You can read it now!
I forgot to update but Felicity (Fee) Worthington of the Gemma Doyle trilogy has a new (readable) layout, as well as codes, and some other small spiffy updates that make it look less like I threw it together in my sleep. I’ll even rewrite the content once I reread the books. Go look at it now, even if you don’t know what the heck I’m on about.
Job still blows.
Get yourself a career, employee of the year, only for a pat on the back
I am at work. I was working up until a few minutes ago, when I finished and Rob (my boss) is nowhere to be found. I think he’s in a meeting. So, I’m working in a warehouse for my dad’s company, and let me make it perfectly clear, I did not and do not want this job. In fact, I would sorely like to pluck my own eyes out. I haven’t really had female contact in months, and no Andrew to bring out my feminine side (no, there’s nothing insulting about that, read it again). Everyone here is really pretty gangstahhh and no wonder, I’m in Scarborough… I seriously need some ‘peeps’ My job involved unpacking wireless access points (for large stores like Loblaws) labelling them, and scanning them. Rinse repeat. I’m supposed to learn how to progam these things eventually, but that’s taking a bit longer than planned. It’s an hour commute to and from work. I am not pleased. It’s nice to spend some quality time with dad in the car though. I guess. Albeit, not nice enough to keep the job, my eyes are peeled. $10/hour working 8-5… pain pain pain.
I have a new much loved band called ‘Mad Staring Eyes’ (look them up on mySpace — and while you’re at it visit Sean Dineley at Huck’s Fin) I got their album from a band member at Pearson International while I was picking up my bag, he asked me to come to his show, but I didn’t listen to the CD until yesterday so I missed them, now I’m disappointed! Hahaha! That’s where the entry title comes from by the way, it seemed oddly fitting.
I had my photos taken for some movie audition thing, it was most insane, the photographer was insanely complimentary, I often wonder if that is obligatory in photographers, flatter the hell out of everyone who comes near you. At any rate it was interesting to watch and participate in. They talked about how my face would work for a part if I had bigger bags under my eyes and I stopped just shy of saying ‘Give me a few more weeks at this job, and I’ll give you bags.’
Still no word from Jamie, I’m trying to decide if sending a second e-mail looks like obsession. I abhor crushes.
I almost worked on websites last night but I spoke to Samantha on MSN, and she happened to be playing Pokemon, and obviously I then had to get my DS, and I played it most of the night. So anyone looking for website updates, blame her! Not me!
I’m thinking of learning to play the acoustic guitar that has migrated into my room.
Digital Darkness
I have been planning a new layout for this place but I cannot come up with how I want it to look, so I’m sitting here being a bit crippled. This layout makes me want to be back in the UK, and even if I consider it the best layout I have ever made it’s still a bit awkward to keep it up now that I’m back in Canada.
I’ve been so restless lately. So awkward coming back to this place.
And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make
I’m back in Canada.
I guess the word I would use to describe how I feel right now is wistful. I think it was the second grade when I first looked that word up in a dictionary because I had stumbled upon it in a number of books ’sad, as if longing for something’ and when I thought of the word I thought of a maze with invisible walls. You can always see the prize but the work to reach it is astounding. But let’s not make this an angsty entry.
Going abroad, I need to make some final comments on it, until I return next summer. And believe me, as long as I still have a good Visa I will be returning.
Going to the UK by myself in February has certainly been a learning experience. In fact, that’s what it was more than an job, holiday, or anything else I expected it to be. It was school for me, my remedial classes in life, and I needed them badly. As we can see by the trials, and triumphs.
The first thing, and likely most painful thing I learned is that sometimes the best friends you will ever make in your entire life you’ll meet once and never again. You have to accept this or you’ll go crazy. For all the contact details I’ve accumulated, I’ve only got a fraction of the people I’ve met. And of those I do have most will drift away, even if they are people who I will never make better friends with.
