Monday, August 28, 2006
Big Mouth
I really need to use my promises sparingly. I take them far too seriously to use them like I do. Today, to get Little Brother #1 to do a back dive off the diving board, I agreed to promise that if he did it, I would try the trick he had just accomplished. What was that, you ask? Well, that was a gainer. For anyone who doesn't know, that's when you jump frontwards but do a backflip. He even told me that I didn't have to do it after he did the back dive, but I had promised, so I tried. I made it a quarter of the way around, just enough to do the most beautiful back flop anyone could ask for. My skin is still all tingly, and I did it at least a half hour ago, if not longer.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
The Walking Dead
That's what I looked like today...
Sometimes my dream world is further off base when I’m awake than it is when I’m asleep, but last night definitely didn’t follow that game plan. I spent five hours of when I should have been sleeping being chased by various undead beings, ranging from grave rats to some human-sized version of the Balrog. Honestly, people. There were two necromancers, the woman being the dominant and the man being a subsidiary (the feminist in me, perhaps?). We were chased through a huge mall, initially, and we (the group of people I was with; I think I was near to being the oldest, and there couldn’t have been more than four of us) couldn’t catch a break with the weather. You know, the whole sunlight-beats-undead thing. It was partly cloudy, and the mall had a glass ceiling, so we should have been okay, right? Not so much. The clouds seemed to follow us, and these weren’t fluffy clouds either. They were the thunderheads I pray for at work (could that be karma in the form of nightmares?). The undead creatures following us at the mall were largely shambling human corpses.
Then, somehow, we ran to a boarding school. I know it was a boarding school because there were places to sleep, though it wasn’t as though we took advantage of them. Mainly we spent our time running up and down the huge spiral staircases, running from the grave rats and more shambling corpses. Then we ran up a tight spiral staircase and into the techie booth for the auditorium. That wasn’t a good idea, ‘cause it was darker there than anywhere else, and I was fairly traumatized by innumerable enemies. Going down another tight spiral staircase, we passed a bunch of places that run together in my brain, but there was much running to and from the tight spiral, until finally we just ran down the whole thing to the deep, dank cellar place beneath the building.
Oddly, it wasn’t as dark down there. Everything glowed red (so either I love the dungeon or it was a very angry place, says Freud). There were lots of little cells there, about three feet by three feet, made all of cement but without doors or bars (remnants of Support Your Local Sherrif?). There were drains in the center of the room where the floor sank (trauma from work, perchance? The cells could have been the showers at the Scera changed from tile to cement, now that I think about it). Only two of the numerous cells were filled, one with the human-sized Balrog and the other with a pasty white, over seven feet, bald, wiry, thick-skulled something or other. He had big teeth. These two undead were actually very friendly, and they apologized time over time about how, if their masters arrived, they would turn all evil on us and try to devour our souls. They were really sorry about that. And of course, since we had been seen on the spiral staircase and nowhere else for at least two hours of the dream, it wasn’t too tough for the bad guys to know where we’d end up. So then we were running from Balrog and Bobby (the pasty guy’s name was something like that, maybe it was Fred).
We managed to get outside, and Balrog and Bobby were outside of their masters’ range, so we chatted for a while to catch our breath. But it was nighttime, so we were practically doomed for another six hours of dreamtime.
The worst part of it was that I didn’t even sleep the entire time. I started to fall asleep the first time after an hour of tossing and turning, and that was around 1:00. I continued to wake up periodically during the dream, only to pick it back up again when I fell back asleep. The last time I remember looking at the clock was 6:15-ish. Bleagh. I feel terrible.
Now, I’d blame this whole thing on the fact that I re-read Sabriel recently, but that was two weeks ago. Either my psyche has delayed reflexes, or it was something else.
Sometimes my dream world is further off base when I’m awake than it is when I’m asleep, but last night definitely didn’t follow that game plan. I spent five hours of when I should have been sleeping being chased by various undead beings, ranging from grave rats to some human-sized version of the Balrog. Honestly, people. There were two necromancers, the woman being the dominant and the man being a subsidiary (the feminist in me, perhaps?). We were chased through a huge mall, initially, and we (the group of people I was with; I think I was near to being the oldest, and there couldn’t have been more than four of us) couldn’t catch a break with the weather. You know, the whole sunlight-beats-undead thing. It was partly cloudy, and the mall had a glass ceiling, so we should have been okay, right? Not so much. The clouds seemed to follow us, and these weren’t fluffy clouds either. They were the thunderheads I pray for at work (could that be karma in the form of nightmares?). The undead creatures following us at the mall were largely shambling human corpses.
