I am a sucker for robots. Whatever the programming, they often fail to intimidate me, or even impress me, but any robot strikes me as inherently cute. Their inability to see past their own simple logic is simply endearing. They're like little children, trying to make sense of the world; like the strongly autistic, falling back on protocol when they get confused.
Just the thought of Wall-E has me squeeling inside. The most adorable thing I have ever seen is Aibo-soccer. In the film I, Robot old robots fighting new robots made me cry. In a world where robots have gone mad and humans have to hunt them for survival, I'd be that lone scientist empowering the robots to give them a fighting chance. All in all, I am a robot lover.
But that doesn't make me a robot. I don't have a protocol for everything, and if I have one, I tend not even to follow it. I understand things about the world around me I can't even explain to myself, but I pick up on them all the same. My thoughts are organised in text, yes, but it's simply a manifestation of clusters of feelings. I can search for a word that goes with a feeling and know what language the feeling is.
A horse lover is not a horse. A dog lover is not a dog. Call me a robot again, jerk.
Think on it,
Erane
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Willful protector
It's taken me years, but I have finally found my name's meaning, rather than the meanings of whatever names it's deducted from. And more so than those names ever reflected me, it fits me. Like a glove.
Willful protector.
It may sound like it's describing Hallore, but really it's me.
It took a while to fully realise, but it turns out I can't even help protecting potential love-interests. Protect them from myself. Especially if I know they like me, but it's not really reciprocated.
A strange thing, looking back. Four's greatest worry was that he'd unintentionally hurt my feelings or pushed me too far, or something along that line. But I suppose my greatest worry was hurting his feelings instead.
I kept him at bay, because I was afraid of using him. I fought with him, trampled on his feelings with him, to make him see how horrible a match we'd be. I encouraged him to see other people, trying to get him to move on. Only now that it's worked, and he found a new girlfriend, do I see the full extent of what I was doing almost instinctively.
Don't let my shaming lack of romantic interest in Four fool you. I did this because I have feelings for him. It just wasn't that kind of feeling. In the end, I really just want him to be happy.
I have hurt a lot of people to save them a greater hurt. And I have hurt myself over and over again when I felt it might save others the trouble. Even now there are grand gestures I want to perform for Blondie, behind her back, and the only thing holding me back is the off-chance she'll find out and be hurt anyway.
And Bubbles. I was ready to throw her friendship down the drain just to try and stop her from hurting herself. It may not seem like much now, but it was a horrible thing to do to myself back then. I don't think I ever allowed myself to get so attached to her ever again.
Even Drow, a woman I hardly know and most certainly don't even like is now subject to a fully armed stalking session, renewed after a few months of silence. She hasn't talked to any of our group in over half a year. She abandoned us. She can rot in hell, for all I give a damn.
But not every member in our group feels the same way. I let her absense get to me, her ignoring, her coldness, because it gets to them. She controls us, even if she won't do it anymore. And sure, I'll be disappointed should she decide to destroy us, like she has the full power to do. But mostly I just want closure, so the others can put it behind them.
I protect. It's what I do.
People who keep 'protecting' others without being asked for help always annoy me. I consider them victims of the Protector-Syndrome. But there's a reason I got to name it. I'm the worst case you've seen in years. The only difference with the PS-sufferers I so despise is that I don't leave it out in the open. I quietly support, I work in the background, and I mostly just sacrifice my own needs to get the job done, rather than repeatedly offer to champion in their stead.
And my greatest worry is that, like normal PS-sufferers, my help just complicates things and makes it worse. I don't know what I'd do if my help was turned away forever.
Think on it,
Erane
P.S.: Maybe I should stop listening to the Fruit's Basket soundtrack. It's making me all sentimental.
Willful protector.
It may sound like it's describing Hallore, but really it's me.
It took a while to fully realise, but it turns out I can't even help protecting potential love-interests. Protect them from myself. Especially if I know they like me, but it's not really reciprocated.
A strange thing, looking back. Four's greatest worry was that he'd unintentionally hurt my feelings or pushed me too far, or something along that line. But I suppose my greatest worry was hurting his feelings instead.
I kept him at bay, because I was afraid of using him. I fought with him, trampled on his feelings with him, to make him see how horrible a match we'd be. I encouraged him to see other people, trying to get him to move on. Only now that it's worked, and he found a new girlfriend, do I see the full extent of what I was doing almost instinctively.
Don't let my shaming lack of romantic interest in Four fool you. I did this because I have feelings for him. It just wasn't that kind of feeling. In the end, I really just want him to be happy.
I have hurt a lot of people to save them a greater hurt. And I have hurt myself over and over again when I felt it might save others the trouble. Even now there are grand gestures I want to perform for Blondie, behind her back, and the only thing holding me back is the off-chance she'll find out and be hurt anyway.
And Bubbles. I was ready to throw her friendship down the drain just to try and stop her from hurting herself. It may not seem like much now, but it was a horrible thing to do to myself back then. I don't think I ever allowed myself to get so attached to her ever again.
Even Drow, a woman I hardly know and most certainly don't even like is now subject to a fully armed stalking session, renewed after a few months of silence. She hasn't talked to any of our group in over half a year. She abandoned us. She can rot in hell, for all I give a damn.
But not every member in our group feels the same way. I let her absense get to me, her ignoring, her coldness, because it gets to them. She controls us, even if she won't do it anymore. And sure, I'll be disappointed should she decide to destroy us, like she has the full power to do. But mostly I just want closure, so the others can put it behind them.
I protect. It's what I do.
People who keep 'protecting' others without being asked for help always annoy me. I consider them victims of the Protector-Syndrome. But there's a reason I got to name it. I'm the worst case you've seen in years. The only difference with the PS-sufferers I so despise is that I don't leave it out in the open. I quietly support, I work in the background, and I mostly just sacrifice my own needs to get the job done, rather than repeatedly offer to champion in their stead.
And my greatest worry is that, like normal PS-sufferers, my help just complicates things and makes it worse. I don't know what I'd do if my help was turned away forever.
Think on it,
Erane
P.S.: Maybe I should stop listening to the Fruit's Basket soundtrack. It's making me all sentimental.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Beauty sucks
Just a little P.S. on the last post. Besides hurting and boring the hell out of you, beauty also has a talent for stinking, tasting disgusting and being really expensive. And hardly working, at that.
I mentioned in my first post how dental hygiene is a *** when you hate the taste of mint. As it turns out, tooth whiteners don't come in any other flavour, so I'm stuck with it. Right now, I'm chewing on a revolting piece of 'natural whitening' gum. I haven't had the guts to try the special toothpaste/mouthwash (not sure how it's both, but it claims to be) it came with yet.
Also, waxstrips are a total rip-off. Sure, you get 20 for €10, and technically you can repeatedly use both sides, so it's more like 40 strips. But they feel really gross on your skin when you're applying them, it's almost impossible to rip them off fast enough without outside help, and they don't seem to be doing all that much, either.
And...!