I’ve learned that courage is a rare and valuable virtue, and the valour is something irreplaceable in humankind. And you have to live with as much bravery as you can. You have to be shameless in throwing yourself into life or you lose so much in the experience. I hope I have enough courage to make my life one of greatness.
I’m so jetlagged, I can’t seem to get the rest of this entry out.
Excuses, excuses.
Lunch on the Pope
Well, I guess now is the point in which I finish talking about my trip and talk about my homecoming. Home… such a relative term. Any ways.
At Munich I also toured Dachau, the other concentration camp on my mission. I took a guided tour and it wasn’t quite as moving as Sachausen, but I learned a whole heap more about sort of what when on in the camp itself. On the whole Munich was a pretty average place to visit. I would recommend it to people who actually drink unlike yours truly.
Keyboards in Germany are bizarre. The letter ‘Y’ and the letter ‘Z’ are actually switched, so it was nearly impossible for me to type anything. In Munich I met an Aussie lady travelling actually with her daughter, I tried to imagine how that would go for me and my mom, and who would try and drown whom first in the beer garden.
There were some other strange things in Germany though, like every cup has a line on it to show exactly where, say o.4 litres is so they don’t accidentally give you too much soda, as well, most bathrooms have an automatic seat cleaner, which, after you flush, wipes down the seat with what looks like a wet napkin. So strange, and yet, so German. My German was terrible as expected.
My thoughts are scattered again, so apologies for another entry that seems disconnected, my mind is missing today. I’m just so… But nevermind.
From Germany I went down to Italy, stopping in a small Austrian town in the Alps. It was pretty, but we only stopped there half an hour. I think it was called St. Johannes or something. Regardless, very picturesque… but of course… I have no pictures of it.
Yea, my second camera was stolen in Venice. Go me. Ugh.
Anyways, Venice was quite interesting, but beautifully terrifying. When they say you ‘get lost in Venice’ this is not some sort of romantic sentiment, this is cold hard fact. You will get lost in Venice. I went into the city thinking I’d spend two or three hours just chilling in the city — seven hours later when I found the train station again. Haha. But yea, camera with all of my pictures from the trip… gone. Figures.
Venice is stange and terrifying with an hundred small streets and alleys the walls are all high so it’s almost impossible to navigate properly, and with all the mask shops and other rather eerie looking places it really is a bit of a creepy city. Though it is interesting to go into a shop and see some Italian painting a mask right there on the front counter. Seriously, genuine Venetian or what? I wish I had someone to talk to in Venice though because I felt very alone the whole time. My Visa stopped working for awhile whilst I was there too, thus leading to a little unbridled terror for one of my days in Venice.
The ‘hostel’ in Venice was actually a camp site, right by the airport. Yes, all night it was awesome all you could hear was ‘VAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!’ of the airplanes going overhead. And, my room mates who left on the first day left something rank in the room. Venice was, on the whole a place I was a bit uncomfortable in. I want to go back, but not alone, which is odd for me.
From Venice I hit Rome which was a bit on the surreal side I have to admit. Oh, look, there’s the Coliseum, and… the Forum… and the Pantheon… and a hundred amazing buildings and… well let’s face it, the city oozes awesome from it’s ancient pores. Seriously, if walking London is like walking a novel, walking Rome is like walking a history text book. Who knew the Pantheon was now a Christian church, because I certainly didn’t. Seems, I don’t know, ironic or something.
Vatican City was impressive to say the least, so extravagant, sort of like Versailles, where you sit there thinking no wonder it couldn’t last forever without some serious trouble. I even got to see the real version of my favourite painting, ‘The School of Athens’ by Raphael. And the pope paid for my lunch. Indirectly of course.
I go to the cafeteria and pick up a modest lunch, noting that they take Visa, as to be honest I never had more than 5 Euros cash all through Italy, anyways, I go to pay and wouldn’t you know it, the Visa machine isn’t working. I ask where the nearest ATM is, and she says there isn’t one in the Vatican. I’m starving and probably look it, because she mutters something in Italian and runs off, coming back with a manager looking guy, and they basically say ‘Go eat.’ so there we are free lunch.
