rushwriter

A better day. Tea and all the lights on. I was smart yesterday. Instead of running around in the morning, I stayed up until 3am preparing myself for the next day. Granted I was tired, and it still took a while to get dressed, but at least my head was screwed on properly for the rest of the day. I feel this is a day to day thing, up or down depending upon items, actions, and thoughts that are in my control. I am aware that is a problematic thought. None of it is under my control. I have to let go. Thinking specific thoughts and doing specific things at the beginning of the day should not be able to ruin everything in one fell swoop.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Doll-headed wife of Dylan Thomas (who is currently listening to the most calming music she can think of. Thankfully she keeps the title to herself, wretched woman.)

Today is not the best of days. Brilliant start. Spent two hours in the bathroom this morning and then called in a "working at home" day. Naturally, this is becoming a bona fide sick day. So much in my head that any moment now, I expect to nose-dive into the floor. Living situation has changed. I have the whole house to myself, and the positive thought was that moving into the master bedroom would make sense. My own bathroom, huge room, huge windows, gorgeous.

Some history. I've always had four walls in a room. One door. One place where (in my odd thinking) my worst fears came (or had the capacity to come) from. Once the door was shut, I could get to my bed and set up all my defences and poof, I was in heaven.

Present situation. (And here's the rub.) This room has two doors (one leading to the private bathroom), two hallways, and two miniature walk-in closets. So even though this room is heavenly, the structure means that (thank you, OCD) every day and night, I get really uncomfortable having to walk along walls, check around corners, and obsess about how many effing directions that danger can come from. Hence, I present to you my "hallway compulsion." For as long as I can remember, I have always had a very specific way of passing through hallways and doors. First, I make sure the light behind me is on. (Paramount.) From there, I turn on the light in front of me, backtrack, turn off the light behind me and then pass through the fucking hallway, continuously keeping my back towards one wall with my head inclined to the ground, so I can scan the space better. (The point is to be able to see everything.) And then usually, comforted by the wall's presence, I get to the door, put my foot half in, half out, stand on the carpet, close the door, and lock it, still fearing for my sanity because there's a shower curtain behind me, which I have to open to make sure there's nothing behind it. Yay. Reached the bathroom...but wait...in this room, there's a problem.

Get this...there's no fucking wall in this hallway. The walls are the slide-door walk-in closets, so in theory, there's no way to get to the private bathroom without passing through a hallway with no walls. (Writing this out makes it sound stupid, but when you're standing in your bedroom trying to figure out the best way to get through a four foot hallway, the joke starts to wear thin. To put this in context, without that wall, it's a bit like saying that's okay, I can still cross the wire without the safety net.)

Next piece of OCD wonder. At night, I've always had one side of the bed against a wall, so I'm protected. On the open side, I need a barricade (granted, the boyfriend does become a barricade when he's over, but when he's not, yes, I tend to use objects...he does not know this, and hopefully, he never will.) so I'm protected there as well. Alas, the bed does not fit against a wall, which can only translate "oh fuck, it's open on two sides."

That is all for now.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Very Silly Wife of Dylan Thomas (who is determined to get her head in order before her employers realize just how fucked up she really is behind closed doors.)

I found out today that a friend has less than a month to live. I've already cried and am currently in the stage of sitting around, feeling listless. My head hurts. I'm not angry at the world, but I'm very sad at this moment. I want to make things for him, draw stuff, record a piece of me playing violin (some crazy fiddle music.)

It puts the rest of your life in a perspective that it is not necessarily in...or if it is in that perspective, you prefer to live without being aware of it. I've had aunts and uncles die, acquaintances, but never someone that I actually miss on a day to day basis. I should go to bed, but I'm having difficulty with it. Need to talk to someone, and as usual, when things grow depressing, I turn to figments rather than reality.

