trinsy: (physics)
  • Do you think J.K. Rowling planned from the beginning for Scabbers to be Pettigrew? I mean, I know she had the whole thing really well planned out, but it's just so out of the blue. Like, Scabbers is chilling boringly for two whole books, and then all of a sudden he's actually the man who betrayed Harry's family? It's amazing how invisible she kept it, that's all I'm saying.
  • I'm pretty sure my prof ships Sirius/Remus. If it were possible to love him more than I already did, I would.
  • Prof (who is French and has the thickest French accent ever): "Sirius is my DAWG!" *gangster hands*
    Oh my god!
  • Hey, kids, don't drink a whole bottle of water right before a two-hour class, okay?
  • Seriously, don't.
  • My prof claims that someone at the University of Connecticut constructed a working time machine. Is that true? He said it only moves time a fraction of a second, so I'm confused about how they'd prove that it works. But, I mean, my prof is brilliant, so I believe him. Kind of.
trinsy: (I came back)
We are not our parents. We live in a different world - one where college degrees are common, jobs rare, and marriage optional. One where there's not as much pressure to stick to one path for the rest of your life. One where you aren't necessarily expected to be married and popping out kids by the time you're twenty-four. One that is a bit less limited and a whole lot scarier. We are not our parents. We can't be, and we need to stop trying.

I keep having to remind myself of that. I've got one semester of college to go, and I'm terrified. When my mom was my age, she was married and had a career path in mind and knew what she wanted to do with her life. And you know what? I don't know what I want to do with my life. I haven't got a clue, and even if I did, I haven't got a shot at a career with my current qualifications (or lack thereof), and I couldn't be further from marriage if I joined a nunnery. And everyone tells me this is fine, I'm young and it's good to have my options open. The world is my oyster. I can do anything I want, have anything I want.

You know what I want right now? Stability. Security. I want to go to bed at night with the assurance that I won't spend the rest of my life living hand-to-mouth in some studio apartment working a minimum wage job. Sure, it's nice that I have "options", except that isn't one of them. I don't have a guarantee of anything: career, job, family, house, nothing! If the world is my oyster, it's one that's keeping tightly shut. I'm secretly an optimist, so I'm about 90% sure there's a pearl in there somewhere (on a good day; on a bad day I'm convinced there's nothing but sand), but I don't know what it looks like or how to get it. I'm scared and directionless and you know what? Sometimes I wish I lived in the world of my parents, because maybe if there'd been more pressure on me to find some direction at this point in my life, I'd have worked harder and discovered something I could do for the rest of my life, even if it didn't make me completely happy.

That's the problem with our world, really. We've been conditioned to reject anything that won't make us happy. I know I couldn't live with myself if I ever settled for less. But honestly? Sometimes I wish I could. Sometimes I wish I could settle, because frankly, I haven't been happy for twenty years. I know I can deal with that. And maybe it'd be okay if I were suffering for my passions, but I'm not. I don't even know what my passions are! I don't even know if I have any! But I've been conditioned to not betray them, even if they only exist in theory, so I'm unhappy and directionless and passionless and poor and terrified, and I can't even guarantee I'll get anything out of it.
trinsy: (physics)
So finals? Actually going a lot better than I would expect, all things considered. I mean, I already have two out of four papers written, which for me is pretty amazing. All credit, of course, is due to my amazing and awesome roommate, who dragged me to Starbucks and wouldn't stop giving me disappointed looks until I cracked and actually started doing homework. What did I ever do without her, seriously?

Of course, I also spent an hour today that I was supposed to be working on a paper writing fanfic. Because of course I can never be inspired when I have plenty of leisure time, but only during the most stressful times of the school year, like midterms and finals. I really like what I wrote, though, only it's from Ron's POV, and I've never written him before (I generally stay from Trio fics in general because there's so much canon stuff), and I'm worried I've made him too introspective. But it is set a good few years after he's had kids, so I figure it's not that much of a stretch. At least, I hope so. And come 12:30 Thursday, I will be FREE for three whole weeks, and I'll be able to fine tune it and stuff. So now I just need to survive until then.
trinsy: (home)
The reason I will probably never do anything practical or concretely useful with my life, but my friends will with theirs:

I don't like American comedians. Okay, that's a lie, I do like John Stewart for reasons I can't even explain to myself. He's the exception though. I don't find Dane Cook and his ilk funny at all. I like American comedic actors, but Americans standing around monologuing? Not so much. I prefer British humour. Generally it's subtler and more intelligent and makes you think for your laugh. I like that.

I don't like realistic fiction either. I prefer fantasy and sci-fi, and I think it's for the same reason: they're subtler. People don't get that because people aren't looking, and I suppose that's really the point. That's what makes the beauty of fantasy/sci-fi so subtle.

I hate telling people Doctor Who is about an alien who travels through Space and Time in his time machine spaceship because that's so not what Doctor Who is about. That's the premise, but that's not what it's about, any more than Harry Potter is about a boy who lives in a cupboard under his aunt and uncle's stairs for ten years before finding out he's a wizard. They're both about life, far more than any realistic book or show I've ever read or seen, and I think there's a reason the fantasy/sci-fi genre is actually more conducive to portraying life realistically than realism.

See, if we're being honest, real life is incredibly boring. Fiction can't be. So to make it interesting, realistic fiction has to throw in sex scandals and pregnancy and affairs and family feuds and murders and mysterious fires and kidnapping and any number of other things that yes, happen in real life, but almost never all to the same person or group of people, and never in the space of about three months.