Okay.
Sorry this entry is lacking my usual charisma, but my heart isn’t really in it right now. I really want to relate all these stories to you properly, but I’m so dejected about returning to Canada just opening up Wordpress seemed unapealing to the point of nauseating.
Now everyone’s mad because I don’t want to come back, but it’s not the people I don’t want to come back to. It’s that I’ve fallen for this stupid country quirks and all. Everything from the robolady on the Chyuuube, to driving on the wrong side of the road, to the lifts. And I love all you nutty Canucks back home, but this is the place I feel like I should be, and leaving it is hard.
Back to packing.
Whirlwind.
I have 20 minutes to update all of you on what I have been doing for the past week now. And it hasn’t exactly been the most laid back week of my life.
I left Scotland last Sunday or Saturday (can’t even remember anymore) with a tragic good bye to Jamie and Derek, and to Steve in spirit I imagine, I returned to Milton Keynes to get my act together.
Starting laaaast… Monday I guess I was on a plane to Amsterdam, in the Netherlands for the precious few who have not made it their life’s goal to go to Amsterdam. And what on Earth can I really say about Amsterdam that hasn’t been said before? If you’re as straight laced as I am (secret high five for Amber here) you cannot help but feel a twinge nervous about the idea of Amsterdam, even if the city itself is very nice. It won’t surprise most to know that very few people who are actually from Amsterdam smoke, it’s mainly the idiot tourists.
Highlight of the visit was the Anne Frank house where I felt it was safe to let my guard down a little (in all honesty who is going to drug me in the Anne Frank house?) it was interesting, but, like Versailles most of what I saw was the back of another tourist’s head. I went to the house after the New Europe free walking tour ( I love these tours — and not only because they are free but it helps) So, I did technically see the red light district. Technically. I spent the day hanging out with a British guy, who was quite awesome to be honest.
Amsterdam is Andrew’s city, drugs and bicycles. ( I love you too, Shiny.)
From Amsterdam I took a day trip to Brussels, and quickly discovered… there’s nothing to DO in Brussels. Seriously, give me one reason to go to Brussels besides to chocolate? Ah? I win.
From Amsterdam I jetted off to Berlin which was amazingly awesome, now when I read history books and they talk about somewhere in Berlin I can actually draw up a memory and not just use the gigantic mental substitute of ’somewhere in Europe’ Berlin was pretty in such an interesting way, plus they do memorials like no one’s business. The one to the burnt books was especially dramatic, and the holocaust memorial, it was like something you cannot describe. You have to go there and experience that.
Because I’m in a rush now with my clock at 10 minutes, I have to tell you about Sachausen concentration camp at a later date. Needless to say, it was the single most powerful experience of my life so far and literally a human turning point for me. My entire life has been altered by this one day. Scary, isn’t it?
Berlin to Munchen (or Munich if you spracken englisch) I was let down by Munich mostly because I wanted to see Prague or Vienna more but it didn’t happen like that. It was a very impressive city regardless, what with it’s Glockenspiel.
And, okay, this entry will have to be postponed as my clock is about to run out.To be continued (dun dun dunnnnn)
This is not an update
Just letting you lot know I’m alive.
I will never be able to knock off a decent post on this keyboard though.
Germany.
Southern Hemisphere Kitchen
Well, a lot has happened and that is why I haven’t written for so long. In fact, I have to reread my last entry before I post this one. Not even that much time has elapsed, just a lot of stuff has elapsed, and I’ll never be able to do any of it justice on my journal, so, here I go, taking the plunge now.
