Common Sense

So my emotionally shattering weekend ended with a bang last night, as well as a life changing realisation. When I speak about life changing I'm talking about at least two lives, they've been entwined for a long time, and it'll be hard. I realised last night that I'm missing a huge chunk of what I need (actually I've known that for a while) and that it was time to right that. I need to do this, for myself, because if I don't, I'll just get even more stuck.

My relationship through a window is made up of emotional blackmail, being stomped on, and not being listened to. My mind has been screaming at my heart for years, and now she can finally hear these questions. All I'm left with now is a: how the hell did I get here?

I remember writing myself a letter saying that he loved me, I loved him, and that was all that mattered. But now I'm not sure if I feel the same anymore, and even if I do, this decision has nothing to do with love at all. I could love him with all my heart, but I've always known, deep down, that it was probably going no where. Now I just need to find the strength to tell him that.

There are, of course, as with any loss, things I would hate to lose. I know that these things will probably be lost along the way. I'll no longer have a second family, I'll lose those holidays that I would have gone on in a month or so.

I could wait, yes, I suppose I could, but if I forget these feelings of helplessness, of hopelessness, where will I be? I may well have gone back in time a year. There are still futures for me to explore. I can wish to travel to Venice, and I do, but not with a man who has pushed my common sense so far down into my depths that I can no longer use it at all. Life's too short, that's what people tell me, and that's what I tell people, so why can't I take my own advice?

Perhaps the bad dreams were my common sense rising to the surface, prompted by a guardian angel. I had another last night, but that's not surprising considering most of the evening was spent spilling puddles from my eyes. This has to be resolved, and if doing that means breaking my heart, so be it.

Five Toes!

Yes! My stupidly expensive, practically barefoot, shoes arrived today. I have to say they're holding up well considering I've been wearing them for an hour and, as yet, my feet are not overheating. They also allow my feet to move, though I haven't really walked anywhere. I'm itching to try them out, and would suggest going for a long walk to see how they shape up, but Alex's were too small, and have to be exchanged.

In the past week Hayley has also been walking barefoot, and is starting to understand how much people notice. Well... actually not many people do, but the ones that do usually make a fuss. I've had people come up and tell me there are broken bottles on the ground. Trust me when I say I don't need telling, I watch where I'm going automatically 100% of the time, which is more than I can say for a lot of people.

The main thing that Hayley commented on was that the novelty of having people notice you're not wearing them wears off pretty quickly. I guess you could say that, though it has been over four years since I started, and I don't remember ever feeling the novelty. I also know that Hayley chose to befriend me because I didn't wear them, which she's admitted to me several times. I'm not particularly fussed, friends come from strange places and circumstances. I'm sure that she doesn't only value my weirdness now.

So, here's the question: will my stupidly priced "shoes" get worn regularly? I can honestly say that I'm not sure. I do know that they'll last a long time though, and that when the need for protection arises they'll be my first choice. Perhaps in that sense they're worth the money; after all, how often do I really buy shoes?

Yay! Rain!

So, for the first time in about three weeks it rained properly here last night. I'm not only happy about this because of the hot weather, nor is it just because of the cool squelch of the ground this morning, it is, in fact, more to do with the smell.

Smell is supposedly the most nostalgic of the commonly documented "five senses" though of course there are many more that have been acknowledged. This could be said of the smell of rain. I'm not sure if you have ever noticed, but when it's been hot, and it finally rains, you can smell not only the delicious freshness of the air, but also the electricity of fallen dust as it gets caught my the plummeting drops. The way I used to describe it (when I was younger, had a less active vocabulary, and an imagination with less of a thirst for books) was thus: "I love the rain, it makes the air all clean."

In such style, today, as well as rain, marks the end of my second year at university. While other people I know have exams, I don't. All my assignments were handed in today, and that's a day early for two of them. Just like last week I am sat here enjoying the first of three glasses of Asti from this bottle, two smooshed strawberries in the top.

I'm also wondering where this summer will take me. On at least two holidays, I know that much, but here I'm specifically thinking more about writing. I'll aim to write the first draft of my FYP (or final year project for those of you who haven't encountered the abbreviation before) and probably much more too. I've had to put on hold at least three short stories recently for no reason more prominent than the pile of looming assignments I had to complete.

I'm not saying I'm longing to write, because for at least a day or two I'll be completely drained. Right now for instance, I could open up a blank document and stare at it for five minutes wondering how to start. Because the problem here is that my imagination is blocked up with all the crap that I've written, and my mind needs a rest.

In truth, it could be argued, that I'm still suffering the block that started two years ago last February, though short stories have leaked out. The most I've written on a single story is around 30,000 words. Wow! You gasp, that's loads. No... it's not, especially when you consider the 30 - 40,000 I wrote in one month before the block developed.

I hope beyond hope that this summer sees some improvement, because if not, I'm worried that I'll never get back to that quantity of writing again. Perhaps then I'd be doomed to short fiction.

All that aside, I feel happy that everything around me seems at peace. I can't be sure, as yet, that the bad dreams will go with the vanished work-load, but I have a good feeling they will. That and the continued support of those I love should scare them away, at least until something just as frightening surfaces.

Labyrinths and Monsters

So, my dear readers, you are probably wondering what the hell happened after yesterday's post. Here's the answer to that: Almost nothing, at least at surface level. Other levels will not be delved into as there is a high chance that you will never get out again, because they are like a string of labyrinths with a pretty mad monster waiting to eat you.

What about that life-changing decision? I hear you cry. Well, it was only really life changing in two of those three paths, and the other one was hardly-so at all; it happened that this path outweighed the others vastly, and I knew it all along deep down. I'm happy with my decision, but am still stuck in a room with all the "what ifs" and "could bes". Still, a decision I had to make got made, and that's all you really need to know.

It also seems that, even though they seemed to be gone, the bad dreams are back. Another fantastic one last night, involving my friends being robots, an evil dictator (who wasn't me, I'll add that comment because if it was me it would, of course, be a good dream), and being held hostage at a computer desk while zooming in on my old friends telling my new ones that I'm a lousy person, and them believing it. I then finally broke out of the room, and went to find my friends who had fled into a forest, and found them all buried up to the neck in forest floor, but perfectly happy.

