"Hail, Eliac of-the-soul faery, Lady of the White Council, Magi of the waves!"
I have been ordinary my entire life, minus the fact that I am brilliant. A true genius. Just not at the average things. I am a genius in legends and mythology, social intrigue mastery, basic patterns of interaction.
I used to be more, though. Much more. Heads would bow at my approach, because I was the chosen one, the one to end all others. I was to lead the Roses to an age of prosperity and unison, of temporary peace through clever tango dances. I was a head of power, a Lady of the white, something to be feared and respected for my knowledge, my clarity, my grace, talent, and beauty. I was a being of intense ability. I was looked up to by beings that children are taught to fear, those that men go on fearing.
Now I'm just a girl, because archaic law dictates that no Consort may be as espoused by a Lady of the White Council who bares the mark of approval for the age. Now they've kicked me out, the ungrateful bastards, because I fell in love and became inactive. I miss it. Miss the challenge, miss the authority, the sense of a double life: that even if I was just me, I was also a genius who could kill anyone who bothered me if I were really angry enough to, could cure anything, out-fight anyone. I was a lady of high society... now I am nothing.
I can just be myself. Isn't that what every Tom, dick, and Harry would council? Be myself? I am being myself. Myself is a genius, and nobody cares. I could burst open like a star and the world would recognize my brilliance, but I would go out, wouldn't I? And they'd all forget.
I'd do anything for any person, and nobody cares. Nobody cares that thousands bowed to me as I passed once. Nobody cared that I stopped war time and time again, they don't understand how it effects them. Nobody cares that I was Elear, the Visionary, and Eliac, the wave-servant. (Try that for a mundane mouthful: The visionary wave-servant. See why we use Elvish yet?) No one will listen to a useless adolescent girl, one without money or title or beauty, will they? I'm average again. I'm invisible again. Only even though I'm stuck to an un-charming Clark Kent 24/7, I can't be superman anymore, because I'm in love.
They're punishing me for an act I could no sooner regret than die.
I miss being Eliac. I miss knowing instantly who was what and what was who, and being able to twist situations I disliked into ones I did like. Michael... Lord Ignio.... nary bandies a word with me any more. (He was not disowned for his wife, but I was for my future husband. Explain that to me, please? Yet another example of a Patriarch-based legal system.) Even in our Government, I'd have to work for status I would be naturally suited to. It's a fucking adult Prom court. They like you? Great. Hope you're good at your job. They dislike you and you're brilliant? Too bad, they still dislike you. Ah, America. The country full of assholes.
Meanwhile, Finley can't even stay with me at night. It isn't even a sex thing, it's a together thing. Neither Nan and Derek nor Mom and Pops would agree to sleeping in different houses every night, and in the second's case it's okay for them to be alone in their room, but by God, when Fin and I are taking a nap in my room, the Kids might see and that is NOT okay! What a nasty, impertinent group of children! Typical. Another slanted-system based on that Seniority I still, as a Senior, call bullshit flag on.
I'm always lonely, now. I can't do anything for anyone that I could have done before, I have almost no money, and I'm lonely.
I need him. I need not to have to deal with this fucking disease anymore. I need Secret-Keeper to have money and happiness.
Right now, all I really want... is a challenge I know I can rise to. Who else is good at Social intrigue besides Faris, that damnable ex-Siragon, who in any case has not responded to my letters?
I must sleep. I must pretend.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Special: ranting on everything, not much of it meant
"I am not God. How dare I complain of Angels?"
A destroyed room for insulin-searching means a sleepless night so I can even see Finley. Of course I managed to avoid the big, dramatic "aah, you're old enough to clean your own room!" speech, but the inevitable thing is, I can do this now and save myself grief later, or I can not do it now, sleep like I desperately want to in my nice, warm bed, and lose all freedom later. Freedom is good. Freedom means time with friends, when they're nice enough to have me. Freedom means taking naps in Finley's arms.
Freedom means working on the novels I never quite seem to finish unless hit with that burst of clever imagination. Freedom means exploring. Even when there isn't anything fun to explore I don't already know about. I'm really writing this to keep me away from my room, which isn't my fault its cleanliness had to be destroyed so thoroughly. What else?
