I approach this entry in a somewhat schizophrenic way

On the years we were born:
-I'm a tiger, she's a rabbit, and you're a rat. Tigers are the best; I eat you both.
--I eat your corpse when you're dead.
-True. *It's the circle of life...* and she starts singing the Lion King song.

Apparently Matilda has an unfortunate habit of severely injuring her father by accident; she hits him with her bag or something and things go wrong. (I don't know about you guys, but if I hit my parents I'd be grounded until I was 33. Thrown out of the family. Something. I'd not dare. It was like a month for saying 'shut up' when I was 13 and several weeks for putting a 'please do not disturb' sign on my door once when I had a migraine. Apparently that showed a bad attitude.) Once she picked up an abandoned syringe on the schoolgrounds and accidentally stabbed him with it. He had to go to the hospital for HIV tests and a tetanus shot and all sorts of things; am I sick for laughing hysterically at this? Something to remember every Father's Day...She was five years old, but still...and he was all nice about it, apparently, all like "You had the right idea in letting me know it was there..."

The girls had an interesting class; religions, maybe? In any case, the professor used a visualization exercise to demonstrate how it is easier to remember incongruencies and the odd.
First, you close your eyes. (This being university, most people obliged; partly because it's not high school students being all too cool, and partly because excuses to close one's eyes are welcome (though by no means required).) You are walking down a beach, you see a dolphin out swimming in the waves, the waves lapping at the beach, and a beautiful sunset.
Next one: You are walking down a beach, you see a dolphin building a sand castle, the waves are laughing, and before the sun sets, it says: (deep voice) "Goodnight, John; the day is done."
Apparently Spazz and Matilda got very odd looks for their hysterical laughter. In this case, I don't see why, although I generally understand their getting weird looks. Especially Spazz. Would you not laugh? I laughed when they told me.

I collapsed last week and had to leave class; well, sort of collapsed: blacked out for a bit, had to hold onto the desk, and couldn't quite walk. I've had a cold for nearly four (I think) weeks now, and a migraine added onto it didn't help much. I got one extension, thank all the PTB, but it has been a daft, useless, unproductively stressful while so there is no sleep tonight. I needs must catch up. I am still so out of it that caffeine only gives me twitches and no lucidity, but the twitches are funny. I stare in the mirror and laugh at myself. I am easily amused; more so than usual, these days.
I may be coming home this weekend, but don't expect to see anybody. Recuperation is the plan, but work in all probability what will happen.

Matilda is sick too; bronchitis maybe. It was quite the chorus, us, during the hockey game. Spazz was coughing because she thinks she might be getting sick. We cough so hard we cannot breathe; she coughed for company. She complains that she doesn't get sick enough, only thinks she will, so that it's terribly anti-climactic when she never does. Hatred. Hatred hatred.

We are doing "The Hunting of the Snark" in my Victorian Literature course now. I enjoy this.

I have recently discovered the Bound Journals section for linguistics in the library and, when I have no (pressing) work, it is like a kid in a candy shop, truly. I'm a nerd, I'm a nerd, I know, but it's fun.

I am tired and do not enjoy work right now; I wish I was a dolphin and could build sand castles all day. The day was done a long time ago, but I have readings and an assignment and a half to complete for tomorrow, so I'll be up for a while longer.
Goodnight, John.

an appetizing dinner

-They're not really big on mushrooms here, eh.
--Well, they're not really seasonal, now.
-Outhouses.
---That was frighteningly true.
-I meant hothouses.

pettiness

I was going to draw devil horns on Harper in the picture in the paper this morning, but he really didn't need them.
So I drew a mustache instead.

he looks like he eats babies

I guess everybody who's gay will have to get married tomorrow. Same goes for abortions; you want one--hurry up. Ohgod, what's happening to my country? Devil-man is PM. I mean, Martin was a bit of a, you know, but still...Harper scares me and I loathe the conservatives, I do. Go NDP though--they won in my riding.
:(
If I was a drinking person I'd go get drunk now. Being me, I'm going to go work on one of the three linguistics assigments I have due Thursday.
ta.

Sacrifice your bodies! Your minds!