Let's put a lid on it there; there is more, but you'll only think I'm more weird than before (which would be accurate). I think the dream is alluding to my thoughts that my decision yesterday was selfish. Even though the only way it could have not been selfish was if I stopped it around two months ago, which I didn't. It had, therefore, come too far to not have some kind of self-centred core to it. The best I can do now is just grin and bare it.

In other news, Alex and I finally got around to ordering our FiveFingers. Obviously you can click that link and go to the site, I can't be bothered to post you a picture (I'm getting a pair of black sprints, Alex is getting the black KSO). If you've read my barefooted post you'll see why I like them, as they are as close to being barefoot as you can get with all the added protection (not to say I need it of course, especially not after four years, it's mainly for holidaying with people who keep telling me to be careful, which happens a lot). I'm interested to see how Alex gets on with them.

Indecision

For the past couple of weeks a dilemma has started to form. I've realised recently that I can't keep going in the way I have been, and to continue to do so would, not only be postponing the inevitable, but also make me more likely to hurt at least one person, if not more.

I see three paths on this road. The problem is deciding which to go down, because pushing through the metaphorical forest (like I am right now) is a struggle that I'm going to lose, I need to get onto a path, but my task will be to weigh up everything that I have against everything that I could have, or everything I really want, and of course, what I'm prepared to risk in this dilemma.

The trouble with this is that I don't know what I want, or what I'm willing to risk. I've had moments a bit like this before, but nothing this big. Nothing that could change my life in such a big way, and overnight too. And then, what happens if I risk everything just to have it blow up in my face because of incompatibilities.

I want, so much, to talk to Hayley about it, but I don't feel I can. I know deep down, that she won't approve of anything I have been thinking or feeling these past few weeks. The pressure of these feelings is weighing down on me, and I know I'll need to make a decision, and soon. With my work nearly at it's completion for the academic year, there isn't really anything I can say or do to stop myself thinking about this.

For some reason, this reminds me intensely of the part in the Disney rendition of Alice in Wonderland. The part when she first meets the Cheshire Cat and asks him which way to go. This way, or that way? It depends on where you want to get to? But I don't know the answer to that.

I have no idea where to go, or who to turn to, or what to say to those involved... if anything.

Vibrant Days

The ground was far too hot today; not in a painful way, but in an effecting body temperature way. In fact, it was far too hot in general, and I'm beginning to miss the rain. However, I shall not spend another post moaning sourly about the weather, instead, I will give you an insight into a day in my shoes (or lack thereof).


8:00 am: Wake up to alarm. But don't get out of bed.

8:05 am: Alarm goes off again. Turn alarm off and actually decide that you should probably get up, I mean, you want to catch the half 9 train, and you want to enjoy a coffee which takes around half an hour (if you're really going to enjoy it and not just guzzle it).

8:20 am: Ok, so you've just finished getting dressed, which involved deciding what to wear, finding it (which took at least 7 minutes) and then putting it on. Then wondering if it would be too hot, and if so, should you change? Now head downstairs and make coffee.

8:50 am: So you've enjoyed your coffee, and now it's time to feed your various animals.

9:10 am: Jump into the car so that your dad can drive you to Botley station.

9:20 am: arrive 10 minutes early and stand on the platform, in the sweltering heat thinking "ffs why is it so hot at 9am?!"

9:31 am: Get on the train, find a seat, sit, listen to music and observe some guy take out a Tupperware tub full of cornflakes, pour milk on them and begin eating.

9:52 am: Arrive at Winchester train station and begin walking to uni.

10:05 am: Arrive at uni, get an iced latte, go on facebook.

10:20 am: Hayley signs onto MSN, realise that you should be doing work and that you've already drunk half your iced latte without noticing. Begin doing work.

11:33 am: Finish the piece of writing you were doing (yay!) tell Hayley you're coming to meet her at the station.

11:37 am: Begin to leave to see Hayley, bump into David on the way out, spend 30 minutes talking about doctor who episodes.

12:05 pm: Hayley arrives looking a bit annoyed that you didn't come and meet her. Buy her a smoothie to make it better.

12:15 pm: Go and visit Olly in the tech support office, he says he'll meet you for lunch in 10 minutes.

12:25 pm: Olly meets you and Hayley, you go to the cafeteria, get pizza and chips and some weird moosey thingy... and a coke. Bump into David again.

12:30 pm: Lunch obtained, sit at a table with Olly, Hayley and David and eat. Spend around 45 minutes talking about random stuff including: the new mesmer buff, Olly's boyfriend, marriage, and food.

1:15 pm: Olly leaves to go back to work.

1:25 pm: David leaves to go home.

1:30 pm: Migrate to outside, and sit in the shade with Hayley.

1:35 pm: Make a daisy chain while gossiping about people.

1:50 pm: Take a load of pictures of yourself, Hayley and the daisy chain and a blue flower that Hayley picks.

2:00pm - 2:45 pm: Sit in the shade and gossip more, log into facebook using your netbook, upload the pictures you just took, tag people. Let Hayley log onto her facebook, take back your netbook, realise Hayley's still logged in, facebook rape her (she had it coming of course :D). Laugh about how she knew you'd write something about lesbianism.

2:45pm: Walk Hayley to her lesson.

2:55 pm: Walk to the train station.

3:10 pm: Arrive at the station.

3:23 pm: The train arrives (it's 4 minutes late).

3:39 pm: Get off the train. Get in the car.

3:50 pm: Get home.

4:00 pm: Spend half an hour writing the most boring post ever about your day because you can't think of anything else to write but want to write something.

So yes, that was my day so far. If you haven't fallen asleep, or given up I congratulate you...

*DING* You leveled up! :D

Dandelion Clocks

When my brother Chris was really little my sister Lizzie and I gave him a dandelion clock to blow. He looked at it, took it from us, and then, instead of blowing the seeds away, tried to eat it. The look on his face of complete disgust was hilarious, and we all laughed.

I've loved dandelions all my life, they're one of the few "weeds" that I actually enjoy more than many cultivated flowers. And, they get everywhere. Anyone who's seen these golden marvels knows their little mains of yellow-orange petals well. But now I'm going to talk about them in a different way: I'm going to talk about them as a literary object.

Recently, one of my tutors likened ideas to dandelions. An idea floats in as a seed, newly flown from it's dandelion clock bed. If it flies into good soil it plants itself and, over time, grows into a new dandelion. This could be likened to the writing process. Just like the flowers, the idea wilts and dies if it comes up too early. If the cold weather confuses it it won't grow correctly, just as if a writer doesn't plan well enough in advance. On the other side though, if the writer plans too much, for too long, the dandelion could miss it's chance to flower.