Director has always told me, in our rare moments when we aren't totally stuck to the "roles" given us (even if I attempt to avoid them entirely, no fruit is borne) that I remind her of her when she was an awkward adolescent. I've known for years she hates herself, but never really put two and two together. Doesn't that mean she hates me? Oh, right, silly. That only means she's been lying to me. No, she's much more reminded of herself by Molly Ebel, and I know that, which is why I'm so pissed she gets every advantage, this stuffy little sophomore who pretends a big smiling face when there's someone of influence around and manipulates the "oh poor me, I'm so unpretty" angle.
Most of which is untrue, I might add. Anyone in our circle finding intolerance of Molly would strike that individual to the ground, as they would for me. That and of the seven Winter Break parties, no one has yet invited me to any one. Even Finley's been invited. How is that fair, precisely? Unlike my love for Secret-keeper, most people don't appreciate or even understand the depth of my affection for them. My total devotion to any friendship we may have, ever. They hit me when I say, "I really feel lonely sometimes", but when they have a party, I don't even make the list. You will doubtless be amused to point out the hypocrisy.
I am not.
In other news, Secret-keeper has been dealt another un-needed blow to her already-stressful life. There's so little I can do, and I want to. Does she know that? Is it enough? She needs someone to love her. Someone to really love her.
Had lunch with Secret-keeper's poison today. The infamous KM/Elephant keeper. Elephant Keeper, who I would like to strangle, forbearing even SK's pleas/warnings against, I smiled at, made polite conversation with, kept entertained with Arby's stories. Two people I no longer trust in a room, oh squee. She is very easily distracted, that poison. It's funny but I can imagine them together, you know. Not creepily? But... you know.. imagine the look of love I'm sure that bitch could've pulled off from the countless lead-role opportunities she's been unfairly granted.
Of course Director would whine about my unfairness here. I am not God, how dare I complain of angels? I can hear it now. But really it's more always the same person, thank you. I wouldn't be so angry that she involved new people if she even vaguely tried to give everyone the same chance. She can also can it about preparing us for the real world, because I want one chance to be the big star and then I am done. I'll go back to fading quietly into the background. That's what I'm good at, isn't it? Fading.
I don't want to hurt her. I understand her job is difficult as a Director. I'm just tired of people I look up to stabbing me in the back without even (a) noticing or (b) caring. It's a lot like Choir. Choir really likes to pick the same cast, over and over and over again, and when somebody graduates, a new person is selected. Oh, unless if, say, they're blood-relations, their parents have given him money, or he has total favoritism. Seriously? Way over-milking the favoritism teat. And then on those rare lucid moments where he realizes I do have talent, he sends me to some musical festival because he really does like me. I'm just... fatter, less attractive than the other potential prospects.
It's funny how similar Choir and Director are. Both of them are fond of me, both cordially dislikes the other, they fight like a divorced couple (believe me, I should know), and neither of them give opportunities to the correct people. "Why didn't you have a problem with so-and-so?" is their question when I point out the obvious. I don't have a problem with the people that *fit* the role. I have a problem with people in which other factors, very obviously, have a hand. For example. Choir's daughter? Yeah. Second musical ever. LEAD ROLE. Chorus? I was fine. If she were a senior, even, and there was not somebody better suited to the part, I would have given over. LEAD ROLE? Fuck no. Another example, so I'm not jaded: Director casting Ms. Kilroy IN A LEAD ROLE for her second play, ever. She is NOT ready for EVEN an understudy. And when asked why a sophomore with surprising little experience (considering I, myself, have seen her audition after reading the script and considering that I was the worst casting, let me just point that out), I was told that anyone who had a problem with Ms. Kilroy "could shut their mouths".
Right, because clearly, that's a completely sound explanation. I don't care if I'm owed it or not. I am an actress in a technical troupe. I have feelings. I ask something, and then she treats me like a publicity report on someone knocking down an orphanage for a strip mall. What am I going to do with this information, exactly? Sell it to the Times? "GIRL CAST UNFAIRLY IN SMALL BIGOTED TOWN'S HIGH-SCHOOL PLAY"? I trust her with everything. If she asked it I would lay down my life for her, really lay it on the line. If I remind her of herself that much, why doesn't she trust me? Especially when I do her? She's trusted me with other things, Director has.
