the narratives of nelle

*dances around happily*  Well, I've finally gotten my Remus/Tonks fanmix together, so here ye are.  For your enlightenment: I have got fic that goes along with this mix in the works, but I don't think it's super important that all of it be posted together, as it's not song-fic or anything -- just song inspired fic.  Right, then. 

*groans* How is it already time for mid-term exams?  Didn't I just begin school? 

Okay, so I honestly can't complain too much; I've already gotten four of them over with, although technically only three of them were mid-terms (Art is a quad class, and as I've got my final coming up in mid-October, I'm not sure Tuesday's exam can truly be called a "mid-term").  Regardless: I've got an exam for Campaigns and Elections on Friday; I'm insanely nervous about it, given that everything we've read or talked about for/in class is fair game, plus some other things too.  Arrrgh.  [And if I never see my Linguistics exam again, it will be far too soon.]

So given that I ought to be madly reading about campaigns, elections, voters, social groups, finance reform, and the like, I am instead whiling away my time doing silly things like playing around on GIMP, attempting to create a nice design for an Aldus Manutius the Elder shirt (and wondering if an 'Aldus Manutius the Elder is my Homeboy' shirt would be too cliched, and if 'twould, whether it would be an acceptable cliche, given the irony). 

Also, I stumbled across several photos from OOTP today, along with various opinions on the hair of various characters (in particular Harry).  There were various debates as to whether or not Harry's hair looked good or not, but what really annoys me is this: it's not an issue of how the cut looks!  When people say it looks good or it looks awful, they're talking about Daniel Radcliffe's hair, not  Harry Potter's.  And the fact of the matter is, that is NOT Harry Potter's hair; Harry's hair ought to be unruly, and for gosh bloody sakes, it was something the filmmakers actually had correct in GOF, couldn't they stay with it?!?  They can't get the other two of Harry's physical trademarks right, they could have at least stuck with the hair, and not pulled an Aunt Petunia and shaved it all off and made it so very... ruly.  Or something.  Cor!  < /rant >

We're starting to get into nominative case in German, so we talk about cases and predicates and subjects and subject complements and all sorts of other happy grammatical things, which makes me excessively happy.  Also, I think I have a time-telling disability (read: I can't, especially not in German with its crazy little constructions of time like "five from half to nine" = 8:35... what is that?).

Okay, I'm leaving now, really.  *trudges off to C&E materials*

p.s. The weather here is so marvellous at present; today I wore a very autumn-y dress with flowy sleeves over dark blue jeans, and it was all very splendid, although I was, as ever, Very Cold, as no matter what the outside temperature, my uni somehow seems to believe it is a good idea to keep all thermostats set at Artic.  I am in dire need of a trip to OC/"home" to pick up my tennis shoes, coat, and more long-sleeved shirts.

Things are not, to be honest, going well.

Grandma has gone completely mental from, we can only hope, the pain medication she's been on since surgery.   She imagines conversations, talks to herself, worries about everything (and things that she absolutely doesn't need to worry about or things that aren't even real), and is extremely paranoid about the fact that we all think she's going crazy (which, to be quite honest, we think she has, hoping it's temporary).

My Polish cousins are staying with us at present, and while I love them, it only exacerbates the situation and makes everything more stressful.  I feel bad for them, coming into this situation, and then I have no idea what to do with them!  It's hot outside and I just want to sit in the semi-cool house and read all day; even if I didn't, Grandma does need someone to be with her, mostly. 

And now I can't access hotmail, facebook, or my school e-mail, for no apparent reason whatsoever.  Which, you know, isn't the end of the world, I suppose, but seriously: what up with that?

Anyway, I'll stop complaining now.  I just wanted to update quickly to let you all know what was going on and ask for your prayers; I desperately need them.  Mum, Trins, and I are being driven to distraction, and we're really going to need infusions of strength, grace, patience, and selflessness if we're going to make it through the next three weeks.  I probably won't be online much; I only get the opportunity late at night now, generally.  And I'm so desperate for solitude that even contact with others of the blogging sort seemed distasteful to me until tonight.

But still:  I love you all a lot, and don't plan to stay away for long, no matter what it takes. 

Sometimes I really hate writing about wonderful experiences, because by writing about them, I have to admit that they are, in most senses, over. This weekend, for example. How many words can one use to describe glorious? I never mentioned it here, but some of you know that my Lena and I went up to visit our Tibby this weekend. And it was entirely marvellous. There were so many wonderful moments I could talk about, but for some reason I'm not particularly in the mood for writing them all down. So you'll just have to take my word that is was wonderful.