But fantasy/sci-fi doesn't need that sort of thing to be interesting, because it's got wizards and aliens and evil emperors bent on destroying the world as we know it. Which means the characters can focus on acting and reacting and thinking and feeling like normal people instead of worrying that their girlfriend's best friend's boyfriend's best friend's girlfriend, who has been ostracized by her family for dating said girlfriend's best friend's boyfriend's best friend since their families have been feuding for ages, is going to take revenge on them for that thing they did to her family so she can be accepted by her family again. Because you really can't deal with things that are real if you're supposed to be dealing with things that are real. Aliens, however, make a nice backdrop (and sometimes frontdrop) to hold the viewer's interest, so the characters deal with pain and love and loss and sacrifice without straying into melodrama and ridiculousness.

You can see that and get that and live and love and feel with the characters if you're looking for it. If you're not, then yeah, it's just a semi-interesting story about aliens and magic and whatever else.

That's why I have a totally impractical major. That's why all my friends have jobs lined up for next year and I don't. That's why they'll all make perfectly acceptable adults and I won't. That's why there is a huge part of me they affectionately tolerate but will never understand.

Because that's how I see the world: Subtle.

It's more than charts and numbers and anatomy. More than rent and groceries and a paycheck. More than getting married and having kids because that's what you do. It's just more.

I never thought life was perfect. My imaginary friend and I used to fight all the time, and if that doesn't sum up my life, I don't know what does. But I've always known there's more than meets the eye.

That's why I want more out of life than just getting a job and settling down and having kids, more than the white picket fence, more than the American dream. I want more, but the frustrating thing is that I have no idea what that looks like outside the TARDIS and Hogwarts and Narnia and Middle Earth. So I'm just this fantasy/sci-fi geek with no practical skills and no future because I don't know how to live in the confines of face-value reality.
trinsy: (bovvered)
Argh, I am so fucking frustrated right now!

See, I have to write this research paper on Jane Eyre. Which is fine, whatever, because there are actually a ton of resources on Jane Eyre, except none of them are about what I want to write about and I don't actually agree with any of them. Because I really don't care what a bunch of academics say, Jane Eyre isn't a feminist novel, it's a stupid story about stupid people being stupid about the stupid problems they have because they're stupid! That's how I feel, and no number of articles arguing otherwise is going to change my mind.

Okay, so Jane refuses to be Rochester's mistress. Bully for her. You know, he's only tried to trick her into bigamy because, to paraphrase, "I knew if I told you the truth, you wouldn't marry me, and I wanted to marry you because I love you so much, so I didn't tell you the truth, but now that it's come out accidentally, even though I tried to trick you into doing something I knew you wouldn't want to do, will you be my mistress anyway?" And then when she refuses, he physically assaults her. Yeah, I can't imagine why she runs away from him after that. </ sarcasm>

Having said that, when she does run away, she does it in the most idiotic way possible. Yeah, I get that she doesn't have time to contact her uncle or gather money or whatever, but at least take your jewelry to hock along the way. My god, woman, do you have any idea how to be fugitive? What the hell is your plan?

And then - and then - she finds these long lost cousins (and let's not even get into how convenient that is) and her guy cousin is a total controlling asshole, and she lets him control her. "Oh, I want to learn German but you want me to learn Hindustani even though that will be of absolutely no use to me in the life I've planned for myself? Guess I'll learn Hindustani then." Wow, what a strong, independent woman! </ sarcasm> And the only reason she doesn't give in to said asshole cousin's demand that she marry him and become a missionary with him (and in the proposal he not only insults her in every possible manner but attempts to emotionally blackmail her by telling her she'll be damned to hell if she doesn't do what he says)? Because she hears the voice of Rochester! That's right, she doesn't give in to one manipulative bastard because the hold of another is stronger! Hurrah for women being able to think for themselves! (And that's not even talking about how afterward she hopes her bastard cousin will forgive her, even though she has nothing to be forgiven for and he should be the one begging her for forgiveness!)

And then she goes back to Rochester and immediately starts back into referring to him, even in her head, as her "master", which is way creepy, and he's all, "Why did you run away? I know I said I would break you in half if you didn't comply with my demands, but I only said it because I'm so in love with you! Of course I would never hurt you (even though I totally did)! I was so worried about you! Why didn't you just trust me?!?!" Oh gee, I can't imagine! Maybe because you tried to trick her into bigamy? I mean, just possibly. Also, great, so in real life, Rochester is totally the guy who beats his wife and then cries about it and blames it on her. Awesome. Yeah, this one epic love story right here! </ sarcasm>

And you know what? I get it. I get that it's fiction, which means when Rochester says he's reformed, he probably has. But in real life, that doesn't happen. In real life, Rochester is so very much the guy you don't want to date. I can make that distinction, but a lot of people can't, and it disturbs me. It's what disturbs me about Twilight and The Notebook and a lot of other "Epic Love Stories" that in real life would be very bad news. And it's why I have a problem with Jane Eyre being held up as this paragon of feminism when in real life we'd probably be trying to get her into counseling for Battered Wife Syndrome ASAP.

But the most frustrating part is that I can't write any of that for my research paper because I can't find any research that fucking agrees with me! Because everyone thinks Jane Eyre is this amazing feminist declaration. And you know what? It isn't!
trinsy: (are you my mummy?)
This is why I need internet at my house:

Roommate: "Hey, want to go to Starbucks to do homework?"
Me: "Sure."