Well, since the last entry I have broken out of my little social dead zone, in a rather huge way. You see, my dorm with good old Dominic filled up with two more South Africans and two Aussies. All male of course. Yes, I’ve been ‘one of the guys’ for the past — two weeks, which hasn’t been too terrible, as I have had people to talk to. From time to time at least. And only at the cost of having to listen to the lot of them snore in chorus. Seriously, they could have a choir group with their snoring. But other then that they’re all endearing, ish. That and the fact that everything is cold to them and it’s been really warm here lately.
But I need to start from the beginning, way back, what, two or three weeks ago now. Bloody ‘ell, time flies when you’re actually doing stuff. And I have actually finally been doing stuff. No, seriously, I swear! I’ve just been so unmotivated to write about any of it because I’ve been so busy actually doing things, shocking, I know, but there you have it.
For the past few weeks I have been working at the Royal Infirmary doing stuff with their archives, the work is alright I suppose, and there is no asshole breathing down my neck about doing things faster. In fact, the only qualm about the job itself that I have is this: ‘They have no idea how they want these archives to be sorted’ Which, I mean, technically isn’t too big of a deal, except that they tell me to do it one way and then suggest a ’slightly’ different way of sorting things which only takes a good day to finish. This would be fine if the job wasn’t only three days a week. The best part of the job was when the agency called me, the first thing they say, before when or where I’m working is ‘How are you with the sight of blood?’
Yes, so, riddle me this Batman, if I am working three days a week for £6.50 how am I making enough money to stick around here?
I’m not.
Here’s where I tell you all about the massive trip around Europe I have planned, but I’m not quite ready to share yet as the itinerary still needs some serious tweaking.
Okay, so, all that excessive preamble and still no goods about what I have been doing (well, besides working). I actually need to dig out my paper journal to figure out what I have done, it seems a bit blurry. Not due to substance abuse, keep your minds out of the gutter, simply a lot has happened.
I guess it was about Wednesday when I finally decided to get in touch with Jamie (Hottie McScotland), we planned to meet up on the Friday of last week, which had me a little giddy. Hello, school girl. Not that I planned to really flirt with him or anything, I mean, let’s face it, I was planning to leave within the week of meeting up with him. But, hey, it’s nice to see a friendly face, all-in-all the meeting went well, he’s one of those crazy musicians that I always seem to meet up with, and so we spent the evening hopping from pub to pub listening to the bands of his mates. A number of them were quite good, and while we ended on a hand holding cheek kissing kind of note, I keep reminding myself international crushes are a big huge no-no, they lead to amazing heartbreak AND ruin awesome countries for you, the double whammy of ’suckage’. We’re meeting again this Saturday evening, so hopefully I can persuade myself that it is a one-shot crush and will vanish from there.
Despite the above being the sort of blushingly awesome part of the weeks, what’s been really fun about hostel life is my room mates, despite the fact that they were a bunch of idiot guys. One of the South Africans (Steve) and I hit it off pretty well and spent a lot of time just talking. He had just broken up with his girl friend of six years, and I was angsting about Andrew’s trek to northland. Because that’s what 19 year olds do, we angst, and we are damn good at it. So Steve and I chatted about whatever for a good most of the week at random points. Specifically about the wild and crazy ways of Canada. It’s amazing how thing like… skating on a pond, that are such an integral part of my childhood can simply… not exist in other countries. In Canada, we skate on ponds, in South Africa… well… they have lions.
Derek and Steve fed me a few times within the week, which, since becoming an international traveller really endears me to people. Haha. In reality the last few weeks have been fun, but not in a reportable kind of way, that is to say, those involved had a good time, but it was a lot of movie watching and Edinburgh wandering rather than grand and sweeping adventures that I try and report to you.
One evening we went to a graveyard to take photos (you must note this was Steve’s suggestion and not mine, and so, don’t be rolling your eyes at me) and it was decided that I would take no more photos of the trip as Steve and Derek got all touristy and dragged out the tripods meaniong they had nice pictures and I got to frolic in the graveyard. Seemed like a pretty fair deal to me.
