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Post by MarianneClaus on Sept 13, 2011 7:12:16 GMT 1
I'm posting this and then I've gotta run to the doctor's.
12
Marcus and I never had much to do with each other in high school. Despite sharing several classes, we were on very different tracks. He was a Physics nerd; I was a Theater geek. Not much overlap.
But now I'm checking my email a year after graduation. He's sent me a message over Facebook. At first it doesn't make sense: why write to me about Mass Effect, why now? Then I remember that I added ME3 to my likes not two days ago and he'd taken notice.
Funny.
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Post by Mister Buch on Sept 13, 2011 17:02:43 GMT 1
14.
-They have that saying, 'an eye for an eye'?
-Yes. I have never liked it.
-Neither have I. It doesn't make sense! It sounds like a business transaction, as if eyes were gold or... fish or something like that. But you see, nobody ever wanted to sell his eye. And it's not returnable. It's broken, and they don't grow back! So no. Not an eye for an eye. You can destroy an eye in revenge, and then what? Huh? He still ruined yours! Break his other one. Then see. That's why we have to do this, oyagi. That's why.
-No.
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Post by Battlechantress on Sept 13, 2011 21:00:31 GMT 1
I feel lousy and haven't gotten around to writing down the one fiction idea that I've had for this month yet, but I'm still in it. I'd post the nonfic but it's not very interesting. Time to lay down again.
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Post by Mister Buch on Sept 13, 2011 22:51:27 GMT 1
I rushed ahead with my next two, just so I can have a couple of days off this.
15.
The kids gave me an easy night, actually. No homework.
Caleb came over immediately after tea and I listened to their videogame while I washed up. Our Daniel won. He's worked out ways to jumpkick over and teleport around those endless 'ha-DOOOO-ken!'s, and beat him with skill. Caleb... isn't trying. He likes letting his friend win, maybe, or he just likes making that funny noise? No idea.
Summer blew-up her day into a full-length Disney Princess cartoon, complete with half-baked moral, and told me the condensed picturebook version at bedtime.
They both seemed happy.
16.
At the crematorium, they're all depressed. That probably sounds very obvious, but. To me it's something special. I didn't realise. They're ALL depressed. They're all fidgeting, all thinking about death. Even the priest. I feel, well, honestly? Great. I know, but. You know?
Everyone in this room feels like me. We're on the same wavelength. Not only that, I have the most experience with this. This is my world they've stepped into. I should comfort them.
And so I glide over to Laura, clicking my fingers and humming like Gomez Addams, and that begins the best night of my life.
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Post by Battlechantress on Sept 15, 2011 5:10:05 GMT 1
One of my dear darling dogs helped herself to a fair chunk of Hawaiian pizza the other night (which she shared with the corgi). That directly inspired the following entry.
14 January 2011
I have come to realize that I live with two very different dogs. Mischief, despite his name, is really only guilty of fairly minor offenses committed mostly in his youth (stealing chili, munching a webcam, shredding a paper towel, having some margarita, that sort of thing). Annie, on the other hand, is the canine equivalent of a criminal mastermind- or at least an aspiring one. Vandalism, reckless behavior, trespassing, disturbing the peace, and theft. Do they have a detention center for delinquent pups out there somewhere? I'm fairly certain that even Cesar Millan would be of no help to us.
--- Oh looky, a fiction entry at long last. Whee. ---
15 September 2011
"How much longer do we have to wait?" I asked Mr. Otteridge.
He clicked his molars as he shuffled through some yellowed parchment. "Let's see," he wheezed. "The current owner seems to be in good health overall, light smoker..." His voice trailed off as he punched a few numbers on an old calculator. "Fifteen more years, at this rate." He looked up and responded to my scowl with, "I'm sorry, but Ol' Mortimer can't be rushed on this sort of thing."
Tess leaned forward and asked, "But the house *will* be ours after that time, yes?"
Mr. Otteridge nodded.
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Post by Mister Buch on Sept 16, 2011 15:41:25 GMT 1
Realy like the last one, BC.
17.
The mighty warrior Kowll strode into the throne room, swinging his greatsword over his head with an inhuman battle cry. People looked.
'So, cowl-head, you have finally reached me!' sneered the evil wizard Sorcorox.
'Stop calling me towel-head,' said the indomitable Kowll. 'This is a cloak. I don't even...'
'No, no. I said "cowl-head".'
'Like my name, or a...?'
'Both. Either. What's the difference?'
'...because my name is "Kowll" with a K. And two L's.'
'Is there? Oh, then, I'm not sure. That is interesting, though. I'll remember that... for your TOMBSTONE!'