My brain: "OMG, we're at Starbucks! I must do all my fandom-related things now because who knows if I will ever get internet again! Do I need to download anything? How many more tabs of fanfic do I need to open? I hope Safari doesn't crash on me when I get home! INTERNET!!!!"

Never mind that I have semi-reliable, fast internet at school. I have been conditioned to associate Starbucks with INTERNETFINALLYIMUSTDOEVERYTHINGNOWOMG! This is totally the most unproductive thing I've done all school year. Smells good here, though.
trinsy: (I can see that)
I've figured out why I hate Jane Eyre. Or rather, I've figured out why I hate Jane Eyre so much more than my classmates. In fact, I think I've figured out why people think I hate men.

See here's the issue:

I've never liked Cinderella. I mean, I've NEVER liked Cinderella. As in, even as a four-year-old kid I hated it. I hated it because I didn't understand it. I didn't understand why Cinderella was such a doormat. I didn't understand why she let her stepmother enslave her. The only version of the Cinderella story I genuinely like is Ella Enchanted (the book, not the film, obviously) because that actually makes sense.

This is my problem. This has always been my problem. I don't understand how slavery works. As in, I learned about the events leading up to the Civil War back in fifth grade, and I didn't understand why, if there were so many more slaves than plantation owners, the slaves didn't just burn down the owner's house or something.

The same goes for Stockholm and Battered Wife Syndromes. I mean, I'm educated, okay? Intellectually, I understand the psychology behind all of those things. But I still don't get it. I don't think I'll ever get it.

Guilt trips, emotional blackmail, reverse psychology, peer pressure -- they all don't work on me. Not really. It's like, whatever part of the brain it is that causes people to act and react in these twisted ways is disconnected in me. It doesn't work. I just don't get it.

It's like when I was a kid and my parents split up and people would say to me, "You know it's not your fault, right?" And I'd be like, "Duh! Why would it be? I wasn't married to them." And I always felt like kids who did think their parents' divorce was their fault were stupid.

And that's the problem with Jane Eyre. I think she's stupid. The End. Yes, she's starved for love, and yes, Rochester is the first man she's really ever met (who counts, I mean), and yes, she's constricted by her time and class and whatever, I don't care, she's still a MORON! Intellectually, yes, I know why she does the things she does. But I still don't get it. It makes no sense to me.

I cannot comprehend letting someone treat you that way. I cannot comprehend allowing someone to make you feel that way. I literally cannot comprehend it. I just can't wrap my mind around it all. It doesn't make sense to me.

And to people who think this is some backlash from my dad or whatever: Guess what? It's not. Because I've always hated Cinderella. It has nothing to do with being angry or hating men or anything like that. It's just that a part of my brain doesn't work (or a part of my brain actually does?).

And you know what? I'm perfectly okay with that.
trinsy: (bovvered)
Dear "James",

I am not going to go to graduate school for literature. In fact, I am probably not going to go to graduate school at all. I am therefore not interested in simulating it in the "microcosm" of your undergraduate course.

Also, I still don't want to call you by your first name. It's weird.

Please look into this,


In other news, I successfully solidified my standing as a total nerd in my Medieval class today by accidentally showing that yes, I get passionate about gender issues, but if you really want to get me excited, tie our reading back to Harry Potter. Apparently this will cause me to grin at you for five minutes like a very, very creepy moron. Er, sorry about that, classmates.