What do you do when someone is dying? It makes you think about your life. Whether it's meaningful enough, loving enough. I've let months go by without writing a letter to [] in Germany. I want to write the letter, but I'm never in the mood. I spend my weekends caring about things that don't matter...or it seems as if they don't matter, but I'm hoping they still do. The useless things I do in life are useful in the fact that they signify nothing important. There is no pressure in the idle waste of time.

I'm supposed to meet Eccentric Zing for a concert tomorrow night. Two bands that I love. I want to go, but I'm feeling a mite low now. A stupid metaphor, but there is no rudder. I had a point before, and it's slipping away. It does not help that this is the week before all hell breaks loose on my mind.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Useless Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is currently feeling very low.]

Let us resume.

[Cue the voice of the narrator from Amelie.]

The most dire thing on Rushwriter's docket was whether to purchase a laptop or not. On the one hand, it would mean constant access to three computers in her day-to-day existence. On the other hand, it would mean constant access to three computers in her day-to-day existence.

One: her work computer (Mac Pro.)
Two, her beloved PC (quite powerful.)
Three, the Macbook Pro (undeniably tempting.)

Her boyfriend, Eccentric Zing, considers the three computers to be a "splurge." He feels that if she purchases the laptop, it will mean wasting thousands that could be used to feed the poor. Or go on a trip in three months that may or may not be enjoyable. He owns a Macbook Pro.

Secretly jealous of his Macbook Pro, Rushwriter wants to sit in a cafe, typing away with five hundred million people watching her. She wants to visit her boyfriend's house and not find herself at a loss. She wants to be able to leave her work computer and go home, confident that she can easily pick up where she left off as opposed to moving onto her beloved PC, which although powerful, is not a mac.

Her boyfriend is secretly afraid that he will wake up one night and find her typing in bed.

Secretly, Rushwriter knows this is true.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Technical Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is unable to disconnect from her computer for fear she will turn into a dalek.]

P.S. Three months later, I am still working at the design studio. Love the work. Still with Eccentric Zing. He's become a fixture. I'm determined to pass an entire year without saying the word 'love'. The experiment is going well.

Many things to do today. All my laundry, sorting out permits, a bit of freelance programming. I had my first lesson on Thursday with the professor. It went well. He said my articulation was very good. We'll be working on Bach next week. I still only care for playing violin.

On the relationship front, I suppose Eccentric Zing and I are a bit more of an item these days. Be careful what you wish for...now that I'm moving to a steady relationship, I'm feeling the urge to back away. We only see each other twice a week. I'm not a phone person. I'm not madly obsessed with him, and that feels strange. He's very tall. I'm supposed to meet him at 9 tonight...he's going to meet some of his friends and he wanted me to come. They will talk about the music scene. In theory this sounds great, but as always, I'm dragging my feet.

The job is going well...I feel good about it.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Thoughtful Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is coming to terms with the fact that she is more comfortable in her own head than in real relationships. She is not yet at the point when all she can think about is Eccentric Zing. Maybe that's good?]

Darling, darling Dylan. Three things.

One. The design studio hired me. I am still waiting for this bubble to burst. Surely it will burst any moment now. My desk is close to the window, the studio is lovely, lovely, lovely. Even if they fired me tomorrow, I would still love (the concept of) them.

Two. The door-knob guy (a friend of a friend) whom I met a few months ago and have continually run into over the course of my time back in the city, wants to know if I'd like to come over on Thursday for a nerdy hang-out. We keep meeting in the downtown café. He reads graphic novels, cycles around town, and is a bundle of eccentric zing. A tiny part of me wanted to know more about him several months ago (and when I see him I think "you're intriguing, do you know that?") I'm determined not to be nervous. He seems like the kind of guy that would make an awesome friend...but what I really want is a boyfriend made of eccentric zing. I am determined not to get my hopes up...

...but I hope he likes me, Dylan!!!!!!