Another interesting event was the hike to Arthur’s Seat, upon arrival, I had a massive allergy attack and headed back to the hostel, soon to be followed by my two South African friends. I’m not sure why they didn’t go to the top, perhaps it was too cold or something. Regardless, they actually beat me back to the hostel even though I left first, only because I was on the hunt for allergy drugs.
The problem with this entry for a reader is that it is all out of order, but my retrospect for the past two weeks is kind of funny, I remember things in chunks and not chronological order, let’s see if I can actually get everything in.
On his second or third night, (this is back before Arthur’s Seat) Steve brought home a rebound fling to the hostel. He claims nothing happened, but let me tell you, awkwardness does not begin to describe sleeping in a bed beside two people who are uhm… quite obviously doing absolutely nothing. Nothing at all really. And the night before Arthur’s Seat, one of the Aussies, Zach had brought home a girl and they also did nothing I’m sure. The police showed up at the hostel in the morning because the girl’s friends had reported her missing. After being awoken by the police and assuring them that the fling was alive and well the two Aussies and the kidknappee started drinking wine, and they were still drinking by the end of the day when the three of us returned.
Steve and Derek were feeding me in the ‘Southern Hemisphere Kitchen’ so all of room 2 just sort of hung out there. Two sloshed Aussies and the South Africans about to bust out the Brandy and Coke.
But again, before I continue I should talk about what the Southern Hemisphere Kitchen is. Basically in the hostel there are two kitchens. The clothes dryer feeds into the one kitchen and it is always really stupidly humid in there, whereas in the other kitchen it is sort of generally chilly. Chastising me for being in the cold kitchen it was dubbed the ‘Northen Hemisphere Kitchen’ by my almost sneering room mates. If I didn’t want to be alone I was forced to go against my natural inclination and hang out in the Southern Hemisphere Kitchen.
Back to my tale though, though looking at it now there isn’t much to tell. Everyone got drunk and started laughing about god knows what. It whole incident was so politically incorrect I had to shield my poor Canadian ears. I eventually made an almost dramatic exit when an Aussie accidentally dropped a glass of wine in my lap. That was all she wrote for me, and strangely enough it wasn’t long before the chorus boys came back to sleep.
The next day we went to visit Rosslyn Chapel and the beach. Two total opposite ends of the city but we figured since we had a bus pass we may as well see all of the city that would require bussing. Rosslyn Chapel was, well, interesting I wished I had managed to get there before the Da Vinci Code had come out so I could actually see it. The chapel itself is under a tin barn like canopy, making it very unphotogenic on the outside and you are not allowed to take photos on the inside. The only good thing about the canopy is that there were steps along it so you could climb up and see the art of the roof of the chapel exceptionally well. We also hiked to the ruins of Rosslyn Castle and, apparently someone’s house. On the whole, the Rosslyn Hike, while a nice one and such sort of suffered in that it seemed very much like Canada, but Steve and Derek seemed to enjoy it. Only to be let down by the beach which they seemed to expect would be something like the beaches at home. This is Scotland, beautiful white sand is as common here as it is in Canada.
I finally got myself something from Scotland, it only cost me 50p so I don’t feel bad having bought it. A half penny from 1888. The person who guesses why I picked that year wins… something. I’ll think on it and decide once someone figures it out — it’s really easy and only took two tries.
Yesterday Steve left for Dublin, and the day before the Aussies vanished into thin air. Dominic (The old South African and my lifelong room mate it seems) is in London, so it’s just me and Derek now, and to be honest, I almost miss the snoring. Though not enough to ask for it back… trust me.
I’ll probably remember something I forgot to say as soon as I sign off this entry, so the next entry my be incredibly long like this one. Apologies in advance. Next entry will hopefully detail the itinerary for my last hurrah. I should be home June 11th 2008 and I expect 24 hours to sleep, and then people offering me gifts and love. Or gifts of love.