And you know what else? I'm really content with where I am in my life right now. That's not to say there aren't things I need to work on, that there aren't things I need to let God work in me; this isn't the kind of content that actually means settling for less-than-best. I just mean that there are things in my life that hurt right now, there are things I'm a bit concerned about (like where I'll be living next year), and things coming up that aren't going to be easy (more on this later in the entry), but in all that, I'm content to just be myself, and I'm excited about what God is going to work in and through all of this. I'm learning more and more each day how God provides everything I need by the time I need it, and I'm overwhelmed at how beautiful that is.

To expound on the difficult things approaching, I wanted to ask for your prayers on a couple of things. First, my Grandma is having shoulder surgery tomorrow morning; she has a torn rotary cuff and they're going in to repair it. I know she's really worried about the pain it's going to cause (although she's already in constant pain as it is), so that would be one thing to pray for. But I'm also her designated caretaker, and I know I'm going to really need a lot of grace and patience.

Anyway, I really ought to go to bed, but just wanted to update real quickly. And, in closing, I offer you the following glorious pictures from Lenny's and my baking adventures this weekend:

I am strangely over-emotional lately, which those of you with whom I have long been acquainted may view as a rather bold statement.  From the age of about 9, I have had a tendency to shed tears over books and films; the most notorious example of such events is probably the time I, at the age of 15 or so, cried while watching Godzilla (don’t ask).  

In Poland, however, I became strangely unemotional; my eyes remained completely dry during Corpse Bride, and I scarcely shed a tear over Narnia.  I think a bit of that was a subconscious defence mechanism, for had I not shut down some of that emotional bit of me, I daresay I’d have been in tears more often than not.

Perhaps it’s simply being back that’s making me so, being with people around whom I feel rather more comfortable.  I honestly don’t know.  What I do know is that I’m suddenly unusually prone to tears; it began about a week and a half ago, and since Saturday, I’ve sniffled through my sister’s graduation (and she was the only person I knew), barely made it through church on Sunday without breaking down, cried in Coffee Bean (was there talking with Mum), wept through several scenes of Rent (multiple times, same scenes), and shed a rather copious amount of tears over various books (primarily The Sorcerer’s Stone & Little Women).  I’m sure there’re more examples as well; I’m just forgetting them.  

Little Women, by the way, is entirely marvellous; I ought to read it more often, although I am rather vexed now I’ve begun to remember the way things turn out.  I never have been content with Laurie and Amy, and it makes me cross to know that things never can be the way I’d like them to be. 

Anyway, this entry is almost entirely without point (or perhaps even entirely without it), but I haven’t written for a few days, and besides, maybe now that I’ve angsted about it, I can stop crying at the drop of a hat.  Egads.

I am not fond of summer.  At all.  And I can say that with a clear conscience, because it was Southern California winters about which I swore to never again complain, not summers.  So HA.  (To all the masses of people out there ready to reprimand me every time I go back on my word.  *rolls eyes at self*)  Anyway, it's much too hot, and yes, I know very well that I am a wimp.

I found poetry today in my older sister's room; how horrible of her to hide it from me all these years[!].  It's some 'Treasury of Poetry' or something, but whatever, it's got Eliot and Millay, and I was thrilled to discover it.  I had grand plans to sit on the couch reading poetry and sipping iced tea, but then the laundry finished its cycle and by the time that was taken care of, two guys had shown up to remove the old sectional couch from my mother's room.  (We're getting a new one from someone and Mum decided it was time for this one to go, considering we've had it since before I was born.  I'll miss that couch though; in spite of all its faults, it had memories.)  Seeing as how I was in a t-shirt and my cut-off pyjama bottoms that are hardly fit to be worn in company, I retreated into the kitchen, where I proceeded to make iced tea, [wrongly] assuming it wouldn't take them long to get the couch down.  I ended up in my sister's room with my Wilde biography and the tea, which was still lovely, I must admit.  In the end, it was all a moot point because the corner section got stuck in the doorframe of the stairwell and Mum called me out to help.

