prole and Bilbo go swimming
It was my dad's suggestion that I take the puppy to the beach. Lately he's become a big proponent of daughter-dog bonding, for reasons not apparent to me. When I go to the grocery store, or out to Shari's for coffee, he suggests that I take both dogs. Generally I decline, but today I needed to get out of the house, enjoy a cigarette without parent-induced guilt hanging over my head, feel the rain. And it was raining. This is good, because there are fires raging on the eastern side of this state that need putting out. To a lesser degree, it's good because I've been fiercely missing the rain. The last few days, the lid blew off the world, revealing the uninterested grey sky of fall, the wind whipped the color back into the cheeks of the trees, and the downpour cleared the smog of fertilizer and farm equipment from the air. Today the tempest was dulled a little, but still glorious in its angry insanity. Bilbo and I drove down Highway 11, which cuts a gnarled path through the fossil rich sandstone of Chuckanut Mountain. Because of the nasty weather and resultant turbulent tide, the park was mostly deserted. A young family were playing in an outdoor ampitheater I have never once seen used in twenty-two years for anything save staging the antics of toddlers bored with the rocky beach. Bilbo pulled me along down the slick incline, under the railroad tracks, over the twisted roots of cowboy beach trees. We went first to the beach that bears the most resemblance to what one expects of a beach. Of course, like many beaches in Washington, it's still not much of a beach. Instead of sand, Larrabee Park has alternating strips of gravel and kelp, punctuated by tremendous pieces of driftwood too gigantic to step over, too slippery to walk along. In this small cove, however, the water comes up onto a more or less flat area, rather than splashing up against four foot tall faces of rock, dreams of slow dissolution ruined. The pitfall of the beach is that it's better populated. Bilbo is between six and nine months old, some sort of labrador-retreiver-rottweiler mutt, unmistakably runty. Not very bright. If her pitiful intelligence weren't enough, she hasn't been trained properly. She appeared at my father's heels just as he was getting used to the emptiness of his nest and now is allowed to sleep on the couch and gently chew peoples' extremities and is generally far too indulged for the good of the household. Of course, she doesn't cooperate on a leash, either. Given the choice between A.) choking the little dog, B.) being drug through the gravel on my face, and C.) releasing her for a second, so she'd have a chance to work some energy off, I chose C. That was a bad idea. Once released, Bilbo made it her business to find anyone on the beach she stood a decent chance of being able to knock over, and attempting it. She didn't get anyone down - neither old women with canes nor frightened three year olds - but she did earn me a lot of dirty looks. I caught her and decided we should go to the other side of the park. Larrabee Park's second beach is the one I prefer. There is no real beach, as such, just a pile of giant rocks cluttering up the base of a sandstone cliff, close enough together that you can move from one to another with a little strategic planning, close enough to the waves to contain countless toxic tidepools. Generally, if the day isn't breathtaking to the point of physically forcing people to find a beach, I find myself alone here. Indeed, we are the only souls to brave the motley gang of boulders today. With no potential friends to chase after, Bilbo quiets down, and I am able to actually lead her, rather than being dragged, through the hills and valleys of the rocks. Eventually, it's clear that the leash is superfluous, and I let her off to explore. She behaves well, coming back when she's called. We hang out for a while, then it's cold and time to go back. I light up a final cigarette and we walk to the edge of one of the taller boulders. Here the water is further from the natural shoreline, so the waves crsh dramatically against the rock we stand on. At first, Bilbo is scared of the sudden spray, but she gets increasingly curious. I've caught her leash again, and I feel my arm extending to the left. She is at the very edge of the horizontal portion of the rock, positioned to dive. My instinct is to let go - the water is deep and if I hang onto her leash, I could choke her. I let the leash follow her down into the saltwater. Her head reappears and for a moment she is swimming, tongue lolling out. Then, illogical little dog that she is, she's ready to come back onto land. This is when we discover she can't climb the rock. She is too far from the bottom to get any leverage, trying to clamber up the side of a sandstone sphere already slippery from the seaweed. Her eyes get wide as she scrambles, is pulled under, tries again, falls again. I remember being about her age (in dog-years). We were in Oregon, someone's home right on the coast. I was wearing a pink sweatshirt. I had never seen the ocean before. I remember the strength of the undercurrent, being unable to find any anchor to hold myself near the shoreline. I don't know if there are undercurrents in the Sound. I assume there are. Close to us, there is a tidepool, set in a crevice, lower, closer to the water. I move closer to it, calling her. She looks at me with bewilderment, then gets the idea and swims over. But it seems she had some kind of shelf in the other spot - here she can barely get high enough to put her forepaws on the rock. She goes under again, this time she completely disappears for a second. Swim, you dumb dog. When she comes back up, I grab her front paws and yank her up. I am soaked from the knees down. She looks at me, doggy grin stretched wide, then runs off to attempt to topple the children of a group of yuppies who've had the misfortune to wander to this side of the park. Twenty minutes later, I have control of the leash back, and she is happily shaking water out of her fur in the passenger seat of my car.