To my commenters:
Amber, glad you liked it! Despite the grammatical errors in it. I don’t want to leave yet, curse making the mature decision! Curse it to heck! Hopefully you’re feeling better since last night, lav.
Mom, naw, I would never make that face at you.
Val, Brazil was pwnt. But seriously, ghost tours are so much fun, I think I’d like to lead one.
Kassi, argh, I’m going to miss your return! I hung out with Will just the other day, we sort of wandered the Burgh and talked. I have to catch you later, maybe you should come to Canadatown.
Gym Class
I have not written in ages, mostly because this weekend about a hundred things apeared out of nowhere and tackled me with the fury of a raging… Heelan Coo. (Scottish Joke… go google, but interestingly enough, not wikipedia that.) I have moved rooms twice this weekend.
First of all, for your classic teenage girl (still 19, suckers) rant, I am here to say I quite dislike men. Seriously. I was in the kitchen minding my own sweet business without a care in the world (besides money, but let’s pretend that doesn’t count), and likely whistling off key (Yes, the Kill Bill song!) when some guy comes in. This is not at all uncommon as the kitchen is public, however, I am in the small out of the way kitchen that few people frequent, so, I do what anyone would do in my half-starved situation grunt something that may or may not have resembled ‘Hello’ and carry on my merry little way. He starts conversation and I reply in monosyllables which I am known to do when tired, hungry or both. A few minutes later a couple come in, I’m stuffing my face gracelessly, and so I give my introduction as I’m feeling a bit less half-starved and deranged. Turns out they are from Quebec, and the first guy is from Brazil (and before anyone gets these visions of some tanned football player, no, pasty white geek) the four of us chat, before a fifth, an American joins our little party, thus finishing the ‘other side of the pond’ gang. We talk for ages about whatever strikes our fancy, until about 1 o’clock (in the AM) when the French Canadians go to sleep as they have an early departure. Ryan, our American friend also floats off to get some sleep, and I decide to walk down to the castle that evening, just because it is awe inspiring at night. Brazil asks to come with, I size him up and determine in a fight that I would win, and therefore agree.
Once we get to the castle I show him one of the best views of the city as well as the armed guard, he, as expected gets very… in my face. I give him an elegant shove and just say ‘No thank you.’ and think ‘I will sic Andrew on you SO BAD!’ because even if we aren’t dating Andrew will still crush people for me. I’m sure. So, I storm back to the hostel and he follows me apologizing. No dice thinks I. I know he is leaving the next day, so I lock my doors and sleep easy. The next morning I am due to move downstairs to a six bed all girl’s dorm, which is made of win, because it isn’t so awkward going to sleep and wondering which guy in your room is going to attack you. After my move I talk to dad on the phone for awhile, and decide in due time to go get some groceries because for the past few days I had been eating ‘anything I had in the fridge that was about to expire’ I really am a student eater now. Anyways, who is in my kitchen but Brazil guy, he tries to talk to me, but anyone who knows what it’s like talking to me when I’m feeling obstinate knows that was akin to talking to a brick wall with a frowning face painted upon it. I return to my room, my new room, and at this point have met a few room mates, one answers the door, and guess who it is.
He needs to check out and wants to leave his iPod in here rather than in storage with the rest of his luggage, and then asks beyond the room mate at the door if I can show him where Cowgate is. Knowing Cowgate is a crowded street at the best of times and if he tries anything funny all the hungover Uni kids will jump him I agree. I walk him down to Cowgate and turn to leave and he asks if I’ll stick with him for awhile because he doesn’t know where anything is in the city. Feeling safer during the day and having no real excuse to speak of I miserably agree. By the time we have reached the castle (for the second time and during the day) I have had enough (I have this unnatural thing against guys being gentlemen and asking to hold my coat and paying for me and stuff, which is really stupid…) and make the usual ‘feeling really sick’ excuse and jog back to the hostel and lock myself in my room. Only to remember his iPod is still there. Exuse the language but this was all I could think “Ah, fuck.”
