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So many dreams, so many… Like being crushed by them, but so beautiful… Redefining the world and redefining myself, endlessly… So cold, so dark… But must never lose this…
Two of Witches
Queen of Hearts
a Dozen Friends
Ah, tonight. Opposite night of my birthday, the night the other fires burn. The skies are full of woodsmoke and the light of the full moon and hundreds upon hundreds of flowers made of stars.
This weekend was full of everything and everyone, and I am immensely grateful to all of you.
Coverage in detail:
- Pizza Hut sucks. Not only did they deliver to the wrong house first of all, but when it did arrive it was cold, burnt and generally rubbishy. And overpriced.
- Starbucks status report: They still charge too much for bad coffee. Shortbread was nice though.
- The British Museum is awesome. The two hours we had to look around in were about enough to rush around a tenth of the place. A full day visit may be required in the near future. Pictures with comed y captions here (warning: some pretty obscure / unfunny jokes). Also, they had a special Pacific Islands exhibit. I felt like whipping out the poi and trying to look like one of the performery people, but I don't think my poor three-beat weave would have impressed them much.
- Bimimbab is weird, and not the nicest thing in the world. Rhiannon's flapjacks were much nicer.
- Wicked is fantastic. Go see it. Despite buying our tickets entirely separately and many days later than everyone else, all ended up sitting within two seats of each other. Also, if I haven't pimped it enough already, go and see Wicked. Really.
- Incidentally, seeing magic effects that normally exist only inside my head or in RPGs done with actual lights on stage is awesome. There's even a bit that looks like the bit before the final hit of Omnislash. It looks even better in RL. Also, 'Defying Gravity' is a hot contender for my favouritest song ever.
- There was Chinatown, and Pocky, and Mokona that people didn't like the taste of.
- In the end we didn't go out to Alexandra Palace to see the fireworks. Instead, we hung around the South Bank for a while, chatting and poiing, and it was awesome nonetheless.
- Despite feeling ill and being dosed up on anything and everything, Saturday night and Sunday weren't all that bad. And, as I finally headed home on Sunday night under the glow of the full moon and the piercing light of starry dandelions bursting in the sky, the world was perfect in all regards but that of leaving Eric behind.
And so, with the first frost crinkling the grass and the heating turned up, the season of wishes became the season of dreams. At times, the world makes it perfectly clear that it is a whole six months from lilac season, and the frost crackles like the land itself is being crushed in an icy grip. Other times, the smell of fires and cooking and inside-in-Winter doesn’t make it all seem that bad after all.
Now, we’ll see which kind of Winter this will be - a season of happy dreams or of shattered dreams?
I’ll go for the former.
Nostalgia, I reflected, was a strange thing indeed. There were a lot of things I missed about my old life, since I moved away. But I had thought it was only the people, and the things I did with those people. It seemed that I was wrong.
As I stared out of the window at the docks that glittered beside the train tracks; saw the familiar shapes of ships and cranes and the old flour mill, nostalgia washed over me. More than that - homesickness.
It was only three years that I had lived in that city, and it was only four months since those years had come to an end. They had, however, been the most formative years of my life. I had changed so much over that time. Friends gained and lost, loves and obsessions created and destroyed, costume parties and late breakfasts, days spent in lectures and nights spent gaming. All of this against the steel-grey skies and the silhouette of the old flour mill.
I was no longer the man I was when I first arrived in that city, but more worrying to me was the thought that I might not even be the same man that I was when I left.
The Hallowe’en party, that beginning of each year, that first real event that cemented in our hearts the hopes of the year to come.
But that time, most of us had travelled far to be at the party. It still symbolised hope for us, but perhaps less intensely. There is and will always be hope for our futures, but the lives we lead together would perhaps grow less intense with our increasing distance.
Still, Hallowe’en came and went. We walked along the roads we used to walk years ago, and we walked across the campus that was once the centre of our lives. I had trouble walking.
Even the pub that had become symbolic of the end of celebrations whilst we all lived there was used that way again. Lunch, card games across the table, a lazy Sunday afternoon that blended into a lazy Sunday evening, until the end.
I left my home to return to - what? My house, my current place of residence, but not the place that felt like home.
No, as I waved goodbye to the ships and the cranes and the old flour mill, I left my home once more. It’s a memory that I can visit, but it is not a memory of home that I can live again.
Hallowe’en was awesome. Thank you, everyone!!
Rant time I’m afraid.
So, I found a flat. A really nice one - pretty big rooms, balcony, nice views, really close to the town centre, and within budget. Eric liked the sound of it too, so I called the agents to pick a time to sign contracts.
Then, I find that if a tenant hasn’t worked for the last 6 months (that’s me, since I graduated in July) they need a guarantor. No problem, I say, I’ll ask my parents. They know that I can afford the place, my mum even saw the sums for herself, so all it’d be is a signature on a piece of paper and they’d never have to worry about it.
They flat-out refused me.
If everywhere requires 6 months of previous employment, I’m pretty much stuffed until mid-January. Eric’s job in Bournemouth starts in a few weeks, so she’d have to move here anyway. I mentioned to my parents that if we didn’t get a flat before then, she’d have to stay at their house with me until we did.
Then, I find out that their offer that Eric could live here whilst we look for a flat was “only temporary”. What the hell do they expect
us to do, live in a cardboard box for two months?
Now I have the twin joys of breaking the news to Eric that we might not be able to get a flat anytime soon after all, and trying to somehow convince the letting agent that we can be trusted enough to allow us to rent (even despite the massive deposit + agents’ fee).
What gets me most about it all is that the agency’s need for a guarantor is obvious - they don’t know me, they have no reason to trust me that I’ll actually pay. My parents’ refusal to be guarantor kind of implies they have just as little trust.
I should have guessed, really =S
EDIT: Hopefully, Eric’s parents will be guarantors for me. Crisis hopefully averted, but there are some problems even with that. Thanks for everyone’s advice and sympathy!
Oh, summer, how quickly you departed…
Now I leave the house for work in the dark of the pre-dawn morning, and only return as the sky grows dark toward dusk again. Autumn is here once more and, though the roses still bloom, the first frost will soon come to lay siege to the land.
There is much to be said for Autumn, and even for Winter, but in the main they are things to be said for those seasons during their brief daytime. During the day, one might write songs about Autumn’s gales or poetry about Winter’s snow. But during the dark nights, as rain batters the windows and the stars no longer shine, I don’t like these seasons at all.
Three whole months until the mornings lighten once more, five until the Spring returns properly, six until the lilac trees bloom again.
I don’t think I’ll ever like this part of the year very much.
The wedding was awesome in so many ways. The whole weekend was, in fact. But now I am ill =S
Wedding photo links follow:
Apologies for the brief posting.
2.25 hours on phone + 1 hour past bedtime + no time for supper = cotton-wool brains
I have on my desk:
- Half a bottle of bad port
- A nearly-full bottle of Blue Charge
- A glass.
So, should I perform the ultimate sin?