Edit: The title. This used to be called 'Miscellany...' but I decided I didn't like that much.
Something Trivial: That girl, codename Ladybug, who slipped me that random Let's-be-friends note a while back, she's still around, still being quite the character, still making strong advances of unascertainable nature. Today we ate lunch together and she gave me another note, so smothered in ribbons and magazine clippings and origami that I was amazed to find an actual letter hidden under it all (Any spelling or grammatical errors are copied.):
This verse by Lewis Carol is remarkable for more than it's melancholy:
I often wandered when I cursed,
Often feared where I would be --
Wondered where she'd yield her love,
When I yield, so will she.
I would her will be pitied!
Cursed be love! She pitied me...
It can be read both "across" and "down."
Are you free at all this weekend? Perhaps Saturday, we could go to Linneas and gallavant around downtown for a bit... If you'd fancy that? I'm free Sunday too, if you'd like to do something either day? But, of course you don't have to accept my invitation! It's tottaly fine if you don't want to.
[(heart symbol) Ladybug]
But, like I say, the coating of photographs and ribbons and drawings and origami was even more colorful. I don't know what I'm doing this weekend, or I'd accept her offer right off. Edit: The note looks a lot better the way it's typed on my typing page than the way it shows when posted. I'll try removing the blockquote, see if it shows all the spaces I put in to adjust everything's horizontal position.
Edit: Something Old: It was fully a week ago that my mother decided I had to hear the original version of this song she has been singing rather a lot ('Hide In Your Shell') and we ended up spending a good deal of the evening sitting around watching Roger Hodgson videos on YouTube. I had never heard of him before, though that's only to be expected with my general ignorance of music and popular culture alike. I was surprised to learn that the song was by a man - it had always struck me as one in which the speaker and the audience are both female, and not only because I had only ever heard my mother sing it. As it turns out, many of Hodgson's songs are like that. But what struck me most was how ageless and genderless Hodgson looks and sounds. If someone had shown me one of those videos and said that the person was a forty-year-old man, I would have believed it, and if someone had shown me one of those videos and said that the person was a sixty-year-old woman, I would have believed that. He's beautiful. And he has the most beautiful facial expressions, too, pain and joy and wonder and all of them beautiful. I'm still in a bit of awe.
Something Else: Leigh and I really and truly are friends again. Any doubts I had remaining are now gone. I wipe my metaphorical brow of metaphorical sweat. Phew.
Something Downright Scary: Last night my bird went into some sort of weird state that I'd never seen before. We had gotten him out of the house because it was reeking of fumes from the new finish on the floor and we figured he was more a canary than a coal miner, and had put him in the motor home out on the street. When I got him out of the motor home several hours later, he didn't wake up. He's always been an incredibly light sleeper; the slightest sound or motion usually causes him to chirp and open his eyes. Last night he didn't wake up until we were halfway back to the house, and then he panicked. He's always panicking, for any change, it was no concern. But when I tried to get him out of his small cage and back into the big one, I saw that he wasn't moving normally. He wasn't spazzing like one thinks of a seizure victim doing, or any such, but it was clear that he was not in full control of his limbs. Eventually we ended up with him standing dazedly on my bed and me kneeling on the floor with my face close to him, talking softly, saying, 'Buddy, are you okay? You going to be okay? Blink for me? Can you blink?' He did blink, but it was not until several blinks had passed that he seemed to see me. Then he fluffed up his feathers, took a step, and all seemed to have returned to normal. But between the time I realised that something was wrong and the time something stopped being wrong, I was terrified. I can't lose that bird. He's a part of me. I can scarcely remember my life before he joined it. We've been together thirteen or fourteen years. He's come close to dying before - when a door shut on him and left him permanently crippled, when the dog jumped on him and scraped him against the ground - but those happened quickly, leaving no time for fear, and despite all the blood it was clear that he would survive if quick action were taken. Last night I was afraid he would just die, right there in my hands. But he didn't. The relief is profound. And life goes on as ever.