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!
Sunday, November 19, 2006
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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