Also, I'm pretty sure my Women Writers professor is like, "WTF, what happened to you?" at me, because last semester I was super quiet in her class and when I did speak I was a total moron (I was, I never had a clue what was going on, I winged [wung?] that whole class), and now I'm all passionate and all, "Mr. Rochester is a jerk, and Jane needs to either go for it or get over it, and I don't feel bad for people with that much self-loathing, so there." I mean, I think she likes it, but I'm pretty sure she also thinks I must have changed dramatically over the summer. Which I didn't, really. I just actually care about her class now, that's all.
trinsy: (are you my mummy?)
  • Wooden bar makes climbing onto my roommate's slightly lower bed in order to more easily get off my own raised bed not as practical as I'd hoped.
  • Toilet clogged Wednesday night after making strange whistling/grinding sounds all week every time we flushed. Asked roommate who works at the Physical Plant to get someone to look at toilet for us. Apparently someone stopped by while I was in class yesterday. The toilet no longer makes noise, plus we now have a new toilet seat and showerhead which has really amazing water pressure. Slightly perplexed by the added bonuses, but definitely not complaining.
  • It's been hot all week, so I don't know why it only just now occurred to me to turn my fans on high.
  • Apparently the guys in the apartment across the alley want us to "wave and be more friendly and neighborly". Okay then.
  • I think I've done more homework in the past week then I did the entire time I studied abroad/the entire second semester of my freshman year. And it will only get worse. Christmas can't come soon enough. I already want to die.
  • Having a roommate with the same morning schedule sucks far more than I could have imagined.
  • I think VLC media player makes my computer run slowly, which sucks since I use it all the time.
  • I hate how I have to do laundry more often in the summer because I sweat more.
  • Every time I come back from class, I always start going to my old apartment. Conditioning is crazy!
  • I have this overwhelming urge to write Albus Severus/Scorpius fanfic, but absolutely no ideas for a plot, so ... I guess I won't be doing that.
  • Why is it that I can happily read fifty tabs of fanfic, but fifty pages in a novel for class and I want to kill myself?
  • On that note, I would fucking ACE a class on fanfic! Someone seriously needs to create that course. It could be like a media/lit/writing course, where you would read selected fics and discuss their merit and what makes it good or bad, and talk about AUs and why people write them and what we can learn from them and stuff, and then you'd connect it to the culture at large and the connections people make in fics, and then at the end instead of a term paper you'd just write your own fanfic and then your classmates would evaluate it based on what you learned in class. Okay, seriously, wouldn't that be awesome? You know you'd take that course!
  • Actually, someone just needs to start like 'Fandom University' or something, because then maybe school wouldn't suck so much for people like me. I mean, I'd actually have stuff to say in class if we were watching Doctor Who, you know? Intelligent, academic things to say too, because I actually have thoughts like that about it. Whereas I don't fucking care about post-colonial literature so I'm not fucking looking to see if water is a fucking motif because I'm just trying to finish the fucking book so I can read the other fucking book for my other fucking lit class so I can write the fucking analysis about fucking connections I'm making the fuck up because I don't actually fucking see any because I don't actually fucking care! See, school is clearly bad for my blood pressure. Fandom never makes me this profane (with the exception of The-Miniseries-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named which totally doesn't count because that was out of PASSION not PASSIONATE INDIFFERENCE).
  • Why the hell am I a Lit major again?
  • I went for a walk this morning before class. That was cool. I wonder if I actually have the willpower to do it every M/W/F. I hope so, because I liked it.
  • I sort of wonder if I will ever get over my newfound passionate love of Kirk/Bones. I mean, I'm sure I will, but it's really hard to imagine at this point.
  • Also, it's really weird, because I really feel like I'm a lot like Jim in AOS (I'm totally Spock in TOS, there is not question), but then I came back to school, and I realized that my roommate and I are totally AOS!Jim and Bones (except that we're not in love): she's outwardly cocky and happy-go-lucky and rash, but I'm one of the only people who she lets see the more serious, fucked up side of her, and people think she's a slut but I know better; and I'm cynical and tough and practical and sarcastic, and she's always getting me to get outside my comfort zone and do things I normally wouldn't do and have fun, and I'm always stopping her from doing things that are really stupid. It's actually kind of crazy how accurate that analogy is. I still think there's a huge part of me that's like AOS!Jim, though.
  • I'm really excited about the new seasons of Merlin and The Sarah Jane Adventures. I mean, I have no idea when I'll actually have time to watch them, but I will make time, damn it! Merlin/Arthur = OTP! And one story in SJA features Ten[nant]!
  • I actually miss my family a lot more than I thought I would. I mean, I knew I would, but I just didn't expect coming back to school do be so damn hard.
trinsy: (physics)
  • First, you should have two suitcases: one for clothes, one for toiletries.  This way, if one of your suitcases is lost, either you or your clothes will be clean.  Come on, you can't have it all.  Exception: Deodorant should go in the suitcase with clothes so that you can keep them clean should you lose your toiletries.  You won't really be needing it if you're wearing two-day-old clothes anyway.
  • Pull all your shirts out of your closet, hangers and all, and lay them on your bed.  Remove hangers.  Fold stack of shirts over once, and drop them into open suitcase.
  • Drop pants, shorts, and pajamas on top of these.
  • Shove underwear, socks, and any shirts or other clothing items you missed initially into any free spaces you find.
  • Do not, under any circumstances, fold your clothes in anything resembling a civilized manner.  Folding clothes is for losers.  You don't want to be a loser, do you?
  • Put all toiletries in plastic grocery bag.  Tie closed.  Drop into other suitcase.
  • Repeat process with any extra pairs of shoes.
  • Neither your clothing nor your toiletries need to be easy to access in the event that you might actually need to use them before unpacking.  In fact, if getting a change of clothes is easy, you're probably doing it wrong.
  • Pray that neither suitcase weighs more than fifty pounds.
  • Depart.

trinsy: (home)
We had my step-dad’s nephew, wife, and kids over today, and it was so strange because even though the task of entertaining the kids fell to me after dinner, really, I was one of the adults. I was part of the adult conversation, I understood the adult conversation, and afterward the girl was telling me all about the trials that come with being in fourth grade and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was all so simplistic, so idealistic, so entirely naïve and wrong about the way the world works: wanting to get out of school as soon as possible, and thinking growing up will solve all your problems, and being most worried about having to pay taxes of all things! And I just listened to her, and thought wasn’t that me just yesterday?, and how did this happen?

But the strangest thing was that even as I looked at her and thought, You have no idea how good you have it: enjoy it, enjoy it, enjoy it! I knew that I wouldn’t really go back to that age if I could. There is beauty in the innocence of childhood, but I’m beginning to recognize that there is also beauty in the … awareness that comes with being an adult. Understanding now what I couldn’t understand then, finally appreciating the things they told me: don’t grow up too fast, don’t crave the responsibility, live in the moment, enjoy it while it lasts. There is a beauty in wanting to go back that you could never experience if you’d stayed.

I liked being seventeen. I sort of understood all this, a little, enough, enough to feel the ache of loss that is so terrible and so beautiful, and yet the remnants of childhood still clung to me, barely, just barely, gifting me with flashes of innocent hope, letting me believe for just a little longer that things would be all right in the end.

