Now this post shan't be very long at all, because it is technically writing and I really need to channel my ability to string two words together this lovely day into something better, and also due to something that I won't elaborate on but is a routine occupational hazard of having ladyparts, I am in a painkillery drughaze and rather need snacks and caffeinated somethings soon so I don't keel over.

What have I been doing?
SAW THE RED SOX ON SUNDAY YAY. Beckett pitched the entire game and was awesome, and Boston beat Kansas City 6-0, and it didn't rain, and we toured Fenway the day before and although I forgot a writing implement, I carved my initials into the paint of the part of the Green Monster where the seats are. There's about a quintillion or so signatures up there and a "YANKEES STILL SUCK" up there as well so it is not as if my vandalising ballparks is something to tut-tut at. But we won wewonwewonwewonnn and our seats weren't even THAT terrible (we were a bit far away but we could still see everything provided people didn't stand in the aisles for ages and not sit down) although the man behind us! AGH! I am glad he got up in the fourth inning to look for better seats and never came back! He was the size of an orbital satellite, spoke I believe entirely through his nose, smelt of sick and peanut butter, and through some horrible cosmic glitch, had a wife. He whined about the seats they had from the instant he sat down until the game began, which is rather silly because you really do know full well how far away you're going to be from the game when you buy your tickets and therefore, O Great Spheroid in a Terrible Tan Plaid, the lousiness of the seats is no fault but your own. Sir. He also did not seem to understand the game whatsoever, and his gaptoothed friend who looked like a sexual predator crossed with wires, dust, and a cow, had to explain about 3/4 of what was going on and who the players were and that as well. AND THEY WERE LOUD. VERY LOUD. LOUD AND NASAL. Except for his wife who kept telling him she felt ill and had all morning, and he kept telling her Dhyaaaw, shadddaapppp.
BUT THEY WERE ONLY SEATED BEHIND US UNTIL ABOUT HALFWAY THROUGH THE FOURTH INNING THANK GOD. I doubt very much they found three perfectly empty seats anywhere in the park to be honest but I really do not care if they wandered aimlessly throughout the stands all game. And I do not wish to make it sound as if all Red Sox fans are loud and stained, for they are not, only a small percentage, they are like an entertaining group of hat wearing, giddily screaming, Sweet Caroline singing cultists. And the subway ride in was entirely amusing because there were like two people on the entire train not wearing Boston hats or shirts or pairs of red socks.

And then after the game we went to Cold Stone and I got banana flavoured ice cream with toffee and it was goooooooooood.



And I am seeing my dear Eliza tomorrow, eating sushi, probably doing other things that are awesome, and she has made me a 21 coloured beret.
It is a beret with twenty one colours.
And she has made it.
IT HAS TWENTY ONE COLOURS.

:D

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUUUU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR NIKOLA TESLAAAAA
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUU.

I would have an entry full of more relevant topics, but my brain is full of radio static today. I blame lack of sleep and lack of tea and lack of lunch(off to remedy that when I'm done typing! only we . . . sortofdon'thaveanything
unless i want to take like an hour preparing something crazy elaborate for myself and knowing me today i'd likely cook so poorly i'd create a black hole of awful cooking in the kitchen and destroy the whole town) and also the fact that I am only in Maine for forty-nine more days so therefore I believe my subconscious is saying Why On Earth Bother and told my intelligence to go on holiday until it was desperately needed. Up yours, subconscious, up yours with a kiwano melon, but at least I have figured out your methods, no matter how horrible I find them.

Elizaelizaeiiiiiza if you're reading this I humbly request a picture of the twenty-one coloured hat of sex and unf to tide me over til Wednesdayyyy.
.....iwanttoseeyoudashitall. but the hat will have to suffice in the meantime. T___T

I wrangled routers and needled around with networks and BEAT COMPUTERS INTO WIBBLING SUBMISSION this afternoon and now have the internet back at my disposal. Whee.

I'M LIKE . . . A TEA GURU OR SOMETHING APPARENTLY.

I have been chosennnnnnn.

THIS IS BIG, GUYS.
REAL BIG.

XD

So. I ran off to Vermont on a semi-whim, and what happened in the two days I was not at home?

A massive electrical storm hit Bangor and lightning struck the transformer nearest our house, ran giggling through the wires and slaughtered beyond repair (or at least crippled severely) a great many electronic devices, including both our DSL-modem and our router. Hoorie hoorah. Normally I would be all 'Oh glee in a bearnaise sauce! Now there is nothing to distract me from writing and art and things!'
BUT.
I have like 203750238 college forms to fill out that can only be done online and that are also due by the 15th and knowing how unfair Fairpoint (phone/internet provideything) is when it comes to having anything done remotely on time or conveniently, well, there will be a lot of hiding out in libraries cursing internet-based collegiate bureaucracy for a while, for I cannot just fill out bits here and bits there, unless I wish to take up residence in Speculative Sciences in a small tent.