I just want to be involved, guys. I know you, being Gods in your own rights of different Kingdoms, are too mighty and powerful (in addition to vain self-loathing) to realize this, but I am lonely. I cry myself to sleep most nights because while other people my age have fun little gatherings, all my efforts to join or even make my own fail, without even an 'epically' attached. Choir and director are surrounded by people that they could talk to who would be their friends, and they won't give me a line, they yell at me when I get upset, and don't cast me when someone else talks to me, realizes wrong has been done me (even after I defend the pair scrupulously, even someone who has worked with either or both of them), and complains.
Rejection from people who know you have talent? Yeah. Means you're imagining the talent. They will tell you different. Why? Because they don't care about you. They do care about the lawsuits and the job they could lose in this shitty economy. If they do care, it is tiny, and it is the exact same amount as the other students. I wonder if secretly teachers hate us for having to like us?
Ms. Hall doesn't. But of course, I can't try and make a friend. Because every time I try and make friends with one of my teachers, they take it in some wrong way, somewhere, and then I'm just annoying. An annoying, naive little kid who wants a friend more than a passing grade (or a passing grade more than a friend, depending on the teacher in question). That's all I'm seen as. Even from people I love.
I get nothing for my unwaivering faith and trust in these people. Nothing at all. I wonder if they know how much that hurts me.
I wonder if they care.
A destroyed room for insulin-searching means a sleepless night so I can even see Finley. Of course I managed to avoid the big, dramatic "aah, you're old enough to clean your own room!" speech, but the inevitable thing is, I can do this now and save myself grief later, or I can not do it now, sleep like I desperately want to in my nice, warm bed, and lose all freedom later. Freedom is good. Freedom means time with friends, when they're nice enough to have me. Freedom means taking naps in Finley's arms.
Freedom means working on the novels I never quite seem to finish unless hit with that burst of clever imagination. Freedom means exploring. Even when there isn't anything fun to explore I don't already know about. I'm really writing this to keep me away from my room, which isn't my fault its cleanliness had to be destroyed so thoroughly. What else?
Director has always told me, in our rare moments when we aren't totally stuck to the "roles" given us (even if I attempt to avoid them entirely, no fruit is borne) that I remind her of her when she was an awkward adolescent. I've known for years she hates herself, but never really put two and two together. Doesn't that mean she hates me? Oh, right, silly. That only means she's been lying to me. No, she's much more reminded of herself by Molly Ebel, and I know that, which is why I'm so pissed she gets every advantage, this stuffy little sophomore who pretends a big smiling face when there's someone of influence around and manipulates the "oh poor me, I'm so unpretty" angle.
Most of which is untrue, I might add. Anyone in our circle finding intolerance of Molly would strike that individual to the ground, as they would for me. That and of the seven Winter Break parties, no one has yet invited me to any one. Even Finley's been invited. How is that fair, precisely? Unlike my love for Secret-keeper, most people don't appreciate or even understand the depth of my affection for them. My total devotion to any friendship we may have, ever. They hit me when I say, "I really feel lonely sometimes", but when they have a party, I don't even make the list. You will doubtless be amused to point out the hypocrisy.
I am not.
In other news, Secret-keeper has been dealt another un-needed blow to her already-stressful life. There's so little I can do, and I want to. Does she know that? Is it enough? She needs someone to love her. Someone to really love her.
Had lunch with Secret-keeper's poison today. The infamous KM/Elephant keeper. Elephant Keeper, who I would like to strangle, forbearing even SK's pleas/warnings against, I smiled at, made polite conversation with, kept entertained with Arby's stories. Two people I no longer trust in a room, oh squee. She is very easily distracted, that poison. It's funny but I can imagine them together, you know. Not creepily? But... you know.. imagine the look of love I'm sure that bitch could've pulled off from the countless lead-role opportunities she's been unfairly granted.
Of course Director would whine about my unfairness here. I am not God, how dare I complain of angels? I can hear it now. But really it's more always the same person, thank you. I wouldn't be so angry that she involved new people if she even vaguely tried to give everyone the same chance. She can also can it about preparing us for the real world, because I want one chance to be the big star and then I am done. I'll go back to fading quietly into the background. That's what I'm good at, isn't it? Fading.
I don't want to hurt her. I understand her job is difficult as a Director. I'm just tired of people I look up to stabbing me in the back without even (a) noticing or (b) caring. It's a lot like Choir. Choir really likes to pick the same cast, over and over and over again, and when somebody graduates, a new person is selected. Oh, unless if, say, they're blood-relations, their parents have given him money, or he has total favoritism. Seriously? Way over-milking the favoritism teat. And then on those rare lucid moments where he realizes I do have talent, he sends me to some musical festival because he really does like me. I'm just... fatter, less attractive than the other potential prospects.