I wonder when you stop trying to hurl yourself forward and start wanting to go back. I wonder if you grow up the day you stop wanting to grow up. Maybe Peter Pan is the most grown up of us all. He knows that one thing other children don’t, even if he doesn’t fully understand it: to grow up is the least desirable thing of all.

Only it’s not, really. The pain of childhood is simple, straightforward: it hurts, and that’s all it does, and that’s all you understand. The pain of adulthood is a complicated, twisted, terrible, beautiful ache: it’s the good kind of pain, the best kind, shattering you and piecing you back together again, and even when it hurts you know, on some fundamental level, that it’s what you need.

There’s a reason adults cry during movies, a reason kids can never understand. We cry because we must. We cry because we know now what we didn’t know, what they don’t know, what they one day will know. We cry because sometimes beauty is so painful and pain so beautiful.

I cry because my life is one twisted, awful, beautiful, terrible, gorgeous, horrific, magnificent, fucked up mess, and when my heart is torn open and my soul laid bare, I know I wouldn’t really change a thing.
trinsy: (I can see that)
So yeah, finally saw Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince yesterday. I actually didn't hate it. It was pretty good for a Harry Potter film (because the Harry Potter films are not the same as regular films -- they're not Lord of the Rings or Pirates of the Caribbean, and they never will be, and I think a lot of the problems in the films stem from the filmmakers not realizing this). I mean, every film the cast is always like, "Oh, this one is so funny!" and then you see it and the humor is totally lame and it's kind of a letdown. But this time it actually was funny, and not just because some of the lovelorn angst scenes were unintentionally hilarious, but the scenes that were meant to be funny were also funny! It was such a pleasant surprise!

Spoilers, spoilers, spoilers! )

The weirdest thing about seeing this movie, though, is that it made me realize how much I don't care anymore. And yes, I just wrote a ton of crap for someone who "doesn't care", but I'm usually such a nazi and I was just so incredibly forgiving of stuff this time. I guess I'm growing out of my Harry Potter phase? I don't know. It's been a huge part of my life for so long, and I think the weirdest, scariest thing is that it feels so natural not to care.
trinsy: (bovvered)
So the a week ago Thursday, my mom mentioned that the next thing she wanted to "do" to the house was get some ceiling fans for the bedrooms, specifically mine, which is the hottest room in the entire house (and yes, I've been kicking myself for that ever since we moved here). But whatever, the point is that the way she said it implied that it might not happen for a while, possibly not until next year, and she was just mentioning it in passing.

By Saturday morning, however, this passing whim has somehow transformed into us needing ceiling fans RIGHT NOW, and so she dragged my sister and me to Home Depot to buy some ceiling fans. This is when we discovered that Home Depot charges a $100 per fan installation fee, and my mom was like, "Screw that, we can totally put them in ourselves!" I pointed out that when my dad installed a ceiling fan in my parents' room back when I was a kid, it took him like, two days and a lot of fake swearing, which didn't seem to bode well for us. My mom explained that this was because my dad had also had to install the wiring in their room, but our rooms already have wiring, so it would be SO MUCH EASIER and we could TOTALLY DO IT. Which I knew was a total lie, but I also knew that my mom was never going to fork over $300 dollars to have some professional do something that she was convinced she could do herself. Plus, I like to think of this as proof that she hasn't turned into a totally useless housewife quite yet, and that's cool. (It could also just be proof that she's getting just as tightfisted and stupidly stubborn about money as my grandpa, but the other one is more positive, so we're going with it.)

Anyway, it was supposed to be cooler on Wednesday, and since you have to turn of the electricity to install these sorts of things and that means no AC, we decided to install them Wednesday morning, starting with my sister's room/the TV room, which is the smallest and second-hottest room in the house, so we figured it would be the best one to test with. Admittedly, it did not take two days to install the first fan, but it still took four and a half hours, a panic attack (from me, I don't like heights, especially ladders, OKAY?), and wiring complications (because who needs men when you have women to not read directions and fuck things up?) that could totally have been avoided if people had just listened to me. Then my mom had to go to work, and we decided that doing all the fans in one day had been overly optimistic, and we'd do the other two later in the week. We were proud of ourselves, and all was well, though personally I still think we could all have been saved some physical and mental distress if we'd just payed the hundred bucks to have someone do it for us, but what do I know? (I also had to spend that whole evening getting advice from my mom and step-dad about all the different careers I could have with my "mechanically-inclined mind" because apparently being able to read directions in an instruction manual {that is totally written for morons because those are the only people who would think to install these things themselves} makes you totally qualified to fly fighter planes or whatever. Look, I don't even know.)

Owing to everyone's schedules, we didn't get around to installing the other fans until this morning. My mom was at work, so my sisters and I (really just my sisters, because after spending most of Wednesday afternoon shaking, I have concluded that it's better for everyone {read: me} if I never get on a ladder again) set to work installing the fan in my room. Aside from some issues with a screw, it went way more smoothly and quickly than the first one, and we were all congratulating each other proudly when we turned the electricity back on.

Which is when we discovered that the fan DIDN'T WORK. Which, you know, totally would happen to me.

Several hours and phone calls later, my mom and sister have tried everything they can think of (including "soldering" something or something? I don't know, me and my mechanical mind have no idea what was going on up there), and I'm sitting in my sauna of a bedroom that not only doesn't have a working ceiling fan but now also doesn't have a working light. Because, you know, we tore it out. To install the ceiling fan. Which doesn't work. Which totally would happen to me.