I am now off to fill in many blanks and be sad.

PEOPLE OF EARTH!
Do not contact me on the internet until further notice because I will likely not be able to respond to it with any sort of haste whatsoever.

doctor.klingensmith:  +wistfully stares at fedora++begrudgingly starts to walk out from hiding spot+
+places fedora on your head, and adjusts it just so+
^_________^

 me:  Thaaaat's it. Don't want you destroying the fabric of reality with your hat lustings.
:3

 doctor.klingensmith:  Hmmph. You know, I would have given you a trade...you could even have had my good hat Claudia, if you wished!

 me: But I do not want Claudia! My hat is lovely and delightful and has been good to me for countless aeons!
Claudia is yours and you should not trivialise her loyalties by threatening to trade her off like noblemen sunken in gambling might do to their daughters!

 doctor.klingensmith:  ...you have insulted me by comparing me to a nobleman sunken in gambling. Harrumph. Also, you're quite right about your fedora, by the way - it does look quite charming. +adjusts it again+

 me:  I merely compared your offer.

 doctor.klingensmith:  True, true...but you really are a strange sort if you equate trading off a hat to trading off one's own daughter. :3

 me:  What, your hats do not offer your their undying fealty? You have never known the bond between man and head-accoutrement? Dear dear dear me!
Poor creature! I should buy you soup.
And give you cuddlings.

 doctor.klingensmith:  (NOT STRAWBERRY. I'm a subhuman, remember?) And since the world has shown me only bleakness and despair, dearest, would you mind teaching me to play lawn bowls? Really, that flamingo you so cleverly named Wesley has not been much help for me - it seems he particularly enjoys speaking Klingon, but never English. Occasionally he'll speak a mixture of both.
It's getting on my nerves, just a bit.
Cuddlings can come afterwards.

 me:  Oh come now. Strawberry cupcakes scarcely taste like strawberry at all!
But yes, certainly. Posthaste. And oh dear, Wesley. I did give him to you in hopes that he'd be a linguistic marvel, really, a help in dealings with various peculiarities strange and foreign, but he seems to be conducting himself more like a novelty act! I know quite good and well that he can speak seventeen different languages and also translate sign language! (he has no hands, so he can merely interpret.) Wesley, really !

 doctor.klingensmith:  He does seem a bit full of himself sometimes, but he's adorable, all the same. I do appreciate him as a gift...but I would like to learn lawn bowls, really. ^_^

 me:  Well! Then! First you take a bowl, and then you take a lawn . . .

 doctor.klingensmith:  You mean you forcefully seize a person's lawn so you can play this game?!
Oh, Viktor! This is completely delightful!
8D
...or did I misinterpret you?
T_T

 me:  Of course! Did you not know that this was invented upon the windswept plateaus of Mongolia by our dear Ghengis Khan himself to keep his troops' morale up and their conquering skills honed to a point?

 me:  It was merely reappropriated as a bland social-gatherings game for the hopeless and the tailcoat-clad. Its true nature is often forgotten, strangely enough.

 doctor.klingensmith:  ...do you realize that you are the first human that I've ever allowed to court me? ...look at what you just told me about this game, and you shall understand why. +smiles smugly+ I'm proud of you, deary, for knowing so very much! So! Whose lawn shall we choose?

 me:  Hmm . . . ah! Do you see over there, behind that black fence and in front of that large white house? I'm sure the President wouldn't mind us doing a wee spot of conquering, now would he.

 doctor.klingensmith:  (Sorry I disappeared there, for a moment. I'm back now!) Are you too terribly sure? All right then. When I place the bowl on his lawn, does that make it somehow...conquered?
Then what?

 me:  Oh no no no, not at all! For we have to decide what to put in the bowl. Gazpacho soup? Eels' eyes? Sand? A small chihuahua named Henry? The strategy in the game lies in the symbolism , my dear, it is a game of wit and skill and pulling dramatic plot twists out of one's behind. We wouldn't just leave upon a lawn of such magnitude something like, say, a bowl of chicken curry! We must ponder, look to the heavens and the astronomy-towers . . . what would Alexander the Great have done? Split-pea soup and three rose petals, that's how he ever got out of Macedonia . . .

 doctor.klingensmith:  ....you are just pulling this all out of your arse, aren't you Viktor? And yet, that doesn't matter, because I love your version of lawn bowls, because it's simply brilliant!

 me:  Well I did say it was a game of pulling things out of one's arse, yes.
[goes slightly red]

 doctor.klingensmith:  What shall we put in the bowls, eh? Indeed, it must be menacing...tell me, what is your favorite novel, in your entire library, that you love and cherish above all other books?
+chuckles at the going red bit+
+hair ruffle+

 me:  [is this an actual question or are you asking Viktor?]

