that the movie was perfect from opening credits to epilogue and I want to buy it so I can become obsessed with it like I'm obsessed with The Nightmare before Christmas.
Perhaps I will ask for it for Christmas.
Perhaps, perhaps.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Crying at the Movies
The first time I watched The Notebook, I didn't cry. The second time I watched it, I didn't cry. Does this make me a robot? No! The fact that I am made of metal makes me a robot, but that is another story.
I have only ever cried during three movies. 1) The Lion King. Of course I was four or five when I saw it, but Mufasa's death was still traumatic. Though I don't cry during this movie any more, I still get a little choked up and turn away from everyone I'm watching it with (usually just Laura, so who cares about sisters anyhow, just jokes bud). 2) My Girl. Anybody who didn't cry when Macaulay Culkin's character died and wasn't sad when the girl got the ring he went looking for (and ultimately died for) truly must have stone for a heart because that was very sad. Again, I was about 13 when I saw it. 3) The Passion of the Christ. I wasn't crying because he was dying (fourteen years of Midnight Mass had dulled me to the harshness of the idea of killing the son of God), I found that I couldn't watch someone be tortured. No matter how many times I told myself that Jim Caviezel wasn't actually being whipped and beaten, it was gory and it was hard to watch. That was the only time I cried in the theatre. The first two were in the privacy of my own home.
Now, my favourite movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas, has come out in 3D and I desperately want to see it. I think I have hit the point of obsessed. I know most of the words to all the songs, the merchandise I own from it includes a t-shirt, a scarf, a wallet, a pen, a pin, two key chains, a purse and I can only imagine that since Christmas is rolling around soon, I will be adding many more items to my inventory. I also own the movie, but that is a given.
Another movie that tops my list is Romeo and Juliet (the newer one, not the one from the 60's). It may be because both Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes are good actors, or that the story is so depressingly lovely that I like it, but it may also be because there is so much history in the story. Since the adaptation to a play (from someone else's poem - oh what a scandal!) in the 16th century, people have been reading, acting and studying the play for over 400 years. If the play doesn't impress you, the stats definitely should. It's my second favourite Shakespeare play (following Macbeth - yeah I actually liked it, go figure) and though some people didn't like how the movie was set in modern times with the original dialogue, I understood it and I liked it. There are so many movies that claim to be 'Romeo and Juliet classics' and true, they do demonstrate conflict by having people of different races, classes or religions (some people are just uptight) fall in love (the forbidden love), but some are just poorly written, poorly acted or poorly made and lose something along the way.
Oh well.
My family comes home from Mexico tonight! Finally I'll be able to call my sisters when my friends are busy and not have to resort to TV or daydreaming about playing the Sims 2. I'm such a loser.
I have only ever cried during three movies. 1) The Lion King. Of course I was four or five when I saw it, but Mufasa's death was still traumatic. Though I don't cry during this movie any more, I still get a little choked up and turn away from everyone I'm watching it with (usually just Laura, so who cares about sisters anyhow, just jokes bud). 2) My Girl. Anybody who didn't cry when Macaulay Culkin's character died and wasn't sad when the girl got the ring he went looking for (and ultimately died for) truly must have stone for a heart because that was very sad. Again, I was about 13 when I saw it. 3) The Passion of the Christ. I wasn't crying because he was dying (fourteen years of Midnight Mass had dulled me to the harshness of the idea of killing the son of God), I found that I couldn't watch someone be tortured. No matter how many times I told myself that Jim Caviezel wasn't actually being whipped and beaten, it was gory and it was hard to watch. That was the only time I cried in the theatre. The first two were in the privacy of my own home.
Now, my favourite movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas, has come out in 3D and I desperately want to see it. I think I have hit the point of obsessed. I know most of the words to all the songs, the merchandise I own from it includes a t-shirt, a scarf, a wallet, a pen, a pin, two key chains, a purse and I can only imagine that since Christmas is rolling around soon, I will be adding many more items to my inventory. I also own the movie, but that is a given.
Another movie that tops my list is Romeo and Juliet (the newer one, not the one from the 60's). It may be because both Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes are good actors, or that the story is so depressingly lovely that I like it, but it may also be because there is so much history in the story. Since the adaptation to a play (from someone else's poem - oh what a scandal!) in the 16th century, people have been reading, acting and studying the play for over 400 years. If the play doesn't impress you, the stats definitely should. It's my second favourite Shakespeare play (following Macbeth - yeah I actually liked it, go figure) and though some people didn't like how the movie was set in modern times with the original dialogue, I understood it and I liked it. There are so many movies that claim to be 'Romeo and Juliet classics' and true, they do demonstrate conflict by having people of different races, classes or religions (some people are just uptight) fall in love (the forbidden love), but some are just poorly written, poorly acted or poorly made and lose something along the way.
Oh well.