Three. Violin lessons with the Norwegian professor starting on Thursday! I was worried he wouldn't be teaching during the fall because of classes (he's the professor of violin and viola) but he says he can fit me in at 5:30 pm on Thursdays.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Daft Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is trying very hard not to make a big deal about three things that make her happy. The bubble of happiness might burst. She doesn't want it to burst. She circles the bubble, touching it, making sure that it is safe. As Dylan has not patience for this, he pushes her off the bed before she can pop it by accident. Poor Left Shoulder, now she is bruised. Dylan makes up for this by making wild tempestuous love to her. Afterwards, she is pleased...but still bruised.]

Far too long since my last post. I finished up the internship, however the design studio asked me to stay to the end of the summer. They would also like to discuss my plans for the coming year and the possibility of hiring me full-time. I say that without a single exclamation mark, but that's simply because I need to be calm about this. The position is not secure yet. I have to stay focused.

(*jumping up and down*)

In other news, life is so much more exciting on the weekends now! I have time to myself. I'm not perpetually worried about school or graduating. I'm drinking tea. Off to play the violin for an hour or two (I've been letting it slide a bit in the last week.)

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Content Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is currently saving up for a rather large trip next year. Off to Europe in May...the only question is whether it's permanent or not. A friend is coming with me, but that friend will be heading back here at the end of the two weeks. I have to think hard about this. I suppose I'll know better what's going on by the time I reach November.]

P.S. Reread Jane Eyre...loved it as usual. I'd forgotten how cold and irritating St. John was. The library is on my way to work, so I've started throwing myself into the graphic novel section. The Eternals, The League of Extraordinary Gentleman, and V for Vendetta. The first two were excellent. The third is monumental.

I had my interview today, and...*drumroll*

...I got the internship!

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Sleepy Wife of Dylan Thomas [who currently requires a nap as she only had three hours of sleep last night (read "this morning") before rushing off to the interview. Unfortunately, she cannot sleep now because the family wishes to go to the cinema, which of course is fun, however, she might fall asleep in her chair.]

As a warning, this letter is made up entirely of complaints. Not in a depressed manner, but more along the lines of "two year old wailing on floor."

My stomach hurts. I am incredibly sleepy, nauseated, and suffering from a heavy head. The room is far too hot now because of the computer. I keep blinking and feeling like everything I'm seeing has gone all lopsided. It's making me dizzy. My muscles are tired. I'm confused as to why I can no longer stay awake twenty-four hours without my body saying "no." I'm only twenty-four, for goodness' sake. I'm more-or-less healthy. I eat. I drink. I've had a migraine for the last day or two, which has kindly taken a backseat now that I'm becoming a zombie.

The good news is, I wasted the entire afternoon playing Beethoven's Romance in F major. I should have been working on the website. I suppose that's crap news, but it's always exciting when all you can think about is one piece of music. I'm trying to focus on the website, but all I can think about is passage after passage, shifts, trills, fingerings.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Grumpy Wife of Dylan Thomas [who currently is drinking an enormous glass of water...except it's empty now. She needs more if she's going to combat this nausea.]

It is difficult to love difficult people. You cannot force it. In other news, I've finally called the internship place. I've already sent the resume/cover letter, though I still have to send some interactive work. The lady over the phone also mentioned the firm has a job opening so we'll see if I can drag together five amazing sites over the night. Except I'm too sleepy to think let alone design.

Yesterday I picked up my violin for the first time in over a week. It was not a pretty sound. It wasn't horrendous, but the fingers were definitely rusty. Today, much better. Still working on making sure everything hits on target. Went through a few of the concertos, Vivaldi and Bach, this time without the music. It's easier to concentrate when the notes are in your head rather than on a page. I'm terrible when it comes to memorizing. Fingers flowed well, though I was less self-conscious today so that might have had something to do with it (no sweaty hands, go me.) The bow-hand was better today as well. Not as disjointed when crossing strings, though I think I might call the violin teacher from two years ago. Only a few lessons and he changed my life.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Slightly Concerned Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is currently inspecting her extremeties as earlier today, a ceramic plate was dropped on her foot. She's now getting spasms in her thigh and right wrist. Curiouser and curiouser...]