Dear Noders, today I reached level 4 and I want to thank all of you who have ever upvoted me or C!'ed me or read any of my work or even if you've never heard of me... I love you all. E2 is powerfully addictive, seriously fun and now that I've reached the magical level 4 I look forward to the new C! POWER. Though I may never be a Gritchka nor a Pseudo_Intellectual, I have now become satisfied with the quality and quantity of my nodes. I feel good.
But what would any daylog entry be without bizarre personal rants? And thus I shall begin ranting........NOW. So I get a call today from my buddy Spike. I ask how he's been and he says good. He mentions that it was S's birthday last week (name truncated to protect the innocent). So I ask Spike how the birthday went. "Good," he says, "but he's still mad at you."
Excuse me? How come nobody told me about this. Okay, so maybe I don't like the guy very much but I didn't know that I had pissed him off in any way. I've never insulted him or tried to hurt him. I just didn't talk to him much, but he never talked to me anyway so I figured 'eh, whatever'. Now he's mad at me? And yet he's never called me to bitch or yell or anything.
I can guess what it's about, though. He probably doesn't like the fact that I have been talking to and innefectively courting the girl that he previously dated for three years and whose mind he destroyed (IMHO). Hey man, she's just a friend... Whatever. S is like this. He doesn't talk about what he wants and it builds up in his fractured mind until it seems a vast conspiracy. I don't have time for this shit and my plan is to do nothing about it until he makes the first move. Still, I guess I'm a bit shaken since I've never had a mortal enemy before. Cool. So this is that 'life' thing you are so keen on? I am intrigued.
This will (presumably) be my last year of undergraduate school. I'll get my twin degrees, and hopefully my honors' student pat on the back and then I've got to go do something else.
Goddammit, I'm fucking scared.
I'd like to do graduate school and further my study of computer graphics . . . but I've only done cursory looks for schools that do well in that field. Plus, I'd have to be ready for those computer science GREs. The specialty GREs are notoriously tricky, I hear.
Sometimes I wonder if I only want to continue my education because seeking education is all I've known for the last two decades, give or take. Thus the idea of working full time in a job related to my field just feels utterly foreign and wrong somehow . . .
I've been reviewing my Japanese vocabulary over the last couple of weeks. Realizing how much of this stuff that I knew so well 12 months ago is now lost in the wrinkles of my mind . . . it flays my ego further.
I wish I could remember how to cry or something, because then I could just fuck this shit and let it out. I've forgotten. Egad. Normally I don't cuss like this. I just feel so rudderless and paranoid because it's the last week of summer vacation . . . perhaps my last summer vacation, in the true sense of the words. I'm coming up to this huge life milestone, and I don't know where I'm going after that.
There's so much that I want to do, and now that I finally have a chance to pick something, I'm frozen with anxiety.
Anyone who wishes to /msg me with words of encouragement will be greatly appreciated.
I'm full and satisfied. Food hasn't done this to me for a while. I'll fast again if this satisfaction from eating goes away again.
No, really. I can't stand them. And my house seems to be full of them. I went downstairs a couple of weeks ago to clean the hamster's cage, and there was an immense cricket in the sink - scared the hell out of me, I got all upset and panicky over it. A week after that I went down to the same room to look in the fire safe for my passport, and found a cricket of similar size in the middle of the floor. It left me alone and I left it alone, but it still had me squicked.