These 40 strips come with an amazing total of 4 after-use treatment towels. Really tiny ones. You're supposed to get all the wax off with it. Sure, the oily stuff feels kind of nice, but they've put it on the worst paper towels EVER. After you've semi-voluntarily ripped out your own body-hair, you get to grain it with sand-paper. Whoop-ti-doo.
The package claims it would work with baby-oil too, which grants the added advantage of me choosing where I put it on. Like a proper washcloth. On the other hand, this also means it's going to cost even more.
I'm starting to suspect this whole 'beauty' thing wasn't invented by the devil at all. It was invented by Dagobert Duck.
*wiki*
His English name is Scrooge McDuck.
... Really? Dagobert left out the 'Mc' part to save ink. But then, Scrooge is shorter than Dagobert. That'll be it, I guess.
So anyway. I'm starting to sink in an evil bottomless money-pit, and I haven't even started on actual cosmetics yet. I've been told I shouldn't ask the sales-people for advice before stating a budget, but I haven't a clue what a decent budget would be. I have the feeling that if I say I'd like everything together for about €5 they're just going to laugh a me, or maybe throw me out.
Or get Scrooge/Dagobert over to yell at me until I pay him €50 just to buzz off.
Think on it,
Erane
I mentioned in my first post how dental hygiene is a *** when you hate the taste of mint. As it turns out, tooth whiteners don't come in any other flavour, so I'm stuck with it. Right now, I'm chewing on a revolting piece of 'natural whitening' gum. I haven't had the guts to try the special toothpaste/mouthwash (not sure how it's both, but it claims to be) it came with yet.
Also, waxstrips are a total rip-off. Sure, you get 20 for €10, and technically you can repeatedly use both sides, so it's more like 40 strips. But they feel really gross on your skin when you're applying them, it's almost impossible to rip them off fast enough without outside help, and they don't seem to be doing all that much, either.
And...!
These 40 strips come with an amazing total of 4 after-use treatment towels. Really tiny ones. You're supposed to get all the wax off with it. Sure, the oily stuff feels kind of nice, but they've put it on the worst paper towels EVER. After you've semi-voluntarily ripped out your own body-hair, you get to grain it with sand-paper. Whoop-ti-doo.
The package claims it would work with baby-oil too, which grants the added advantage of me choosing where I put it on. Like a proper washcloth. On the other hand, this also means it's going to cost even more.
I'm starting to suspect this whole 'beauty' thing wasn't invented by the devil at all. It was invented by Dagobert Duck.
*wiki*
His English name is Scrooge McDuck.
... Really? Dagobert left out the 'Mc' part to save ink. But then, Scrooge is shorter than Dagobert. That'll be it, I guess.
So anyway. I'm starting to sink in an evil bottomless money-pit, and I haven't even started on actual cosmetics yet. I've been told I shouldn't ask the sales-people for advice before stating a budget, but I haven't a clue what a decent budget would be. I have the feeling that if I say I'd like everything together for about €5 they're just going to laugh a me, or maybe throw me out.
Or get Scrooge/Dagobert over to yell at me until I pay him €50 just to buzz off.
Think on it,
Erane
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Beauty is pain
I know people keep saying this, and my brief encounters with devil-wrought contraptions meant to rip out your bodyhair have confirmed it, but I thought I'd state it again. Taking care of your looks hurts. Above all that (and this is the part no one includes) it's boring as hell.
That's right. Looking pretty takes long, and you don't get quick results. Period. So basically, what you end up with is a painful yawn.
... Rats. Now I'm really yawning. And I hardly even started before boredom prompted me to toss in the towel...
So the thing is, I finally caved in and developed an interest in looks. It's not because I want to look good for the guys. It's not even because I want to look good enough to compete with the girls. It's not even to boost my self-esteem. And it's only partly to please my sister, who seems thrilled whenever she discovers any effort on my part and disappointed when she doesn't find it.
It's because I'm a nerd.
Huh? How could being a nerd make you want to look pretty? It's nerds, for crying out loud! If they want to look pretty, how on earth did they end up looking like that?!
I know, I know. But fate so has it that I'm a plot-nerd. Stories, roleplays, full scale larps, if it has plenty of plot (and in-depth characters are most welcome) then I'm in. Latest addition to my scala of (planned)larp-characters is a lesbian girl with insecurity issues, who will do most anything to ensure that she keeps her lover's interest, even after just over three years. And that includes being eye-candy. This character is also going to be the sole reason that I'll even own make-up at all.
Though I'll probably utilise it for other things after that... I mean, it's a shame to let it go to waste, right?
Basically, this character would just not make sense if she weren't clad in some hot cocktail dress, wearing a pretty watch (will those people hurry up fixing it already? I miss my sense of time...), clutching a handbag (still working on the contents) and having her hair up in some pretty due. My ears aren't pierced though, and I'm not that bad that I'll have them pierced for the occasion. But I have started the loooong and boooooring project of epilating my eyebrows.
I looked up what eyebrows are supposed to look like. I still have a LOT of pulling to go. And as it turns out, it hurts more as you're taking a break. Also, if I don't go to bed soon, I'll need some sort of powder to liven up my... scheisse. I haven't a clue what they're called in English. Just a sec.
...
Bags. Under the eyes. Those things. I want rid of them.
Good night.
I'll need to be fit when I continue working on my eyebrows tomorrow. And I'll need to consider some sort of quick-fix tooth whitener.
Think on it,
Erane
That's right. Looking pretty takes long, and you don't get quick results. Period. So basically, what you end up with is a painful yawn.
... Rats. Now I'm really yawning. And I hardly even started before boredom prompted me to toss in the towel...
So the thing is, I finally caved in and developed an interest in looks. It's not because I want to look good for the guys. It's not even because I want to look good enough to compete with the girls. It's not even to boost my self-esteem. And it's only partly to please my sister, who seems thrilled whenever she discovers any effort on my part and disappointed when she doesn't find it.
It's because I'm a nerd.
Huh? How could being a nerd make you want to look pretty? It's nerds, for crying out loud! If they want to look pretty, how on earth did they end up looking like that?!
I know, I know. But fate so has it that I'm a plot-nerd. Stories, roleplays, full scale larps, if it has plenty of plot (and in-depth characters are most welcome) then I'm in. Latest addition to my scala of (planned)larp-characters is a lesbian girl with insecurity issues, who will do most anything to ensure that she keeps her lover's interest, even after just over three years. And that includes being eye-candy. This character is also going to be the sole reason that I'll even own make-up at all.
Though I'll probably utilise it for other things after that... I mean, it's a shame to let it go to waste, right?
Basically, this character would just not make sense if she weren't clad in some hot cocktail dress, wearing a pretty watch (will those people hurry up fixing it already? I miss my sense of time...), clutching a handbag (still working on the contents) and having her hair up in some pretty due. My ears aren't pierced though, and I'm not that bad that I'll have them pierced for the occasion. But I have started the loooong and boooooring project of epilating my eyebrows.
