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Jul. 2nd, 2006
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Jul. 2nd, 2006 02:56 amOkay, so a semi-real entry today, although not much of a one because it's rather late and there's stuff I have to be doing tomorrow. Stuff like getting Father's Day gifts and finishing my room.
I went to an absolutely wonderful play tonight with my parents. The Drawer Boy by Michael Healey. It has three actors, it's set in Canada, and it's beautiful. It's hilarious, and poignant, and it's real even though it's ridiculous.
Something I just remembered after reading a totally unrelated![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mialamu entry: when Ben (Liz's-new-roommate-Kate's Ben) was giving me a tour of his house, he offhandedly mentioned his Illuminati game. And I was going, I've heard that name before, but where...? and then I remembered. I played it with Lindsay and Jon and nimue9 and veganstatesbest and kamili and others--possibly Paul, Kayla, mialamu, and twoscoopsofruit?--the first time I was in Chapel House, maybe the second or third week of school. I remember being horribly confused by the game, and horribly awkward around people who knew each other very well but I didn't know so well, but very glad to snuggle with Kris. :) And I had totally forgotten said memory until Ben mentioned the game.
I think teaching may not be such an incomprehensible choice after all. This week at camp didn't really feel like work for some reason. I felt invincible. When she picked me up at the train station, my mother asked, "So were you just a camp counselor goddess?? :D" and I cringed--but the concept isn't that far off the mark. Not that I'm an amazing counselor, because I was totally out of my depth in dealing with some of the stuff we had, just that it seemed to fit me somehow.
I mean, I was definitely eager for my two hours of break time every day by the end of the week, but the intervening time didn't feel like work like cleaning my room or reading my Physics textbook does. I had a splitting headache Thursday afternoon and evening, but I was an energetic Toad right through it. It's frankly a little ridiculous. We'll see if I feel the same way by the end of the summer.
I feel different at camp. Bolder. At least around the kids--I'm pretty much the usual Rob around just the staff. It was really interesting watching myself subside into my regular self as I left camp on Friday. It was also interesting to hear similar things that Liz always says to me coming out of Trinity's mouth. She didn't say them like Liz does, but it was the same basic "Rob never speaks; he should speak more" concept.
Trinity is a puzzle. Not once has she used female pronouns in reference to me. And I am dead serious, not once. Like, am I that obvious? Or is she just good at recognizing the signs because of who her friends are?
There was a lot of gender stuff going on this week. I got a huge kick out of it too. I was highly amused because two of the counselors are Charm City Boys. I was asked twice to my face by campers if I was a boy, and apparently other counselors were also asked about me. And half the staff had adopted male pronouns by the end of the week after numerous "mistakes" made it obvious that I didn't mind in the least. We played the "switch with me" game Thursday night and someone called out "Switch with me if you're a girl"--so there's me, blithely not moving an inch while everyone else looks for another pair of shoes. The kids are mostly like "what the hell" and the staff are mostly "yeah, so?" about it. And I'm not the only one.
Yeah, so to all the crew who were like "Girl Scout camp? WTF?" when I told y'all about it--this is fucking awesome.
I don't really know how I feel about pronouns in general. From strangers, I'm tickled pink to get assumptions that I'm male and disappointed/annoyed as hell to get assumptions that I'm female. From friends, either one is fine, but interestingly. I don't mind female pronouns from friends like the CWIT crew; I expect it, I'm used to it, it just suits those relationships. Female pronouns from my brother don't rankle because despite my non/gender-ness I don't think we have a brotherly relationship. (My parents are a different story because it makes me feel like they don't care--which I know is ridiculous because it's my responsibility to say something if it bothers me and I haven't.) Male pronouns from the FA crew make me feel...safe. And now it's the same with camp. It's very odd. I feel protected, sheltered when people use hes instead of shes. It's a feeling like being stroked on the head.
Another thing about camp is that the lines of drama have already been drawn after three weeks of contact--but I've missed two of those weeks, so I'm not included in them. So I'm not fighting with anyone yet, as far as I know. I get all the sides because people vent to me as neutral territory. I actually like that. I'm not very good at giving feedback and I don't like it when people expect me to take sides, but I like knowing what's going on. I guess I'm just a hopeless gossip. :P
I hope the rest of the summer continues as well as the first week went, despite all of the issues there were to deal with. One thing I do know is that I'm suffering from a serious dearth of cuddling. After that intense weekend of cuddling, I was busy getting ready for camp for that week, and then busy at camp the next week, and I haven't gotten any cuddles since. Trouble did this weird thing Friday morning at flag ceremony where he sort of snuggled into my side and put his head on my shoulder--which was nice but how the hell do you react to that? And Dragonfly sort of hugged me Thursday night and I think she kissed the top of my head in the process?--which was also nice but how the hell do you react to that? But what really made me realize that I need some cuddling is that one of my campers touched my necklace because she was admiring it and I caught my breath a little because I wasn't expecting it.