Strange turn of events. We had to call an ambulance on Saturday night, and my dad's been in the hospital since then. He's supposed to go into surgery today, though we're not sure what time. It makes you think. Even though he can be really mean sometimes, my mum stands right there beside him. I suppose it's a blessing in disguise. The doctors were horrified by the way he regulates his diabetes. Hence the mood swings, irritability, and tendency to say things which he ought to regret. Anyway, he hates the notion of being a bad father, so the way he loves me without really knowing me, I'm determined to love him without really knowing him. Everyone has issues. I'm hoping everything goes alright. It is possible to love someone in spite of their shortcomings. (Which means, perhaps, I will find someone some day. He would have to be a bit reclusive though...)

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Contemplative Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is currently unsure how she will turn messy boxes into a beautiful portfolio for her internship...]

P.S. My graduation ceremony was yesterday. Of course, Dad missed it, but we bought the dvd as well as the taking loads of pictures. He really wanted to go (he loves that kind of thing, so it's a bit sad.) We'll watch the dvd though.

P.P.S. This is terrible of me, but I enjoyed being picked up at my own ceremony. A friend of one of the musicians at the reception chased me. I kid you not. I had to return my robe and as I passed through the intersection, he tried to catch my eye and smiled. To my shock, after getting to the end of a long hallway, I realized he had left his friends and was running, I kid you not, running to catch up. Polite, not sleazy, and he did try to get an email-address/phone number, asked if we could meet up sometime. Apparently he graduated three years ago in business. Alas, it was not meant to be. (Wrong day, wrong time, and...I don't think we would have clicked.) I think it might be the pixie cut that did it. I can't recall ever having been chased by a man down three corridors. Oops...Holland is about to play. Must away, Dylan...why are you not alive?

Tomorrow is the day that I get my life together. I have to find that internship. No more stalling. No excuses. No writing. No drawing. No violin (maybe a little violin.) Only portfolio work! The boxes will have to wait for sorting/organizing/throwing out. I'll be calling the different venues by next week. My deadline is Monday.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Sleepy Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is currently trying to marry her passions with her working life. If she can find something that she is obsessed with and get paid to do that for the rest of her life, she will be in very good standing.]

P.S. Netherlands is playing tomorrow. I'll keep my hopes up and my head on the ground. I've made a plan. Internship over the summer. Get a one-year work visa. Work for one year for experience. Save every penny. Move back to Holland in May. Poof, my life in five sentences.

I figured you'd enjoy this since you're quite the drunk. I spent yesterday evening with visiting friends from my younger years. I am now nursing a minor hangover (go me, I drank about three glasses of water before falling into bed yesterday.) They loved my hair. That made me feel really good (the last time they saw me, I had lots of hair. The first words out of my dear friend []'s mouth was "You have no hair!" I yelled "I have no hair!" She yelled back "You have no hair!" We did this for about two minutes, holding hands and jumping up and down.) No one could believe I cut it myself. (Apparently it looked professional, so whee, that felt good...though you can't go too wrong with a pixie cut.) Had my head ruffled for the entire evening by multiple parties. Lots of genuine hugs and cuddling, and I got picked up and carried around in a park. Human contact. Even a cup of tea before we hit the town. Dear friend [] and I have decided we must enjoy each other's company far more often.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Happy Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is currently comfortable, but realizes she really has to start getting her portfolio up and running. At least she's started scoping out internship places. She will now drink more water.]

A few days ago, I decided to see if Housemate No. 2 and I could sort out our differences. She initially did not want to speak about it, and then shrugged and said "only if you want to." I replied that I did. Already being somewhat afraid of her and having practiced in front of the mirror (and figured out my logic for about thirty minutes before I even addressed the situation) I thought "yes, this discussion should go moderately well." True, I had forgotten that Housemate No. 2 is not very good when it comes to being spoken to about her manners. (She was a bit sore earlier in the year when a group of Housemate's No. 1s friends found her to be "bitchy.")