Then there have been the little black things that were flying around the bedroom and were really hard to squish. They were small, though, and there were only a couple of them and they only came out late at night - but they still grossed me out.
And now there are flies. These are not fruit flies or little itty bitty flies. These are HOUSes: Houseflies Of Unusual Size. They are louder than a mosquito and prefer to frequent the kitchen, office, and bedroom: the rooms I like to spend time in. I have hung a strip of flypaper in each room and they're catching the occasional fruit fly, but these HOUSes are bigger, faster, stronger. So far I've seen two ran into the strip, flail about for several minutes, give up, flail about some more - and get away. The strip in the kitchen has caught one, who is attached by its wings and starving to death. One cooked in the halogen lamp near the strip in the bedroom, which smelled lovely but was effective until the lamp clicked off again - something's wrong with it.
There are some other smaller, less scary bugs that come around too. My girlfriend says it's because there's a dead thing in the house, but I don't think the killer cat has brought anything in lately - I haven't smelled it. Fortunately she's coming home tonight from travel, so I can show her what I've been whining about all week. Hopefully we can kill them all before she leaves again Monday.
I was right, on August 19, 2001. My life was empty without Orson Scott Card.
I don't know how I lived so long without his books.
Anyway, this week I've read the Homecoming books, Songmaster, and I'm up to Xenocide in the Ender books. I had massive cry sessions over Ender's Game and Songmaster. This may not sound like much, so I'm going to put it in perspective.
I've done a bit of calculation, and I approximate that I have read 15 000 books in my life. That's quite a lot of books for a 15 year old, but I love them to bits. OK, leave tangent! I've cried over five books in my life. That's nothing special either, until you realise that two of those books were in the last week, over Songmaster and Ender's Game. I'm scared about this one, but I'm pretty sure that this is (as Terry Pratchett might say) a good thing.
In other news, the pressure is still on about my soon-to-be exams. Grrrr. I'm considering trying some stupid things to do in exams you know you are going to fail anyway. Well, I won't fail them, but it'd be great to see people's faces.
I got offended in science today. I was chatting with a classmate, telling my World Dictator theory, how I'm going to become a World Dictator. I mean THE World Dictator actually, but I'll be nice to E2 people, I promise. Anyway, she got really agro and told me to "Get a life in the real world". Just because she has no ambition, really!
Did I mention that I'd come up with world peace before 10am? I'm serious. Deadly (just kidding, that would be hypocrisy). I've come up with a solution to the Israel/Palestine and Ireland problems. We've been studying Irish history, and we've had to do a false-events scenario peace conference in 1919 Anglo-Irish War times. I was representing the IRA, and it was heaps of fun, right down to middle of the night secret phone calls and sabotage of other teams' intelligence. As it turns out, though, the IRA managed (with doubtful historical accuracy, but the points go to moi for my great convincing job) to get the British government and the Ulster Unionists to agree to an Irish Republic. I found that very amusing. Did I mention that now none of the 'Dail' are talking to me?
Did you know that "life is short and hard... like a body-building elf"? That gem of advice is thanks to ThePinkFirePrincess who has yet to make an appearance anywhere but the CatBox.
I think I feel the need to protest about GM Food and the Kyoto Protocol. Here it is: PROTEST. Thank you for your patience.
I've been having stupid fights too. Apart from the Dail and the girl who hates World Dictators, I've spazzed at: Hanz for complaining the whole time (I know I can't talk, but hey...); Moose for bitching about my friends behind their back (my policy is to at least be decent enough to say it to them, not say it near them); Na and Soap for slingshotting pins at people's faces; and my parents for once again putting on the pressure while not letting me have a life.
Sigh...
And an update in the mini-saga of my great male friend who attempted to ask me out even though I'd rather stay friends instead of ruining what we've got... Nothing. You've heard as much from/about him as I have. Damn.
This is Pos, signing off for tonight. Adios E2, you've got copious amounts of will-power if you've managed to stay awake so far. Just remember, what goes around usually gets dizzy and falls over.