I just want to curl up in a pile with someone(s) and relax. Obviously there are a few someones who are high on the list but I'll take cuddling from whoever.
I think that's about it for tonight because it's 3AM and I didn't really want to stay up so late. I'm sleepy and I shouldn't be exhausted for going back to camp--because although I go to bed earlier and get more sleep than I do here, it's not as good sleep on those damn cots. Tomorrow I will most likely be pretty busy but I think there are a few more thoughts bouncing around in here.
I went to an absolutely wonderful play tonight with my parents. The Drawer Boy by Michael Healey. It has three actors, it's set in Canada, and it's beautiful. It's hilarious, and poignant, and it's real even though it's ridiculous.
Something I just remembered after reading a totally unrelated
mialamu entry: when Ben (Liz's-new-roommate-Kate's Ben) was giving me a tour of his house, he offhandedly mentioned his Illuminati game. And I was going, I've heard that name before, but where...? and then I remembered. I played it with Lindsay and Jon and nimue9 and veganstatesbest and kamili and others--possibly Paul, Kayla, mialamu, and twoscoopsofruit?--the first time I was in Chapel House, maybe the second or third week of school. I remember being horribly confused by the game, and horribly awkward around people who knew each other very well but I didn't know so well, but very glad to snuggle with Kris. :) And I had totally forgotten said memory until Ben mentioned the game.I think teaching may not be such an incomprehensible choice after all. This week at camp didn't really feel like work for some reason. I felt invincible. When she picked me up at the train station, my mother asked, "So were you just a camp counselor goddess?? :D" and I cringed--but the concept isn't that far off the mark. Not that I'm an amazing counselor, because I was totally out of my depth in dealing with some of the stuff we had, just that it seemed to fit me somehow.
I mean, I was definitely eager for my two hours of break time every day by the end of the week, but the intervening time didn't feel like work like cleaning my room or reading my Physics textbook does. I had a splitting headache Thursday afternoon and evening, but I was an energetic Toad right through it. It's frankly a little ridiculous. We'll see if I feel the same way by the end of the summer.
I feel different at camp. Bolder. At least around the kids--I'm pretty much the usual Rob around just the staff. It was really interesting watching myself subside into my regular self as I left camp on Friday. It was also interesting to hear similar things that Liz always says to me coming out of Trinity's mouth. She didn't say them like Liz does, but it was the same basic "Rob never speaks; he should speak more" concept.
Trinity is a puzzle. Not once has she used female pronouns in reference to me. And I am dead serious, not once. Like, am I that obvious? Or is she just good at recognizing the signs because of who her friends are?
There was a lot of gender stuff going on this week. I got a huge kick out of it too. I was highly amused because two of the counselors are Charm City Boys. I was asked twice to my face by campers if I was a boy, and apparently other counselors were also asked about me. And half the staff had adopted male pronouns by the end of the week after numerous "mistakes" made it obvious that I didn't mind in the least. We played the "switch with me" game Thursday night and someone called out "Switch with me if you're a girl"--so there's me, blithely not moving an inch while everyone else looks for another pair of shoes. The kids are mostly like "what the hell" and the staff are mostly "yeah, so?" about it. And I'm not the only one.
Yeah, so to all the crew who were like "Girl Scout camp? WTF?" when I told y'all about it--this is fucking awesome.
I don't really know how I feel about pronouns in general. From strangers, I'm tickled pink to get assumptions that I'm male and disappointed/annoyed as hell to get assumptions that I'm female. From friends, either one is fine, but interestingly. I don't mind female pronouns from friends like the CWIT crew; I expect it, I'm used to it, it just suits those relationships. Female pronouns from my brother don't rankle because despite my non/gender-ness I don't think we have a brotherly relationship. (My parents are a different story because it makes me feel like they don't care--which I know is ridiculous because it's my responsibility to say something if it bothers me and I haven't.) Male pronouns from the FA crew make me feel...safe. And now it's the same with camp. It's very odd. I feel protected, sheltered when people use hes instead of shes. It's a feeling like being stroked on the head.