And then Kowll stabbed him.
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Post by Battlechantress on Sept 17, 2011 3:43:05 GMT 1
16 September 2011
"Fifteen years," Tess murmured. "It just doesn't seem right. We barely had it for ten as it was. And now... we have to share it with *her*."
Mr. Ottinger nodded sympathetically and coughed once. "There are reports that the economy could take another tumble in the next few months, but beyond that... I'm very sorry. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another client to attend do who is dealing with a terrible medium." With that, he vanished.
It's hard enough sharing a house with one person. It's harder still to do so with someone who's still among the living.
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Post by Battlechantress on Sept 17, 2011 5:13:41 GMT 1
17 September 2011
"So, what's there to do around here?" I asked an old Indian after we'd been given a tour of Grayland Estates.
"I'd say play poker and pop up once in a while to scare the living, but really, the one thing I learned is this: don't let yourself fall into a routine. You see those ghosts on TV, the ones who kept doing the same things over and over again?"
I nodded. Or I tried to. My neck was still broken out here in the Beyond.
"Those are the ones who were too scared to let go. Now they're stuck."
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Post by MarianneClaus on Sept 17, 2011 22:33:03 GMT 1
13
"I'm not so terrible, am I?" he wants to know.
I don't know if I want to know the answer, let alone if he should. Yes, he's a piece of work. He refuses to knock, empties out my frig, reaches over and takes that last piece of chicken off of my plate without asking. He's more of a pet dog than a paramour. More like a cat, since he never shows any remorse. So you might want to ask, why do I keep him around?
I love him, if that's what you're asking.
14
"The main problem with dating other actors is that you can never tell what's real."
"And why is that?"
The ice chinks against the glass as she sets down the brandy and leans forward onto her elbows, eyes fixed on mine over the top of her rhinestone embellished glasses. "Say you're playing Ophelia to his Hamlet or Blanche to his Stanley. Actors are supposed to get all mixed up with their character's emotions. You can't help wondering if it's Hamlet kissing you when you're alone or if its the man underneath the mask."
--------------------
Ack, I'm so behind! And I'm not crazy about that last one but at least its done.
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Post by Mister Buch on Sept 18, 2011 3:28:06 GMT 1
I liked that last one! My immediate reaction was, 'kissing Hamlet ought to be fun, surely?' I'm sure that says a lot about me.
But I think I know the feeling, Marianne. I've felt like I was rushing most of mine this month.
18.
Pashing is still a little embarrassing. One day I'll be comfortable enough to just get stuck in. Just easy intimacy and physical pleasure.
But not today. I angle my neck and make the face, and finally we start.
And it's good. He's great. Without meaning to, I make a -- a 'moan', a book would call it? A mewl really. A high-pitched, chauvinist, female whine, like surrender. Indulgence. A hateful, little-girl thing, as if saying, "Oooh, go ON then!" But we share the rush from it. One fucking day.
I climb on top and he laughs, as if assenting.
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Post by MarianneClaus on Sept 18, 2011 5:27:51 GMT 1
I think I know what you mean when you say kissing Hamlet would be fun. I've always wanted to play Ophelia just to see what it's like. Though I don't think she actually kisses him in the play. Shame.
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Post by Mister Buch on Sept 18, 2011 18:06:38 GMT 1
Hamlet is like a celebrity, right? xD
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Post by Battlechantress on Sept 19, 2011 3:55:49 GMT 1
18 September 2011
I decided that the rules of the Beyond were a lot like those among the living. Obvious exceptions abound of course. But the main one was not to get attached to anything; you definitely couldn't take anything with you once you reached your end. Pity. I liked the old cat.
Tess still worried about the house. Could she get stuck here? I thought about contacting Mr. Ottinger about that, or rather I had planned to until I saw the new tenant applying makeup in the bathroom mirror. I got a little more nervous with each application of blush and powder.
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Post by Battlechantress on Sept 20, 2011 1:35:07 GMT 1
I have surprise company arriving in about a half hour, so I cranked out a nonfic entry and mashed the "Submit" button.
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Post by Mister Buch on Sept 20, 2011 12:51:30 GMT 1
19.
I'm a teenager. I hate being a teenager. I hate wanting posters on the wall. I hate that every few months my tastes change radically and I suddenly hate all my posters. I hate all the girls in my class and I hate all the lads except Gary and kind of Ryan and maybe Nick. I hate not knowing anything and I hate being forced to learn. And not being taken seriously. Teenagers have swollen, heavy, pink hands and feet and heads, like cartoon characters. Ever heard of a teenage musician? Justin Bieber, yeah, hate him. We're born laughing stocks.
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