I had a belated birthday party the night before last. The floor mother made me cake with a SENS LOGO in icing on it. I was terribly impressed. There may later be pictures. Spazz and Matilda came over as well, and we had a few hysterical moments with the rather large amount of balloons (in SENS colours) that took over the living room. Then they made me wear a tiara, and I was blindfolded and taken to a secret location. The floor mother swerved the car rather violently at one point, giving me a heart attack rivalling the many intense ones caused by Dominic 'stay in your damn net you lunatic freak' Hasek this year. I hope I never have a heart problem; playoffs would kill me. I was led through a parking lot and into various puddles by Spazz and Matilda, who may as well have been drunk for all the coordination they displayed--I was in a blindfold, so it wasn't my fault.

I blundered blindly into a few stairs an into a wall of shouting. One inquisitive individual was poking me in the nose. I thought it was one of the girls, but apparently some perfect stranger decided to investigate said nasal appendage of mine, which was, er, interesting. I think he also wished me happy birthday. um, thanks? I think.

The secret location was a hockey game: Kingston-Owen Sound and we won in overtime 6-5, which was excellent fun. We returned home for coffifee chocolatey beverages with whipped cream and investigated our gag reflexes with that spray bottle. Funny how easy it is to choke on that mush.

We also held vastly many demented conversations and made fun of Matilda for crying out 'Sacrifice your bodies! Your minds! Defend the goal!' during a particularly tense moment during a Sens game (btw 7-0 last night!!!!!!!! :D) She was very excited at the time. The floor mother, of course, read as much sexual meaning as possible into this; she is extremely good at that sort of thing, especially with magnetic poetry, although a lot of her conversation tends to go over my head. It certainly has its effect, though; I told her that after knowing her, I will never eat a phallic symbol again. Shame--I always liked cucumbers, but our Freudian dream analysis starts putting these ideas in my head and I cannot eat whilst laughing. They kept on making me laugh when I had cake in my mouth last night. This was sometimes unfortunate.

I have now a cat book, a silver cat, SENS socks, and goldfish socks with a cat curled up top by the ankle. They are adorable. At home I had gotten books and books from their majesties, some candy a waterbottle from Spazz, cd gift card from the heir apparent, and an Our Lady Peace cd also from Spazz, the only one I didn't have yet--Gravity. I'm listening to Clumsy now though and am happy. I had cake for breakfast.

I have, after great deliberation, decided to declare war on toasters. It is clear that they are out to get me; no longer will I sit idly back as they taunt me. Both houses, both, they interfere with my coffee-making. They are moving into my outlet territory for the coffee-maker at home and for the kettle here. Both my homes. This cannot be merely coincidence. It is obviously a deep-laid plan meant to deny me any sort of fun in life at all. It cannot go on. I never plug them back in now anymore. If I think of anything else I can do to show my revulsion for these evil menacing mechanical entities, I shall…
Yes, yes, it has been a long day. I hadn't any work done Friday, so today and some of yesterday was a wee bit literary-spastical. mmm...caffeine.

I have some marks back, none of which are anything to sing about, so I am pretending that they don’t exist. I have discovered I have two presentations I must do this term, one alone….and I am not happy about that. Not happy at all. Yeesh…cowards need educations too, you know! Why are they so hard on us?!
I have more essays than ever, for it is getting to the point in linguistics where they are necessary...well, papers. research papers. One of which will also be a presentation. No more only tiny assignments…damn damn damn. I guess it couldn’t last forever.

Spazz and Matilda were sleeping over as some vile stench of a leak invaded their residence room and was making them ill. Welcome back to Queens, girls… Finding out that the charming individuals who live above them (whom they whimsically decided were elephants named Sir Wilfred Knightley and Lady Josephine Knightley with a pet cricket Crickedalio) are, in fact, teenage boys with an unfortunate habit of urinating into each others' drawers didn't help their peace of mind much. The source of the leak as yet remains a mystery, but they have a new carpet which Spazz celebrated by squishing her bare toes into it a la Bruce Willis in the first Die Hard, which is strangely enough a Christmas movie for a number of families other than my own. Interesting.

I transcribed part of our conversations for my linguistics project which I may post next time.
Sample:
-Excuse my language.
--A burp is not language.
-True.
and
-I've got to put my stocks on but I don't know where my foot is.
It was a bit late. Little coffee, Spazz and I in the same room..you know how it is.
I wonder what the prof with think if I end up using this?

twenty belching llamas

Tigger has returned to us. She shall meet Ender this Saturday in what I hope will be an entertaining evening. Spazz and I argued on her petting my dragon backwards and on my cheese. I am woefully inept when provided with some dinky knife resembling a chisel, as opposed to a normal cheese slicer, so my sandwich was bizarrely speckled. So sue me.