Fortunately, I was saved by my room mate Jill from Ottawa! (Billowing cape not included) Who invited me to go on a ghost walk with her. I quickly agreed and off we went, I unceremoniously dropped the iPod off at reception saying some guy from Brazil had left it in my room. I would never see Brazil Guy again, he seemed so upset when I left him up at the castle part 2 but by that time my Care-O-Metre was down in the negative numbers.
The ghost walk was amazingly awesome though! Well, it was a bit short, but I got to go into the Covenanter’s Prison which was cool. For those who like to have a bit of background, the Covenanters emerged around the time, I think, of Charles II though you probably shouldn’t quote me on that. Essentially what happened was they were not happy about the idea of the King being the head of their religion so they signed a pact with god (I will avoid making atheistic references here about gods and holding pens). The King was none-too-happy as you can imagine, so the covenanters were put into a prison which is credited as the world’s first concentration camp by the Scots. The prison was overseen by the King’s Advocate George Mackenzie — Bloody, or, to be really Scottish about it, Bluidy Mackenzie. Any ways, apparently Mackenzie still haunts the prison, and there have been ‘no fewer than 300 attacks’ says the brochure. I saw no paranormal activity, however I did throughly enjoy seeing the inside of the prison. I’m such a nonbeliever it hurts, I’d love to be able to do more research there and see it during the day. Alas, it is locked to everyone except the tour I was on.
The next day, after being assured the iPod was gone, I was moved back into a mixed dorm where I am right now. (Not something I am happy about) Jill invited me on a free walking tour, it being a bank holiday and having nothing better to do I go with her, the free tour is three hours which is amazing (the one I paid for being 1.5 hours) it gave me a good once over of the main sights of the city. On the tour we met a guy from Toronto who was studying in Paris but in Scotland for the 3 day weekend. After the tour, and wandering the Prince’s Street Gardens, followed by Prince’s Street, then the very same hill where I witnessed my first pagan festival the ‘bad idea’ was borne. We left the hill on the wrong side and came upon Holyrood House (The Queen’s Residence in Scotland) which is very close to Arthur’s Seat. I had to meet someone (Mrs. Ross the great aunt of the Lindsay kids) at 5. At a leisurely pace I imagine walking Arthur’s Seat would have been lovely, but, as I said to my companions who were throwing themselves up the hill ‘This reminds me of Gym Class!’ The view was stunning at the top, but I was too busy staring at my watch in horror.
After gracelessly making our way down the hill and me all but flying back to the hostel to change and get ready to visit Mrs. Ross. That that it mattered. I was pointed in the wrong direction leaving the hostel and pretty much saw all there is to see of South Edinburgh. Dinner with Mrs. Ross was nice, but I felt very uninteresting. ‘Yes, uhm, so, I’m Caitlin, and I’m from Canada. Nice, uhm, country you have here.’ Regardless she lent me a beautiful copy of one of Sartre’s earlier writings which I am salivating over.
So that was my eventful weekend in all of it’s glory. I did not slow down the whole time, I hardly remember my name anymore. Of course, the next question is what I am going to do next. You see, I am now at a crossroads at this trip.
It should be blatantly obvious by now that I have had heaps of trouble finding a job here for whatever reason. Everyone seems to be ignoring me, which makes me pretty much furious, and the money is (as expected) running low. My original return ticket is set for something in the middle of June, I had orginally planned to push that back into July, however, I have a few reasons why it would make sense for me to keep it where it is, and now I’m not quite sure what to do. So far the plan is looking like this, if I get a solid job to fill my next three months until the end of July then I will stay here, if, by the end of the week I don’t have a job I will take every cent that I have fly to somewhere in northern Europe and travel my way down to Italy, have no money left in the bank and start working as soon as I get back. I would also get my G2 and take my grade 12 math credit if I came back.
