Monday, April 21, 2008

sodium chloride developments

Hot emo-tears!

I miss my support systems so much. Everything hurts.

Friday, April 18, 2008

with a vengeance

I missed the cat-fight at the office yesterday. Perhaps there will be a repeat performance if we set out a single cup of milk the next time they're seen together.
It is a sign of the times, I think, that I am positively gleeful at the complete absence of metaphor (woo.) in that last paragraph.

Meanwhile, as it indicates, the T is once more part of the working masses, spending her weeks at a Landscape firm, designing interiors. Today she wore a sari to work just because. The T's a beautiful woman in a sari. She is, really. These are the things she does to break monotony.
Not that it is very monotonous - T seems to have a knack of ending up in offices with plenty of sunshine, complete freedom (or as near as makes no difference) of musical expression, and much greenery around. No air-conditioned hellholes for this alter ego!!!

* * *

I wish I could talk about all the adventures I've been having. I've had loads - weekend meetings at parks and analysis of poems and Mensa MHKs and new people and old people with the average coincidence thrown in once in a while, the usual getting lost in unknown places and dropping in uninvited and people who love me because I amuse them.
Regular life-o'-mine, in fact. Only so much more so that I cannot quite summon up the energy to be witty and sparkling about it. So unfair!

I've been feeling a great weight lately. Almost as if I'm moving from day to day waiting for something - something huge and overwhelming and life-changing.
I cannot wait to see what it is. ^_^ I amine-smile at the thought.
Here's to awaiting developments of unknown film, ladies and gentlemen. And the triumphant return of metaphor.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

the wisdom that the old can't give away

Certain people think they know better than you do. They think they know what something means, or what is to be done to fix a problem. They're usually wrong, if only because they believe they are not. They are the ones who rub me up in all the wrong ways.
Still, it is true (or should be, or what's the point?) that experience gives some wisdom that the young cannot agree with until they have seen it for themselves.

The problem is, then, how the real good advice (the one-of-a-kind guaranteed stuff whose value we don't realize till we've paid heavy prices) is to be made palatable. Surely it is more agreeable to take advice from someone who dispenses it without giving you an overwhelming urge to go entirely against it as a side-helping?
Because how many of us have done something that was unwise and foolhardy only because someone gave advice that was as unpalatable as it was wise? When we are young. Young in parts, as I am. As are you. Don't deny it, you are.

Here is a thought I had. Classed in the same category as the sixteen-year-old nurse who tells her charge in a loud, strident tone not to touch something that the baby has no interest in until the instant the admonition is given, is, perhaps, the person who tells you that you could get over the feelings you have for them, if you only gave it time. Can't they see that being told that will only make one try the harder to prove them wrong? the last thing one needs is to feel an "I-told-you-so"-er sneering at one in hindsight.
Perhaps age doesn't bring much wisdom with its experience, at that.

I think I have been rather lucky in terms of the parents, at any rate. Lucky me. :)

Sunday, April 6, 2008

a bucketful of smoke

The T had an adventure Seven Weeks ago.
(When I started writing this, it was only four weeks and a day past the adventure; also incidentally a month after it by date. Just before this post, in fact.)
The 17th of February, 2008.

At that point of time in life, the T was behaving rather mopishly and refusing to write, so I had to make do with a promise and a few pleasant phrases like "the last day of my life" and "die in horrible ways, oh my poor mother" to remind me of the whole thing. I later wrote out a (later revealed to be incomplete) account to a dear friend in a colourful letter that was written two weeks later, when the T was on another adventure (this time in Chennai).
To return to Sunday, the 17th of February, then.

The back-story to the day seemed innocuous enough. There was a party, there was a sleep-over, there were friends that someone's mother hadn't met yet, there was a reluctance to ask for permission to attend aforementioned party... and there was a request for T's company.
a. It was a Sunday
b. The T wasn't really doing anything much in life at that moment
c. This was an old school friend the T hadn't hung around with in ages
d. There was going to be a PARTY!!11!!one!
T said, "Sure, I'll come."

Following which a half-lie was told, a flowery top and skirt packed, a toothbrush almost forgotten, and a long walk undertaken in some excitement. Hurrah, yes?
Not so much.

It was not until T got to ... let's call her V, shall we? ... V's house that she discovered that the party was to consist of herself, V, V's friend F (whose birthday it was) and an unknown element X who "might or might not show up". The "party", in fact, was beginning to sound decidedly unpromising.
Those who know the T, however, will remember that, once embarked on an adventure (however sordid) she refuses to back down under any circumstances whatsoever.

And so it was that I found myself in an auto at 7 PM, clutching my overnight bag, making desultory conversation about skirts and tops and "there's a sale on at lifestyle right now", and wondering what kind of evening it was going to turn out to be.
In the course of the conversation, V mentioned that F read a lot, and I made the (surely forgivable?) mistake of looking forward to some lively discussion that might take my mind off...well, whatever my mind was on, anyway.
Alas, alack, egad! The entertainment for the evening consisted almost entirely of cigarettes and alcohol, punctuated by some of the music we'd happened to bring along. So I sat on the mouldy old sofa and listened to A Perfect Circle while clouds of smoke were blown in my general direction - and tried not to compare my companions unfavourably with other people.
Then! Diversion! X (after multiple phone calls) arrived! Then I learned that we were to go dancing, and perked up for almost three whole minutes. By the end of that time I'd figured out that none of those present were the kind to arrive early anywhere, and after a third cigarette was lit, I escaped the house to go for a walk. Once outside, I admired the moon and petted a friendly dog which then attempted to hump my leg.
At forty-five minutes past nine, after we'd cut a cake and had some "fun" with "magic candles", we proceeded to the wossname. The club. Which was just a lot of smoke, followed by some more smoke, some flashing lights and cool fluorescent effects which made me glad I wasn't wearing white, and some more smoke which I couldn't get away from because those smoking were the ones I was there with. They did try telling me to "not think about it" when my eyes had gotten so raw that I escaped into the relatively smoke-free lobby, but I naturally paid no attention to that insensitive remark and continued to behave in a mildly cranky fashion the rest of the night.

The next morning I was dropped home on the back of a borrowed bike (ridden by a guy who'd gotten perhaps two hours of sleep), with an enormous borrowed helmet that kept knocking me on the side of a head, and various thoughts of messy accidents running through it.

That was the morning that I discovered that dumping an entire outfit in a bucket can make even water smell like smoke.
And about the fiasco at my University that meant I'd been failed in my final thesis project.
(This resolved itself into a comfortable 70%, by the way, so no worries.)

T will forgo adventures of this sort, if she may be so bold.