Then, somehow, we ran to a boarding school. I know it was a boarding school because there were places to sleep, though it wasn’t as though we took advantage of them. Mainly we spent our time running up and down the huge spiral staircases, running from the grave rats and more shambling corpses. Then we ran up a tight spiral staircase and into the techie booth for the auditorium. That wasn’t a good idea, ‘cause it was darker there than anywhere else, and I was fairly traumatized by innumerable enemies. Going down another tight spiral staircase, we passed a bunch of places that run together in my brain, but there was much running to and from the tight spiral, until finally we just ran down the whole thing to the deep, dank cellar place beneath the building.
Oddly, it wasn’t as dark down there. Everything glowed red (so either I love the dungeon or it was a very angry place, says Freud). There were lots of little cells there, about three feet by three feet, made all of cement but without doors or bars (remnants of Support Your Local Sherrif?). There were drains in the center of the room where the floor sank (trauma from work, perchance? The cells could have been the showers at the Scera changed from tile to cement, now that I think about it). Only two of the numerous cells were filled, one with the human-sized Balrog and the other with a pasty white, over seven feet, bald, wiry, thick-skulled something or other. He had big teeth. These two undead were actually very friendly, and they apologized time over time about how, if their masters arrived, they would turn all evil on us and try to devour our souls. They were really sorry about that. And of course, since we had been seen on the spiral staircase and nowhere else for at least two hours of the dream, it wasn’t too tough for the bad guys to know where we’d end up. So then we were running from Balrog and Bobby (the pasty guy’s name was something like that, maybe it was Fred).
We managed to get outside, and Balrog and Bobby were outside of their masters’ range, so we chatted for a while to catch our breath. But it was nighttime, so we were practically doomed for another six hours of dreamtime.
The worst part of it was that I didn’t even sleep the entire time. I started to fall asleep the first time after an hour of tossing and turning, and that was around 1:00. I continued to wake up periodically during the dream, only to pick it back up again when I fell back asleep. The last time I remember looking at the clock was 6:15-ish. Bleagh. I feel terrible.
Now, I’d blame this whole thing on the fact that I re-read Sabriel recently, but that was two weeks ago. Either my psyche has delayed reflexes, or it was something else.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
What the Stupid?
How stupid can ya get? How hard is it to know that a Suburban is at least twice as big as an Accord, and therefore more immovable and lengthy? The good news is, I'm not dead, and I did not get in a wreck. Too bad it took a near-wreck to get the idea through my thick skull that Blue Thunder is not The Beast and vice versa. And the worst part probably is that the occupied car next to me belonged to a good friend, so I will undoubtedly hear about my stupidity at school. Gah! I know it was stupid, I don't need to be told again. I hope he lets the matter lie.
Other good news is that at today's swim captains' meeting, we got a lot accomplished, considering. Pretty much, the team will vote on the color of the sweatshirts, we'll do some research on price, and we'll have them ordered. Hopefully we'll have them before the Park City trip (if people aren't around for signing up what you want on the hood, I think I'll just put their last name on it). We have the sweat pants planned, color and all, and the T-shirt. All things considered, that is saying a lot in and of itself. We have the opening party almost planned, and requests for certain types of practices at certain times. We're making signs for the first meet and we're going on the preliminaries for our coach's retirement stuff. All in all, not too bad.
Other good news is that at today's swim captains' meeting, we got a lot accomplished, considering. Pretty much, the team will vote on the color of the sweatshirts, we'll do some research on price, and we'll have them ordered. Hopefully we'll have them before the Park City trip (if people aren't around for signing up what you want on the hood, I think I'll just put their last name on it). We have the sweat pants planned, color and all, and the T-shirt. All things considered, that is saying a lot in and of itself. We have the opening party almost planned, and requests for certain types of practices at certain times. We're making signs for the first meet and we're going on the preliminaries for our coach's retirement stuff. All in all, not too bad.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Flipping Out
A telling from Friday, delayed until Monday, after it was fancied up on Sunday. Do tell me what you think of the actual writing. It might be useful for random contests that I don't want to actually WRITE anything for, but I want to enter anyway. :D And yes, I realize that the tricks listed in this piece are not difficult on the grand scale of things, but for me, these were huge accomplishments.
I have never been one for excessive daring. True, roller coasters enthrall me to no end, but that is usually where my search for bigger thrills ends. The times are rare that I strive to force adrenaline into my system through stunts.
But somehow, staff parties at the swimming pool can change a person.