If the idea does come up, then it still has to get through the growth stage, if a deer comes along and eats it it's not necessarily going to flower. it still could of course, depending on what the deer eats and if there's enough time for it to reshoot.

If the flower does finally bloom, there's still a chance it could get eaten. There are plenty of animals that enjoy dandelion blooms as a snack and the risk that it might not make it is one that it has to take. The bloom can be likened to the editing/publishing process. Though the hard part is supposedly over, the real story of the dandelion is just beginning.

And finally if it does make it to seed. If the seeds are distributed, if the book gets published, there's no guarantee that your audience will enjoy it. Some books, take the dreaded twilight, distribute and only seem to hit fertile soil. Some encounter my brother's metaphorical mouth and only get a look of disgust.

Of course, what I'm saying is that the writing/editing/publishing process is a hard one. There are many twists and turns with no definite success. Which is why writing shouldn't be about profit, it should be about enjoyment, your own personal accomplishment, or perhaps just the challenge. Just like the dandelion has to grow to ensure the survival of the next generation, I also have to try. I wouldn't be vain enough to claim that I will create the next generation of book, or even that I'd be responsible for even one, but I might spark an idea, I might lead to something, and I want to try to. I want to know, when I die, that I tried my best to fulfill this dream, because even if I don't make it, I will have been one of the people who tried, and didn't stop trying.

In my most recent attempt I wrote about a world that was full of dandelions and clocks thereof. I explained them being there by pinning them down as a weed that got everywhere, that spread through the Realms as freely as the main race of people in my series.

Yes, I love dandelions, because they bring hope that one day I will publish something that will hit fertile soil and grow into more ideas, and be part of the chain-reaction that effects the whole world.

Asti

As I'm sure you all know, I have four assignments in next week. One of which is almost done, two are halfway and the fourth is hardly started.

When I got to Alex's yesterday I made mistake one: buying a bottle of Asti. Now I do love Asti, it's probably my favourite, but because of the hot weather, and the demand of all the work I am going to try and do this weekend, I decided to open it early (it was supposed to be to celebrate the end of this stage play) and have a glass. Now I drink Asti from large wine glasses, which averages around three glasses a bottle. Before I knew it I was sitting down to watch the House episodes I'd missed in the week and a half I'd not been around here (incidentally I'd stayed home to do work, HA!) and other general TV I like keeping up to date with. I procrastinated until dinner time, had another glass of Asti with dinner, and then went back to get the rest.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I drank the entire celebratory bottle of Asti before I'd written a single word. This is what you'd call giving in to temptation and, my god, it seems Asti and strawberries gets the best of me before I've even started.

Even worse that drinking the entire thing; after it was gone I was too sleepy to give a damn about my work, and spent the evening talking to Ben about GvG and various dungeons we want to try out as a double hero team. And then, at ten pm, I gave up, and went to bed. Granted I had had late nights all this week, been ill in the middle of the week, and been suffering bad dreams, but I didn't even have a glass of water first, leading me into the land of headaches.

So now, of course, I'm left with almost 5000 words to write, with a headache the size of a small cruise ship and nothing to reward myself with afterwards.

On top of this little problem I also can't monk properly this weekend because I left my G13 at my house (though this could be a blessing, as there's no way I'll get all the work done before I head home anyway).

It's also another painfully hot day. I could write you a million metaphors about how the sky is blue enough to dive into and how the leaves are all shooting out and how the rivers sparkle with reflected light, blah blah blah. Frankly I'd prefer a thunderstorm.

Summer's Vengeance

So, it's not even the end of May yet but that doesn't seem to be stopping summer from gripping England by the hair and pulling back savagely. The sky is blue today, more blue that you'd imagine possible for a country that is famous for it's rain. It may have been overcast yesterday, but it was still sweltering hot then, and today it's even worse. So, in the style of a true Brit, I am going to complain about the weather in today's post.

As a barefooter I hate hot summers with a vengeance. It's not because I don't like the sun, I do, especially in the winter, but the problem with me is that I tend to fluctuate with the temperature. Let me give you an example: In the winter, I am often cold. I find it hard to warm beds up at night (for some reason especially Alex's), and need another person, or a hot water bottle, or something at least, in order to keep the bed warm. It doesn't help that Alex's house is always cold in the winter; the only saving grace from the coldness of that bed is that Alex is an eternal radiator. Before I move back to the present I should mention one more thing: sometimes I get so cold I have to wear socks.

In the summer I get hot, possibly even hotter than all of you guys do, though not those of you who live in the middle of the Mediterranean. The problem I have is that when the floor is warm, I can't expel enough heat to make my body more comfortable so I overheat. This sounds like it could be a reason to perhaps acclimatise to shoes again, but I assure you, if I did that it would only get worse. As it is I can't even wear flip flops.

Something else you should know; I can't stand overheating. I know a lot of you can empathise with that statement.

When I ventured into Uni this morning I didn't know how hot it would be. Only the shadows saved me. The train was unbearably hot, and the fact that I was wearing a heavyish backpack didn't help at all. Being outside hardly helped either, and the shadows, though cooler, were only a temporary measure.

To say the least I'm not looking forward to travelling to Alex's. The fact that the train station that I will definitely have to wait at has absolutely no cover is only half the problem. I know that by the time I have to travel again all the shadows will be non-existent. I know that the iced latte that I've just finished drinking will, at best, offer temporary relief. I know that my hands will be clammy all day, no matter how many times I wash them. However, I also know that Alex's house will be cold when I get there, and that we'll probably be staying inside that cool haven.

In the three hours that I remain here at uni however, I have a fifteen minute segment of a stage play to write. Later people.

Revelation

So last night, prompted by my dear Hayley, I had a revelation. Recently I've been so self obsessed, and that's probably sugar coating it. So much stuff had been clogging up my brain, and my emotions for that matter, that I've gone an hurt almost everyone who really matters to me, not least the lovely Hayley herself. I've been so paranoid about myself I've forgotten what really matters.

For any of you who also read Hayley's blog you'll see that the last post was dark. I may not be entirely responsible for that (even though I feel I am) but I'm at least partially to blame. Why? You ask. Because I'm her best friend, and I should have been there to help. But instead I've been playing Guild Wars, taking it too seriously, and slashing everyone around me with verbal dislike for their style of play. What I really needed was an intervention, and thankfully I got one from Hayley last night.

