Ah, the power of the cozy fireside mystery set in the English countryside, and its pervasive influence on a thirteen year old.


Trackside cottage

I have a fascination with the old. A cottage, particularly one in Europe, has standing on the same ground for centuries. And in my rather empty little corner of California, there really isn't anything that old. Ancient means maybe 150 years, and it's nowhere they'll ever let you live.



So my little cottage, wherever it may be, is just outside a village: not further than an easy walk through a shaded trail or maybe on a quiet street. The local trees had better be full-grown and meet in a canopy above my head and only dapples of sunlight reach the ground. I want wildflowers all spring and summer, and crunchy leaves in the fall. Winter should only have the lightest snow, and rain showers without driving sleet.



My cottage isn't a Thomas Kinkade with thatched roof--I don't want that much work--but it does have a winding trail of slate stones to the little front porch; somewhere there's an arch entwined with roses that droop heavily and drop their petals over you in summer's benediction.



The walls are rough local stone, and I hope the local rock is shaded purple, and at least one corner sports a shawl of ivy. One bay window faces the morning sun, and it's a deep enough corner to read in. Maybe there are drapes, even, like Jane Eyre's. At least the living room is hardwood--as an American I demand a tiled bathroom with natural light and a tub only just this side of too-small-to-swim. Every room catches enough natural light that there are plants growing in every corner.



I need an office. And it overlooks the back garden, so I can look out and find weeding to do rather than actually write. Here, I actually will grow my own tomatoes and lavender, but for old time's sake the apple tree is outside my bedroom window.



And when it isn't too breezy, I can read under the willow tree by the pond (which hosts no mosquitoes) and listen to the battle of frogs and ducks.

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What a choice for my first prompt...


Winner of the Silly Face Contest

My mother's most damning indictment when I was growing up was the word "silly." When she really, really needed to express her frustration, she might occasionally let out a "shoot."



I admire that.



As much as I dislike swearing on the philosophical level, however, it's an offense I commit far too often myself. Considering how little there was in my house growing up, and how poorly socialized I kept myself, I don't know where it came from.



Probably the internet.



That's only a little facetious. Actually it started in middle school, where I learned the basics. Foul-mouthed little b*stards. (See, I can't help myself.) Now, as I spent as little time as possible with my classmates, I never picked up very many...I never heard some of the bad ones until college.



Most swear words I don't like because of their awful connotations, what they say about people, whether used as direct insults or not. And I don't like hearing them. But the worst part of "those words" is what it does to my vocabulary. Sometimes in my strongest emotional states, profanity is all that comes to mind. It gets to the point where I can't think of any other way to express myself.



Of course, in some ways, it's as curiously as satisfying as any literary turn of phrase.

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So, no more good things. In fact, it's been almost exactly a month since I last even checked here, told you I couldn't even remember I have this. I don't know why, 'cause I actually like the look rather.

Of course, I might just have the excuse of being depressed. Not that I know that I'm depressed, or even believe that I am, but a friend of mine said that I seemed sad this semester. Don't know where it came from, but it would make sense I suppose. Junior year (high school), I was definitely depressed. Jump in front of a bus depressed. Well, not really. I mean I wanted to, also thought about falling off cliffs or running the car of the road, but I never would have actually done so. But apparently it still counts.

Just my personality really. I don't like change, so I freak out in preparation of it, which I suppose is rather better than freaking out during the change. Currently, I'm a semester before I actually graduate and have to move out and find a career and have to do all that stuff. Probably have to move beginning of June too, not to mention find a job in this economy (this county has a 13% unemployment rate, before Gottschalks goes out of business). Generally very stressful these days.

Not to mention that the friend previously mentioned as well as about 80% percent of my current friends are graduating and moving away this semester. I've never been very good at making friends, and have no idea of how I managed to make this many in the first place, so I suppose you could say I'm losing most of my support system.

Wish me luck. I don't think I'll need, I've always managed to land on my feet so far, but making it through this stress without entirely losing it would be nice :)

So I read somewhere about a year and a half ago that it's important to keep track of the good things that happen to you everyday...well, important for your state of mind. It's something I haven't done for a year or so, though I managed for a few months. Figure this might be a good place to keep such a list, since I like to hang out on the internet anyway.
 

Good things for today: I'm not dead,and I didn't have to go to the hospital or anything when I doubled the dose of my antibiotic (though I still can't remember whether I did or not) after having my wisdom teeth out. Hasn't even troubled me at all. Successfully made milk mush, which is surprisingly good, though it tasted pretty much exactly how I thought it would, even if it was entirely different. Figured out how to continue knitting socks, and so far have not been doing it wrong. Took a picture. Finished my book, started another. Have requests for three books posted on bookmooch already, and requested one. Watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail.  Wearing the dress Mom made me for Christmas and the mint is growing!

Wow...lots of good things, and the day is barely more than half over. Soon perhaps I'll be an optimist.
 

 
I don't even know how many people I know, know that I have an account on LJ.

I tend to forget myself. 

I sign up for lots of things, all the time. All sorts of different forums and fansites, most often connected to the Sims. Much as I like the game, I always hate that for some reason I feel as though I should be ashamed of playing it. It's a strange world we live in, and most of it doesn't agree with me.

I read. And knit. Those aren't disliked, but they do tend to lend themselves to stereotypes. Even worse, I read fan fiction, and *gasp* have even attempted to write it.  Pretty terrible stuff, but it's just as bad as the original stuff I try to write. So you may see what I've never been all that popular at parties. It doesn't help that beyond being weird, I'm not charming or witty, or frankly, attractive. I'm also shy, but then tend to talk too much. I suspect I'm clingy, and I'm afraid I tend to drive away friends that are becoming long term.

This is a whiny little rant because I'd forgotten I'd signed up for this. I tried to keep up a blog on wordpress, and began to get depressed because I only was writing stuff like this...worthless, and naturally no one wanted to read it. It was what my professor called the "junk" of the internet. Then he assigned us weekly blog posts and said they couldn't be junk. My friend saw the first blog I wrote there, and said it was the best I'd ever written (so far).

A compliment, but it still kind of made me sad because I don't exactly like that I'm so well known as writing junk. Maybe I can improve the rest of my online reputation to this, as it's called a journal, at least. 

I need to whine to somebody.
 


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parrinoyed

October 2012

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