Tourmaline visited to give me my divinely beautiful birthday gift--soon enough I shall be old enough to vote drunk, even south of the border...not that I am registered to vote there, of course...which reminds me, I need to set up to vote here before I return back to Kingston.--It was a lovely calendar of my dearest obsession...well, one of them. The heir apparent caught me drooling at it in a lovelorn way and exclaimed 'my god, you obsessive freak, you'd even bathe in that stuff if you could!'
'mmmmm...with milk foam like bubbles...a lovely latte bubble bath...' I returned, smiling euphorically into the distance and sipping my seventh mug, which I was inspired to drink by the sight of my dearest love.
Again the heir apparent called upon her questionable god, and sauntered off to decapitate an apple or two.

I was reprehensibly lax in my hospitality, but her majesty's orders eventually prompted me to invite dear Tourmaline in properly, instead of getting absorbed in the conversation at the door and just nattering on and on for ever longer...sorry Tourmaline. The unquiet fiend was certainly welcoming, but Tourmaline's leg was mostly free of the overly exuberant embraces it usually recieves. I am sure she welcomed the change. It was a good conversation, anyway. So thrive my soul, I was not deliberately rude, merely clueless and spacey.

Apparently I am not the only one who leaves books in fridges accidentally. Tigger swapped a textbook of hers for a jar of pickles once. I'm not sure if the fact that I am not alone in this unfortunate tendency is comforting or frightening.

Her Majesty has put a great deal of old picture books and things in a box she almost labelled 'grandchildren,' only she thought that would be putting too much pressure on us. I told her I would feel none, as regarding something like that I bow only to my own whims. In any case, I have been saying I wanted only cats (the planned horde has varied in number and name over the years, but never in its feline nature) since I was, say, six. She's never believed that I'm serious; she still doesn't. optimist. She went on some rant how I have such a beautiful body it would be such a shame not to pass it on to a new generation: an argument in great vogue throughout literary history, many examples of which came to mind as I pretended to listen. Occasionally I changed the direction of my gaze so the lack of attention would not appear too obvious. Then I, gifted with a great deal of economy in speech when I choose to exercise it, summed up my position very succinctly: 'CATS,' I said.
The heir apparent's contribution to the furtherance of life will be a tree. In the front yard. Spazz is the only one who may possibly oblige in the progeny thing, although she has certainly taken no steps in that direction. I wonder how Their Majesties managed to raise such an antisocial family...it certainly wasn't for lack of effort, they're always exhorting me to get out more...
...only with the right sort of people of course...
...and no drugs, and little alcohol, preferably none...
...and later than ten at night is suspect...
...and it mustn't interfere with school...
...and be wary of Y chromosomes...
...and ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night...
...and never leave my booze unattended...not that I drink, of course, dammit, ye of little faith...
...and never do anything they'd be ashamed of...
...and don't do anything they did in their hippie days...
...and avoid television shows and movies that might influence me badly...
I don't know why they're always banning television; it's like they actually think that that's where I get my values or something.
I think that they have been watching too much television; it is affecting their sense of reality. It's the 'oh-I-know-you-teenagers' syndrome, methinks, though I am just past teenagehood. It is the stereotype that so worries them, not me. If anyone's earned trust, surely I have? Apart from an unfortunate tendency to get extraordinarily snarky when I lose my temper and some sibling feuding, what have I ever done?

I have been reading the latest Harry Potter today. Leprechaun and the floor mother claim I am spookily similar to Luna Lovegood. I think that similarity would have been even more marked had I not been blessed with the Gifted program. Special classes was the first time I'd ever had more than one friend..and I was never the best friend of any of those individuals; they always had multiples. I think I'd have been massacred in a normal school...although, I have to admit I have improved over the years as well. I probably didn't deserve many friends back then, and it still took a while to overcome many bratty tendencies.
I quite like the sixth book, actually, it's getting a little more focussed than the previous, and it's very good holiday reading. I adore not having to think to much. Does anybody else associate HP with green? I always think of it as a dark green story for some reason, even the happy bits. I like Ron, but I have to say, he is a bit of a prat, honestly.

Apparently I type too loudly, and t'others like this 'sleep' thing, so I shall have to end here, first copying out the heir apparent's inventive Christmas carol we were all gleefully and pointlessly yodelling a few hours ago. I don't know why.