It's funny how similar Choir and Director are. Both of them are fond of me, both cordially dislikes the other, they fight like a divorced couple (believe me, I should know), and neither of them give opportunities to the correct people. "Why didn't you have a problem with so-and-so?" is their question when I point out the obvious. I don't have a problem with the people that *fit* the role. I have a problem with people in which other factors, very obviously, have a hand. For example. Choir's daughter? Yeah. Second musical ever. LEAD ROLE. Chorus? I was fine. If she were a senior, even, and there was not somebody better suited to the part, I would have given over. LEAD ROLE? Fuck no. Another example, so I'm not jaded: Director casting Ms. Kilroy IN A LEAD ROLE for her second play, ever. She is NOT ready for EVEN an understudy. And when asked why a sophomore with surprising little experience (considering I, myself, have seen her audition after reading the script and considering that I was the worst casting, let me just point that out), I was told that anyone who had a problem with Ms. Kilroy "could shut their mouths".
Right, because clearly, that's a completely sound explanation. I don't care if I'm owed it or not. I am an actress in a technical troupe. I have feelings. I ask something, and then she treats me like a publicity report on someone knocking down an orphanage for a strip mall. What am I going to do with this information, exactly? Sell it to the Times? "GIRL CAST UNFAIRLY IN SMALL BIGOTED TOWN'S HIGH-SCHOOL PLAY"? I trust her with everything. If she asked it I would lay down my life for her, really lay it on the line. If I remind her of herself that much, why doesn't she trust me? Especially when I do her? She's trusted me with other things, Director has.
I just want to be involved, guys. I know you, being Gods in your own rights of different Kingdoms, are too mighty and powerful (in addition to vain self-loathing) to realize this, but I am lonely. I cry myself to sleep most nights because while other people my age have fun little gatherings, all my efforts to join or even make my own fail, without even an 'epically' attached. Choir and director are surrounded by people that they could talk to who would be their friends, and they won't give me a line, they yell at me when I get upset, and don't cast me when someone else talks to me, realizes wrong has been done me (even after I defend the pair scrupulously, even someone who has worked with either or both of them), and complains.
Rejection from people who know you have talent? Yeah. Means you're imagining the talent. They will tell you different. Why? Because they don't care about you. They do care about the lawsuits and the job they could lose in this shitty economy. If they do care, it is tiny, and it is the exact same amount as the other students. I wonder if secretly teachers hate us for having to like us?
Ms. Hall doesn't. But of course, I can't try and make a friend. Because every time I try and make friends with one of my teachers, they take it in some wrong way, somewhere, and then I'm just annoying. An annoying, naive little kid who wants a friend more than a passing grade (or a passing grade more than a friend, depending on the teacher in question). That's all I'm seen as. Even from people I love.
I get nothing for my unwaivering faith and trust in these people. Nothing at all. I wonder if they know how much that hurts me.
I wonder if they care.
Special
"The idea of the faery/both disturbs and entrances:/ could they really be more monstrous/than the hearts of mortal men?"
What else I notice about Christmas is how many people suffer. Suffer like our Christ, but not in pain, but loneliness, self-hatred. I cry and pray for my friends. God, they're heroes. You should know that. I have things to worry about myself--a sister with a death wish, departing from the Roses--Oh, the Roses, the roses. I used to be supreme and powerful. Elegant and beautiful. Now I'm just a teen-aged girl who loves her friends. Would die for her friends. That doesn't give me more money to give to them, does it? The people who need it? I spent all day a few weeks ago carol-ling for Salvation army, and it still doesn't help those I love. For now? Help my hero.
She's in a lot of pain, you know. Rat.
Not that I mean *She's* a rat. Like a rat to the Faery. Rats... I can sing their praises morning, noon, and night, it won't change how you feel, will it? They're useless scum. They're also incredibly intelligent, quick to die, and we exterminate them. We're like that to the Fae. They can wave their pianist's hands and wipe us away if they chose. If they were real and chose.
God can wipe us away. God? Don't wipe my friend away. She's the smartest rat I know, with me in second. Help. Please? Please help? I try, I honestly do, but there's so little I can give... Help me help her. She needs someone. Can someone be good, somehow? Please? She needs love and to heal and money... so many things. I'm so worried.