/me Wanders off to write poetry...
I less-than-three you.
..but I'm sick of your bullshit.
So I'm just sitting there, right? Just sitting there, trying to calm my nerves, when this chick comes by and starts shouting and raving about how bad her life is and how she is so pissed on by the world. No biggie, I ignore her pretty well; that is, until she starts complaining to me directly, right in my face and screaming at me like I'm supposed try to make her feel better. Okay, I decide, I'll bite. I ask what the problem is, and as Sure as Sam she starts railing me, "how dare I enter her personal space". Then she just starts dealing on everyone in the whole place and when someone tries to confront her on it, she mercilessly verbally attacks them.
I just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and scream "get your fucking head back on." But I resisted the urge, seeing as how she's sucking the administrative dick and if I did anything to upset her further, she'd have me tossed out on my ass for no other reason than she she won the popularity contest and is in with the in crowd.
Girly girl, if you're not going to tell us why you're mad, you have no right to direct your anger at us. And if you do tell us, say it once and be done with it. Radiating hostility to troll for attention only makes you more transparant.
Yes, everybody is out to get you. Nobody has anything better to to than provoke you into schizophrenic fits of rage. I actually stayed up all night last night planning my verbal assault on you.
So, the diet continues . . .
My friend says I should take some kind of diet pill that boosts your metabolism. I don't care to do that, I don't think. I am scared of those things, and scared I might either get addicted to them or become dependent on them to keep off whatever weight I lose. I think I'll stick to just eating 1000 calories a day until further notice.
My menu today:
Breakfast: ½ cup lite cottage cheese: 80 calories 1 banana: 105 calories
Lunch: 1½ cup salad 1 cup raw mushrooms 20 baby carrots Dressing (akin to Thousand Island): 2 tablespoons lite Miracle Whip: 70 calories 1 tablespoon Heinz Ketchup: 40 calories (I ate exactly this yesterday!)
Snack: 1 packet plain oatmeal: 100 calories ¼ cup lite syrup: 30 calories
Dinner: 1 Morningstar hot dog (the fake stuff, mmm yummy!): 80 calories A bun for that sucker: 80 calories 1 cup milk: 90 calories ¼ cup dried apricots: 100 calories
That adds up to 845 calories today, which leaves me 155 to play with! I was thinking of gnawing on some Morningstar fake bacon (2 strips is 60 calories), or having a grapefruit (40 cals) or 2 bread and butter pickles (20 cals) or even some Sunny Delight (120 calories for 8 fluid ounces, baby). Maybe if I feel like it I'll even have some Coke (8 fluid ounces is 100 calories with NO nutritional value WHATSOEVER--hurrah for junk!) or 130 calories worth of Wheat Thins! (That's sixteen crackers.) Whoo, I'm having a dieting ball. :) Oh yeah, I might want ketchup on my hot dog. That'll be 40 calories, please drive through.
Well, today was my first real day back at my new high school. The one I transferred to last year, around the end of the 3rd quarter. I hadn't made a lot of friends last year, and I was more than just a bit apprehensive about going back. Nonetheless, I boldly charged in, fueled perhaps by the extremely good mood I've been in this past week (from the girl I had such fun in the park with, the one who is about to become my girlfriend.) There's something about nearly having a girlfriend that I really, really like. It's not like I'm becoming dependent on her for my happiness, but just knowing that she's there gives me such extra confidence, such an extra spring in my step, and such an extra big smile.
So I go back to school, fight the system a bit, and I'm extremely pleased with all my classes. 4 English classes, a Careers class, and PE. Lovely! Not only that, but people remember my name, there's lots of new faces (so I blend in even better,) and there's about 3 female friends I made last year, who seem to really, really like me. I'll have a girlfriend next time I see them, though, but it's always nice to have admirers! I should try to look at the bright side of things more often.
And perhaps it'd be unwise to talk about E2, but oh well. This place has made me very happy lately! It's so much fun to log in and see "You've Gained Experience!" And to have Cool Man Eddie tell me that my writeup just got cooled! Well, what can I say? These are happy times.
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