Good King Wenceslas looked out
In his pink pyjamas
The snow was gone and all he saw
Was twenty belching llamas
'Something's wrong!' he cried in fright,
'For though the eve is mild,
There should be snow at shoulder height:
I'll have a complaint filed.'

bunny power kablooie eeeeeee

My new cousin Ender is my new favourite person. He gave us coffee to thank us for hosting him. All special coffee that he got when he went down to El Salvador, and it's acid free and grown and picked and ground by some lady he met there...'tis greatly yummy.

I just discovered his existence a few days ago when his plane came in since he is going to university here. I think he is a second cousin and I may have met his siblings when he was off in Banff. The house he is to be living in was suddenly unable to accomodate him until yesterday, so he slept on our couch with our animals. Her Majesty gave Ender various instructions on where things are hidden from them, how to discipline them if he found it necessary, told of the toilet paper being hidden in a little basket to prevent it becoming dragon's favourite playtoy...then she asked me 'so what else is weird in this house then?'
'The people in it?' I volunteered.
He says I haven't met his parents; I told him he hasn't met mine--not on their usual behaviour, anyway. I've lost count of the friends who've said 'but she seems so normal' upon finally meeting her. Yes, she does...around outsiders. But she is odd, truly, and her oddest characteristic is her conviction bordering on dementia that she is totally and perfectly normal.

In true Canadian fashion, the first thing both Hilary and I ascertained about our mystery relative was his hockey affiliation. We were greatly disappointed to discover he cheers for Toronto. We insulted each other and each other's teams gleefully for a long while but since we were at the time watching the world juniors, we were for a time united under the real maple leaf--the red one. Canada beat the States last night too--that was my New Year's Eve. His Majesty didn't want to do anything much, and since it was his birthday we obliged; most willingly, I might add. We also watched that unfortunate debacle in the Spengler Cup against the Russian team with the funny name during the afternoon. And I watched my tape of the kicking-Yashin's-butt game in the morning. A good, quiet day.

Alfie is hurt!!! :'(

It seems Ender shall be joining us at occasional Sunday dinners now, along with Tigger and Hermione--my cousin only discovered a few years ago, who wants to be a dentist. I'm not sure if she and Ender are the same side of the family or not...Tigger isn't on his, that I know.

We had our party Friday, at which I greatly enjoyed myself--it is good to see people again, especially as I am so useless at keeping in touch--keeping in touch in touch, that is, like the actually knowing what's going on in people's lives sort of in touch as opposed to the occasional 'I hate essays. Do you hate essays?' e-mail.

We had a grand old time discussing the relative merits of Chinese versus Russian dumplings, whilst making them, of course, and discussing future husbands and such, balanced spoons on noses, were treated to a demonstration of Jelibeenz's incredible variety of freakish talents, burst into an improptu rendition of 'le Manic,' 'Clowns,' 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat,' and so forth, played mad-libs, and watched House.

Irene, Tourmaline, and I were given a ride home by a gentleman whom I will refer to as 'da Cheat' unless somebody objects or comes up with something better. While he was gallantly braving the cold and scraping the windshield, we had a long discussion on scraper technology. My solution to the issue: move to Hawaii, or find some gallant gentleman to do the work for you while you huddle in the car. But then, I am not an inventive soul--not in practical matters, at any rate.

My parents were a little bemused at the fact that I came home at what would qualify as a late hour, and possibly a little worried, until I mentioned mad-libs...then, of course, they mocked me and Ender gave me a weird look...I think he's one of my few cousins who isn't a complete outcast nerd type. I think all my first cousins are special-classes-honours-scholarship people except Ichabod, who is a little disadvantaged by his epilepsy. I have a pretty nerdy family, all-round. I'm not entirely sure my parents believed me on the noididn'tdrinkdodrugsparticipateinmassiveorgies front, entirely, though. I cannot for the life of me see why they would doubt me, so I may just be paranoid, just like the fact that whenever they say they're proud of me it always sounds like they're trying to convince themselves more so than me that they feel proud is probably paranoia on my part too. But with such overachieving cousins and a little sister in this such dramatic contrast I may indeed be falling behind to a disappointing degree. I wish my interests were more practical; but English is fun. I hate essays...but I love what I'm writing about, and writing itself; it's only the deadline and evaluation aspect that provokes my ire.

I haven't the attention span for yearly resolutions--weekly ones is more my style--but, what the hey, I'll be a lemming and post one. I will work harder and get a good, lucrative scholarship to graduate school. No more of this "someone as smart as you should be getting real scholarships and more cash from the awards office" nonsense. It's time to truly earn my nerd title. 'sgood. Weekends are a perfectly acceptable excuse for a life, right?

Happy new year.