What else I notice about Christmas is how many people suffer. Suffer like our Christ, but not in pain, but loneliness, self-hatred. I cry and pray for my friends. God, they're heroes. You should know that. I have things to worry about myself--a sister with a death wish, departing from the Roses--Oh, the Roses, the roses. I used to be supreme and powerful. Elegant and beautiful. Now I'm just a teen-aged girl who loves her friends. Would die for her friends. That doesn't give me more money to give to them, does it? The people who need it? I spent all day a few weeks ago carol-ling for Salvation army, and it still doesn't help those I love. For now? Help my hero.
She's in a lot of pain, you know. Rat.
Not that I mean *She's* a rat. Like a rat to the Faery. Rats... I can sing their praises morning, noon, and night, it won't change how you feel, will it? They're useless scum. They're also incredibly intelligent, quick to die, and we exterminate them. We're like that to the Fae. They can wave their pianist's hands and wipe us away if they chose. If they were real and chose.
God can wipe us away. God? Don't wipe my friend away. She's the smartest rat I know, with me in second. Help. Please? Please help? I try, I honestly do, but there's so little I can give... Help me help her. She needs someone. Can someone be good, somehow? Please? She needs love and to heal and money... so many things. I'm so worried.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Special
Christmas. The lights. The holiday cheer. The stampede for returned presents. The good will towards men. The bad caroling choirs. Reminding Grandma that not only are my boobs a Double D, but in fact, I wear a size 12 pants, not a 17-what-have-you. Learning to shoot men on another fellow's Halo. Smile. Be charming for the new relatives and the in-laws, also new.
And what a beautiful ring...
And what a beautiful ring...
Monday, December 20, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Lonely
This post is for myself. In case you haven't noticed this insignificant post series are hopes for those I love. I hate that I walk alone in the hallways. I'm surrounded by people, but when I smile, my teeth aren't pearly white and they don't smile back. They look away awkwardly like something's horribly wrong. How dare I be friendly? How dare I love them? I'm a freak and a creeper.
They keep walking after these thoughts, but I know they're there. They keep living and I feel hurt and lonely. All I want is my love, and he can't be here. He has things, things he has to do, and he can't be with me every minute of every day, but I want him to be. I want to scream as loud as I can in a crowded street,
"I'm right hree! LOOK AT ME, PLEASE!"
But no one would look, would they? They'd walk away awkwardly. Again.
That sucks. It hurts to be lonely. I hate it, guys. I hate that you walk away from me because I'm different. What's wrong with different? Why don't you invite me to parties? Why can't we be friends? Can't you smile back? Please. Please. Please look at me. Please notice I'm here.
I'm human. I have feelings. Notice me, just a little.
Take my hand.
Send my fiance back to me. Please. Don't make him leave my side anymore...
They keep walking after these thoughts, but I know they're there. They keep living and I feel hurt and lonely. All I want is my love, and he can't be here. He has things, things he has to do, and he can't be with me every minute of every day, but I want him to be. I want to scream as loud as I can in a crowded street,
"I'm right hree! LOOK AT ME, PLEASE!"
But no one would look, would they? They'd walk away awkwardly. Again.
That sucks. It hurts to be lonely. I hate it, guys. I hate that you walk away from me because I'm different. What's wrong with different? Why don't you invite me to parties? Why can't we be friends? Can't you smile back? Please. Please. Please look at me. Please notice I'm here.
I'm human. I have feelings. Notice me, just a little.
Take my hand.
Send my fiance back to me. Please. Don't make him leave my side anymore...
Older means wiser
A person who gave me hope, a friend and mentor, hates herself and by law cannot tell me. I write for her. I write because she should realize she is beautiful and I love her (but not in the creepy way, just the way I love everyone, I'd like to make that clear even here), that she glides instead of walks. That she's really worth talking to. That her anger amuses me. That the only way to find a man who loves her---is that what she wants?--is to stop looking.
This is for you, mentor. I hope for you.
This is for you, mentor. I hope for you.
Secret Keeper
My friend will not read this. Nor will any of you. But she's been hurt. Hurt by somebody who is still hurting her. This blog post is to individually pray that her life is better and she is treated like the hero she deserves.
I'll always keep your secret.
I'll always keep your secret.
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