The Weirdest Day

Today was a pretty strange day.

I walked by the Turtle Pond while going back home after a late-night movie, and I saw that the water in the lower half was about half as high as it usually is. The upper half was as high as usual, and flowing into the lower half as usual, while the lower half was not getting higher.

On the sidewalk across from the Pond, there was a whole bird wing lying on the ground, with the feathers unruffled and perfectly aligned. It was gray. Only the bird was missing. I could swear it looked still warm and alive and it might have jumped up and flown away if I hadn't been looking at it. But it was all by itself.

The Asian couple walking in front of me stopped by one of the buildings and took a picture of the nameplate.

I was putting my fish back into his clean fishbowl and I dropped him. My first reaction was to say "Oh, baby! No! I'm so sorry! Are you all right, baby?" I've never called anyone "baby" in my entire life. I've had this fish for a whole three weeks. But he is beautiful and apparently I am very attached to him. More interestingly, we discussed animal personalities in Psychology today, and fish apparently have personalities (as do fruitflies, especially those named Trevor and Giles [who were pictured in the slideshow]). (For those who were worried, yes, my fish survived the fall. And is not traumatized to the point that he cannot eat; I gave him a couple bloodworms and he feasted upon them as per usual. But I will keep him under close watch for a week or so.)

I found a perfectly symmetrical arrangement of leaves on a live oak branch.

The email I was waiting for was sitting in my inbox, with the words I was not expecting.

My mother was in town, and was so happy to see me she took me to the museum and to dinner. She wanted to buy a piano.

At dinner, the waiter heard us speaking, recognized the language, and asked to trade currencies. A currency which does not exist anymore and which I have not carried on my person since that last day in the airport when my ten-year-old self treated my family to viennoiseries before embarking upon the longest journey of my life, the one that would change me forever. When we told him we didn't have any, he turned away and did not refill our glasses with water until the moment we were leaving. The other waiter took a personal interest in our menus, and tried to make me order some sort of fish on a bed of coconut rice. I hate fish and I hate coconuts. The place had a definite "Ranch" theme to it, but there wasn't a single steak or burger on the menu. I had quesadillas instead and did not have a cocktail, alas. I'm sure he wouldn't have IDed me. But Mother felt the need to say I was underage, so it was not thus. Maybe that is for the better.

At the museum, I saw a 150-year-old painting from a person I'd never even heard of before, and I recognized the scene instantly. It was a painting of a part of the city I used to live in when I was a child, one hundred and fifty years ago. None of the modern-day buildings, apartments, parks, towers were there. The riverbanks were mud, and horses pulled carts. But in the background, in front of the oh-so-familiar shape of a bridge, there was a house, a house which remains standing to this day, a relic lost in the middle of one of the world's most fabled cities. I've spent countless hours in that house. And now, seven years into the future and a century and a half into the past, on the other side of the world and an entire ocean away, I find it again.

The more I think about it, the more today appears to be a series of coincidences.

Or maybe it's just another normal day.

Maybe it's the spirit of All Hallow's Eve which permeates everything. Pretty much every person I saw in the street on the way home was dressed up and going to some sort of party. Which leads me to think, I may need to rethink my costume for tomorrow night. Clearly there is not enough fishnet and too much fabric to fit the norms.

Verdict: All in all, it was a pretty good day.

O Fortuna

I have been saying this constantly to everyone who will hear (and even those who don't) that Fate hates me. Really, it does.

Everyone knows that now. What they don't know is why I think that, or why Fortuna, in her blind *ahem* impartiality *ahem* chooses to constantly frustrate me. Only two people in the whole wide universe (maybe we have twins in alternate universes, so I'll leave that possibility open) know the answer to the first question, and don't I wish I knew the answer to the second one. That way, I would at least be maybe possibly slightly less miserable and could do something about... stuff. Or maybe I wouldn't be able to do anything about... stuff. Because clearly I can't do anything about anything, given the circumstances. It's all circumstances, really. Every time. All. The. Fucking. Time.

I wish they were good circumstances, for once in my life. But no. As soon as a favorable opportunity appears on the horizon, I get my hopes up. But oh wait! Fate, this hateful hag, tweaks the fabric of the time-space continuum for some reason unknown to (wo)mankind (basically me) (although maybe it's really obvious to anyone but me... Am I missing something here?) and wrecks everything. AGAIN. Every. Single. Time. Trust me. It's been two years.

I'm assuming still no one has any idea what I am talking about, but at least I've done my bitching for the day (mostly). I will probably post about it later. If (oh please oh please oh please) SOMEthing (I'm not even asking for everything!) goes right next time.

I realize that I just cussed out Fate, which may not be the most proactive way to go about it. But hey, catharsis.

I rest my case.

On waiting

Why does time go by so slowly when you're waiting for a phone to ring?
How can you miss someone so much more in the twenty-some hours between the times you're together than during two months of being 2000 miles apart?
Why is one little minute so excruciatingly painful when, a week ago, a day went by so fast?
How can life be so cruel as to deny us all the time we could have together?