The friends I have made are alienated by my new-found annoyance of the small things. I'm a good monk in skill, but along the way I have lost compassion for those people who got me to this level. After all, a monk is only as good as those she plays with, and I can't claim to be amazing without those people around me to deal the damage. Despite how much it hurt, I needed telling where to go last night, I have no right to tell people how to play.

In a related note I have also been neglecting my old friends in place of new ones. Of course, there's nothing wrong with making new friends, but ignoring the old ones isn't the way to go about it, and that's exactly what I've been doing recently. Hayley's been there for me when I've needed her, and now, when she needs me I'm with someone else, I'm talking to a new friend. She's my BEST friend, and I've been being horrible. A few days ago I posted that Hayley and I had been growing apart, and now I realise it's all my fault.

To remedy my lack of compassion recently and complete self-obsession, I have dragged myself out of bed and come into Uni to see her. We haven't spent quality time together in a while. What we really need is a sleepover, and time to reminisce, and cuddle, and watch girly movies, but with the assignment dates coming up that's not going to be possible until next week at the very earliest.

I've already sacrificed my weekend to Alex, a weekend that I should probably take for doing some more assignment work, but I can't go another week without seeing him, I just can't. I'll probably just dump all my done work in the drop box and attempt to do some while I'm there.

Here's where the neglect of friendships and other relationships ends. Right here right now, because I've been worried about hurting the wrong people, I never thought Hayley would be the one to get hurt. But now I can see why she would.

I have a couple of things to say to her about that, but I'll only go into one of them here. So, for you, my best friend, the only real best friend I've ever had: no one could ever replace you, I miss you everyday that we're not together. There are two people in the entire world that I don't work without, and you're one of them. I know you've forgiven me already, and I don't deserve to be forgiven, I've been such a bitch recently, I'm eternally grateful that you've shown me that. I love you Hayley, and I'm so sorry, so sorry for putting you through all this worry and heartache.

Fevered Dreams

For any of you who also play Guild Wars, this title may ring a bell, it will if you have ever played Mesmer anyway, or even encountered anyone who does, which I guess encompasses pretty-much all the people I play with. But though the title is quite clearly that of the elite Mesmer skill that spreads conditions like dandelion clock seeds in a hurricane, this is not a Guild Wars post... for the main part.

Ok, so I'll admit right now that I have begun to think about developing new characters, and my skill with them. It has become clear to me that in order to improve as a monk I not only need to know all the monk skills, or even all the skills in the game, I need to be able to use them correctly. This feat is obviously easier said than done, I'm a good player, true, but I can't just pick up a character and play any build.

Since I can play many characters effectively, I decided to start with a profession that I never thought I'd be able to play. Yes, you guessed it, the Mesmer. The reason I decided to try Mesmer is not because I know there's a buff coming up for them, in fact that had the opposite effect on me until Dave pointed out that I didn't have to play the buffed skills, and would be better at it than all of those sheep who made Mesmers just after the buff. The reason I decided to play my Mesmer, is in fact, that I need to learn to interrupt. I'm pretty rubbish at it, especially under pressure, but I guess it takes practice. Being a Mesmer never came naturally to me, being a Necro did, and the Monk even more so, so developing this character will be hard, and will take effort, but in time I'll get there.

But anyway, Guild Wars out of the way.

Over the past few days I've had bad dreams (as I always do during times of stress), and yesterday I was also running a slight fever (see the connections to the title?) and this can only have made my dreams worse. Indeed the latest one involved being confronted on dark streets by people with nasty looks on their faces and an atmosphere akin to Bio Shock. Then, after finding a safe place to rest, having a mad man with pills that could turn him into a Tyrannosaurus Rex turn up and try to eat me. I'm not scared of death, and never had been, but the bad part of the dream was that one of my friends chose to also take some pills and fight for me. Valiant though this act was, the pills had a slightly different effect on him, and turned him into a very small (in comparison anyway) dinosaur.

It was a weird dream, to say the least, but as if that wasn't enough, it also hindered the sleep I needed to get better. And so, I awoke this morning, knowing I had a lot of work to do, but still with the headache I went to bed with last night. My temperature may be gone, but the dreams still rattle through my mind. It reminds me somewhat of the short story I wrote a couple of years ago called Nine Dreams. Not that I would dream of killing myself at the end of the story, but I feel despair come over me, and would prefer not to fall asleep again for fear of more bad dreams, and a spiraling down of my condition.

Of course, I know very well that I will have to go to bed tonight, and that I'll be absolutely shattered with so many nights of disturbed sleep. But with my mind in such a battered condition, I'm not sure sleeping is really a good idea. Dreams of my friends dying because of me, and those feelings of loss are not what I need right now; not with the looming deadlines overshadowing everything like a volcanic demon.

To try and help this situation I've written a poem (this doesn't happen very often, because I'm not really a poet) and I thought I'd share it with you:


The Torrent of Bad Dreams
The moon bow and arrow hiding behind the clouds.
If you don't watch closely the temptress of night will pierce your heart.
Be careful of her indigo fingers,
With one touch they will darken your dreams.
The cold wind will keep you refreshed,
But if he is not there to help you you will boil.
Nightmares of bizarre animals,
Malicious teeth to rip and shred your ripe young heart.
The vampires and werewolves of the dark,
No stars will help you this night,
your eyes see no twinkles of brightness,
Only the jaws,
Salivating,
Mid-growl with no high pitched whines of the hurt.
They will not release you until past dawn.
You can wriggle all you want, baby rabbit,
Neither your mother, nor your lover can help you here.
There is no one to save you but yourself.
Damsel in distress?
Ha! there are no princes in these dreams
And you are unable to help yourself.
Caught in the flames,
Forming bonds around your wrists.
There is no escape without the light of day
And that is a long time away.
Bells chime in forgotten towers,
Cracked and skull splitting.
You want to end it?
Go ahead, try all you want.
What? You're trapped?
We did tell you.
Now don't try to fight your way out,
We'll get the pliers.


I suppose I should get on with the work now, especially since there'll be no hope of getting any done as soon as Hayley gets up.

Another post tomorrow no doubt.

The Crane Dance

One final comment: The link I've just posted is a piece of music that could represent how I'm feeling at the moment.

