Mercurial · Temper

It always seems that I miss so much by being in my own little world.

I can't help it really, but damn, I just found my real family, and I have yet to reach that stage where out of sight becomes out of mind.  Right now, it's like pieces of me are falling back into place.  I finally have somewhere I belong.  I have an uncle, aunts, assorted cousins by the dozens (no rhymes intended).  The world doesn't seem quite so harsh now.  I think this entire semester passed by in a total blur.  I know I went to class, and I worked, but nothing stood out for the most part.

Ah well, that doesn't mean I've stepped off the Eupheme gossip train - then again one can't help hearing the tales.

Whenever AJ passes me in the hallways between classes, he tends to look rather sheepish at me.  But if it's true, he's been one rather busy boy.  For someone who comes off as so blasted saintly (or tries to), he's pretty - how do I put it diplomatically - worldly???

Maybe I should start immersing myself in Eupheme life more...but I don't know.  I like having a life separate from everyone else's.  I like being grounded (to an extent) and a lot less drama.

Maybe I should stop by this party at The Red Room I've heard about and see what's going on.  I hope they'll play a lot of 80's music.  Nothing, at least in my mind, gets a party going better than Duran Duran.  Of course, thus speaketh the Metal Queen of the 80's.

Last but certainly noteworthy - It's amazing how such a little spot on a woman's body can feel like one's entire being lit up like a supernova.  Kissing afterwards is actually quite arousing; to taste oneself after being told how dirty it is.  Far from it, I say...

So much has happened to me I haven’t had any time to document it all. It’s as if my life has become this whirlwind of incredible events and before I have a chance to breathe and take it all in, something else happens. It’s not just about Eupheme or working at Brennan’s and my curious relationship with Shawn – it’s all sorts of things – mainly good.

( Read more... )

Eupheme has been rather quiet these days but that suits me well. No scary teachers attempting to ruin my life and no major crises from the parental units. Somehow, I guess I was made for juggling school and a prt-time job without too much stress.

Shawn's away for a bit, visiting relatives in California, but guess what, he actually calls me. We talk, and he doesn't really like California that much, though he says his aunt and uncle are very cool.

Been busy at Brennan's but have time to decide exactly what to take:

Block One - Chemistry

Block Two - Sociology

Block Three - Children's Lit

Block Four - Creative Writing

Block Five - 20th Century History

Block Six - Dance (experimental)  I hear there's a new instructor...

I realize that I've spent a terrible amount of time talking about how much I hate my English class - not the class per se, just the instructor - but I've completely ignored the few joyous courses I'm enrolled in.  Dance, of course, being my catharsis from the daily toil of MLSA (My Lord Suck Ass).  My other favourite class is Women in Literature taught by Dr. Artemesia Halliday.

( Read more... )

As soon as I left Brennan's, I ran back to the dorms, all kinds of passionate thoughts in my head.

( Read more... )

I don't care what the right Reverend says about dancing, it always makes me feel good...and that all that matters.

I'm not all that surprised that Eupheme can afford the best - highly polished hardwood floors, shiny mirrors along the wall, the ballet barre, and lots of space for free form movement...

And I have it all to myself!

So there I am, dressed in my well-worn and so comfortable dance pants, flexing my bare toes on the cool floor. I don't see anyone, so I brought my own music to dance to until the instructor arrives...if one ever does.

My muscles are just so happy to stretch, to not be confined in hard wood chairs, stuck listening to some idiot drone endlessly.

When I left Ira Aldridge High, I'd been actually working on a dance piece for the school showcase and wondered if I still remembered my own choreography.

Alex thought I was nuts for wanting to do my version of Goethe's Faust, but then, when have I ever been sane, considering my life?

And when I first heard March of Mephisto by Kamelot, something just clicked...me, a fallen angel named Ariel...

Wouldn't that just give dear old pops kittens?

And yes, as soon as I heard the pounding of the march, Mephisto's voice urging his subjects - Vox Populi, Vox Dei - it all came back and my body soared.

I admit, some of my moves are definitely salacious, but the idea is to be fallen, and how much more fallen can one be, writhing around on the floor as one's hips gyrate up and down...

But I'm struggling with my immortality, paying for my sins, hearing the voice of my dead beloved as the being who took my soul continues to mock my pain...

God, it just feels good to be free like this - to spin and twirl, to bend like a reed as far as my body will take me...

I'm working up a definite sweat but it just feels like nothing else on earth, just to feel that sense of weightlessness, of passion....

I can forget everything in the dance.

I've had almost two weeks to get myself situated.  I've met people, drank absinthe with one of them, discovered that I positively loathe my English teacher, My Lord Suck Ass...

Then I get the call I've been dreading...from my parents.

Needless to say that I tried my best not to talk to them any longer than I have to.  I gave them the necessary information that all parents need - classes, dorm room, yes I'm eating well - and that's it.  Mother wanted to chat longer but I just wasn't in the mood.  Father - well father is father, which means he says what he has to.  A blessing in itself.  At least they're not talking about visting Eupheme...at least not yet.

After I hung up, I thought of pouring another glass of absinthe.  Then I remembered I had a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Why is it that some parents can drive a child to self-destruction?

Someone's knocking on my wall to turn the music down, but I just need to have Rob Halford screaming at the top of his lungs.  Haven't these people ever heard of Primal Scream Therapy?

I've talked enough about English class, and how much I loathe 'My Lord Suck Ass', but have said nothing about my other courses.  I do find it rather interesting that while my English class is predominantly male (me being the sole female of the group), my math class is made up entirely of females.  Fascinating when one considers the ridiculous idea that women are not good in math.

So far the only person in class I have met in passing is Beatrix Potter, and that was through that discussion Mikhail Bakunin was having about the lack of diversity at this school.  Haven't yet spoken to Ann, Christina or Dot, but will soon.  They don't seem to be cliquish, and I guess being new here, I'm kind of shy.  Then again, maybe it's because I've always related better to boys rather than with girls.  After all, Blake was drinking absinthe in my room until the wee hours.

What the hell did we talk about anyway?

Oh well, at leat this will be a quiet weekend.  I can catch up with my correspondence, and get my computer set up.  Not that I'm dying without e-mail, but I know my friends have filled my inbox.

On Imagination...think I started that one last year. That's right, in Mrs. Westernridge's class at IA.  Oh yes, I should write her.  I did promise.  Too bad she couldn't be my english teacher here rather than My Lord Suck Ass.

Thy various works, imperial queen, we see, How bright their forms! how deck'd with pomp by thee! Thy wond'rous acts in beauteous order stand, And all attest how potent is thine hand. From Helicon's refulgent heights attend, Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend: To tell her glories with a faithful tongue, Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song. Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies, Till some lov'd object strikes her wand'ring eyes, Whose silken fetters all the senses bind, And soft captivity involves the mind.

Silken fetters all the senses blind...just think of the reaction I'd get if my old classmates knew that I'd been reading A.N. Roquelaire.

and now I'm singing "...Kashka, from Baghdad, lives in sin they say, with another man, but no one knows who..."