While about 96% of me wants to stay here and find a way to just never leave this country that I have fallen in love with. (Yes, despite everything I am still not turned off of living here, in fact, if anything it has made me want to live on this batty little island all the more) The mature, adult part of me, which seems to have been birthed quite suddenly and quite recently knows that for practicality’s sake maybe going back to Canada earlier rather than later is a good idea. I have to get ready for school, I have to think about all of the important stuff which is going to be coming up in the next few years, and even if I want to stay here so much it has the potential to drive me completely mad, I have things I have to do at home and I have to keep myself thinking about the future, and if I want to end up here I need to have some sort of way to generate the pounds. The whiny petulant side of me doesn’t like this at all, let me tell you. If I clean out my account, and get back midJune I can probably accumulate maybe 2 thousand dollars, plus getting a loan and a job on campus, I should be able to actually get my act together for school.
Pros and Cons, blah. Grown up, or not. I never want to grow up, but nature is forcing me. We’ll see what happens this week and then I’ll know for sure.
To my commenters:
Amber, done <3 Sorry it took so long Word Press was giving me a rough time. I got Sakaki back, apparently they mixed up my removal or something?
Crystal, it is crazy like that sadly. I feel your heartings from here though.
Mom, it might as well have been a rave. Mrs. Ross was quite nice.
Ange, my Texan friend XD. If you want me to call, say, 8AM my time I wouldn’t have too much of a problem with that, I’m sure you wouldn’t either.
All we were missing was the human sacrifice.
I have attended my first pagan festival. Yes, officially I have been to a pagan festival. And just typing that makes me feel far cooler and more primal than I actually am. I was like a British explorer stumbling upon native Americans, in a kind of entranced horrified awe at the grotesque beauty of the whole thing. I just abused adjectives like no body’s business there. It had almost everything you could want from a pagan festival, people dancing naked, and fire.
From what I could understand from the swiftly moving events there was some sort of war between the people who were painted red and the other colours. And when I say painted red I don’t mean dabbing on the face, I mean full body scarlet. The director’s eye in me found the organic dancing with the very inorganic drumming (they were using modern drums, not ones with real skins) a little abrasive, but only stage geeks would notice, the energy of the event was fantastic. Though I still find huge the crowds disconcerting. I went with a new friend from work, Carrie, and two of her friends.
You could really get washed away in the vibrant motion of the whole thing, and right at the climax it started to rain. Rather than hinder the event it just got all the more impassioned. This was around the point I fled.
Other than a pagan festival, I have been working for a complete asshole the past three days, and yes, I said it. Carrie and I beat around the bush in conversation saying we were sure he was a nice guy, but I say ‘No.’ and no one will ever take that away from me, this is my blog, bitching ahoy. He was a mircomanaging git, and I will never work for a charity again, because apparently working quickly is more important than doing things right. Ugh!
And a quick update on my websites (the briefness of this whole entry being the fact that it is 2AM and I am officially tired) I plan on getting Sakaki Haruto Fanlisting and Midoriko up as soon as possible. Amber has given me the Ravens Fanlisting which should also be up soon. Nayru finally transferred Mrs. Lovett over to me so if you are a fan of that crazy Pie Maker go join. I’m revamping mom’s website because I hated the old one with a fiery passion aaaaaand I’m writing content all over the place and not uploading it so if all my websites seem incomplete and disoriented they probably are.
To my many commenters who make my life so happy:
Emma Dawn, we will talk more on MSN but HOLY SHIT THAT IS THE BEST NEWS EVER!
Val, I put a few pictures on facebook to tantalize the masses, so enjoy, and now I can stalk your blog. Bwahahahahahaha!
Crystal, Eh?
Maureen, I suppose it would do well to scope them out and see if they are as deranged as we are.
Mom, I am resisting human contact. See the resistance.