Making Deals With Myself

Today I am feeling ill, and decided to stay home from university in favour of sleep. Since I have missed several of the lessons in the module I should be attending today, I made myself a deal that if I stayed home I would do a piece of my assignment work. I really should be doing this, but don't really feel like it. Though I know it's not surprising, who wants to work when they're feeling ill? But I need to get these done, and feel like I've reached a dead end.

Procrastination has never really been a major issue for me, I'll usually get to about two weeks before my deadline and do whatever I need to and still have time for the full on Guild Wars playing in the evening. This time it all seems to be piling up. The change to my schedule these past weeks didn't help (staying at Alex's mid-week instead of at the weekend), the main reason it screwed me over is because people are around at the weekend and half of my success relies on there being a sense of boredom. My work has, therefore, been put on hold in favour for more social activities, but it's funny, my blogging doesn't seem at all effected.

Now that I know I'm not doing work I find myself pondering what to do instead. I've slept for around three extra hours today, and though I have a headache, I no longer feel tired. My options you ask?

1) Play Guild Wars
2) Watch Desperate Housewives
3) Hang out with my sister
4) Sleep for 5 more hours

I'll probably start on GW, though first I'll need coffee and something to eat as, whatever it is I've got is not stomach related.

I had another weird dream last night too; it involved a lot of pole dancers and the world exploding. My hedgehog friend was there too, and so was Alex. It was strange. These troubled dreams of late lead me to believe that I'm not sleeping all that well, that and the fact that I'm tired. I'm a little worried, I can't help thinking something big might explode in my face. Occasionally I get a feeling of impending doom, and this is one of those times. I cower a little at the thought, but know that bad things happen to everyone.

Let's just hope this isn't a life-changer.

Clouds and Daisy Chains

So I've had another one of my thoughtful train journeys this morning. I was looking out of the window, and all I could see in the clouds was a series of platypuses. Yes I know my imagination gets the best of me sometimes, and this morning was no exception, though recently it has been floating all over the place, though perhaps floating is the wrong word.

Last night I had a dream about stealing a bottle of pepsi from a fridge; I'm not sure why it was pepsi, I don't even like pepsi. Recently though, my dreams have been weirder than normal, and I'm not sure why. I guess my imagination going crazy isn't exactly a bad thing. It's coming up to my assignment hand-in dates, and I haven't actually done most of the work, as long as I can order the thoughts I should be alright.

On my walk to university there is a graveyard; it's a shortcut, and chops off a chunk of the route. At this time of year the sight from it is beautiful (it's high up and you can see a lot of the city from it), but the most lovely thing about it is the sudden spring of daisies that adorn the grass. Mixed with the grass they make an intricate carpet of green and white with the occasional patch of golden buttercups. The daisies, of course, give the saying "pushing the daisies" a literal dark humour, which makes me chuckle.

The sad thing though, is that there are men mowing all the little flowers away, and along the path there are heads of daisies, violently decapitated and flung onto concrete to be trampled by reckless student feet. The fact that a lot of people don't really appreciate the dramatic bloom of flowers crushes me a little, just like those white magnificent jewels.

Though the daisies are being cut, it does bring me back to a time a year ago, sat on a hill with my dear Hayley and chatting, as we so often do. On this particular occasion though we both had the joy of May in our steps, and it was warm enough, for the first time in months, to sit outside and really enjoy life. I remember a bee pottering around in the grass, and the smell of cherry blossom. I made a daisy chain as we talked, and gave it to her. That was a good day, and I shall be reminded of it every year at this time.

In recent weeks Hayley and I seem to be growing further apart. The fact that our uni courses seem to insist on giving us assignment dates on alternate weeks doesn't help at all, but we hardly talk when either of us are around, because of things getting in the way. I miss her company, but find myself developing a relatively new friendship to depths beyond what I originally thought possible, and I've stopped pushing that person away as I do with almost everyone else. Perhaps this is a good sign, I'm not sure yet. Still, whatever it is that's driving these sudden changes is still hot on the rampage, and I'd be a fool to resist.

That's all I have to say for now.
So long.

Faith, Sex and Religion

Today is a special day in my family, my niece's christening. As such, I was required to attend a service at my parent's church, the church I grew up in until around the age of sixteen. I lost my faith at the age of fourteen after some rather disturbing instances, and have not been back since my parents finally let me stop attending.

It's been about three and a half years, and today I went back for the first time. I have to say, it hasn't changed a bit since the last time. Even the carpet and the paint on the walls is the same, but I guess I have changed since then, and probably a lot. Being forced to go to church for over half my lived life probably has something to do with the dislike of the place. I mean, I'm not against religion or anything, but being told what I should believe, well I'm not fond of the people who do, let's put it that way.

In the spirit of my dislike for the place, I didn't really listen to the sermon, but the bits that I did hear seemed like propaganda to me; a room full of people being told what they should think, feel and do was slightly off putting. The fact that the preacher was also extremely patronising didn't help. I'm not three, I know the bloody definition of ascension thank you very much. And, as if that wasn't enough, he kept making really bad jokes.

All in all I ignored him mostly and, instead decided to flick through the bible (graciously provided by the church) to Song of Songs. Now, if you've never read it I wouldn't hesitate to suggest you do; this book of the bible is full of sexually explicit innuendos, whoever said that Christians shouldn't enjoy their sex was oh so wrong, and this book pretty-much proves it. Before I quote from it, I guess I should set the stage; this book is basically a conversation between a woman and man who are in love. There are also parts of the conversation filled out by older women, who discourage the sex until after marriage (at least that's how i read it). Let me give you a quote:

"Like the finest apple tree in the orchard
is my lover among other young men.
I sit in his delightful shade and taste his delicious fruit.
He escorts me to the banquet hall;
it's obvious how much he loves me.
Strengthen me with raisin cakes,
refresh me with apples,
for I am weak with love.
His left arm is under my head,
and his right arm embraces me."

Wow, talk about forbidden "fruits". If that's not a sexual innuendo I don't know what is. Still, perhaps it's just my dirty mind. My favourite line in the entire book is:

"My lover is like a sachet of myrrh
lying between my breasts"

Understandably, I suppose, I have never heard a preacher use this book in a sermon, but I'd like to. Though perhaps cringe-worthy, this discrimination against a tiny little section of the bible is not to my liking. If I knew a preacher was using this book in his sermon I would surely turn up to the service, but going into a church to find that the man stood up at the front is going to stand there and patronise me for forty-five minutes isn't really what I'd call participating in God's love, perhaps it's an experience of religion, and if it's accurate, no wonder all my friends turned away from it. Those people who sit there every week may be used to it, but I thought religion was supposed to be about welcoming the new as well.