 doctor.klingensmith:  +...they're kind of the same person, considering that Viktor seems to be a self-insert, similar to Coppelia, but I'm asking Viktor+

 me:  Well, if I was to honestly pick a favourite we would likely spend the entire day sitting here with you enduring my hmming and chin-scratching, and by then I'm certain the Secret Service'd catch on and send out a preemptive strike of liquorice allsorts and the game'd be over in a flash. But something menacing, perhaps? Twilight. The mere sight of that peeking out of a bowl'd send everyone in the district limits packing.

 doctor.klingensmith:  No! No! That's not the point! The point was to pick a lovely, exquisite and classical book, and then build a fire inside the bowl and burn all the copies that we could find of it! Now that would be terrifying and horrible, I tell you.
That would be a lovely way to terrify any sane population.
If, of course, you can stand the thought of book-burning, and considering that you've gone from red to pale green in about thirty seconds, I'd say that you apparently cannot.

 me:  [passes out]

 doctor.klingensmith:  +catches you+ Viktor? Are you awake? Viktor? +fans you+
Oh dear...

 me:  Mnffggg.

 doctor.klingensmith:  Signs of life, egads!

 me:  —aah! C—C—Oh Coppelia! It was horrid! I had the most terrible nightmare, you were suggesting to me that we build a pyre of literature on the President's lawn! I—oh goodness, I swear, 'twas just a dream of fevered madness I assure you, my true self does not find you capable of such things!
-------
We also decided that we are going to open up a icosahedronal bookshop that is also a space-time portal in an alleyway in 1800s London someday. Hence my new journal title. Melanie bwarghf why do you have to live at the other edge of the time-zone. I want to see you before this winter. D:

23 january 1928 by =Vexworth on deviantART

So a wee bit o'backstory for ye wee bairns and that all: I essentially didn't draw anything between last April and early this May due to various life-circumstances foul and undesirable. And therefore, don't care if this is good or not or what, I DREW SOMETHING AND I'M POSTING IT WEEEEEEEEEE

I think I've retained more information about history from listening to Al Stewart than I have from anything outwardly educational.

TANGIBLE: Loving loving loving this rain in perpetuity we seem to be getting around here lately. Rain tends to be a rather good omen for me so three days of being able to ramble around with a large beige umbrella with cats all printed on it and my blue wellies and be able to love the sounds made when all I can hear is the world around me has made me much more mellow than I've been. But who knows how long it shall last.

------

INTANGIBLE: Sigh. It's waiting, that's all it is. It is not madness or failure or dysfunction! It is fear! Fear of what? Does it matter? Fear of something strange and nameless and peculiar and nebulous. It is the state of unsettlement that I have felt since last March. It is the daily realisation that there is no point in wasting pleasant emotions upon a time that shan't matter. Is that sad? Sick? Likely. But a year from now this shall all be history. Less than a year, milovelies. To have my future once again be a glorious mess of uncertainty and excitement instead of daily predictability—to not know what a day shall bring—I'll remember the feelings once more. They're just unfamiliar. Addressing such things is the first step, I suppose.

------

MADE OF PENCIL-MARKS AND/OR YARN: I'M GOING TO GO DRAW THINGS NOW. And then finish the Sock. The Sock gets capitalised because the Sock is transcendental and majestic. Glorious and ageless. It radiates inner light rivalling the most brilliant of stars and suns. Truly it is a pink striped deity among knitwear.

I am proud of that sock. Although I suppose when it is done I will have to knit another one. And I might not love it as much because it will not be my first. And then I will feel guilty for not loving it as much. And of course it cannot be the Sock. There can be only one Sock. This might be a problem.

Anypoop. I honestly honestly don't know why I'm updating this other than for some odd reason I feel like I'll end up facing some serious and horrid ELIZARAAAAAAGE if I wait six months 'twixt updates again. I've just rather gotten away from blogging and that lately because honestly my life isn't interesting at the moment and is not poised to be interesting until late June at the earliest (Off To Merrie Ole' London) and late August at the latest (Off To Merrie Olde New York and Collegings And A Proper Existence, Hopefully, Away From Various People I'm Not Fond Of) so I'm living in a state that I cannot easily extricate myself from until August, and that also has coupled with it a sad dearth of intriguing writing topics.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND NOWWWWWW. T____T

 

P.S. Free juice! You get it if you pass out while getting your blood drawn! :D ALL THE COOL KIDS ARE DOIN' IT.

P.P.S. Oh, and? How awesome is Maine, you guys? How fucking amazing is Maine? www.bangordailynews.com/detail/105356.html

I'M POSTING. ZABBITABLAUGH.