Mum's boyfriend/my future step-father (someday ) flew in this afternoon from Texas; he came for Trins's graduation.  We went to the Apple store for some reason I couldn't quite figure (I mean, Trins is getting one for graduation, but I'm not sure why we needed to go there), but it was actually quite nice and... familial.  I enjoyed it quite a lot, in spite of the salesman suggesting some sort of class about Macs and Mum taking him up on the offer.  It was good for her, I suppose; she just got a Mac at one of her schools.  But I, for one, had used Macs before, and um, it's not like they're hard to use.  Mac people like to think they're all special and unique, but I really don't see that much of a difference in terms of navigating things.  Sure, Macs have some great features, and the OS is a whole lot shinier, but in the end, it's not like it's hard to figure out the Mac equivilent of the Start Menu or the Control Panel.  But I digress.

Anyway, I should go to bed... Mum's got some people coming tomorrow morning to help her go retrieve the new furniture we're getting; I made my legendary Caramel Pecan Rolls (which, incidentally, I can humbly inform you are every bit as good as they sound) for them to have for breakfast, and I've got to get up to put them in the oven.  So yes.

P.S.  Happy 16th, darling Jo! (aka faeriemaiden)  I hope you have a marvellous day.  ♥!

[It's actually past 2am here, but I'm backdating because what if I come up with something completely brilliant that I want to post tomorrow (er, later today), and then I won't be able to because I already posted today?  I hate when that happens.  Hence the backdating.]

And it's past 2am.  I mentioned that already, I know, but it seemed like a good beginning.  I just recently finished my foreign policy paper (on The Truman Doctrine as a Turning Point).  Yeah.  'Cause I'm a good little procrastinator like that.  Anyway, so that's finished and e-mailed, and now I can't sleep.  Rather vexing, if you ask me.  The paper is total crap; I rambled on for four-and-a-half pages (single-spaced; should any of that be hyphenated?) about various aspects of the Truman Doctrine and then ended with some lame conclusion that had something to do with the Bush Doctrine and the importance of the Truman Doctrine (like Dr. O didn't already know that, since he assigned the topic).  I'm totally afraid to reread it ever again, because I only reread (Isn't it weird how the present and past [and I guess future?] of 'read' and 'reread' are spelt the same but pronounced differently?  I wonder how many words in English are like that...) it twice, and I did it quickly, and I'm sure there's probably some Terrible Error in there.  I had so many sources though, considering it was such a short paper.  Some of them were completely random though; I used a sentence from another paper that was a paraphrase or summary (never really did figure out the difference between those *looks sheepish*) of something from Kissinger's Diplomacy.  Some of the books I used for sources were really good though, and I want to actually read them now, instead of just skimming them for sources.  And I totally want to go to Yale so I can take a class from John Lewis Gaddis (who probably isn't even there anymore or something, since the book is from 1997). 

[Wow.  I bet you don't care about any of that.  I don't either.  Why did I even write it out?]

I should soooo go to bed.  Only I'm waiting for stuff to download, so I have to be online anyway; either that or I'll have to get up in a bit to disconnect (blasted dial-up *glares at it*). 

I need to go to the library over the hill tomorrow and see if they have poetry.  And/or War & Peace.  *wrinkles nose*

Okay, this is just ridiculous.  I mean, it's my blog and all, but I really don't need to make you all suffer; that's just cruel.

Wanted to mention: yesterday, I got a letter from my uni, which informed me I had been placed on “academic probation alert.” Do not worry, it assured me, this was not the same as academic probation! It merely meant that my GPA had been low enough to cause concern; therefore, they would be monitoring my progress and limiting me to 13 units a semester.

[You know in the Trio’s 3rd Year Exams, when they have to face the boggart? And Hermione’s boggart is McGonagall, telling her she’d failed everything? Yeah. I think my boggart would have been a letter like this one.]

Then, last night, I also had this terrible dream that I didn’t write the final paper for Campaigns and Elections in time, so I failed the class. As in, I got an F. And I couldn’t graduate. It was completely horrible; I was crying in the dream, and I woke up feeling ill.

To end the story on a brighter note, I called the dude who sent me the letter, talked to this assistant, Judy, who managed to calm me down (I was practically in tears) while looking up my information. She told me I’d gotten that letter by mistake, promised to talk to her boss, and called me back later to inform me that they were very sorry, it was a terrible mistake, and I definitely should not have gotten the letter. I mean, obviously, we all knew that (*grins impishly*). But seriously. Trauma.