After waiting for her damn shows to finish, we sat down and I explained that I had been somewhat troubled and a little offended by the manner with which she spoke to me a few days ago (the phone-call episode.) Apparently the use of the words "a little bit aggressive the other day, given that it was a phone-call" were enough to set her off. She burst into tears, yelled out "so basically you're calling me a bitch" (which I did not) and then protested that she was not aggressive and that only me and my family thought she was aggressive and the rest of the world thought she was "perfect." I said that no, I actually found her to be quite nice. She said "you can't be nice and aggressive! Either you're nice or you're aggressive!" I replied that it was quite possible for one person to be both extraordinarily nice and occasionally aggressive, particularly as humans have more layers than two. She then yelled "you think that was yelling...this is me yelling!" and then called me, and I quote, a "first-class bitch." I'm not very confrontational, so it was a bit like water on sand. Not to mention, I was so flabberghasted, it just made me very calm hearing her yell that. (Besides, she could simply have called me a bitch. At least I got "first-class.")

Remaining calm, I asked her reasoning behind this. She said I had snapped at her husband a few weeks ago. Her husband (who was present), said "huh? when was that?" (It turned out to be that time her husband insulted me to my face and I had replied quietly that "I think that's a little bit mean..." and he said "there's a difference between mean and insulting." Either way, he didn't even remember the encounter!) More likely, it's because I gave my notice and have spent the last two weeks in my room working on design/writing/knitting (as opposed to downstairs sitting on the couch, eating crisps and watching Simpsons like Housemate No. 2.) The next day, not a single member of her family spoke to me. When I came downstairs, all talking stopped and they watched television as if I didn't exist. When I went upstairs, talking and laughter resumed. I came downstairs again later to make dinner. All talking and laughter stopped completely for the seven minutes that it took to warm up food. The moment I left, they talked again. Finally, I know what it means to be Harry Potter!

Long story short, my family thinks she has anger management problems and as of yesterday, I am now home. Both my siblings drove down, we had dinner, went to see Indiana Jones, and ended up packing most of my things (clothes, computer, books, shoes, food, etc.) I left a note for Housemate No. 1 (the brother of Housemate No. 2. Unsurprisingly, he's an extremely calm individual who spends his entire life in his room because his sister is mad. He's also the one who confessed to having liked me for two years. Maybe because his sister is mad and aggressive, and I'm mildly mad, very quiet, and generally docile.) I'll be back on the 31st to pick up the rest of my things.

I'm proud to say, I did nothing aggressive to Housemate No. 2. No nasty words, nothing. I was simply finished with that chapter.

It's wonderful being home. Warm lighting and beautiful quiet. My sister and I just finished watching "Becoming Jane"...and it was atrocious, but the scenery and clothing made it bearable. I'll use one of the upstairs bedrooms until I figure out where I'm going.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Freed Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is currently thanking her lucky stars that her siblings are so supportive as to turn a movie-day into a "come on, let's get you out of here!" day.]

Minor confrontation with Housemate No. 2. I had a phonecall, but as I was playing violin, she was forced to get her bloody ass off the couch and walk upstairs to call me. She hit the door hard enough that Housemate No. 3 answered "yes" from the shower. Obviously he must have assumed the loud "BANG BANG BANG" was for him. I then answered "yes" and she said "YOU...HAVE A PHONECALL" in the rudest voice I've ever heard (which is normal for her, but with almost breaking the door down, I began to realize she might have an anger management issues.) I picked up the phone, opened the door and said "Thank you" and "there's no need to be so loud." and she said "I need to be loud because you're playing loud!" and gave me this incredibly aggressive look.

(What gets my goat is I typically practice long hours when no one's home. Today, I heard the front door open a little early. She and Housemate No. 3 came home and heard me practicing for about a half hour before the phonecall. It's not a case of "damn that sounds bad" because after thirteen years of playing violin, my scales sound bloody amazing.) So I bit the bullet and told her she was being a bit rude, and she said "Just ANSWER the phone, [my name]" and I said "look, there's no need to be..." and of course, she interrupted with "just ANSWER the phone, [my name]!"

