i'll chant and chant and chant this anthem
Being twenty is still something that gives me pause -- it reminds me of how I felt when we had just moved to this house, and certain things were in different places; when sitting at the computer I was in the same metaphysical place I had been before, but I would expect to look up and see a different room from the one I found myself in, and to be facing in a slightly different direction. And it's silly to think that there has been such a vast shift between Wednesday, when I was nineteen, and Thursday and every day after, when I am twenty -- did I shed my skin when the clock blinked forward to twelve? -- and half the time it feels as though there hasn't been one, but the other half of the time it does. Before medication -- and oddly I haven't thought about this in months, though it used to be such a large part of my perceptions -- I used to have this bizarre sense that all of the colours had changed; one morning I would wake and find that everything was different in some infinitesimal, inexplicable, unnerving way, and then it would change again, and again, and again, always when I wasn't paying attention. That's a bit how it's been, except this is a lot less uncomfortable. Everything is slightly different, in ways that I can't quite suss out.
Well, anyway, enough philosophy. Let's talk about clothes! I bought some! Um. Also, the ever-marvellous bornofstars sent me a The Young Victoria movie poster for my birthday -- "watch for a cylindrical package", she said, not "watch for a cylindrical package taller than your toddler sister", which was closer to truth. Anyway I have put it on my ceiling, so that when I lie on my back in bed I see Victoria and Albert being ridiculously adorable and then I beam giddily at them. (Am pretty sure my thinking-myself-to-sleep -- which is how I usually manage unconsciousness -- last night involved counting up historical OTPs, although at the moment I can only think of Victoria/Albert and Nicholas/Alexandra, and both of those have their share of dysfunction and/or over-reliance: Victoria spent the rest of her life after Albert's death mourning him, and if Nicholas hadn't been so reluctant to oppose Alexandra where Rasputin was concerned a fair amount of badness and awful might have been averted, although my poor dear Romanovs were so ridiculously naive and out of touch that I don't know how much it would have helped, Rasputin not being in the picture. Although seeing as I can't even look at photographs of him for more than fifteen seconds, because he is that terrifying -- and I do believe he was occult -- I imagine a lot of things would have worked out better if at some point he had been accidentally run over by a train. ANYWAY. Madeleine L'Engle/Hugh Franklin probably doesn't really count as historical, I guess? But they are my OTP of OTPs and if I can have a marriage anything near to theirs someday I will count myself among the blessed.)
In other news, am camped out in my front hall on the deacon's bench facing the mail slot, waiting for sarahtales' The Demon's Covenant to slide through and into the mail basket (which is often occupied by one fluffy Willowcat). IT IS TAKING FAR TOO LONG; THIS IS WHAT COMES OF BEING OBSESSIVE AND ORDERING BOOKS FROM BRITAIN. (But I adore the British cover to tiny tiny pieces -- MAE! PRETTY PINK-HAIRED MAE! -- and mostly have a shallow wave of "meh" for the American cover -- no offense to Sin, who is probably awesome. The typography is off-putting, though. AND THE BRITISH COVER. IT IS SO GORGEOUS. So you see I had to get it.) I was so sure it would come today! Hope springs eternal every morning, but I want my book.
(Speaking of books, have actually been writing away at my Rue Caruthers' Sordid Past thing for vampirebigbang, and am getting sort of interested. Still so many holes! And, oh, poor family I am going to have to kill horribly and brutally for a thread of a reason, I am starting to get a bit attached to you. NO MATTER. Soon you shall all be dead, and plot fodder.)
Last, but in no way least, I have found my new favourite version of Tam-Lin, which is this one by Tricky Pixie. As a fellow Bandcamp user and struggling indie musician I implore you to throw a few coins into the PayPal jar, which I did, and this song is worth a dollar or two because it is epic and gorgeous. Omg cello! Omg male/female vocals! Stunning harmony! And it's bloody catchy, too.
Well, anyway, enough philosophy. Let's talk about clothes! I bought some! Um. Also, the ever-marvellous bornofstars sent me a The Young Victoria movie poster for my birthday -- "watch for a cylindrical package", she said, not "watch for a cylindrical package taller than your toddler sister", which was closer to truth. Anyway I have put it on my ceiling, so that when I lie on my back in bed I see Victoria and Albert being ridiculously adorable and then I beam giddily at them. (Am pretty sure my thinking-myself-to-sleep -- which is how I usually manage unconsciousness -- last night involved counting up historical OTPs, although at the moment I can only think of Victoria/Albert and Nicholas/Alexandra, and both of those have their share of dysfunction and/or over-reliance: Victoria spent the rest of her life after Albert's death mourning him, and if Nicholas hadn't been so reluctant to oppose Alexandra where Rasputin was concerned a fair amount of badness and awful might have been averted, although my poor dear Romanovs were so ridiculously naive and out of touch that I don't know how much it would have helped, Rasputin not being in the picture. Although seeing as I can't even look at photographs of him for more than fifteen seconds, because he is that terrifying -- and I do believe he was occult -- I imagine a lot of things would have worked out better if at some point he had been accidentally run over by a train. ANYWAY. Madeleine L'Engle/Hugh Franklin probably doesn't really count as historical, I guess? But they are my OTP of OTPs and if I can have a marriage anything near to theirs someday I will count myself among the blessed.)
In other news, am camped out in my front hall on the deacon's bench facing the mail slot, waiting for sarahtales' The Demon's Covenant to slide through and into the mail basket (which is often occupied by one fluffy Willowcat). IT IS TAKING FAR TOO LONG; THIS IS WHAT COMES OF BEING OBSESSIVE AND ORDERING BOOKS FROM BRITAIN. (But I adore the British cover to tiny tiny pieces -- MAE! PRETTY PINK-HAIRED MAE! -- and mostly have a shallow wave of "meh" for the American cover -- no offense to Sin, who is probably awesome. The typography is off-putting, though. AND THE BRITISH COVER. IT IS SO GORGEOUS. So you see I had to get it.) I was so sure it would come today! Hope springs eternal every morning, but I want my book.
(Speaking of books, have actually been writing away at my Rue Caruthers' Sordid Past thing for vampirebigbang, and am getting sort of interested. Still so many holes! And, oh, poor family I am going to have to kill horribly and brutally for a thread of a reason, I am starting to get a bit attached to you. NO MATTER. Soon you shall all be dead, and plot fodder.)
Last, but in no way least, I have found my new favourite version of Tam-Lin, which is this one by Tricky Pixie. As a fellow Bandcamp user and struggling indie musician I implore you to throw a few coins into the PayPal jar, which I did, and this song is worth a dollar or two because it is epic and gorgeous. Omg cello! Omg male/female vocals! Stunning harmony! And it's bloody catchy, too.