For a while now, I’ve been meaning to write about the way I felt when I first got back from Poland.  I laugh a bit, reading that sentence, because in reality, I’ve only been back a week and a half; yet, in some ways, it feels like so much longer.  I think if I had to describe how I felt in one word, I’d say dull.  I wasn’t able to place my finger on it for a few days, but I noticed it when I was being driven away from the airport: even with the thick layer of smog that had wrapped itself around Los Angeles that day, everything seemed overwhelmingly bright to me.  And for a few days, that feeling only increased.

I returned on a Friday afternoon; the weather that weekend was typical Southern California summer weather: sunny, dry, and hot.  Sitting at church on Sunday, I was looking around at all the people, especially all the women and girls in their shiny new summer outfits, their high heels, their skirts, their sequined tops, their manicures and pedicures, their big necklaces, their rings – and I felt dull.   

In Poland, I grew used to life surrounded by apartment buildings that are, at the least, six or seven floors high.  I grew used to life in a place that has seasons, to a place that doesn’t rely primarily on irrigation to keep it from being a total desert.  But it was more than that; it was more than the fact that I grew used to having the sun (which one doesn’t necessarily see every day) blocked out by the filter of tall buildings on crowded streets.

I, as well, grew used to a life that isn’t so flashy, to a place where it doesn’t matter if you wear the same outfit three days in a row or go outside with out make-up on.  I’m not trying to give the impression that Poles or Europeans in general are “dirty;” they’re not at all… there’s just something different about the way they judge appearance.  It’s not even necessarily definable.  And I’m not trying to say that everyone here in America or even just in Orange County is obsessed with appearance or that they hate me and judge me because I don’t have an LV bag and Chanel sunglasses and the latest shoes and clothes and what-have-you.  And I’m not trying to judge them either.  I don’t love Jesus more because I’m wearing old jeans, a t-shirt from Target, and my Rainbows.  

But on some levels, I guess I feel like to be something bright in Poland meant to be myself, really be myself.  Whereas here, to be something bright means entering a competition of who can be the shiniest and who can do the best job of being just like everyone else.  Or maybe it’s really that I just realised the futility of trying to be something I’m not.  And whatever this is that I am seemed, last week, to fit a lot better in Poland than in Orange County.

I think it was on Monday of last week when the weather turned grey and cool, and so it remained until Sunday or so.  I wasn’t actually keeping that much track, but I took the weather as a gift from God, a gift meant to help me adjust.  So I took each day as it came, with the drama and the jet-lag and the awkward moments and the subconscious adjustment back into American life. 

Sunday morning, at church, there was this focus on nature during the worship.  During one of the songs, Job 39 set to music, I started crying and I couldn’t stop, and I didn’t even really know why then.  The chorus goes as follows: Woe is me / I’m down here on my knees / Unable to bring change / True life change / But You, You are able to / Command the stars and moon / Yet whisper to my heart / “Child, I love you.”

And now, sitting here at my desk with the setting sun shining blindingly through my window, here in this world of Starbucks and zip-loc bags and wealth and shiny people, I begin to realise that the truest brightness in my life exists in the last line of that song: the Creator and Commander of the Universe loves me.  And I’m learning that no matter what country I’m in, my soul always fits perfectly into Him, and I think that to rest in that and in Him is being myself to the greatest extent I can be.

So yesterday, I was at church, okay?  And I was sitting on the end of the second row from the front, almost all the way over to the side (and our sanctuary is huge), and at one point during worship, I was just hit really hard, so I was kneeling in the aisle (and I was also crying pretty hard), and someone came up and asked me to move.  I just ignored him and pushed it aside but afterward, thinking about it, it really upset me.  Like, dude.  Sorry if I took up 1/8 of the aisle that no one is walking down while I was trying to WORSHIP, which, you know, is WHY WE'RE THERE.  *growls*

Anyway. 

I have a Nabokov novel and a pretty biography of Wilde from the library; I am very excited about them.  I wanted poetry too, but hadn't time to grab it before my Mum came to pick me up.  Maybe I can get some when I take these books back.  Or request it from the library that's closer to home.  That would be more convenient, I suppose.

Lately, I've been reading Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller, and it is excellent.  It took me three days to get past the first paragraph, simply because it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever read.  Some of the things he writes are so beautiful that it hurts; I generally have to shut the book and cry at least once a chapter.  I think part of it is just that I really need the things he's saying in my life right now, but he also most certainly has a gift for words.

I do not want to write my paper for Foreign Policy.  *sighs long-sufferingly*

I had so much more to say, only now I can't remember what it was.  How vexing.  But I suppose I ought to get some sleep anyway...