If everything happened as it was supposed to once--just once--I could die a happy woman.





I'm in love.

My kind of weather

I love those days when it's raining and slightly chilly outside, just enough to shudder bare armed and feel toasty warm with a jacket. I love the way it is just wet enough to be like the Paris where I grew up yet warm enough to be comfortable like a Texas spring. I love it when I'm walking around campus and umbrellas pop up like multicolored mushrooms and bob, up and down, up and down, all along the street and all you can see is a ballet of pixels going on forever. I love walking along and feeling the legs of my jeans get damper by the minute as I tromp through puddles. I love getting on a bus and smiling at the other people who just ran in and are glad to get out of the rain. I love getting home and shaking my umbrella and wrapping myself in a warm blanket and making myself a mug of hot chocolate and reading a good book. I love looking out the window and watching the rain fall and seeing the world drown. I love strolling down the street with my umbrella and my trendy, indestructible Parisian leather boots and feeling like a model. I love standing on a bridge and watching the rushing waters of the creek underneath. I love seeing wet newspapers run ink as they lie crumpled under a seat in nearly empty buses as the rain gets so strong even an umbrella will not keep you safe. I love the warm, warm rain that you can dance barefoot in, until you are so thoroughly soaked that even a dryer will not take all of the wet out of your clothes. I love the way you feel clean when you come out of the rain, but a warm shower still feels so good.

I love those days.

I Only Listen To Modest Mouse When I'm In The Car

with my friends on the way to this wonderful place called the ____house. I hate Modest Mouse. I would never listen to any of their songs if it were only me. But my friends love them, so we used to listen to Modest Mouse a lot. Now, I just wish I had a Modest Mouse album so I could listen to it and remember those times. But it wouldn't really feel the same... This is one of those things that happens with others. I hate Modest Mouse. But I like listening to them when I'm in the big white Suburban with five other people around me, a sleeping bag on my knees, and a tub of cookie dough in a Kroger's bag stuck between my feet. Because then I know we're going over to the ____house for a sleepover. And those times are the best. The sun sets as we drive down what would be called __________ Road if it weren't called __________ Parkway. The gate that looks locked but really isn't. The long, dark, bumpy road with the trees, the cows, and the mud. And Modest Mouse singing, singing inside the car. This is what happiness is.

I listened to Rosanne Cash last night, and I suddenly found myself craving sauteed zucchini and colored rotini. When I lived in _____, we lived in a pretty little blue house we called "The Blue House". My dad was absolutely in love with Rosanne Cash and sauteed zucchini, and us children were in love with the multicolor rotini. Therefore, dinners tended to include all three when mom and her nutritious, balanced meals took the night off. When I hear Rosanne Cash, I hear the loud, xylophone-like cicadas screaming in the mesquite trees, I smell the heavy, heady, sweet Texas summer air, I see the multicolored plastic glasses on the large round table on the hardwood floor and the eternal Texas Christmas lights over the couch. I think of Dad making pancakes on Sunday mornings, of violin practice in the office, and gift-wrapping sessions behind the big bed in the boys' bedroom. It's been seven years since I last lived there. But every time I listen to Rosanne Cash, this is what I think of. This is what happiness is.

I saw a line of ants walking in a ray of sunshine, and I thought of the one memory I have never shared with anyone. I thought of a single second that seemed like forever six years ago. I thought of the reason why I fell in love. This is what happiness is.

I opened an envelope and I didn't recognize the handwriting. The second I saw what was inside, I remembered the first seven years of my life I can remember. It was both a birthday card and the collected memories of seven years of sharing every moment and secret and Wednesday afternoons spent at the park together. My first friend. My best friend. This is what happiness is.

After the storm, the house collapses.

Well, I got a chance to clear my head. "We" are back on speaking terms again, and it was nice to actually say what I thought (well, at least write it out to the black void of cyberspace so that the whole world could know about it if they cared to read it, but they don't and thus my pride is safe).

Moving on.

Not really, actually. Since I've already spent my allotted blog on whining, I guess I'm not allowed to write another one for a while. I do want to, though! Granted, the intense frustration I felt this morning at 2:15 a.m. has somewhat ebbed, but I still believe there should be intense and cruel punishment reserved for those who do not know how to follow directions, write, edit, research, and do their fair share of the work in a group. And that is all I will say about it.

Moving on again.

I have finally realized one of my lifelong dreams and joined a sailing club. To my great joy and happiness, the club goes on a yearly camping/sailing trip to North Padre Island, a four hour drive away. Since joining the club, I have looked forward to going on that trip and spending a wonderful three days away from the city, the people, and the squirrels.

Departure is set for Friday the third of October at 1800 hours.

HOWEVER

Wednesday (that is, today), my wonderful and beloved professors have seen fit to assign me what could be crudely called a "bitchload of homework, yo".

THEREFORE

I am not going.

Crap and poo and merde.

And that is all I have to say.