Venting and Rambling

I am sick, and I need to vent. That’s all this is going to be: one long whining complaint about how blisteringly irritating it is to be sick. It is, for one thing, the most irksome thing to have to get up every five minutes to blow my nose, which has managed to accumulate so much gunk it’s a wonder my sinuses haven’t exploded. Copious amounts of phlegm seem to have insinuated themselves wherever nature has given them the slightest foothold. For another thing, I’m a selfish creature at the best of times, and illness only brings out the worst in me. I find myself drifting to the fridge, only to gaze forlornly at the contents within in the vain hope that they might be induced to leap out and make themselves more readily edible. It doesn’t take much – just a bit of heating in the microwave, surely they could manage that? It’s a constant battle not to ask anyone else to make food for me, though I know what a silly request that would be: the only one not feeling as awful as I do is my mother, and she has quite enough to do without fluttering over her more-than-capable eighteen-year-old daughter. Not that she ever flutters, but you get my point. Still, though I normally recognize such desires as ridiculously selfish and have no difficulty in quashing them, being sick seems to have completely done away with my propriety. I find I have no shame, and it is not at all as easy as it should be to restrain myself from begging pitifully for someone, anyone, to give me something to eat.

I have to go blow my nose again. Wonderful.

I find I can no longer expound upon the subject without becoming either monotonously repetitive or disgustingly explicit. Instead, I shall ramble on about any number of subjects which might happen to pop into my mind.

F’rexample, have you noticed my new style of writing? No? Well, it’s not that distinctive a change; the only actual difference is a somewhat broader vocabulary than usual. You see, I’ve just read a book titled His Majesty’s Dragon, by Naomi Novik. Tis the first in the series Temeraire. Simply put, it’s the Napoleonic Wars with dragons. Now, when first I saw this in the library I thought it sounded either pompous, pretentious and self-important or totally awesome. A few chapters’ reading convinced me to take the book home, and I was soon happily immersed. The protagonist is a gentleman of the Navy, a captain, and he is most formal and correct in his manner and address. I have picked it up from him, and considering how good the book was and how I enjoy speaking thus, I expect it to last at least a few days.

I have a habit of picking up mannerisms and expressions from books. It’s not entirely conscious, although in some cases – as in this one – I encourage it gleefully. A girl once yelled at me to “Stop talking that way!” when she was angry, accusing me of faking an accent. I was rather confused, and later reasoned that it must have been this.

Speaking of old school chums, I’ve been watching Jeeves & Wooster lately. It’s great fun. I fully recommend it to all who enjoy absurd and eloquent British humor.

This past Friday I stayed at school way too late talking with Indigo and, later, Squiggle. Indigo and I discussed friendships and our personalities, and how similar we actually are to each other. Squiggle showed up, and we talked for hours. We touched on various subjects, but came at last to that of dreams. We each described various phenomena common in our dreams, and Squiggle told us of a dream she remembered particularly well. It took the form of a movie and, being rather keen on the making of movies since I began film class, I immediately started planning how I would make this movie. (I do this with books sometimes as I read them. It can be a problem, as sometimes I arrive at a particularly intense scene and cannot focus because I’m trying to get the camera angles right.)

When I said as much to Indigo and Squiggle, they were initially surprised, but then enthusiastic. One of them suggested, only half serious, that we make this movie, and it was agreed upon in the same half-believing spirit. Before long we had cast everyone in our group and were plotting the necessary changes. Squiggle declared that she and I should meet as soon as possible to commence writing; they were kind enough to say that I was like to be the best writer in the group, even if they only said it because I am enamored of linguistics in all its forms and the rest of them are of a more scientific cast of mind. Of course, now I’m sick, so we have had to put it off. Still, I spent most of Saturday cheerfully drawing (rather fragmented) storyboards. It was only this morning that it occurred to me that this being Squiggle’s dream, she would probably wish to draw the plans herself. Furthermore, she is a superb artist, whereas I cannot even convincingly portray stick people.

I greatly look forward to this project, and I hope the rest of our group is pleased with our casting and wishes to join us. If not, well, perhaps they can be convinced.

Recently one of this group – Midnight – and I discovered that we were the only two to have watched Pitch Perfect. (It’s quite a fun movie, and though the plot is predictable, the music is excellent.) She revealed that she had taught herself the “Cup Song” from the movie, which involves clapping and shifting a cup about on a table to produce the beat. She suggested that she and I should perform it for the rest of the group, so we practiced a few times. In the end, neither of us was good enough to sing and produce the beat simultaneously, so we divided the tasks between us.

To make things more interesting, Midnight suggested that instead of simply imparting the time and place of our performance, we ought to put the information in a riddle and post it in our facebook group. We worked out a wonderfully clever riddle – so clever that no one guessed it. Beyond Monday – “the day of the moon” – no one could figure out a word of it. We hinted and hinted and even amended the riddle, to no avail.

Then we were forced to cancel. The performance was meant to be tomorrow; that cannot be when I cannot sing, or even show up at school. We revealed the meaning of the riddle, and our friends were most annoyed at how devious the riddle had been. Midnight gloated, and I attempted to soothe ruffled feathers while secretly gloating as well. It was very, very fun. We shall surely do it again someday.


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