My family comes home from Mexico tonight! Finally I'll be able to call my sisters when my friends are busy and not have to resort to TV or daydreaming about playing the Sims 2. I'm such a loser.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Four Days Left
My Life as a Shut In
I can't really say that I'm a shut in, although on most weekends, especially now that it's snowing, I don't really leave the house. But it's not for lack of want. The problem is that in Veg, there is nothing to do, nowhere to go. The mall is a laugh - the place where decrepit smokers go to sit and watch their lives inch by and elderly shoplifters stuff the no name products from Fields into their purses and pockets - and other than that, if you're underage at least, there is no place to hang out.
KC is working (thanks to Kathryn - who by the way has decided to stop talking to us again - who doesn't like working weekends at the CO-OP Deli) and though Janelle is sick this weekend, she would be with Colin if she weren't. Susan is looking after her baby. I'm alone.
I need some more friends.
I wanted to call Caitlyn, but she's still in Mexico, and for four more days she will be. It seems like a waste to spend a five day weekend in Veg when I could be in Sherwood Park. Speaking of that, I won't be going home for almost two weeks.
Having run out of clean clothes two weeks into my month long Vegreville Adventure, I had to wash my clothes in the basement washer, which, when they came out of the dryer two hours later, smelled like the basement. The basement smells like garbage, and so do my clothes. I had to spray them with all the perfume I own to harness the stink, which to me, seems as if it defeats the purpose of washing clothes.
Good news: I finished my story for English.
Technically I was done a week ago, but upon handing it over to KC to have a read through (she asks that she read all of my work, I guess that's what best friends are for), I got a bad review. She said it was rushed, that there was barely any detail and that (though right now I disagree with the next point) Leigh and Barry - the main character and her doctor - shoud have had a moment when they "profess their love to one another" - her words not mine - and that I should have taken more time to do it better.
It was simple enough to say that I was hurt, though all of these things I knew were true. I thought that perhaps if I pretended not to notice the errors in my writing that others wouldn't either. After I got over myself, I admitted that she was right. When the weekend came, I spent most of Friday and Saturday to redo what I had done.
Forty pages and a very sore hand later, I had finished. It was something to be proud of - for a first draft anyways.
Next week we are supposed to share with a partner during class the progress we've made on these projects. From what I've heard, most people haven't even started theirs. KC hasn't for sure, but that may be because she didn't hand in a second proposal after Ms. Martin said that her first was crap. The only reason I've accomplished what I have (other than being on schedule) is that I was excited to write a story. But that is always the case; I find myself trying to find any reason to write a story in English class.
Ah well.
Now it's snowing outside. It's going to be cold tomorrow, which makes me glad that KC has a car.
I can't really say that I'm a shut in, although on most weekends, especially now that it's snowing, I don't really leave the house. But it's not for lack of want. The problem is that in Veg, there is nothing to do, nowhere to go. The mall is a laugh - the place where decrepit smokers go to sit and watch their lives inch by and elderly shoplifters stuff the no name products from Fields into their purses and pockets - and other than that, if you're underage at least, there is no place to hang out.
KC is working (thanks to Kathryn - who by the way has decided to stop talking to us again - who doesn't like working weekends at the CO-OP Deli) and though Janelle is sick this weekend, she would be with Colin if she weren't. Susan is looking after her baby. I'm alone.
I need some more friends.
I wanted to call Caitlyn, but she's still in Mexico, and for four more days she will be. It seems like a waste to spend a five day weekend in Veg when I could be in Sherwood Park. Speaking of that, I won't be going home for almost two weeks.
Having run out of clean clothes two weeks into my month long Vegreville Adventure, I had to wash my clothes in the basement washer, which, when they came out of the dryer two hours later, smelled like the basement. The basement smells like garbage, and so do my clothes. I had to spray them with all the perfume I own to harness the stink, which to me, seems as if it defeats the purpose of washing clothes.
Good news: I finished my story for English.
Technically I was done a week ago, but upon handing it over to KC to have a read through (she asks that she read all of my work, I guess that's what best friends are for), I got a bad review. She said it was rushed, that there was barely any detail and that (though right now I disagree with the next point) Leigh and Barry - the main character and her doctor - shoud have had a moment when they "profess their love to one another" - her words not mine - and that I should have taken more time to do it better.
It was simple enough to say that I was hurt, though all of these things I knew were true. I thought that perhaps if I pretended not to notice the errors in my writing that others wouldn't either. After I got over myself, I admitted that she was right. When the weekend came, I spent most of Friday and Saturday to redo what I had done.
Forty pages and a very sore hand later, I had finished. It was something to be proud of - for a first draft anyways.
Next week we are supposed to share with a partner during class the progress we've made on these projects. From what I've heard, most people haven't even started theirs. KC hasn't for sure, but that may be because she didn't hand in a second proposal after Ms. Martin said that her first was crap. The only reason I've accomplished what I have (other than being on schedule) is that I was excited to write a story. But that is always the case; I find myself trying to find any reason to write a story in English class.
Ah well.
Now it's snowing outside. It's going to be cold tomorrow, which makes me glad that KC has a car.
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