To top it off, my mom and sisters installed the third fan in like, half an hour, and it's happily twirling away.

I hate my life.
trinsy: (hug)
 So, I just finished my last final and am officially a university senior.

It's horrible.  I don't want to be at all.  I want to be a freshman again, when everything was new and exciting, and school seemed hard but actually wasn't.  Or maybe a sophomore, when I was comfortable and experienced, but graduation was still far enough away that I didn't have to worry about anything bigger than a World Civ exam.  I don't want to be a junior again, because that's when reality starts hitting.  But the first two years ... those were good.

I had a friend in high school who did her freshman year twice.  She didn't fail or anything, she just switched schools after freshman year and decided to start from the beginning again.  I thought she was crazy, doing an extra year of school she didn't have to, but now I know better.  I skipped a grade, and now I wish I hadn't.  She did one more year of school, and I did one less, and now I know she had the right idea.  Because she'll graduate when she's nearly twenty-three, but I won't even be twenty-one.  We'll be in the same life place, but she'll have delayed it two more years than I managed to; she got to hold onto childhood two years longer.  She was right, and I wasn't.

I remember when nineteen seemed so old.  I remember when being a senior in college seemed so old.  It still seems so old.  It's old, and I'm not, and that's the terrible truth of it.  I'm not ready to be an adult.  I've never been ready to be an adult.  I'm not sure if I'll ever be ready to be an adult.

I used to imagine this time in my life.  I never imagined further than graduation, because I didn't know then what I'd want to do, but I always imagined that by this time I would, and I'd be able to project myself further into the future than the cap and gown.

Well, I'm at this time in my life now, and I still can't project myself further than graduation.  It's still the same vast, frightening, unknown blank it's always been.  After graduation, it ends.  After graduation, I die, and I mean that in every sense of the word.  I can see nothing after graduation, literally nothing.  Nowhere I want to be, nothing I want to do, no one I want to be with, and I've always said I wasn't meant to be a student, but the frightening thing is that it seems that maybe I wasn't meant to be anything.

I literally cannot imagine one day beyond graduation.  Not even a single day.  There's graduation, then there's nothing.  I may as well be dead.

And yeah, I've still got a year to figure it out, but the years that used to stretch infinitesimally before me have all squeezed themselves into yesterday, and time has become so fleeting.  I may as well have a week for all the good fifty-two will do me.

I just ... I feel like I should be happy, but I'm not.  I'm just scared.
trinsy: (I'm always all right)
Sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m so insistent that being single doesn’t mean you’re less of a person because I subconsciously know I’ll probably end up single, and it’s easier to convince others – to convince myself – that that’s okay now. I hate myself for thinking that, but … I don’t know. To be known so completely by someone else. It’s not what marriage means, but it is what a relationship means, or should mean, or was meant to mean. I want that more than I want marriage and everything that entails, I think. To be known; to be validated. To not have to hide any part of myself, to not have to pretend. And that’s not what happens in a relationship, really. Relationships are compromise.

Well, I’m tired of compromising. I’m so, so tired. Tired of giving up little pieces of my soul every time I’m not alone. Tired of being stubborn, of waiting for the world to give me what I deserve, of thinking the world owes me something, when it doesn’t, really, nothing that I didn’t give it willingly, anyway, because I was four and stupid and thought that’s what it wanted. It’s funny, that, a decision you made at four haunting you into your twenties, practically (probably). It’s funny too, you get into college and people start telling you that “the decisions you make now will affect the rest of your life”, and I can’t help wondering why people weren’t telling me that at four, that the person I chose to be in public at four would be the person I had to be in public for the rest of my childhood, for the rest of my life, probably. Set down the neurological pathways, or whatever they call it. The cycle’s gone on too long, runs too deep, can’t be changed. Some habits are impossible to break, and if you choose to be who you think people want you to be when you’re four, you’ll always have to change for people; or, alternatively, the backlash will come, and you’ll be in your teens and hate people, hate them for doing this to you, for making you think at four, when you didn’t (couldn’t) know any better, that being yourself around people wasn’t okay, that it never would be. They don’t tell you to be yourself at four, not until you’re older and it’s too late, and they don’t mean it then, anyway, not really. They mean don’t be stupid, don’t be who the bad kids say “yourself” is. And you don’t know who “yourself” is anymore anyway, because you lost that at four when you changed.

And just … where did I learn that? Where did I learn that being myself wasn’t okay? How did I know, at four, that people will always want you to be someone you’re not? Tuck away your real thoughts and feelings in a corner of your brain, only visit it when you’re alone, live in your head and talk to those imaginary people in the bathroom because that’s one of the only places you’re alone and thus safe. It makes me wonder, really, how many people are just wearing personas, how different the people you interact with are from the people they are in their heads. You can touch a heart, fine, it’s just an organ, albeit an important one. But to hold someone’s brain.… That’s where they live, that’s where the true person is, and the heart swells and breaks in a firing of neurons, if you really get down to it. Hold someone’s brain? You might as well hold their soul.

My grandma had surgery and suffered some minor brain damage, lost a bunch of inhibitors, and it’s like she had this complete personality transplant. But sometimes she says something and I just sort of think … I can’t help but wonder if that’s who she actually is, you know? If maybe she’s become the person she kept tucked away in her head for seventy-five years. Like, there is the person everyone knows as me, and then there is actually me, the me I keep in my head, the me I know. And I can’t help but wonder if I suffered the same brain damage as my grandma, if I would become a completely different person, or if people would think I’d become a completely different person but I would actually become myself. Like maybe the person I present to the world would actually be the person I am inside, if that makes any sense at all.