As a lifeguard, I know the reason for every rule at the pool, and I therefore know the way to break each without dying or causing serious injury. After breaking all the rules I could think of, I turned to more docile entertainment: tricks off the diving board. My repertoire was small, and the most difficult trick was a pike dive—on a good day.
But if anything can change a person more than a staff party, it’s a challenge.
Usually I will cede the spotlight when it comes to stunts. Challenge me to a race, and I’ll jump to the starting line. Challenge me to a game, and I’ll be the first to learn the rules and find the loopholes. But I’m not an acrobat, and I won’t claim to be.
Somehow, that inhibition melted when I saw that Jared, the coworker that started the challenge, had the limit of a pike dive as well. After that, it was all just a matter of guts. I suppose that’s why I accepted the challenge.
Through some manner of masochistic stupidity, I mentioned that once my mom had done a back dive off the board and I had been unable to follow suit, much to my eternal shame. Jared immediately grasped the weakness and pulled off the back dive, raising his eyebrows. Hello, gauntlet. How I do wish people would not abuse you with such frequent throwing.
“You work on that flip of yours and I’ll get back to you,” I said. His front flip was more of a mutated upside-down twist, so while he hammered out a straighter variation, I practiced backbends off the side of the pool. No one would ever know that I had once been a gymnast for a six-year span.
The next obstacle was the fact that the board was much farther from the water than the wall was. After several minutes of psychological anguish and a bout of clinging to the board in a most pitiful crouch, I managed to throw my hands back and follow them into the pool.
So, of course, I had to do it again after I matched Jared’s front flip. The second swing at the dive resulted in a heinous over-rotation, and I slapped my legs on the water.
“Just a bit farther,” Jared mocked, “and you’ll have a back flip.”
“Then I’ll raise you to that.” Curse my unfettered mouth.
Jared had never done a back flip either, but for some reason I was not the first to try it. I was grateful for the lapse in gentlemanly procedure; “ladies first” was a rule that could keep itself away from such trials.
“This is all just self-inflicted torment,” I laughed when he scrunched his face again at the end of the board. Every time he got close to jumping, his facial features would collapse into an image of agony.
“I know,” he said.
“What can happen? We both know you won’t hit the board, so what’s left? A back-flop? It’s just water.” Despite the competition, I wanted to be an encouraging friend. I’m sure I sounded encouraging too, but that didn’t mean I believed anything I was saying. I had drawn my line at the back dive. Jared could beat me out, I had decided, and I would find a way to heal the wounded ego. Better than a wounded head.
“You’re right.” Jared’s next almost-attempt got so close that he had actually bent his knees to jump. He opened his eyes and stabbed a finger at me. “If I do it, do you promise to do it too?”
A moment’s hesitation, then a pained, “I promise.” Reason shrieked at me, but my mouth had outrun it and I was committed. Promises are sacred, especially death pacts.
Jared closed his eyes again and started to think about going through with the back flip. My encouraging words had dried up. I wouldn’t stop him, but fire would burn cold before I helped him.
Seven minutes later—I insisted on keeping time—Jared jumped into a nearly perfect back flip.
If I were one to swear, I can conjure several words that would have left my mouth, none of them particularly pleasant.
I paced to the edge of the board and hung my heels over the end. If I let myself think, it would never happen. A promise was a promise. One, two, three.
What? Lady Cynicism, are you yet living?
Yes, yes I am. But I must say that I was disappointed. The first moment, that leap, that flinging of one’s self into nothingness—that was terrifying. But after that, everything was expected, and occurred without a thought or fear, and the water cradled my fall.
There might be something to that.
I have never been one for excessive daring. True, roller coasters enthrall me to no end, but that is usually where my search for bigger thrills ends. The times are rare that I strive to force adrenaline into my system through stunts.
But somehow, staff parties at the swimming pool can change a person.
As a lifeguard, I know the reason for every rule at the pool, and I therefore know the way to break each without dying or causing serious injury. After breaking all the rules I could think of, I turned to more docile entertainment: tricks off the diving board. My repertoire was small, and the most difficult trick was a pike dive—on a good day.
But if anything can change a person more than a staff party, it’s a challenge.
Usually I will cede the spotlight when it comes to stunts. Challenge me to a race, and I’ll jump to the starting line. Challenge me to a game, and I’ll be the first to learn the rules and find the loopholes. But I’m not an acrobat, and I won’t claim to be.
Somehow, that inhibition melted when I saw that Jared, the coworker that started the challenge, had the limit of a pike dive as well. After that, it was all just a matter of guts. I suppose that’s why I accepted the challenge.
