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The reality of a blog-journal

I've been reading through some old LJ posts. Many are private, though I suspect I had them public at one point or other.

The interesting thing is the drama I mention in many of the entries. I don't actually remember much of it *L*

S has often accused me of romanticizing memories; keeping the good while completely forgetting the bad. Maybe there's something to that. I find myself desperately wishing I'd used names in some of these posts. Of course I didn't, it being a blog. Drat.

But is it really such a terrible thing? To focus on the positives?

My loyalty is hard won, but I can guarantee that if I cared for you at some point? I still do. That girl who stopped talking to me in 4th grade? Yeah, I still think about her once in awhile. I Google her and smile to find that she's happily married with children, doing something she loves for a living.

I remember she did something cruel to me, but for the life of me I can't recall what. And does it really matter? Of course not.

A few years back an ex contacted me, saying he wanted to apologize for the terrible way he treated me. He couldn't apologize enough, wanting to somehow make it up to me. I honestly had no recollection of his doing anything bad. None at all. I had to read back through an old diary to find what he might be talking about. I remember thinking, "Wow, that actually was pretty crummy," but the ridiculous part? I've already forgotten it, again!

What I do remember is all the awful things I've done. I still feel guilt over them. Decades pass and situations still haunt me.

It's not that I regret any decisions I've made. I don't. But I regret how I handled them. How I acted. In some cases, Who I Was.

Does anyone else do this? Tell me this is common.

Gosh, I'm rambling. Perhaps that's what my LJ will be for. You've been warned ;)

Still here

If only marginally, it counts.

Truly becoming Pinky

My tangents have tangents. My brain is unfocused and rammy.

I want to run through the streets all Braveheart-esque, screaming about freedoms and whatnot.

Just. Need. To. Focus.

This should not be as hard as it's proving. Sheesh.

Bad books galore of late

After SilenceAfter Silence by Jonathan Carroll

My rating: 1 of 5 stars

Thoroughly disappointing. Even one star may be generous. This is the 2nd book of his that I have been completely unmoved by. And it's not in order of publication, yet in order of my reading.

He took the magical realism I like so much and squashed it like a bug. Boo.

Not bothering with a full run-down. Just not worth it.

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The bearable strangeness of being

Last night, I buried my mockingbird.

I waited, thinking the circle of life would envelope him. I've seen a fox in my yard (yes, though I live literally blocks outside city limits, I also live blocks from a rather large park - we see deer, too!).

But nothing touched my strange, little bird.

So I buried him. In a box from a French bakery. I have no idea why this is important, but it feels like it is.

Today I feel disconnected. It's as if I'm here, but the people around don't see me. At least not as I am.

It's the heat. It must be.

Mockingbird no more

Ok, so I'm not someone who typically believes in things like animal spirit guides or the like. But I'm starting to think maybe, perhaps, there's something to it. And if there is? ...

So, ok, my animal is a mockingbird. Yes, a little, gray, very noisy bird. It's been in our yard for weeks, sometimes with a partner, but always at least one. It talks to me in the morning and evening from various perches in the back yard. Once, it was sitting directly on the clasp for the dog line, where I hook up Tas. There were many weekend mornings in which I'd sit in the breakfast room with a cup of coffee, and it would perch on a chair immediately outside the window (ie, directly in front of me; approx 4 feet away), cock its head, and make noise at me. Sometimes for the better part of an hour. Once, when I was on the couch watching the tele, it came rushing at the window screen, and hung on, flapping its wings like mad.
I was beginning to get spooked, so I looked it up.