Of course, once she's done yelling at me, she's fine. She goes downstairs as if nothing strange has happened and continues watching television (note: when she comes home, she sits on the couch and does not move for five to six hours. She has her snacks, she watches Simpsons reruns, Family Guy, whatever bloody show is on. I have not watched the fucking television since...that's right, MARCH!)

Anyway...since absolute crap tends to affect me, I now only have half an inch of hair on my head. I was just going to do a trim, but somewhere between the BDD and the obsessive compulsiveness, I kept on cutting. If she has one more bout of in-your-face-rudeness, I'm going to take the bloody bag of hair in the garbage bin and slap her face with it.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Aggravated Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is tired of dealing with things like this. She might be feeling like absolute shit, but she's not going to bloody take it out on Housemate because of it.]

P.S. My sister just told me over the phone that hair grows back and I shouldn't let the extraordinary short hair bother me. (I've gone from edgy cool to pixie. Oh well. It's still a pretty haircut, but it's not the edgy punk one I had yesterday. It gets a little edge if I use the straightening iron to give it a bit of mohawk.)

Apparently it was a smart thing. (The reason I know this is because I managed to get down the street to do my groceries. While standing in line, this not-very-attractive man gave me an appraising look. While I was paying, he whistled. I kept my eyes forward and pretended I was deaf. On the one hand, he was rude, but on the other, at least the new hair works. Either that or my jeans are a bit tighter than expected.)

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Mildly Unnerved Wife of Dylan Thomas [who currently does not know whether to be horrified, disgusted, horrified and disgusted, or flattered.]

I'm not sure if I did a really stupid thing or a really smart thing. I now have about an inch of hair left on my head. I haven't had a haircut this short since I was three. At least I feel better. It's more a Winona Ryder cut than a Britney cut, so I get points for not shaving my head.

Sincerely,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, A Little Less Moody Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is currently considering whether she was in a high or low mood at the time of the haircut. Probably average. Though she misses her long hair, she genuinely thinks she looks much better this way.]

The last week's been pretty bad. Feels like I'm in limbo. Upstairs, downstairs, upstairs, downstairs. Highs, lows, highs, lows. Up, down, up, down. I feel worn out by my moods. I was fine, happy, content this afternoon. Now I'm crying, not content, not fine. I need to wash my hands. I went outside last week. I was crying two days ago on the phone. Yesterday, I was fine. The problem with the moods is one moment you can feel on top of the world, like you are amazing and the next moment you are ugly, useless, and your life is meaningless. When you're in the worse mood, the stuff around is not really worth it. Even when you're aware that there are good moments in your life, it's like you're watching them through this window and you see them and they're wonderful, but you're not there. I keep telling myself I have tons to do. I have to learn all the positions for violin. That's important. I won't ever be a professional, but it's important. Also if I screw up, it would be a little embarrassing because then I'd have to explain myself. I have to figure out how to go outside. I wrote my friend in Germany. I have this idea that maybe if I could just go back to Europe, things will be better. I was reading about fossil fuels running out in probably the next decade or two. I'll have to know where I am then. That's important. I'll send the letter tomorrow. I'll have to leave the house to do it and that'll be good. My hands are really greasy. I'm really tired, Dylan. I think I will call and make an appointment with the doctor. Except it's too far away and I will have to keep going back. Too much trouble. I suppose the one good thing is I'm almost proud to say I'm getting skinnier and that makes me happy when I look in the mirror. I like to think I'm shocked by eating disorders, but the truth is, I'm not. Part of me wishes I had one because then people could nod and say 'yes, she has anorexia' or 'of course, she has bulimia.' They could categorize me because it would be obvious that my bones were showing along my ribcage. I'll just have to be satisfied with slim.

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Quiet Wife of Dylan Thomas [who currently wishes her hair would grow faster. She misses it. She knows she will be in a better mood later, but the problem is she will be in a worse mood after that.]