I looked up what eyebrows are supposed to look like. I still have a LOT of pulling to go. And as it turns out, it hurts more as you're taking a break. Also, if I don't go to bed soon, I'll need some sort of powder to liven up my... scheisse. I haven't a clue what they're called in English. Just a sec.
...
Bags. Under the eyes. Those things. I want rid of them.
Good night.
I'll need to be fit when I continue working on my eyebrows tomorrow. And I'll need to consider some sort of quick-fix tooth whitener.
Think on it,
Erane
Monday, June 2, 2008
Missing in action
It's kind of strange. Save for one brief hot flash (Four), my love life is, well, I think it's alive, but it might be braindead. And yet looking back, my life has no shortage of guys that were into me. Just a dramatic shortage of guys I was into. I remember one... no, two guys I was into. One of them was gay. The other seemed to have a problem with calling. Or texting. Or mailing. Or even talking to me on msn when I was right there. Instead, I got a via via sentiment of how bummed he was that I didn't hang at his favourite place every thursday. Gee, thanks.
In the category of guys that have been into me... Well, for instance, there's the Busguy. I don't mean the guy I travelled with for six years, I mean his friend from elementary. I think I talked with him three times or something, and somehow that was enough for him to 'realise his feelings'. I don't think Busguy and I ever talked after I figured, what the hell, I'll 'go steady' with you. Perhaps a bit strange when you think about it, but looking at my first try at a date, which took over a year of 'going steady' and ended things within a week, I'm not so surprised.
No, actually, I'm not sure I'm right to say I've never been into anyone back then. I had some serious doubts about loads of guys I hung out with. I just tended to come to the conclusion that I must be mixing up 'feelings' with regular friendship and left it at that. And hell, I've had the same discussion with myself about a few of my female friends. It's just part of the deal.
Instigator for these musings on love is, of course, my old friend Bubbles. She adressed me on msn, said, "Hey, there's this guy who used to like you, and I don't think you ever knew," and logged off.
... The hell?
Either you tell me or you don't. This is ridiculous. And the way this information comes my way, I'm not even sure I want to know. I never quite liked guys who'd tell a gossip before they tell the person it actually matters to. And I know Bubbles looks reliable, but I've experienced first hand that she'll use anything you tell her when she feels like it. Right now, I think she intends to use the info to prompt me into looking her up. (Okay, so I've been ignoring her a little. Over the past year. Since we left high-school.) But Bubbles, I refuse. I will not give in to your petty kindergarden games. I won't have any trouble sleeping just because someone in high-school used to like me that way. There won't be any time wasted pining over whoever it could be, or fishing around to find the answer.
It's probably some younger kid, anyway.
Think on it,
Erane
In the category of guys that have been into me... Well, for instance, there's the Busguy. I don't mean the guy I travelled with for six years, I mean his friend from elementary. I think I talked with him three times or something, and somehow that was enough for him to 'realise his feelings'. I don't think Busguy and I ever talked after I figured, what the hell, I'll 'go steady' with you. Perhaps a bit strange when you think about it, but looking at my first try at a date, which took over a year of 'going steady' and ended things within a week, I'm not so surprised.
No, actually, I'm not sure I'm right to say I've never been into anyone back then. I had some serious doubts about loads of guys I hung out with. I just tended to come to the conclusion that I must be mixing up 'feelings' with regular friendship and left it at that. And hell, I've had the same discussion with myself about a few of my female friends. It's just part of the deal.
Instigator for these musings on love is, of course, my old friend Bubbles. She adressed me on msn, said, "Hey, there's this guy who used to like you, and I don't think you ever knew," and logged off.
... The hell?
Either you tell me or you don't. This is ridiculous. And the way this information comes my way, I'm not even sure I want to know. I never quite liked guys who'd tell a gossip before they tell the person it actually matters to. And I know Bubbles looks reliable, but I've experienced first hand that she'll use anything you tell her when she feels like it. Right now, I think she intends to use the info to prompt me into looking her up. (Okay, so I've been ignoring her a little. Over the past year. Since we left high-school.) But Bubbles, I refuse. I will not give in to your petty kindergarden games. I won't have any trouble sleeping just because someone in high-school used to like me that way. There won't be any time wasted pining over whoever it could be, or fishing around to find the answer.
It's probably some younger kid, anyway.
Think on it,
Erane
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Hike in the woods
Well, I'm more settled in now. By this time, I have a desk to go with my PC, so motivation to keep up my blog has heightened remarkably. Something about a nagging pain in your back because you're either crouching over the keyboard or bending backwards to type while lying down just isn't very inspiring.
The desk is a gift from my aunt. She just turned 70, she's been diagnosed with cancer in her spinal cord, breasts, and probably some other places (still being treated), she lives alone (never married), she just had her home adjusted to the possibility that she'd get stuck in a wheelchair, and amidst all that loneliness and fatality I am her godchild. ... If you call it that way. She's my godmother, anyway. She wants to give me something now that I'll enjoy and remember me by for a very long time.
Now, a desk probably doesn't sound that personal to you. But it is. My aunt never throws anything away that's mildly useful, and as the old math teacher she is, she has had a lot of desks in her life. There's 4 in her upstairs living room alone, a few more in the working room further upstairs, she's ordered more to go downstairs for the wheelchair scenario... Even her very first desk, bought with sweat and labour when she was still a student, is still in use. All in all, my aunt really is a desk-lady. And it really is a beautiful desk.
So now that I can actually sit in my chair while writing my blog, I have a secret to tell about something that happened recently. It may not be very shocking, it may not quite be bribe-material... heck, it's not even in the slightest bit "naughty behavior". But I just can't tell the people that keep bringing up the event, and it's nagging at me.
A short while back, I went on another Larp. (Now, don't worry. I had two in a row, and that's all I'm having for the following 6 months. And I don't long for more.) I play a young, innocent, and only slightly corrupted child there, and have enjoyed myself heartily by stalking random people, trying to get them to give me sexual education. Which no one really dares to do. Hilarious.
Anyway. At saturday, after dinner, the whole 'village' (all the players) was gathered just outside the 'city walls' (camouflage nets) for a game of 'pigball'. Now, pigball only really has one rule: the pig (a big pink stuffed animal) has to get to the side of the other team for you to score. There's a lot of diving, hitting, kicking, and running. Wonderful to look at, exhilirating and painful to participate in. Of course, it's still larp, so the hitting and kicking is overly dramatic, somewhat slowmotion and very badly aimed, but the victims play along wonderfully.
Especially the pig. In the later matches, it became unclear which part of the pig had to cross the finish line in order to score a point.
During this game, my sweet little character noticed that one of the members of her House (clan) wasn't paying attention to what happened to the bottle of wine he'd won earlier, so she took it and went to put it away at the camp. When he noticed it missing, she/I was halfway there. He came at a full sprint, and in the brief moment I looked over my shoulder he grabbed for his sword (to secure it in his running, but heck if I knew).
