Saturday 7 April 2001

Pic of the day: "I bought a random Animorphs book this week." (Sorry about the flash. The downside of taking these pics at midnight.)

In restless dreams...

I dreamt that I was at a hospital, where my pious older brother was being released. He had recovered from a very serious illness. On the other hand, our father had just died. The atmosphere was silent and subdued. We only exchanged a few words about our father's death. We both knew that in the last few years since my mother's death, his personality had taken a sharp turn for the worse. He had taken up drinking, smoking, and playing the cards. [This is all in the dream only!] I hinted that it may have been for the best that his rapid descent was stopped, and humbly added that this was a lesson to us all. As long as the vices were not biologically dead, they could always raise their head when we were weakened. "Oh, I don't think YOU have to worry about that" said my brother cryptically.

A nurse hovered around; we should have been gone, but I had trouble tying my shoelaces. Not because I could not tie shoelaces, but because they were so thick and bushy on the end and I had to re-thread them through all the many small holes. This went on for quite a while. I felt guilty for holding everyone back. Then the dream just sort of faded out.

***

The birds they sing
at the break of day.
Start again
I heard them say,
don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be

...

Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.

Leonard Cohen, Anthem (from the album The Future).

***

I did not shop groceries today. Instead I went back to sleep. Now I've already eaten up the bread. But I'm not quite that dumb, I have stacks of dry flatbreads in the house, not to mention pasta for weeks. And now also a bag of nuts. Only the yoghurt has to be rationed to last the weekend. That's OK. I think I needed that sleep, uneasy as it was.

In the afternoon I took a walk. My feet felt weak and kind of unwilling to exert themselves, and even a bit stiff. But I had no problems walking up the hills that I feared last year. Strange thing. But I needed that walk. I had needed to walk more than I did, really. I was restless in my mind. That is not good. I know it is just a pale shadow of what most people feel, the chaos of contrasting feelings and thoughts, pulling their mind and their muscles too. But for me, it is unusual to be even a little restless. It probably means something. We'll just have to wait and see.

***

I bought a random Animorphs book this week. There seems to be lots of them. It's not exactly Harry Potter level, but fair enough. It seems to be written for very young teenagers or for pre-teen children, not sure which. Very decent, and there's no real magic in it either. Should be safer for your children to read than my diary. Not that this says much, I guess.

I have a less romantic view on childhood and adolescence. Probably because I do not reshape my memories as much as our society prefers. Childhood is nasty, brutish, and not as short as the children wish. It is also very confusing, and the sex life is unfulfilling to say the least. With puberty you get all kinds of urges and have only the vaguest idea about what to do with them, and there isn't exactly much help to get. Hmf. It's a miracle some people grow up to be reasonably sane. I have no idea whether these Animorphs books make it better or worse, but I guess the time spent reading them could be spent doing much worse things, and probably would ... Cautiously recommended.

I've spent some time today writing on a piece of Daggerfall fan fiction. I have noticed how Daggerfall fiction tends to be heavily colored by the experiences people have in their own roleplay, and feature superhuman hero types. I have to admit that I've done that myself in my DF fanfic, which is mostly about werewolves anyway. This one is different. Boy is it different. The main character is 13 for most of the story. He is born a mage, unlike the rest of the family, and simply cannot understand why he looks so different from his father and his brother ... He is studying to learn his first spell, but it's kind of hard to concentrate when you're away from home for the first time in your life and madly in love with whatever young woman you last saw. The cat girl won't make it any better.

Somehow I don't think this kind of writing will ever become a trend. Perhaps that's just as well. Oh, and it's not autobiographic. I'll see whether I'm going to upload it or not when the fad is over. It depends largely on the cat girl.