Another thing about camp is that the lines of drama have already been drawn after three weeks of contact--but I've missed two of those weeks, so I'm not included in them. So I'm not fighting with anyone yet, as far as I know. I get all the sides because people vent to me as neutral territory. I actually like that. I'm not very good at giving feedback and I don't like it when people expect me to take sides, but I like knowing what's going on. I guess I'm just a hopeless gossip. :P
I hope the rest of the summer continues as well as the first week went, despite all of the issues there were to deal with. One thing I do know is that I'm suffering from a serious dearth of cuddling. After that intense weekend of cuddling, I was busy getting ready for camp for that week, and then busy at camp the next week, and I haven't gotten any cuddles since. Trouble did this weird thing Friday morning at flag ceremony where he sort of snuggled into my side and put his head on my shoulder--which was nice but how the hell do you react to that? And Dragonfly sort of hugged me Thursday night and I think she kissed the top of my head in the process?--which was also nice but how the hell do you react to that? But what really made me realize that I need some cuddling is that one of my campers touched my necklace because she was admiring it and I caught my breath a little because I wasn't expecting it.
I just want to curl up in a pile with someone(s) and relax. Obviously there are a few someones who are high on the list but I'll take cuddling from whoever.
I think that's about it for tonight because it's 3AM and I didn't really want to stay up so late. I'm sleepy and I shouldn't be exhausted for going back to camp--because although I go to bed earlier and get more sleep than I do here, it's not as good sleep on those damn cots. Tomorrow I will most likely be pretty busy but I think there are a few more thoughts bouncing around in here.
I mowed the lawn today. It took me one full rendition of Wicked and then another run through up to "Dancing Through Life." I'm not really sure how much time that is in hours because I wasn't really paying attention. Then I took a shower. Now I'm taking refuge from the heat in the family room. Eventually I'll have to go back to organising my room when my parents remember that I exist.
I'm not sure whether I got a sunburn on my face or not. Maybe not, maybe a little one. I'm reheating my sesame chicken from last night for lunch. Late, because I woke up at 11:30.
It's nice to have stories. Liz is always like "so what are you up to?" and I'm always like "nothing much." I just always have this feeling that other people's stories are more interesting than mine, so I hardly ever share any. That and most people like telling their own stories better than hearing other people's, so I listen. And I like listening, it's not a role that I resent, but after awhile it gets on people's nerves to be around someone so attentive and silent.
My mom is in love with this story I wrote when--judging by the other contents of the notebook and my handwriting--I was in sixth grade. It started out as "The Red Dragon" and was later changed to "The 999 Steps of the Queen's Palace" or something like that. I deleted the latest computer copy of it at the behest of Lindsay so it seems like the only copy that remains is the "original manuscript" which I found in the basement last week, because any other copies of it would have been on the computer that had its harddrive accidentally wiped. BUT, I found some floppies in the basement when I was going through my school stuff that are labeled with stories I was working on around the same time, and "999 Steps" is one of them, but I haven't had a chance to look at it yet.
Anyway, she thinks it's the best story evar and it would make a wonderful children's book and that I should get it published with illustrations, and so on. And she's been of this opinion since I wrote it. I don't really know what to make of that--or of the story anymore. I remember writing it--in the middle of the night after rereading my lovely dragon book--I remember editing it at various later points--I wanted to submit it to Yahara River in seventh grade but it was just over two pages double-spaced so I had to write and submit "Fizzy Cheese and Clocks" instead *liberal eyeroll*--but it doesn't really seem mine anymore.
None of my writing feels mine. As soon as I'm done writing it it's...not a part of me anymore, somehow. And that seems obvious but it's like...I feel like all writing should have some kind of umbilical cord back to its creator. And mine doesn't. And it's nothing to do with voice (which is what my dad obsesses over about my writing), it's something different that I can't quite quantify. I know whether writing is mine or not because I wrote it--but that's different too, somehow.
With the notebook containing the red dragon story, I also found the other notebook that looks just like it but it's college-ruled instead of wide-ruled and it's missing its cover. This second notebook--which is actualy the first--was the one I used at Mararet's Young Writers Workshop at Borders in Madison all those years. So there are such gems as "Sitting with my back to a chainlink fence somewhere in the middle of summer" and "Alyssa's Garden" and "One Lone Pea." Some of it is actually pretty good, I think, especially at that age. Some of them suck so hard I just laugh for writing them. Some of them aren't that great but I'm still fond of them for various reasons. I think I'll post some of the better and worse ones for contrast later on.
I got my period on Friday, which sucked. I was standing in the dining hall watching my kids and went "ah, shit, there it is." And of course I didn't have anything with me because I don't keep track of when I'm supposed to get it, partly because I'm lazy, partly because a week of thinking about it is enough per month, and partly because I don't always get it anyway--it's all in my suitcase, which is in the trunk of Trinity's car. So while Rob would probably have just bemoaned my fate and made do with toilet paper until I could find a convenient excuse for sneaking something out of my bag. But since I was still being Toad, I found Trouble in Pax Tu and marched right up to him with a "(1) It's that time of the month again, (2) I don't have anything with me because I don't keep track, it's all in my bag, (3) so do you have anything that I could use." So I get stuff, he lets me use the Pax Tu bathroom so I don't have to use the latrines, and we have a little "this shouldn't be happening to me--sucks, huh?" bonding moment because he got his too--on his birthday no less.