So I ran like crazy. I dumped the bottle at the camp with only some care for its safety and more for my own, and kept running. When I stopped a moment to look back, he held my gaze, and froze me in my tracks. I think he said something about me being a naughty girl, and left it at that. I considered myself dismissed, and went right on running.
Because that's what my char does. When she's scared, she runs and runs 'til she isn't. In this case, the only place to go was the forest, so I ran into the forest. And got myself nicely lost in the process.
It was perfectly bright when I left the 'village'. It was pitch black when I finally got back. An hour and a half after the elf terrified me, I drifted into the monster-tent, asking something about whether I was supposed to have had an encounter in that time. And when it hit me that people had been looking for me for ages, and that I was lost, not just playing out my role, I crashed.
The rest of the evening was spent in rehydrating, calming down, and calming others down.
But here's the thing.
I found the village back in no time, but I was playing out my role. And my character would never have found the village back so quickly, not without running into something first and getting nicely traumatised in the process.
So I stayed away.
At one point, I even hid from a guy who later turned out to be my search party. As he walked away, he put on his game-master shine-in-the-dark hat, so I dismissed the encounter altogether.
I have heard plenty of signs of life, but they were not in character (a farm, the sound of a road, something that sounded like a construction site), so I stayed away. I have come across the 'village' two or three times before I finally returned, mostly because I felt it had taken long enough, and I'd just sort something out with the monsters to get that encounter I was stalling for.
My way of coping with the forest, out there on my own, was by staying in character. I wasn't afraid; my character was. I wasn't lost; my character was. I wasn't faltering in strength and voice, but you can probably guess who was. I just kept right on, a doll in one hand and a marble in the other, singing about an immortal spider getting boiling oil over it all the time. Because that's what my character would do.
But in staying in character, I also kept the factors that I'd decided were in character true. I made sure that I stayed lost, though I kept some track of which way the village lay. I started staggering because I figured my character would be tired, rather than firmly walking straight to where I needed to be. And, okay, I really was losing my voice. I was singing non-stop and parched; go figure.
When I talk to the people that were there, they keep repeating how worried they were. At the things I do tell them about what happened out there, they keep telling me how I should have sought out civilisation. How I should have stepped out of my role the minute she'd got so scared she'd run away. How, basically, I should have stepped out of my character and considered the situation as such. Which was exactly what I was avoiding.
And I just can't tell them. I can't tell them I was so keen on doing the reverse, that I actually kept myself lost. Even to the point where I avoided the large roads because, well, that's no fun. Lost is lost. And lost in the woods means small trails, if any. I've even stabbed right through the forest, without a path, in full night. That's just about when I started to have enough of it. And even then, I found the village, and headed the other way for a while, only the lack of forks in the road got me so bored that I finally turned back and 'handed myself in'.
They knew straight away when I was lost. The guy that scared me into it realised it just minutes after it happened. They snapped out of their roles within half an hour, and have been searching me for an hour more outside of their roles. They were just about to stop the entire game, and organise a huge scale search with the 100+ people present. And there I was, playing along, singing, and turning back when I saw lights. I just can't tell them. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to.
Think on it,
Erane
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
New room
I have a room. I'm in it right now. It's a temporary room, scheduled for demolition some time next year, but it's still a nice place and my roommates are quite nice. Right now, I'm lying on a strange construction of pillows that enables me to still use the computer, which is installed on the floor. My new desk comes in next weekend.
I don't feel like typing anymore. I've got some downloaded shows coming in right now.
Think on it,
Erane
I don't feel like typing anymore. I've got some downloaded shows coming in right now.
Think on it,
Erane
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Bubble Burst 2
I am going to talk about larp. You will not understand, you do not know the characters, and you know what, that's fine. Just know that Hallore and Inlul are characters I not only hold dear, but also act/play two weekends a year each.
I'm starting to think the after-larp bubble burst is customary. I had one after playing Inlul, because Inlul is always happy, while the group I was in gave off one of the most strained and negative vibes you've come across. Furthermore, Inlul's built-in outlet was compromised, so the emotions simply had no place to go. Three days after the larp, I snapped and crashed. Bubble burst.
Last weekend, I had my first dab at playing Hallore in real life. I loved her. After a brief relapse into the juvenile behavior she's been so prone to around Daltor, she settled into the pragmatic farmgirl that I suppose she's always been. Her magic side has been pushed aside as not contributive, and she's now working at setting up fields of grain in coöperation with the local Guardian of the Woods, who is probably knowingly being used as an information source on how to exploit the ground responsibly. She sets some demands with it, like replenishing plantlife someplace else in return for the fields that need to be cleared, and Hallore will play along if it gets the job done.
I've even seen a brief episode of a different part of Hallore; the part that will not see an innocent unprotected, even if she doesn't act all Protector about it (in fact, she despises them, probably because from her perspective they have horribly ill judgement in regards to who are the innocents and who are the wrongdoers).
And in truth, Hallore probably was most at peace with the recent abrupt change in scenery and the bonus mind-wipe. Already she has adopted her arriving place in this new world as her place of origin, and she has firmly defended her view that, okay, she hadn't a clue what her parents' names were, but what did it matter? It didn't bother her, she said firmly. Then she continued doing everything in her power to feel useful and busy at all times, so as to not let it bother her. Borrowing a knife helped; it boosted her sense of usefulness tremendously.
But now, things are getting redundant, and only so many preperations for the farm can be taken without tools, or grain, or able manpower. In a sense, she remembers more about who she was than the others. Probably because she doesn't strain her inexistant memories for a clue as to who she was. She simply looks for who she is now.
She knows how to drive a man crazy, in virtually every sense of the word, without ever having to touch him, in virtually every sense of the word. She knows how a field of grain should be harvested. She knows gods are among us, though local beings of morality disclaim the existance of such. Hallore knows for a fact that small animals can be just as dangerous as big ones. She knows women dating women is as good as normal.
She knows she's all bark and no bite. Or maybe just a little bite.
But most of all, Hallore knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that most important of all, more important than your personal health, more important even than life itself, are your friends. Friends and family.
And only now it's beginning to sink in that she doesn't have either of those any more.
So when she has time to think on it, like when she's trying to catch sleep or waiting around for someone to need someone, she gets horribly sad, for reasons she doesn't immediately understand. After all, her first thought upon arriving in this new world was a simple one: A new beginning. It was a happy thought.
But why, if friends and family are the most important of all, and betraying them is the cruellest sin of all, would she be happy to leave them behind? Why had even the fact that she would hold no memory of them not bothered her in the slightest when she made that crossing? In the end, there can only be one answer. They all betrayed her.
For all her new beginnings, for all her forgetting, she puzzled out just what she wanted to forget. A gross betrayal by everyone she ever held dear. It was the only logical solution.
And by the gods... Oh... Well, by the angels, anyway...
It hurts.