I gave my notice today.

It was a long time coming, but at least I'm completely sure of my decision. Take note of the following tale: Last night, I came downstairs and out of the blue, Housemate No. 3 said something extraordinarily rude. Instead of getting pissed like most people would, I simply said that it was a bit mean to say that, and he said that there was a difference between mean and insulting. A perfectly normal exchange in this household, but right there in his mouth was the straw that broke the camel's back. I started packing last night. All my books are in boxes. I've taken pictures down. I'm only about an eighth packed, but I plan to do a bit everyday and send things home bit by bit. Naturally, Housemate No. 2 took an aggressive stance when I told her, but there really wasn't much point in arguing the matter. I've had enough. Besides, my parents are visiting and I'm graduating. It makes sense for me to be gone by June. My sister welcomed the decision...not only has she disliked them for some time, she was truly horrified when I told her what happened last night. If I don't find a sublet in time, I'll be roosting at home until I can make the move to the big city. Poof, my life is on another path.

In other news, I've started editing my portfolio (finally.) A circular fan-like map for information design. The original one I did last year was awful...I knew it at the time, but I didn't have the time or energy to do anything about it. Now I do. (It's amazing what a few words from a person's mouth can do. After crying for a good two hours last night, I got extraordinarily angry. Every single thing that's been bothering me for the past two years came rushing to the front, and I just knew. I've been sticking up for them since I got here, and people keep on telling me I'm being too nice. Well, that's it. No more sticking up for their behaviour. No more pretending it's alright. No more ripping people's self-esteem to shreds. I've never packed so quickly in my life!)

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Moving Wife of Dylan Thomas [who is currently on a path. She is not sure where it will lead, but she's on it. She's going. The one good thing about this is she won't have to worry about Housemate No. 1's crush anymore.]

P.S. Note, even as I say this, I'm tempted to stick up for them. They're not the worst of roommates. They just have a problem when it comes to blunt wording, unnecessary comments, agressive behaviour, the tendency to insult, oh who am I kidding?

Four hours of violin practice, and it went much better after doing a few exercises in the beginning. The last few times, I've just been leaping into whatever piece I'm working on, but today, putting the fingers through a few studies made them flow like water. Everything was spot on target as opposed to getting all flustered. The hand itself (particularly the thumb) was more relaxed. It also helped that no one was home for the practice. Besides having a spot of social phobia, playing well is about sixty percent learning how to focus. When I believe no one's listening, I concentrate, but the moment I think someone's listening, either I do better if I think they like classical music or I freak out and start making tiny errors (my brain starts wondering "what are thinking? do they like it? gosh, this violin is loud..." at which point, I completely forget that I'm playing and if the piece isn't already memorized, I space out.)

On a sidenote, Housemate No. 2 is proving to be very...huffy-puffy today. Actually what am I talking about? She's huffy-puffy everyday. I'm getting tired of sticking up for her. It's reached the point where my friends and siblings are afraid to call because she sounds so irritated whenever she picks up the phone. Always a hefty siiiiiigh, ugh, I have to get off the couch and call someone, what a travesty. I can never understand people who are rude. Even if my eyes were bleeding out and I had just accidentally sliced off a body part, I'd still make an effort to be polite, particularly when you're speaking on the phone. Then again, I suppose it depends where you're from...and how you're brought up? (Apparently my grandmother could be screaming her head off, but the moment anyone called or visited, she'd be incredibly polite. Just because you're having a bad day, you shouldn't take it out on someone who just happens to be in the same room as you...or on the other end of a phone.)

Sincerely yours,
Rushwriter, Lady Lover of Dylan Thomas
&
Rushwriter's Shoulder, Focused Wife of Dylan Thomas [who currently is not feeling very polite, yet instead of huffing and puffing, she's going to be civil. She's even made plans to wear her i-pod while cooking dinner. That way, no one will speak to her in the kitchen and she'll be in a little bubble where nothing exists except music.]