So a lesson to remember: when I really need something, the silent-reluctant-observer approach just gets me misery, while the forthright-take-charge-screw-society approach gets me what I need and even a little extra.
Oh. My. God. Nickel Creek playing "Toxic" in concert.
I think that's it for now because FARSCAPE is on. I may say more later, or I may be working on my room the whole time.
I'm not sure whether I got a sunburn on my face or not. Maybe not, maybe a little one. I'm reheating my sesame chicken from last night for lunch. Late, because I woke up at 11:30.
It's nice to have stories. Liz is always like "so what are you up to?" and I'm always like "nothing much." I just always have this feeling that other people's stories are more interesting than mine, so I hardly ever share any. That and most people like telling their own stories better than hearing other people's, so I listen. And I like listening, it's not a role that I resent, but after awhile it gets on people's nerves to be around someone so attentive and silent.
My mom is in love with this story I wrote when--judging by the other contents of the notebook and my handwriting--I was in sixth grade. It started out as "The Red Dragon" and was later changed to "The 999 Steps of the Queen's Palace" or something like that. I deleted the latest computer copy of it at the behest of Lindsay so it seems like the only copy that remains is the "original manuscript" which I found in the basement last week, because any other copies of it would have been on the computer that had its harddrive accidentally wiped. BUT, I found some floppies in the basement when I was going through my school stuff that are labeled with stories I was working on around the same time, and "999 Steps" is one of them, but I haven't had a chance to look at it yet.
Anyway, she thinks it's the best story evar and it would make a wonderful children's book and that I should get it published with illustrations, and so on. And she's been of this opinion since I wrote it. I don't really know what to make of that--or of the story anymore. I remember writing it--in the middle of the night after rereading my lovely dragon book--I remember editing it at various later points--I wanted to submit it to Yahara River in seventh grade but it was just over two pages double-spaced so I had to write and submit "Fizzy Cheese and Clocks" instead *liberal eyeroll*--but it doesn't really seem mine anymore.
None of my writing feels mine. As soon as I'm done writing it it's...not a part of me anymore, somehow. And that seems obvious but it's like...I feel like all writing should have some kind of umbilical cord back to its creator. And mine doesn't. And it's nothing to do with voice (which is what my dad obsesses over about my writing), it's something different that I can't quite quantify. I know whether writing is mine or not because I wrote it--but that's different too, somehow.
With the notebook containing the red dragon story, I also found the other notebook that looks just like it but it's college-ruled instead of wide-ruled and it's missing its cover. This second notebook--which is actualy the first--was the one I used at Mararet's Young Writers Workshop at Borders in Madison all those years. So there are such gems as "Sitting with my back to a chainlink fence somewhere in the middle of summer" and "Alyssa's Garden" and "One Lone Pea." Some of it is actually pretty good, I think, especially at that age. Some of them suck so hard I just laugh for writing them. Some of them aren't that great but I'm still fond of them for various reasons. I think I'll post some of the better and worse ones for contrast later on.
I got my period on Friday, which sucked. I was standing in the dining hall watching my kids and went "ah, shit, there it is." And of course I didn't have anything with me because I don't keep track of when I'm supposed to get it, partly because I'm lazy, partly because a week of thinking about it is enough per month, and partly because I don't always get it anyway--it's all in my suitcase, which is in the trunk of Trinity's car. So while Rob would probably have just bemoaned my fate and made do with toilet paper until I could find a convenient excuse for sneaking something out of my bag. But since I was still being Toad, I found Trouble in Pax Tu and marched right up to him with a "(1) It's that time of the month again, (2) I don't have anything with me because I don't keep track, it's all in my bag, (3) so do you have anything that I could use." So I get stuff, he lets me use the Pax Tu bathroom so I don't have to use the latrines, and we have a little "this shouldn't be happening to me--sucks, huh?" bonding moment because he got his too--on his birthday no less.
So a lesson to remember: when I really need something, the silent-reluctant-observer approach just gets me misery, while the forthright-take-charge-screw-society approach gets me what I need and even a little extra.
Oh. My. God. Nickel Creek playing "Toxic" in concert.
I think that's it for now because FARSCAPE is on. I may say more later, or I may be working on my room the whole time.