Anyway, enough on religion. And enough for today.

Duvets

From time to time I'll indulge and have a day sat in my duvet at the computer. I must say they are highly recommended as far as the need for "me time" goes. It's like never really getting up but still doing all those things you're supposed to (as long as they're not too strenuous). Indeed, I have written many an essay with my faithful duvet wrapped around me to keep me warm and snug.

Pampering myself comes naturally to me, and days in duvets are particularly coveted, especially since the times I can have them will become ever more limited as I become older and hopefully a little wiser also. I don't engorge myself in make up, I don't use any creams or facial packs or anything that other women might call "pampering". Though i would not personally condone the use of cosmetics as a bridge to personal pleasure, I know many women who would, and so I shall let that debate slide until another day.

It seems strange to me that I have never found a duvet quite like my own. My prickly hedgehog friend talks about this own bed often, personified as a she with tempting fingers that are insatiable around the hour of eleven pm. Once in the arms of his mistress he rarely rises until the morning, when she is seemingly done with him. Indeed there have been several occasions when he has vanished halfway through something on Guild Wars, and we have had to continue without him. "My bed, she calls to me" he will say, and vanish.

I guess beds are worth a mention, I mean each of us spends around a third of our lives in them. Each have their own personal preference: I personally love to sleep with the window open, Alex sleeps with the radio on, but there's always, always a bed. Even if caught out in the wilderness with nothing, our instinct is to cover ourselves with something to sleep under. I mean it's a security thing, that duvet is the one that protected you from the monsters when you were little.

I admit I still run for my bed when I'm entering my room in the dark, because it's warm, and somehow the doubts, and worries, and fears of monsters, aliens, creepy crawlies and others nasties, are unable to reach me there. In my mind they cannot penetrate the shield that holds my bed secure.

Perhaps that's a good thing though, I mean we all need somewhere where we feel safe, and if we can sleep there so much the better; after all, it's difficult to sleep in places where we don't feel safe.

So, perhaps my days with my duvet are an outreach for the safety that the bed represents. Perhaps I long to feel that all the time and those days of pampering are really an outreach to the safety from the imaginary monsters, as well as the real monsters in my life.

Feet

Ever since I first made this blog, this post has been building up. The subject I'm going to talk about today is one that most people find strange, some don't even believe me when I tell them, but I walk around barefoot. Yes, I do this even outside, even when it rains. But don't your feet get wet? I hear you cry; yes of course, but that doesn't stop me.


Let me take you back in time four years:
Enter a seventeen year old girl, walking into the college that she attends. She steps over the threshold, stops, and looks down.
"The mat is spiky!" she exclaims. It's clear it doesn't hurt her, and the boy next to her seems slightly amused.
They continue through to the student area and she's smiling now,
"Wow," she says, "I never realised how smooth this floor was."

This is a glimpse into the first day I didn't wear any shoes. My feet were so soft then, every step was strangely painful. But after six months, my feet were tough enough to deal with that following winter. Spring is truly the right time to start.

The rainy day:
Enter the same seventeen year old girl, with the same boy. It is clear he is her boyfriend, he has his arm around her. The are stood under an umbrella. It's raining.
Two young men come up to them.
"Are you going to get your girlfriend some shoes for Christmas?" one asks, the other sniggers.
"No," replies Alex.
"Why not?" asks the other boy.
"Because she doesn't need them."
"But her feet are getting wet."
"Yes, but so are your shoes."

One of the perks of going barefoot is that the people who judge on appearance see your feet and think you're not worth anything. Those who are actually worth the effort of being friends with will see you as more than just a pair of bare feet, it's like a filter on friendships.

The big question:
Enter the same seventeen year old girl, she's walking with a nineteen year old, who is currently one of her best friends. They're talking as they walk through the centre of a town. They are debating which shop to visit next.
Enter a young boy to the side, he's perhaps eleven.
"Hey! Why ain't you wearing shoes?" he shouts at the girl.
"I am! Can't you see them?!" shouts the nineteen year old, without even pausing, "urgh, kids these days."
The girl starts laughing.

It always makes me appreciate my friends more when they are just as annoyed by the questions as I am. I don't wear shoes, get over it. I could ask all you chavs out there why you're wearing burberry caps, I mean seriously, you think it looks good? It makes you look like a dick.

Moving on, if I somehow, through this post inspire you to stop wearing shoes, be aware, it's not a walk in the park. There are repocussions to this lifestyle: when you first stop your ankles hurt because of the support they're used to, the under-developed muscles will ache if you're walking, even for ten or twenty minutes. Another thing is your body's own heating; I can't put shoes on, even if they're flip flops because my body loses heat through my soles (granted, this is how it should be, but it is bloody annoying at times) which makes wearing shoes, even in the middle of winter, like standing in the sun in summer, with boiling water being poured over you every ten seconds.

Despite these problems, I wouldn't give it up for the world, and I'll tell you why: I love the feeling of the ground beneath my feet, the textures, the temperatures, it's all addictive. People may look at me weirdly, but I'm happy and, in the end, that's all that matters to me and the people I care about.

Train Windows

For the first time in about a month I caught a train this morning without the prospect of being Hayleyed at the station after mine. Though I do enjoy her company, and look forward to seeing her and chatting all the way to uni, I also admit that I miss catching the train alone.

By nature I am somewhat of a dreamer, and standing alone on a train with a window by my side feeds my imagination with visions of azure skies and indigo lakes, silver streams and jet black crows. The music that plays in my ears only intensifies this experience, blocking out all the waffle and chatter of the people around me, the sound of book pages being turned, the clatter of the train as it switches lines.

I especially love those days when it's raining; when I say raining I'm not talking about light drizzle, I mean full-on rain, the kind that come plummeting to earth and shatter on concrete, the kind that is usually accompanied by the clash of thunder and the flourish of lightning in all its theatrical melodrama. Days with rain like that make me so nostalgic, especially about one day in particular; memories of running to the bus stop, getting soaked in the process, a ride home in wet clothes, and then the first shower we ever shared when a shower is needed just to warm you up. Memories like that day make me realise that I could never live in a country where it seldom rains.