Think on it,
Erane
I'm starting to think the after-larp bubble burst is customary. I had one after playing Inlul, because Inlul is always happy, while the group I was in gave off one of the most strained and negative vibes you've come across. Furthermore, Inlul's built-in outlet was compromised, so the emotions simply had no place to go. Three days after the larp, I snapped and crashed. Bubble burst.
Last weekend, I had my first dab at playing Hallore in real life. I loved her. After a brief relapse into the juvenile behavior she's been so prone to around Daltor, she settled into the pragmatic farmgirl that I suppose she's always been. Her magic side has been pushed aside as not contributive, and she's now working at setting up fields of grain in coöperation with the local Guardian of the Woods, who is probably knowingly being used as an information source on how to exploit the ground responsibly. She sets some demands with it, like replenishing plantlife someplace else in return for the fields that need to be cleared, and Hallore will play along if it gets the job done.
I've even seen a brief episode of a different part of Hallore; the part that will not see an innocent unprotected, even if she doesn't act all Protector about it (in fact, she despises them, probably because from her perspective they have horribly ill judgement in regards to who are the innocents and who are the wrongdoers).
And in truth, Hallore probably was most at peace with the recent abrupt change in scenery and the bonus mind-wipe. Already she has adopted her arriving place in this new world as her place of origin, and she has firmly defended her view that, okay, she hadn't a clue what her parents' names were, but what did it matter? It didn't bother her, she said firmly. Then she continued doing everything in her power to feel useful and busy at all times, so as to not let it bother her. Borrowing a knife helped; it boosted her sense of usefulness tremendously.
But now, things are getting redundant, and only so many preperations for the farm can be taken without tools, or grain, or able manpower. In a sense, she remembers more about who she was than the others. Probably because she doesn't strain her inexistant memories for a clue as to who she was. She simply looks for who she is now.
She knows how to drive a man crazy, in virtually every sense of the word, without ever having to touch him, in virtually every sense of the word. She knows how a field of grain should be harvested. She knows gods are among us, though local beings of morality disclaim the existance of such. Hallore knows for a fact that small animals can be just as dangerous as big ones. She knows women dating women is as good as normal.
She knows she's all bark and no bite. Or maybe just a little bite.
But most of all, Hallore knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that most important of all, more important than your personal health, more important even than life itself, are your friends. Friends and family.
And only now it's beginning to sink in that she doesn't have either of those any more.
So when she has time to think on it, like when she's trying to catch sleep or waiting around for someone to need someone, she gets horribly sad, for reasons she doesn't immediately understand. After all, her first thought upon arriving in this new world was a simple one: A new beginning. It was a happy thought.
But why, if friends and family are the most important of all, and betraying them is the cruellest sin of all, would she be happy to leave them behind? Why had even the fact that she would hold no memory of them not bothered her in the slightest when she made that crossing? In the end, there can only be one answer. They all betrayed her.
For all her new beginnings, for all her forgetting, she puzzled out just what she wanted to forget. A gross betrayal by everyone she ever held dear. It was the only logical solution.
And by the gods... Oh... Well, by the angels, anyway...
It hurts.
Think on it,
Erane
Monday, April 14, 2008
A letter
Lately, I've felt a strong urge to write a letter to David de Angelo. Dave DeAngelo, as he writes his name (sorry David, but I can't agree), writes self-help series for men, to help them improve their lovelife. Even though I'm not quite the target group (non-paying female) I've been subscribed to his newsletters since puberty.
Initially, I just googled him for laughs. I wanted to see what men thought would actually work, and cackle maniacally. I admit it. This is the part that people understand straight away.
But that's not how Dave earned a spot in my inbox. For one, he actually gets it. Rather than provide some silly guidelines like 'Kiss her when she says, "So..." without hesitation', he suggests an overall attitude that's both funny and confident. What do women want most in a guy? Humor and confidence. This guy's golden.
Most of all Dave has a way of boosting your confidence that none of my friends would ever dare use. He instantly singles out the mistakes in your behavior, calls you names for it, and then tells you what you should have done. This often involves buying his program, advanced program, and the other programs, but in the newsletters he often says just a little too much about what ought to be done.
I'm telling you. This guy dragged me through puberty.
Lately, I've had some quick brushes with dating life. I even went to the movies with a guy.
Sidetrack: I have a more or less irrational fear of going to the movies with a guy. Not out of fear for kisses or anything of the sort, but simply because whenever I go to the movies with a guy, the relationship (be it friendship or something else) cools down to practically nothing within a week. The fourth test-subject is currently slipping though my fingers.
Basically, when I go to the movies with a guy, it opens me up to the possibility of really dating this guy. And basically, testing the possibility always results in me pushing him away instead.
I thought subject #4 would be different. It certainly seemed promising: no awkward moments passed near the food counter ("No, I don't want a coke! You don't want me on caffeïne. No, it wouldn't be 'funny', it would be traumatising..." - Erane to #3), I didn't accidentally insult the guy's greatest hobby (which happened with #2), and we didn't get picked up by the guy's mum (as was the case with #1). I even felt a certain attraction for the guy, something that's never happened to me before (with real life people).
I'll even do you one better: I shared my first kiss with number Four.
Discounting that one occasion where I was as good as drugged and he was way drunk. I did not consent to that one...!
Anyway... Promising. You'd expect me to be happy. Or thrilled. Or in a rush, perhaps. At the very least, you'd expect some butterfly movement.
...
Nothing.
I checked.
Butterflies is one of those feelings I've only ever had where fictional characters were concerned. I don't know how, I don't know why. When it's actors, I have an impossibly broad taste. With people, I recognise beauty in virtually everyone. But when I get to know them, I don't feel a thing. The people I've probably felt the most for were close female friends, though that might have been a categorical error (normal friend + more = love? wait, something doesn't add up...).
So when even Four couldn't spark some butterflies, I began to worry again. Do I even like guys at all? But salvation came, in the shape of a new edition of Dave's newsletter.
What Women HATE Most About Single Guys...
1) Giving Up Your Status In Exchange For Her Attention And Approval
2) Being Needy, Clingy, And Insecure
3) Not Leading - And Even Worse, Trying To Get Her To Lead
4) Using Insecure, Approval-Seeking, Low-Status Posture, Gestures, Voice Tone, And Body Language
5) Not Understanding That She's A Woman And You're A Man
6) Not Being Interesting To Be Around
7) Not Understanding Attraction
The issues in this particular case, as becomes clear, are points 2 and 3.
Four made it very clear that he doesn't understand what I feel. Usually, he's so attuned to people's emotions he refers to himself as an empath. What he describes doesn't sound very different from the way I'm attuned to people emotions, even though Four --the bastard-- doesn't get the side-effect of being swamped by the bad ones.
I happen to be that one person he cannot read. On one hand, it makes me proud; hiding my deeper emotions is a skill I've honed to perfection since elementary. But on the other hand, it prompts him to constantly ask for my feelings instead.
Constantly.