Now I’m just rambling, and this went in a completely different direction than I intended it to go, so I’ll just wrap it up for now.

trinsy: (doctor/jack)
Why I Hate Romantic Movies
(and why that doesn’t mean I hate love)

Last night, my friends were going to watch the movie Serendipity, and I said, “Oh, is that the dumb movie where she writes her name in a book or something, and is all like, ‘Let Fate decide’?” All my friends gasped and said, “It isn’t stupid!” Then one of my friends said, “Gosh, you don’t like Serendipity, you don’t like The Notebook … why do you hate love?”

“I don’t hate love,” I replied, “which is exactly why I hate romantic movies.”

My friends laughed. “That makes no sense! Way to contradict yourself!”

“I didn’t contradict myself,” I said. “Romantic movies don’t show love. Love is better than that.”

I believe real love is better than its Hollywood imitation. Real love doesn’t involve stalking or pining or obsession or petty jealousies or control. Love is better than that.

Loving someone doesn’t mean never letting them out of your sight (see: Twilight: Cullen, Edward). It doesn’t mean drinking yourself into oblivion for seven years after you’ve broken up (see: The Notebook: guy whose name I cannot be bothered to look up, the main). It doesn’t mean looking for someone to “complete” you (see: just about every chick flick/romance novel ever made/written: main characters). Love is better than that.

I don’t believe in soul mates. I don’t believe in “The One”. The idea that only one person in the entire world could be compatible with you is ridiculous for a number of reasons (happily remarried widow[er]s spring to mind); and equally ridiculous is the idea that any person in the world is perfectly compatible with you. No one is flawed in the perfect way to complement your flaws. Sorry. I think this is such a dangerous idea that’s been ingrained in our society because the implication is that there is someone out there who completes you.

You don’t need to be completed. You are one whole person. You are complete.

I love the film Sabrina (mostly because I have a weakness for Harrison Ford), but there is one line at the end that makes me cringe every single time. Sabrina’s dad says, “You don’t deserve her.” And Harrison Ford replies, “I know. But I need her.”

No, actually, Harrison, you don’t. Love isn’t a need. Love is a want. We all of us could make it on our own. We just don’t want to.

And that’s why love is better –– for both parties. Because you choose it in spite of everything. It’s not forced on you by Fate; it’s not something you need; it doesn’t even necessarily make your life better. But you choose it because you want to.

This is where it gets tricky. Because love is what makes you want someone, but real love is also what makes you let them go and move on if you have to. Frankly, if dated someone for a summer, and then we were forced to break up, and then seven years later I met up with him again and found out that he had spent that whole interim renovating some house we’d admired together and drinking himself into oblivion, I would definitely not sigh, “True love!” and dump my fiancé and get back together with Drunk Guy. I would instead be like, “Wow, I’m glad I dumped that loser’s ass!” And then I would move on with my life.

That isn’t real love. That’s obsession (and frankly, pathetic). I’m not saying not to wait for someone if that’s what you’ve both agreed to. But if circumstances force you apart, it’s okay and healthy to move on. It doesn’t mean you stop loving them; it doesn’t mean you don’t remember your time together with tenderness; it doesn’t mean you don’t wish them all the best. You do wish the other person happiness. And then you move on and live happily yourself. Pining does not equal love. You do not want to be with someone who cannot function normally without you. You want someone who can live without you – quite happily so – but just doesn’t want to. That is love. That is what makes love better than Hollywood. There is nothing special about someone who wants to be with you because you are the only way they can be happy. That is the most selfish reason to want to be with someone. Love is better than that.

So yes, I do hate romantic movies; and I hate them precisely because I don’t hate love. Romantic movies take love and cheapen it. They turn it into something frightening and pathetic, and then they tell you that this isn’t just what you want, this is what you need. You don’t need that. No one needs that, and you certainly shouldn’t want it.  Love is what you want.

And love is better than a Hollywood romance.
trinsy: (ha!)
So I randomly decided to go see Twilight with a bunch of my friends at 10:00 last night.  I am exhausted now, but it was so worth it!  Most of the people I went with love the book, but Amy wasn't there so I was able to be honest about how much I hate the books, so it was all okay.  The only other lolfan was my roommate, who only knows what I've told her about the books, and thus thinks they're ridiculous.  I sat next to her and we snarked through most of it (it was a virtually empty theatre, so we weren't disturbing anyone [except during the scene in Bella's bedroom A FEW DAYS AFTER THEY'VE FINALLY STARTED TALKING TO EACH OTHER, when Edward casually tells her that he's been sneaking into her room for TWO MONTHS ... at which point I gave a small scream, and my Twihard friend I was sitting next to snapped at me, but I didn't care because HE WAS SNEAKING INTO HER ROOM AND LURKING IN THE CORNER FOR TWO MONTHS, TWO MONTHS OH MY GOD!]).  It was fun.

All my Twihard friends were disappointed, but ... the film was EVERYTHING I hoped for!  RPATTZ, I LOVE YOU!  BE MORE AWESOME!