This morning, when stood at the station, I saw a robin swoop onto the tracks, stand on them for a moment and then seize a small insect and fly back to the platform. I also noticed at least three other people, all with smiles on their faces, watching the bird go about his business. It still surprises me sometimes how much we see when we really look. The world is such a wondrous place, and I'm glad to live in it; with all it's rain, music, imagination, hostility and magnificence.

Hide Your Hedgehogs

In the summer, when venturing outside in Alex's back garden at night, we see hedgehogs. We think they live underneath the chicken house. The first time I ever saw one of them was a warm night a couple of years ago, we were outside at about eleven pm, I'm not sure why, but it was a beautiful clear night.

I was walking across the lawn when I saw a shape close to the ground. Understandably it made me jump, but after I'd recovered, I had a chance to look at it properly. Before I actually looked at it properly I thought it was a giant rat, or perhaps a rabbit. But it was actually a really large hedgehog.

After that night we've seen more hedgehogs in the garden, sometimes we'll go hunting for them in the bushes. Because they're so spiny they have no need to be quiet, and they actually move surprisingly loudly, almost as loudly as we do; in fact, Alex has heard noises outside before now and thought that someone was trying to break in, but when he's looked out of the window he's seen a hedgehog wandering around the patio.

And this brings me to a certain friend nicknamed "The Hedgehog". He's been wading through a pit of broken promises recently, and I have to say, I feel bad for him. I remember those times, the times when recovery from betrayal seemed to swamp everything. I'm impressed with his continued optimism, I know I would probably have crumbled into a hole of misery, even though I may not show it. His nickname stems from something said a while back. He often hides behind a prickly exterior, but his fluffy underneath is well worth getting poked a couple of times. He's a good friend, and I really hope he finds the type of girl he truly deserves.

Ghosts and Hair Extentions

Recently I've been juggling thoughts for four creative pieces. Two are prominent and, because of that will probably be done first. The first one: Rapunzel with a twist.

The assignment is to write two thousand words on one of the themes of the texts we've been covering, and since the two main texts are mainly little red riding hood with other fairytale elements thrown in. And then I thought, what if Rapunzel had been the maker of her own demise? what if it was her that had asked to be put into the tower in the first place to try to filter out the men that didn't deserve her. And then the idea festered for a while, and grew, and soon a new piece of the story grew into being, what if the length of hair wasn't for the men to climb up; what if it was an escape route given to Rapunzel by the witch and she'd just been using the hair wrong?

Rapunzel has become opinionated and feminist, so much so that she threw the key to her tower out of the window and refuses help from any man. First is Nick, the knighted dwarf, an overly cheery little thing with brains enough not to risk his life with an attempted climb up her hair.

The second piece of writing is basically whatever the hell I want it to be as long as it pushes the boundaries of my abilities. In the last class my lecturer put up five words on the board, I remember three: Obsession, Ghost and Perfection.

In my own way I will incorporate all three, but I was thinking of taking the idea of a broken man and bringing in drink, and the smell of a woman that vanishes when he looks around. It's nothing more than a skeleton at the moment, but it should be a challenge to write, and I enjoy challenges.

Broken Hearts

Hearts are strange things, sometimes they fall so easily into the claws of the wrong people. Those claws can destroy everything, can rip those feelings away like vultures with corpses. Any of you who have experienced the pain of a broken heart know how painful it actually is, science tells us that emotional pain can manifest as physical pain and heartbreak is one of those circumstances. The pain is difficult to believe if you've never felt it: sometimes it hurts so much you have to check that your heart is actually beating.

I've recently been confronted several times with memories, and painful ones too, but I'll not go into them here. Those of you who read this at my personal request probably already know which ones I'm talking about. Regardless of the pain of these memories, they remind me of everything I have become since those times.

I see those feelings of heartbreak in my friends, they may not tell me, but I can often see it in their eyes, or hear it in their voices, and the most tale tell sign: those looks that are thrown at happy couples still strolling through the daisy gardens of ignorant bliss.

I've had several friends who's hearts have fallen fast to the wrong people; people who haven't deserved them, people who haven't realised, or people who've messed them around. I've watched them hurt and tried to be there for them, I've listened, given advice, and hopefully been compassionate or helped a little at least.

I'll freely admit I'm a flirt, but hopefully I make my intention clear enough to prevent those people getting hurt. I also know that in my time I have broken other people's hearts, but I believe in fate to a certain extent; there's someone for everyone, and you can't help who you fall in love with, because when you really fall, you fall fast.

At the end of the day the bad times make us realise what counts in our lives, and find out what we want to change about ourselves. Broken hearts are painful but perhaps they're exactly what we need to re-evaluate how we made the mistakes that brought us to those bad times. Sure, we blame the one who stole our heart and tore it to shreds, but we can guard against people like that from doing it again in the future.

Eerie Bells

Those of you who know me well enough to have my friendship across Skype, may have noticed that recently my quote after my name has been "eerie bells". This was actually also my quote from a while ago, and here I'm about to explain it.

My first novel opens with a scene of a creepy run-down garden, and in the distance there is the sound of a clock tower striking twelve. The original idea came from my own experience. Late at night sometimes, when the noises of the day are no longer there, I can hear the clock attached to the church the next village over striking on the hour. I have a tendency to count the strikes, but if the wind is gusting I sometimes don't catch all of them.

In the chapter after that, the main character (currently suffering from insomnia) hears a clock tower in the distance strike one am just before her life is suddenly flung backwards to a life she once knew but had since given up. The whole novel needs rewriting, but the instance of the bells remain the same.

Now if I take you into a computer game that I have played: American McGee's Alice, and inform you that there are bells weaved into the extremely creepy music that plays in the background, you may start to get an idea of what I'm saying, but if you haven't I'll give you the general point: bells are creepy.

When I say this I am throwing the term "creepy" around lightly, they're not always creepy, but with the right circumstances they can be like a scorpion crawling up your bare back. The ones with a sound like a hollow pipe being struck are the worst.

However, if I look at these bells in a different way I can say that they are a call to worship. Google also informs me that the bells in Catholicism are used to symbolise the voice of god and that bells around the world are often used to symbol peace. But those rings in the middle of the night, though somehow comforting can be downright eerie.

I think I see them this way because of the unnatural stillness as the world sleeps. I experience the same feeling when I can hear trains going past in the small hours of the morning. Perhaps this is an abnormal fascination, I mean, even in my most recent novels the bells still appear, one particular instance being a plant that grows bell-shaped fruit and chime when the wind blows through the trees.