Through some manner of masochistic stupidity, I mentioned that once my mom had done a back dive off the board and I had been unable to follow suit, much to my eternal shame. Jared immediately grasped the weakness and pulled off the back dive, raising his eyebrows. Hello, gauntlet. How I do wish people would not abuse you with such frequent throwing.
“You work on that flip of yours and I’ll get back to you,” I said. His front flip was more of a mutated upside-down twist, so while he hammered out a straighter variation, I practiced backbends off the side of the pool. No one would ever know that I had once been a gymnast for a six-year span.
The next obstacle was the fact that the board was much farther from the water than the wall was. After several minutes of psychological anguish and a bout of clinging to the board in a most pitiful crouch, I managed to throw my hands back and follow them into the pool.
So, of course, I had to do it again after I matched Jared’s front flip. The second swing at the dive resulted in a heinous over-rotation, and I slapped my legs on the water.
“Just a bit farther,” Jared mocked, “and you’ll have a back flip.”
“Then I’ll raise you to that.” Curse my unfettered mouth.
Jared had never done a back flip either, but for some reason I was not the first to try it. I was grateful for the lapse in gentlemanly procedure; “ladies first” was a rule that could keep itself away from such trials.
“This is all just self-inflicted torment,” I laughed when he scrunched his face again at the end of the board. Every time he got close to jumping, his facial features would collapse into an image of agony.
“I know,” he said.
“What can happen? We both know you won’t hit the board, so what’s left? A back-flop? It’s just water.” Despite the competition, I wanted to be an encouraging friend. I’m sure I sounded encouraging too, but that didn’t mean I believed anything I was saying. I had drawn my line at the back dive. Jared could beat me out, I had decided, and I would find a way to heal the wounded ego. Better than a wounded head.
“You’re right.” Jared’s next almost-attempt got so close that he had actually bent his knees to jump. He opened his eyes and stabbed a finger at me. “If I do it, do you promise to do it too?”
A moment’s hesitation, then a pained, “I promise.” Reason shrieked at me, but my mouth had outrun it and I was committed. Promises are sacred, especially death pacts.
Jared closed his eyes again and started to think about going through with the back flip. My encouraging words had dried up. I wouldn’t stop him, but fire would burn cold before I helped him.
Seven minutes later—I insisted on keeping time—Jared jumped into a nearly perfect back flip.
If I were one to swear, I can conjure several words that would have left my mouth, none of them particularly pleasant.
I paced to the edge of the board and hung my heels over the end. If I let myself think, it would never happen. A promise was a promise. One, two, three.
What? Lady Cynicism, are you yet living?
Yes, yes I am. But I must say that I was disappointed. The first moment, that leap, that flinging of one’s self into nothingness—that was terrifying. But after that, everything was expected, and occurred without a thought or fear, and the water cradled my fall.
There might be something to that.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Officially
Officially, I'm going to take a crack at Kin of Kumei, sequel to Son of Sferesh. If all does not go well, and the plot line that does not yet exist in its entirety never solidifies, I can always abandon it and go back to the Son of Sferesh as a stand-alone plan.
As far as revision of Son of Sferesh goes, my mum finished reading it, and gave me quite a few criticisms that were very refreshing. I'm bouncing a few ideas around because of her. Endrea might not be so stupid now. She might have a brain. Heck, the rest of her family does; she must have picked something up. She can still be a cocky jerk, though.
Another friend finished it, and he hasn't given me any feedback yet, aside from his opinion on the projected sequel. I've plunged into working on it, but it's reminding me why I've always hated beginnings. Blegh. Pretty much all the torment that kept me from Son of Sferesh for so long...all over again. But still, I'm only thirteen pages in, and I can totally tell the difference between my viewpoint characters. That makes me happy. I didn't even try, but they're so easily discernable. Huzzah for things working out!
As far as revision of Son of Sferesh goes, my mum finished reading it, and gave me quite a few criticisms that were very refreshing. I'm bouncing a few ideas around because of her. Endrea might not be so stupid now. She might have a brain. Heck, the rest of her family does; she must have picked something up. She can still be a cocky jerk, though.
Another friend finished it, and he hasn't given me any feedback yet, aside from his opinion on the projected sequel. I've plunged into working on it, but it's reminding me why I've always hated beginnings. Blegh. Pretty much all the torment that kept me from Son of Sferesh for so long...all over again. But still, I'm only thirteen pages in, and I can totally tell the difference between my viewpoint characters. That makes me happy. I didn't even try, but they're so easily discernable. Huzzah for things working out!
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