There is absolutely no way that everything that has happened between last August and now can be made into one livejournal entry without reaching novel-length proportions. So I shan't speak of that all! But what I shall do is . . . hmm. Well, I can try. Actually—no. I'll just rant on, and if I touch on relevant information, then more power to me. I am entirely out of practise at writing relevant journal entries. Apologies.

School is over tomorrow. HUZZAH. I have not enjoyed this year of university. I wasn't particularly supposed to be lingering in Maine any longer . . . but welf. Stuff and that. FInancial and social and . . . mostly financial. I have a sleazebag uncle. He does things with college funds that he should not do. Or even be allowed to do legally. BUT. I AM STILL GOING TO NEW YORK NEXT YEAR SO THAT'S ALL GRAND. Monetary arghings have been rectified, my deferral was accepted, I don't have to reapply, and I get credits for the few classes I took this year at UMaine anyway so that's all well and good. I can get out of first year English, German, and psychology YAAAAY :D. So it's just sort of like I've got a missing year wedged in there somewhere.
But my uncle is still a sleazebag, regardless. And smells of cologne and yachts. I hope a piano falls on him.

I'M GOING TO THE UK IN JULY/MAYBE LATE JUNE. :D That'll also be nifty. I'm seeing some cousintypes I've not seen in a while, and another cousintype I've not seen EVER because he's two. He's named Marco. And speaks Portugese and English already because he's smarter than I am. And he has a marvellous green scarf that I made him, and apparently that he wore all through the winter. And I'm then roaming around England and Scotland and possibly Wales if I've time until I get either lost/tired/broke/eaten. Then I am going home. (and yes, I will mind the gap.)

Since this entry was PROMPTED BY A NUDGE OF DOOM, I am apparently obligated to speak of the nudger, and also to purge my journal of its jailbaity qualities, as said nudger pointed out.
Words Of The Nudger: Eliza, among other awesome qualities, has crocheted a jellyfish. And a muffin family. That makes her better than you. Do not question that statement. It are fact.
I Am Legal Now: Sex and rawr and, um, knickers. Yeah.

KNICKERSSSSSSSS

--Lily

HA HA WOW I HAVE A LIVEJOURNAL XD

Things I Like About My New Macbook:
--The fact that when I put a CD in the drive the computer sucks it up in a fashion that makes it appear as if it is eating the disc and since I am an easily amused little idiot it makes me giggle
--That I do not have to install any troublesome network cards in order to access the internet
--Photobooth: and the camwhoring which will undoubtably result due to it
--I have this theory that Apple has installed this little bit of software on all their ipods that makes it so if the ipod is formatted for Windows it won't be as efficient, and if the ipod is formatted for Mac then the software shuts off and the ipod can work properly. A devious sort of idea on their part if my theory is proven to be true.
--The fact that I can plug my camcorder into it and get video off it instantly as opposed to a long and tiresome conversion process

Things I Do Not Like:
--For some reason I cannot get it to display the weather in any city but Atlanta
--That I've finally had to concede to using Word instead of Wordperfect
--NO SOLITAIRE! *wail*

I am aware that this livejournal has been left alone so long that I doubt very much that anyone shall ever read it again, but thoughts can still be recorded sporadically for a nonexistent audience, no?

Me = sick. And quite extremely. I go doctoring on the 'morrow.


However, in the odd way the world has of balancing out ghastliness with glee, I have recently discovered this absolutely smashing hibiscus-passionfruit-cardamom tea, which is PURPLE and which I am currently drinking. Tallyho.

HI
I EXIST.

Just in case y'alls thought I was dead or otherwise inconvenienced or eaten or something.

I HAVE BEEN A QUITE BAD INTERNET-WRITING-TYPE.
Why?
Because I've been, instead, a . . . non-internet-writing type.

It's 12 pages in Wordperfect so far, and I kinda like it.

So no, the concept of choosing a concentration for AP art does not thrill me.
And it's a bit annoying to hear everyone in the class be all "OH, YES! CONCENTRATIONS. JOY. I AM DOING A SERIES OF TWELVE POLITICALLY SATIRICAL THINGS DONE IN PASTEL." or "I AM FILLED WITH GLEE AT THE PROSPECT OF CONCENTRATIONS. I AM DOING FAMILY LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE AND PAINTING MY FAAAAAAAAAMILY MEEEEEEEMBERS. INSPIRATION TECHNIQUE EMOTIONS [OH MY GOD IT JUST STARTED SNOWING HERE YAY] THE ART COMES FROM THE DEPTHS OF ME SOUUUUUUL" when honestly I just want to art-make and not have to think about if what I'm doing can somehow fit into a greater somethingorother.

But I was arting about last night and drawing a pretty little picture thing and erhhm . . . methinkeths my concentration's going to be, like, literary . . . scenes . . . or characters . . . or somefin'.

I do not know. I am incoherent. I need food.


[I have realised my singing voice isn't actually that ghastly.]