Fresh Sheets and Glowing Tears
I taught a friend to fold sheets today. This is significant, partly because I thought it was something I'd never get to do. I stood up, and with familiar gestures and demonstration I gave a little speech about pinching corners and folding. After I'd finished I realised I had given him almost the exact same speech my mother gave me when she first taught me to fold bed sheets, and that made me feel very special.
Little moments like this almost convince me to rescind on my "never again" children policy. I think I'd make a good mother.
Oops! Did I say mother? Ignore that.
So it seems I've been tagged. I've long expressed my distaste for memes, they encourage us to talk when we have nothing to say. Some might call this hypocritical, pointing at my previous participation in memage. They would be correct, but would also be shot.
I've received two variants of this meme so far; one from Mme Yerple and one from Mme Mihatenu_juri. I've combined the two, because I am lazy, and they're essentially the same thing.
Things you enjoy, even when no one around you wants to go out and play. What lowers your stress/blood pressure/anxiety level? Make a list of five things, post it to your journal... and then tag 5 friends and ask them to post it to theirs.
La Premier: I dream. I never dream at night, exempting certain unpleasant things which are a little to factual to be considered dreams. So I wait until the sun is in the sky, and I wander off inside my mind and dream for hours on end. I dream of better times and pretty girls, of days long past and what I could have done, of grand narratives fantastic things that can never be no matter what I wish for, and always of a sadly fictitious Yet Again that never was but I once believed was the most special, honest, beautiful girl in the world.
La Deuxième: I sing. I put my speakers as loud as they can go, and I let loose at the top of my lungs. Contrary to what you might have encountered at Karaoke outings, I have a most excellent and beautiful singing voice. When I was younger I was a soloist for several years. Nowadays it seems I can only conjure up my voice when other people aren't around; when there are strange friends and unfriendly strangers about I always find myself mumbling.
La Troisième: I rage. I have a wrath in me that I find at once immensely beautiful and mind-shakingly terrifying.
La Quatrième: I cry. I cry harder, better, with passion more real than any other, and I don't let myself cry enough. It's one of the most cathartic things I can do: offering myself a moment when I don't have to be strong and I can fall apart, to rise with a greater power and a brighter passion.
La Cinquième: I bathe. I wait until late at night, when the sun is gone and the moon is dark, and I draw a hot bath. I fill it with sweet smelling oils, I light at least a hundred tiny candles, and I lie in flickering shadows and I be. I let my beastly crippled hips rest, weightless, and I soak up the darkness, the heat and the silence. This often coincides with the numbers one, two and four.
Indeed I do have a fully functional ego. Thanks for noticing. I'm also a brilliant cook, and fantastic in bed. I'm just saying, is all.
Et, Aussi, je tagge:
La cynic inestimable, Mme Vivian_Shaw;
L'homme qui soit obsesse par l'exalts, M Baka_Mazoku;
Le vendeur des Bonnes Musiques; M Radiumlabs;
La belle exceptionelle, Mme Elizabathory;
La femme qui me donnes tarot de la malchance; Mme Lehni;
Et aussi, parce que je me demande si elle lit mon journel, la méprisable Mme vivicablack
(For those monoglossal philistines who read not of French, if you can see your name it means I tagged you. If you are a worthwhile individual, I request you don't translate this. And yes, I know certain pieces are spelt wrong. It fools online translation.)
Little moments like this almost convince me to rescind on my "never again" children policy. I think I'd make a good mother.
Oops! Did I say mother? Ignore that.
So it seems I've been tagged. I've long expressed my distaste for memes, they encourage us to talk when we have nothing to say. Some might call this hypocritical, pointing at my previous participation in memage. They would be correct, but would also be shot.
I've received two variants of this meme so far; one from Mme Yerple and one from Mme Mihatenu_juri. I've combined the two, because I am lazy, and they're essentially the same thing.
Things you enjoy, even when no one around you wants to go out and play. What lowers your stress/blood pressure/anxiety level? Make a list of five things, post it to your journal... and then tag 5 friends and ask them to post it to theirs.
La Premier: I dream. I never dream at night, exempting certain unpleasant things which are a little to factual to be considered dreams. So I wait until the sun is in the sky, and I wander off inside my mind and dream for hours on end. I dream of better times and pretty girls, of days long past and what I could have done, of grand narratives fantastic things that can never be no matter what I wish for, and always of a sadly fictitious Yet Again that never was but I once believed was the most special, honest, beautiful girl in the world.
La Deuxième: I sing. I put my speakers as loud as they can go, and I let loose at the top of my lungs. Contrary to what you might have encountered at Karaoke outings, I have a most excellent and beautiful singing voice. When I was younger I was a soloist for several years. Nowadays it seems I can only conjure up my voice when other people aren't around; when there are strange friends and unfriendly strangers about I always find myself mumbling.
La Troisième: I rage. I have a wrath in me that I find at once immensely beautiful and mind-shakingly terrifying.
La Quatrième: I cry. I cry harder, better, with passion more real than any other, and I don't let myself cry enough. It's one of the most cathartic things I can do: offering myself a moment when I don't have to be strong and I can fall apart, to rise with a greater power and a brighter passion.
La Cinquième: I bathe. I wait until late at night, when the sun is gone and the moon is dark, and I draw a hot bath. I fill it with sweet smelling oils, I light at least a hundred tiny candles, and I lie in flickering shadows and I be. I let my beastly crippled hips rest, weightless, and I soak up the darkness, the heat and the silence. This often coincides with the numbers one, two and four.
Indeed I do have a fully functional ego. Thanks for noticing. I'm also a brilliant cook, and fantastic in bed. I'm just saying, is all.
Et, Aussi, je tagge:
La cynic inestimable, Mme Vivian_Shaw;
L'homme qui soit obsesse par l'exalts, M Baka_Mazoku;
Le vendeur des Bonnes Musiques; M Radiumlabs;
La belle exceptionelle, Mme Elizabathory;
La femme qui me donnes tarot de la malchance; Mme Lehni;
Et aussi, parce que je me demande si elle lit mon journel, la méprisable Mme vivicablack
(For those monoglossal philistines who read not of French, if you can see your name it means I tagged you. If you are a worthwhile individual, I request you don't translate this. And yes, I know certain pieces are spelt wrong. It fools online translation.)