Besides trying to squeeze things like favourite food out of me (which I honestly don't have, nor do I have a favourite animal, colour, or anthing of the sort), he actually asked me what I was thinking, what I was feeling, whether I objected whatever he was doing at the time. In fact, the kissing part is the only thing he didn't ask about in advance. Perhaps that's why it was possible in the first place.
He snapped back after, predictably enough. Did he go too fast? Did I need time? What was I feeling? What did I think? I barely left before it continued through text-message. Right now, I gave him a semi-honest explanation of how I simply don't feel anything for him, and he's still trying to prod me into coming over again.
As if.
Clearly, his clingy and insecure behavior is what's turning me off. But I didn't see that. I thought it was all me. That he was perfect for me, and I was a freak-show for not feeling anything. If not for Dave, that line of thought would have continued to eat me away.
That's what I want to tell Dave. Not the kind of success story he usually receives, but as far as I'm concerned, it's just as fundamental. He's not helping me improve my dating life. He's helping me secure my confidence in life. Comments about "I got 8 phone-numbers in one day!" can't compete with that.
Think on it,
Erane
Initially, I just googled him for laughs. I wanted to see what men thought would actually work, and cackle maniacally. I admit it. This is the part that people understand straight away.
But that's not how Dave earned a spot in my inbox. For one, he actually gets it. Rather than provide some silly guidelines like 'Kiss her when she says, "So..." without hesitation', he suggests an overall attitude that's both funny and confident. What do women want most in a guy? Humor and confidence. This guy's golden.
Most of all Dave has a way of boosting your confidence that none of my friends would ever dare use. He instantly singles out the mistakes in your behavior, calls you names for it, and then tells you what you should have done. This often involves buying his program, advanced program, and the other programs, but in the newsletters he often says just a little too much about what ought to be done.
I'm telling you. This guy dragged me through puberty.
Lately, I've had some quick brushes with dating life. I even went to the movies with a guy.
Sidetrack: I have a more or less irrational fear of going to the movies with a guy. Not out of fear for kisses or anything of the sort, but simply because whenever I go to the movies with a guy, the relationship (be it friendship or something else) cools down to practically nothing within a week. The fourth test-subject is currently slipping though my fingers.
Basically, when I go to the movies with a guy, it opens me up to the possibility of really dating this guy. And basically, testing the possibility always results in me pushing him away instead.
I thought subject #4 would be different. It certainly seemed promising: no awkward moments passed near the food counter ("No, I don't want a coke! You don't want me on caffeïne. No, it wouldn't be 'funny', it would be traumatising..." - Erane to #3), I didn't accidentally insult the guy's greatest hobby (which happened with #2), and we didn't get picked up by the guy's mum (as was the case with #1). I even felt a certain attraction for the guy, something that's never happened to me before (with real life people).
I'll even do you one better: I shared my first kiss with number Four.
Discounting that one occasion where I was as good as drugged and he was way drunk. I did not consent to that one...!
Anyway... Promising. You'd expect me to be happy. Or thrilled. Or in a rush, perhaps. At the very least, you'd expect some butterfly movement.
...
Nothing.
I checked.
Butterflies is one of those feelings I've only ever had where fictional characters were concerned. I don't know how, I don't know why. When it's actors, I have an impossibly broad taste. With people, I recognise beauty in virtually everyone. But when I get to know them, I don't feel a thing. The people I've probably felt the most for were close female friends, though that might have been a categorical error (normal friend + more = love? wait, something doesn't add up...).
So when even Four couldn't spark some butterflies, I began to worry again. Do I even like guys at all? But salvation came, in the shape of a new edition of Dave's newsletter.
What Women HATE Most About Single Guys...
1) Giving Up Your Status In Exchange For Her Attention And Approval
2) Being Needy, Clingy, And Insecure
3) Not Leading - And Even Worse, Trying To Get Her To Lead
4) Using Insecure, Approval-Seeking, Low-Status Posture, Gestures, Voice Tone, And Body Language
5) Not Understanding That She's A Woman And You're A Man
6) Not Being Interesting To Be Around
7) Not Understanding Attraction
The issues in this particular case, as becomes clear, are points 2 and 3.
Four made it very clear that he doesn't understand what I feel. Usually, he's so attuned to people's emotions he refers to himself as an empath. What he describes doesn't sound very different from the way I'm attuned to people emotions, even though Four --the bastard-- doesn't get the side-effect of being swamped by the bad ones.
I happen to be that one person he cannot read. On one hand, it makes me proud; hiding my deeper emotions is a skill I've honed to perfection since elementary. But on the other hand, it prompts him to constantly ask for my feelings instead.
Constantly.
Besides trying to squeeze things like favourite food out of me (which I honestly don't have, nor do I have a favourite animal, colour, or anthing of the sort), he actually asked me what I was thinking, what I was feeling, whether I objected whatever he was doing at the time. In fact, the kissing part is the only thing he didn't ask about in advance. Perhaps that's why it was possible in the first place.
He snapped back after, predictably enough. Did he go too fast? Did I need time? What was I feeling? What did I think? I barely left before it continued through text-message. Right now, I gave him a semi-honest explanation of how I simply don't feel anything for him, and he's still trying to prod me into coming over again.
As if.
Clearly, his clingy and insecure behavior is what's turning me off. But I didn't see that. I thought it was all me. That he was perfect for me, and I was a freak-show for not feeling anything. If not for Dave, that line of thought would have continued to eat me away.
That's what I want to tell Dave. Not the kind of success story he usually receives, but as far as I'm concerned, it's just as fundamental. He's not helping me improve my dating life. He's helping me secure my confidence in life. Comments about "I got 8 phone-numbers in one day!" can't compete with that.
Think on it,
Erane
Thursday, April 10, 2008
A room
No, I didn't get one. I got invited, and then I got uninvited. Looks like making the living room smoke-free was not as negotiable as they first assumed. Three hurray's for consistancy.
That's about all I have to say, I think...
I have a party tomorrow, though I'm not sure I feel like it. A friend of mine is having her birthday, and she's the kind of person who will invite 60 people (I'm not kidding. Sixty.) and still realise she forgot people. I've also been warned that I cannot crash in her large bed, as I normally do, because a male friend claimed the spot. I suspect that's why she's been acting strange lately.
I don't generally like her when she has a boyfriend. When she's single, she's a nice, confident young woman, even if she's a little overbearing. She's spent her entire childhood trying to prove she was worth being around to her dad (and failed), and the habit kind of stuck. Add a boyfriend in the mix, and she suddenly gathers the notion that, hey, a guy likes her, so she must actually be worth being around! It amplifies her already strong display of confidence by about fifty, and it's suffocating. Besides that, she tends to flaunt her sexuality even worse when she has a boyfriend, and her sexuality is probably one of the last things I want to be made aware of.
I'm not saying she's ugly. Moshie says it of her often enough. I'm just saying that flaunting her sexuality in front of me since I was 12 doesn't help. At 18, I could be called shy. Imagine that at twelve. Sheer traumatising. She actually tried to do a show and tell. It still makes cold shivers run down my spine.