According to Animal Totems:
When Mockingbird appears to you it is time to sing a joyous song of life. With one of the prettiest vocalizations of the bird family, his medley of calls is a culmination of many other birds, likewise, your song is a medley of circumstances, experiences and those that surround you. Rapid succession is events are about to unfold, if they haven't already. Experiences will expand your repertory profoundly. Mockingbird teaches the art of adaptability and going with the flow. He is about following your soul purpose and recognizing innate abilities. Communicating is part of what Mockingbird teaches. He also flushes negativity with his voice. Are you using your song to bring joy? This animal is also a fierce protector of its environment. Are you watching your territory for those that come to close? He will teach fearlessness and strength. Even with strength in defenses your song matches few to bring joy and harmony to many people. Mockingbird will teach how to accomplish this balance.

All fascinating stuff, I must admit.

But this morning, I heard no sounds from my "friend." And when I went to wait for the bus, I found a mockingbird, dead. Exactly where I would normally stand to wait.

Poor little guy. I have no idea what could have happened to him.

And my question to you superstitious folks is this ... does this mean something? Am I trying to find meaning in something that's just incredibly random? I have to say ... something inside me is going all wifty farkle with this. And I feel so bad for the bird :'(

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Drat

Der GlücklicheDer Glückliche by Hansjörg Schertenleib

My rating: 1 of 5 stars

"The Happy Man" drew me in with book jacket copy stating that Schertenleib was on a mission to write compellingly about a happy person.

However?

This novella is decidedly /not/ happy.

I really enjoyed it until the end ... which made all of it ... not worth it. Very disappointed. It had such potential. I'm all for the German gothic ideal, but to tell me I'm reading a happy book, and then squash me like a bug at the end? Not cool Mr Schertenleib. Not cool at all. Boo.

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In other news? I miss all my extra icons ... esp Calvin & Hobbes. I stopped paying for LJ, b/c all I was paying for were the icons at this stage. But now I'm kinda sad. SHould have tried to save them ... I'm a dork.

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"Chick Lit"

Godmother: The Secret Cinderella StoryGodmother: The Secret Cinderella Story by Carolyn Turgeon

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

This book wasn't quite what I expected ... which is a good thing, quite honestly. Purchased on a whim at discount, I expected a brand X little palate-cleanser.


At first, there was a bit too much fantasy for my taste. (I like reality with a hint of fantasy, as I've mentioned previously. The swap does not appeal to me in the least.) But the names were pronounceable, so I troopered on!


This is the tale of Cinderella as told by her fairy godmother: an aging woman who works in a bookstore in New York City. The story is heart breaking, but lovely in a sense.


I don't know how to classify it. I'm glad I read it, not sure I would recommend it ...


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The Silent LandThe Silent Land by Graham Joyce

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Another excellent novel by Graham Joyce. Though I suspect it would be closer to a novella with normal-size typeface. The large print (granted, I read the UK version, not the US) was a bit jarring. Were it not for the shagging scenes, I might have mistaken it for a YA novel.

That being said, the storyline was excellent. The lines between Joyce and Carroll (as in Jonathan) were blurred a bit, as Joyce typically does not venture into Carroll’s preferred setting. I found his take fascinating. Premise: A young couple go out for a morning ski and are caught in an avalanche. They dig themselves free to find the hotel and ski-town devoid of life. A series of strange events ensue. (Honestly? There was an early part of the book in which I suspected the potential for a zombie outbreak/end of the world. I had to remind myself I was reading my favorite author who likely would not delve into that particular genre.)

I did guess the ending fairly early on. For some authors, this might have ruined the story for me. But honestly, it only enriched my experience with this selection. He remains my absolute favorite author, hands down.

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Reading and such

Property OfProperty Of by Alice Hoffman

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Only Hoffman can make it so I empathize with a story about city gang warfare, drugs, and women so used and abused they are completely ambivalent.

Why am I working my way through every book she's ever written? See above.

Property Of" was her very first novel, so it's a bit rough if you're accustomed to her current style. She wrote it while still in college.

As a result of this novel I've started researching addiction and its effects on the body/psyche. I've also started watching "Intervention" *L* Addiction is fascinating.

She seems to open doors that lead to places I'd rather not go. But once I get there, I'm completely enthralled and must know more.
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