Seriously, afterward everyone went on and on about how he wasn't pretty enough or charming enough or romantic enough or [adjective] enough, but ... Robert Pattinson is MY Edward!  He played the creepy, semi-psychopathic, bipolar, socially awkward thing PERFECTLY!  Seriously, "Spunk", be my best friend!  We will snark at the Twihards and harass Rupert as he struggles through the books, and you can tell me all about how you got pissed one night after being stalked by fangirls all day and leaked Midnight Sun (this is my pet theory), and IT WILL BE AWESOME!

Also, I don't know if Kristen Stewart is just a bad actress, or if she got what RPattz got out of the book and actually meant to play Bella as sort of blah and void of personality, but either way, she is MY Bella, except about 500% less angsty and bitchy and annoying, and I love her for that!  Oh Kristen!  Oh Robert!  You are both so lovely!  Don't EVER change!

I seriously love this film, guys.  I mean, as a film it's quite poor.  (The cuts are so abrupt and painful!  The special effects are sloppy!  The soundtrack is so over the top it's hilarious!)  But it is exactly what I wanted from film!Twilight, and I fully intend to go back for more!
trinsy: (are you my mummy?)
You know what I really hate?  I hate when I hate something, and then someone I really don't like also hates it, and then I want to like it just to spite them.

Also, the guy that my friend just broke up with is very probably definitely probably gay, and he had a (guy) slumber party at his house the night after they broke up because his roommate was out of town and he "didn't want to be alone", which ... like ... I mean, it's sad that he's heartbroken or whatever, but my god, man, strap on a pair!  What did they do, eat ice cream and watch romcoms and trash talk girls?  Yeesh!
trinsy: (sparkles)
So I was reading [ profile] xlormp, and all the people on Team Christopher (and I am included on that team; Christopher actually makes me question my sexuality) got me thinking about all the Jacob/Bella shippers, and how stupid they are because if Bella hadn’t ended up with Edward, that would have rendered the entire first book completely pointless. I mean, even more pointless, since it was pretty much pointless anyway. But as far as I could tell, if it did have a point, it was basically, “OMG, EDWARD/BELLA 4EVER!!!!!111!!!!” So if, after all that, Bella ended up with Jacob, that would be stupid.

But then I started thinking about it more, and actually, I kind of wish Bella had ended up with … well, not necessarily Jacob (who is pretty awesome in New Moon, but then goes all Edward “I-will-get-myself-killed-because-my-life-is-meaningless-without-Bella’s-love-even-though-she-is-a-whiney-angsty-bitch-and-I-could-do-so-much-better” Cullen in Eclipse, which is way creepy, and also like Edward, he may or may not watch Bella while she sleeps. Also, domestic violence FTW [though that’s also one of Edward’s many negatives, so it doesn’t actually stop Jacob from being a better {though still bad} choice]), but someone other than Edward. Because even though from a narrative point of view, that would make the entire first book pointless, from a reality point of view … that’s life. I mean, how many people actually end up with the person they were in love with at seventeen? How many people’s “first love” ends up being “the love of their life”? How many people marry their high school sweetheart? And how many of those actually work out? So actually, I think it would kind of be brilliant if Bella didn’t end up with Edward.

But of course, that would never ever happen because reality does not exist in Stephenie Meyer’s world, clearly. And I mean realistic characters with realistic emotions. Obviously I expect vampires, and werewolves (exploding werewolves, lol!), and whatever. My favorite genre is fantasy, people. I get all that. But what makes good fantasy is an element of reality – the believability of it, if you will – and Twilight doesn’t have that. Twilight really doesn’t have anything – plot, realistic characters, good technical writing style, good examples of healthy relationships – except some unexplainable addicting quality I really can’t explain. I mean, I know this series is horrible, and I still kept having to slap myself to keep from getting sucked in to New Moon. Why is this, people??? Can someone explain it to me? Please?

On a related note, I’m super excited to go see the film with Amy soon. I could use some amusement in my life right now.
trinsy: (physics)
First, let me say that this post isn't written to change anyone's mind.  It's to vent, and to say what I work very hard not to say in real life.  I make it a point not to talk about politics with people, especially friends, because I basically think no good can come of it.  No one is going to change anyone else's mind, and at best what will happen is you'll bitch about the government and get upset, and at worst you'll get in a fight and get upset.  So when political discussions begin, I keep my mouth shut and, if possible, walk away.

Last night I didn't have the latter option.  A couple of my roommates and I were driving to get frozen yoghurt, and we started to talk about California's prop 8, which is the one that would ban same sex marriage.  My one roommate, who isn't registered in California, saw a poster for it, and was like, "What are you voting on prop 8?"  And my other roommate answered, "I'm voting yes.  I'm saving marriage."  And I don't talk about politics with friends, but I really wanted to say, "Saving it from what?"

The "sanctity of marriage" argument always makes me so angry, because frankly, folks, the sanctity of marriage was lost a long time ago.  If you're going to use that logic, you have to be anti-divorce too, because divorce degrades the sanctity of marriage.  And I can't be anti-divorce, because sometimes I think divorce is really necessary.

But sometimes it isn't and people do it anyway, and frankly, heterosexual couples have fucked up marriage well enough.  Why not let someone else have a go and see if they can maybe do marriage better?  Also, how is it going to affect your marriage if your lesbian neighbors also have a marriage contract?  I just ... don't understand.  Maybe if everyone just focused on their own marriages and stopped worrying about other people's, the sanctity of marriage actually could be restored and preserved.

Just my two cents.

June 2013

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