So no, I didn't need to know just what you do with a condom six years ago, and I don't need to hear about one-night stands now either. (Well, stands... As it turns out, neither of them managed to get it up. I don't blame them. When Blondie's in the mood, she scares even me.)
And no, I don't want to know what's going to be happening one floor above me tomorrow night. I'm hoping Blondie and her blond friend will spare me, but I doubt I'll be so lucky. Sometimes being attuned to people's thoughts and emotions sucks.
Of course, nothing is final yet. Blondie won't even tell me; she just flaunts the possibility and throws me obvious hints about how happy she is lately and how she's spent most her days with him. I think she wants me to ask, but I refuse to show interest in the information.
La la la, I can't hear you. La la la.
I'll just camp downstairs with my own bed, blanket and pillow (how am I going to drag that all along in the train?) along with all the other banished friends. With any luck, we'll have the snackables.
Oh, crap.
I still have to get her something. And bring my own food and drinks.
Who ever said friendship pays for itself, never met Blondie.
Think on it,
Erane
P.S. ... I like that. It's about the Pensieve, about the leftover thoughts... and it doesn't sound as disgusting as "Slither away, my precious", which was my first instinct. I think this one's a keeper. Think on it. Yesh, me like...!
That's about all I have to say, I think...
I have a party tomorrow, though I'm not sure I feel like it. A friend of mine is having her birthday, and she's the kind of person who will invite 60 people (I'm not kidding. Sixty.) and still realise she forgot people. I've also been warned that I cannot crash in her large bed, as I normally do, because a male friend claimed the spot. I suspect that's why she's been acting strange lately.
I don't generally like her when she has a boyfriend. When she's single, she's a nice, confident young woman, even if she's a little overbearing. She's spent her entire childhood trying to prove she was worth being around to her dad (and failed), and the habit kind of stuck. Add a boyfriend in the mix, and she suddenly gathers the notion that, hey, a guy likes her, so she must actually be worth being around! It amplifies her already strong display of confidence by about fifty, and it's suffocating. Besides that, she tends to flaunt her sexuality even worse when she has a boyfriend, and her sexuality is probably one of the last things I want to be made aware of.
I'm not saying she's ugly. Moshie says it of her often enough. I'm just saying that flaunting her sexuality in front of me since I was 12 doesn't help. At 18, I could be called shy. Imagine that at twelve. Sheer traumatising. She actually tried to do a show and tell. It still makes cold shivers run down my spine.
So no, I didn't need to know just what you do with a condom six years ago, and I don't need to hear about one-night stands now either. (Well, stands... As it turns out, neither of them managed to get it up. I don't blame them. When Blondie's in the mood, she scares even me.)
And no, I don't want to know what's going to be happening one floor above me tomorrow night. I'm hoping Blondie and her blond friend will spare me, but I doubt I'll be so lucky. Sometimes being attuned to people's thoughts and emotions sucks.
Of course, nothing is final yet. Blondie won't even tell me; she just flaunts the possibility and throws me obvious hints about how happy she is lately and how she's spent most her days with him. I think she wants me to ask, but I refuse to show interest in the information.
La la la, I can't hear you. La la la.
I'll just camp downstairs with my own bed, blanket and pillow (how am I going to drag that all along in the train?) along with all the other banished friends. With any luck, we'll have the snackables.
Oh, crap.
I still have to get her something. And bring my own food and drinks.
Who ever said friendship pays for itself, never met Blondie.
Think on it,
Erane
P.S. ... I like that. It's about the Pensieve, about the leftover thoughts... and it doesn't sound as disgusting as "Slither away, my precious", which was my first instinct. I think this one's a keeper. Think on it. Yesh, me like...!
A hunger
I am absolutely starving. Why, you ask? I haven't eaten (or drank) all day, and it's nearing lunch time, so go figure. It's all because I'm hiding out in the library, where food and drinks are prohibited. Well, except for bottled water, but I haven't got any.
I'm hiding out, because I'm supposed to be taking a test right now. Only this test has absolutely no function any more, seeing how I already missed out on the mid-term test. As for tomorrow's test, I won't even be here; I flunked my essay.
Gah.
I want my own room here. I'll probably have to make a few calls in a bit, to see if I can tag along on an election evening for one tomorrow. They have a cat, but they know someone I know, and hold a hobby I have in high regard, so I think I'll just give it my best shot and see if I get in. If my cat allergies do leap up, I can always continue my search, I suppose. But with the added benefit of having my own room to search from. After 20 rejections, all I can say about the success-rate is that it's not as big as 1/20. Definitely smaller than 1/20.
...
I think I will go out for food. Or just go home, and grab something along the way. Something along that line, anyway.
Doegs,
Erane
P.S. Hm... no. It should be English.
I'm hiding out, because I'm supposed to be taking a test right now. Only this test has absolutely no function any more, seeing how I already missed out on the mid-term test. As for tomorrow's test, I won't even be here; I flunked my essay.
Gah.
I want my own room here. I'll probably have to make a few calls in a bit, to see if I can tag along on an election evening for one tomorrow. They have a cat, but they know someone I know, and hold a hobby I have in high regard, so I think I'll just give it my best shot and see if I get in. If my cat allergies do leap up, I can always continue my search, I suppose. But with the added benefit of having my own room to search from. After 20 rejections, all I can say about the success-rate is that it's not as big as 1/20. Definitely smaller than 1/20.
...
I think I will go out for food. Or just go home, and grab something along the way. Something along that line, anyway.
Doegs,
Erane
P.S. Hm... no. It should be English.
Monday, April 7, 2008
A blog
I'm still not sure why I'm starting this blog. I don't really need it; I have people to talk to, I have stories to write, and I even keep up a blog especially for strange bits of penmanship that cannot truly be said to be fiction. Clearly, it's not enough. I feel like I'm missing essential paths to guide my thoughts out into the world, lest they keep bothering me. And maybe I'm just curious to see whether having a blog would be noticed.
I could post at CM's much-discussed blog, and just maybe one of my closest friends would find this blog. Other than that, it'd be a fine challenge for anyone, if they ever even suspected I kept a blog to begin with. I don't really read other people's blogs anyway (except for CM's, but who can blame me), so I wouldn't hold it against them. In fact, I'm not even sure I want them here.
This is my spot, these are my thoughts. Theoretically, I can say whatever I want here. It doesn't explain why I'm posting in English, but... well, that's probably just some silly cry for readers. As an author in heart and kidneys (as the Dutch expression goes), I can't very well be expected to limit my number of readers to an absolute zero for anything less than a diary. And since I don't keep diaries, this will do just fine.
Should I use this place as a proper diary, though? Should I actually describe my life's events here? Something in me screams no, but then this blog would be no better than the vague outlets I have carefully spread over the net. Also, I wonder if 'We Feel Fine' will pick up on this blog. That'd be cool. But I'm drifting off topic...
My name is Erane, a name contrived by my calculator, donated to a now-discontinued character, and adopted at my students association. I'd call it a fraternity, were it not a unisex, alternative and equal-rights sort of thing.