Bells play with my imagination, and I sat at my computer one day, quite a while ago, and thought about it. The term "eerie bells" jumped into my head, and without a pen and paper, or an open document, I turned to Skype and entered it into the quote box so that I wouldn't forget it. I don't intend to change it, but perhaps, someday, I'll write a story about those bells.

Flaws

I was thinking about my flaws the other day and the flaws of other people too and I realised that shared flaws of personality often bring people together in friendship. I have recently spoken about arrogance, and though I'll freely admit that I can be arrogant myself at times, I would not list it as a reoccurring flaw of mine (I've just realised that this actually sounds really arrogant, so I could be wrong about it).

Long story short I saw both arrogance and ignorance in play yesterday from the same person in the space of about ten seconds. It happened in Guild Wars (yes I realise that I blog about this a lot but give me at little credit, it is my favourite thing to do at the moment), that a team member of mine was standing right next to a boss shooting arrows at it. I called him up on it, asked him why, and he implied that with less space between them his interrupts would be more effective. In my puzzlement I asked Dave who said that was tripe, and in my own anal-retentive (flaw 1) way I looked it up. I discovered that all bows have a FIXED flight time, and that standing closer to an enemy won't make a blind bit of difference. It seems I won (flaw 2: over-competitive nature).

In other news, recently I started to worry that we're falling behind in the race through prophesies (flaw 3: neurosis), even though there are almost four months remaining and it's measured in game time (number of hours played on that character) not actual time. We are actually still well ahead of the main other competitors as we have three of four survivors in tacked and they have one of four, and that's by pure skill alone from that player. Their monk, to say the least, is kind of useless (flaw 4: judgemental), but I'm going to stop this rant right now because otherwise I may lose control of it.

Among my escapades as a monk, I've also played my elementalist quite a lot recently. I love playing a starburster, because it's fun to jump about which is an assassin thing mostly, but I'm not very good as a sin (flaw 5: low self-confidence). I was speaking to Dave about my starbursting, and said that I didn't want to do it in hard mode, mostly because I think that as a squishy elementalist I'd be easy to kill, but also because my damage output wouldn't be as high with the higher armour rating and also because I don't want to be a burden on Dave. He'll probably say that it's fine, but I don't think it is. That seventy armour rating that his assassin has makes one hell of a difference, the only way I could really do it would be to play it on my sin, and then I risk my energy being too low (flaw 6: over thinking).

As the days go by I find myself more and more surrounded with everything, my work will need to be done soon to complete my second year, but I don't want to give up Guild Wars hours, time with Hayley or Alex or anything that I do really, which means I should start now, yet here I am instead procrastinating (flaw 7: procrastination) and posting yet another blog post. Perhaps it would be prudent to write my assignments into a blog page and just copy and paste them at the end, then I might get them done. I'm going to have to juggle of course, but I have done it every semester since the beginning of college, so I'm pretty good with time at the moment. Of course it also doesn't help that I've just purchased the complete five seasons of desperate housewives and am now more addicted that ever.

Something that does play on my side though, is that I don't play Guild Wars when no one else is online. Doing things on my own has become a chore rather than an exciting challenge. Still I do enjoy Guild Wars more and more without a doubt.

Anyway, seven flaws in one post. Awesome ¬¬ (flaw 8: sarcasm).

Graves and Nestboxes

As the title would suggest I have recently had a death among my pets, my budgie Primrose died while I was away at Alex's this weekend. She'd been out of condition for months, but as Beaky (her cage mate) is fine it was nothing to do with me or the way I keep them. The most depressing thing about this incident is that she's died at that time of year when birds start to breed. Only last week I bought a nest box for her and Beaky and installed it in their aviary.

My dad (who keeps many birds) has suggested I look for a breeder and purchase one of his spare hens off him. The truth is, I'm not sure I want to, I've had four budgies in the past year and only one is left alive. On the other side of this internal argument is the fact that Beaky is still very young, he's only about a year old, and I don't want him to live out his life alone in an empty aviary.

In other bird related news, my dad's zebra finches have started breeding. They do this every year, but when I went to see him this morning while he was feeding them, he pointed out a newly appeared youngster and explained that he hadn't even realised any of the eggs had hatched yet. The baby zebra finch's parents are both beautiful specimens the kind of zebra finches I love, the white ones with little brown capes. The baby is also like this, though more brown than his parents. The baby reminds me of what Beaky could have in the future, I don't want him to miss out on parenthood just because I've had bad experiences.

Multiple Infusions

It's interesting how much things can change in just one moment, I witness it all the time in Guild Wars where one enemy too many and the team goes down. If you don't account for the possibility of another group coming into your team's aggro circle things can go from good to terrible in a split second.

And it's the same in relationships. One badly phrased comment can change the entire dynamic of a relationship. I've watched it happen to friends and even relationships that I've had myself. The dented respect that it creates is impossible to fix with just an apology (if one is ever given), and often the consequences of the bad moment extend far into the future.

Arrogance is a particularly vile reason for breaks in friendships, but a common one. Just like with the aggro, if you're too confident your team suffers. One particular unnamed guildy is so arrogant that me and Ben discreetly refuse to take him to bogroots, not because he's a bad player, but because he has terrible arrogance and blames everyone else for the consequences. I saw the same guildy break a friendship last night with someone who's respect is given freely. Perhaps people would call my friend naive for his free giving of respect to almost everyone, but I applaud him, it's more than I can do, my respect is earned.

I have to say that recently my respect of the arrogant player has been dwindling, as I see him offend more and more of the people I hold with high regard it becomes more and more dented. He's taught me a lot as a player, but perhaps it's time to reconsider him, I'm more or less equal in skill now (though we both play different professions, so it's hard to gauge sometimes) but he still treats me as inferior, as though he thinks that my improvement in skill is simply a surface quality and therefore not worth note.

Arrogance aside, ruptured friendships are hard to mend, and I hope that this one doesn't boil over. The worst part is that the guy that the remark was made against had been really focused on remedying that problem. The monks at the time (myself included) said nothing, because bad things happen, and in this case it wasn't avoidable, we knew that the guy was doing his best. But for the guy who made the remark perfection is absolutely required (never mind that he himself made that mistake numerous times during the remainder of the mission).