I'm a first year student in Cognitive AI, and doing terribly at it. It's not that I'm bad at it, or that I don't like it. I simply don't have the drive for it, not while my energies are constantly being sapped by my lack of housing.
In America, there is this lovely invention they like to call dorm-rooms. Students there don't have to find their own place through strange internet sites, or advocate themselves to their prospective 'dorms' hoping to get a spot. And I'll bet students there can simply fill out a form saying they can't share a room with smokers, and get placed just as quickly. Are my problems dawning on you yet?
I'd probably write a lot more if my free time had a constant setting, or the computers I used could at least all understand Word files. Maybe I'll find a way to make my projects reachable online, so I can work on it from a Mac too.
Because yes, I am a writer. After a few missers in the fanfiction genre, I'm easing back into regular fiction. Above that, I'm easing back into my native language (Dutch) for these stories, if only because most of them are merely character summaries for tabletop or liveaction. I mostly just write people and some events; places and the like are still quite a challenge, though romantic scenes are the worse. Up until last saturday morning, my romantic experiences mounted up to zero.
Hm. Do I want to talk about my fresh dip into romance?
No, I don't think I do. It can hardly be called romance anyway, even though all the ingredients were there. It felt more like just a bit of fooling around. I know he doesn't see it that way. That makes it all a whole lot harder to linger on.
Moving on, then.
I am going to say something I have never admitted to anyone in my life.
Ever.
I hate brushing my teeth, and will avoid doing it at all costs.
I think I brushed my teeth about a week ago, but I'm not sure.
Not only do I detest the taste of mint with a passion (which is why I now have strawberry-flavoured children's toothpaste), brushing my... hm. Does English have seperate words for cutting teeth and grinding teeth? No matter. The ones at the back. Brushing them makes me feel sick, like I'm about to throw up. Needless to say, that isn't the best motivator.
I've missed my dentist appointments for at least a year now. I know I have cavities; I can feel them with my tongue. A while back, I actually lost a small chip of tooth at the front-top, though you can't really see it unless you know it's there. And heck, with my teeth as yellow as they are, I hardly flash them in a big grin to everyone I meet. Puh-lease.
And yet I've recently been complimented for my teeth. Complimented! All because I had bracelets in my pre-teens, when I didn't conveniently misplace them... Madness!
...
Yes.
I do believe I've figured out what to do with this place.
If any find it, fine. If any read it, suits me. If anyone feels like they ought to leave a comment, be my guest. I might even reply, though I'm still not sure whether it's more unethical to reply or rather not to reply. But I'm not going to wait around for it. I'm not reaching out for help, or trying to persuade people of my opinions, or anything of the sort. Much as I'd enjoy writing for Slim (when he gets that Stetson, I demand pictures), I am going to write for me.
And maybe Moshie, if she happens upon this place. I'll indulge you, old friend.
Erane
P.S. This feels wrong. I need a signature sign-off greating. I'll get back on that...
I could post at CM's much-discussed blog, and just maybe one of my closest friends would find this blog. Other than that, it'd be a fine challenge for anyone, if they ever even suspected I kept a blog to begin with. I don't really read other people's blogs anyway (except for CM's, but who can blame me), so I wouldn't hold it against them. In fact, I'm not even sure I want them here.
This is my spot, these are my thoughts. Theoretically, I can say whatever I want here. It doesn't explain why I'm posting in English, but... well, that's probably just some silly cry for readers. As an author in heart and kidneys (as the Dutch expression goes), I can't very well be expected to limit my number of readers to an absolute zero for anything less than a diary. And since I don't keep diaries, this will do just fine.
Should I use this place as a proper diary, though? Should I actually describe my life's events here? Something in me screams no, but then this blog would be no better than the vague outlets I have carefully spread over the net. Also, I wonder if 'We Feel Fine' will pick up on this blog. That'd be cool. But I'm drifting off topic...
My name is Erane, a name contrived by my calculator, donated to a now-discontinued character, and adopted at my students association. I'd call it a fraternity, were it not a unisex, alternative and equal-rights sort of thing.
I'm a first year student in Cognitive AI, and doing terribly at it. It's not that I'm bad at it, or that I don't like it. I simply don't have the drive for it, not while my energies are constantly being sapped by my lack of housing.
In America, there is this lovely invention they like to call dorm-rooms. Students there don't have to find their own place through strange internet sites, or advocate themselves to their prospective 'dorms' hoping to get a spot. And I'll bet students there can simply fill out a form saying they can't share a room with smokers, and get placed just as quickly. Are my problems dawning on you yet?
I'd probably write a lot more if my free time had a constant setting, or the computers I used could at least all understand Word files. Maybe I'll find a way to make my projects reachable online, so I can work on it from a Mac too.
Because yes, I am a writer. After a few missers in the fanfiction genre, I'm easing back into regular fiction. Above that, I'm easing back into my native language (Dutch) for these stories, if only because most of them are merely character summaries for tabletop or liveaction. I mostly just write people and some events; places and the like are still quite a challenge, though romantic scenes are the worse. Up until last saturday morning, my romantic experiences mounted up to zero.
Hm. Do I want to talk about my fresh dip into romance?
No, I don't think I do. It can hardly be called romance anyway, even though all the ingredients were there. It felt more like just a bit of fooling around. I know he doesn't see it that way. That makes it all a whole lot harder to linger on.
Moving on, then.
I am going to say something I have never admitted to anyone in my life.
Ever.
I hate brushing my teeth, and will avoid doing it at all costs.
I think I brushed my teeth about a week ago, but I'm not sure.
Not only do I detest the taste of mint with a passion (which is why I now have strawberry-flavoured children's toothpaste), brushing my... hm. Does English have seperate words for cutting teeth and grinding teeth? No matter. The ones at the back. Brushing them makes me feel sick, like I'm about to throw up. Needless to say, that isn't the best motivator.
I've missed my dentist appointments for at least a year now. I know I have cavities; I can feel them with my tongue. A while back, I actually lost a small chip of tooth at the front-top, though you can't really see it unless you know it's there. And heck, with my teeth as yellow as they are, I hardly flash them in a big grin to everyone I meet. Puh-lease.
And yet I've recently been complimented for my teeth. Complimented! All because I had bracelets in my pre-teens, when I didn't conveniently misplace them... Madness!
...
Yes.
I do believe I've figured out what to do with this place.
If any find it, fine. If any read it, suits me. If anyone feels like they ought to leave a comment, be my guest. I might even reply, though I'm still not sure whether it's more unethical to reply or rather not to reply. But I'm not going to wait around for it. I'm not reaching out for help, or trying to persuade people of my opinions, or anything of the sort. Much as I'd enjoy writing for Slim (when he gets that Stetson, I demand pictures), I am going to write for me.
And maybe Moshie, if she happens upon this place. I'll indulge you, old friend.
Erane
P.S. This feels wrong. I need a signature sign-off greating. I'll get back on that...
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