The Mentality of the Culicidae

It's 3am, and I'm awake. Again.

I used to be the type of person who would lie awake at night thinking about things. I have this goal of "understanding", so puzzling things out is a natural instinct. And hey, I used to have things to think about. The MUD, for instance. Why on earth did this player say that? Was that what he thought of me? Why would he think that, did they really think I was so selfish? How could I make them all see the person I really was? Et cetera. Or when I had a crush on a boy when I was fourteen, now, that really gave me something to think about. But that was long ago, and it's not why I'm awake tonight.

No, tonight there's a mosquito in my bedroom. Again.

Now, I like to think of myself as a nature-lover. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of visiting the Botanical Gardens with my family, being taught about the different trees and flowers, feeding the ducks. When I was lonely in primary school, there was a patch of buttercups far across the field from where everyone played, and I would retreat there when the age difference got too intrusive for me, and keep the bees company. And I like cute and cuddly animals as much as the next girl.

Actually, I've probably quite a bit more tolerance for the wildlife than your average person; too much David Attenborough as a teenager, I suppose. (No, you can never watch too much David Attenborough.) So, in accordance with his enthusiastic attitude, I find it all interesting, curious and worth preserving (although I haven't gone vegetarian). This means that I don't mind large spiders, because the big ones we get here are harmless; in a safe environment, I wouldn''t mind handling a snake. To me, ants' nests are a marvel of nature, as you can see in this video, although obviously they're best left alone. I like earthworms, in theory, although I've never bothered digging them up to go look at them. By a weird extension, I like colorectal surgery. (Seeing the patient's innards spread out on view... Pink and wriggly? Happy guts. Ooh, that bit looks sick, poor thing. Let's cut it out. The rest of them still happy? Happy guts.)

But well, mosquitoes are the lone exception. They spread malaria, causing a worldwide disease burden. Not to mention myriad other diseases. They don't support any ecosystem, as far as I know, because they're a pest feeding on humans and animals. They seek me and my mother and sister out preferentially, and we get huge welts that last for days and sting at night. I don't believe in "evil" in the malignant, people-hating sense, but ... mosquitoes are the enemy and must die.

Which brings us to The Hunt.

The door is closed. The lights are on. All wooden surfaces get checked. Then Smith gets covered in blankets up to his face, and my arms and head are free to act as bait ... and to smack them out of the air. I used to be reasonably good at it. When I was on rotation on the North Coast, in a house with broken fly-screens, I'd sit for an hour before bed and get about six or seven of them each night. Then I could sleep knowing that with the door shut, no more would come in.

These days, though ... I don't know what it is. Maybe I'm older and slower. Maybe I'm tired more often. Maybe the mosquitoes are faster, where we live now. But many hours over many nights have been fruitless, and I usually end up just putting a blindfold on and going to sleep with the lights on. I don't think I've caught a mosquito this year, and there have been plenty.

So I've had plenty of time to think about the intelligence of the mosquito. Obviously it's not on a par with the human mind. I must be some kind of animist, because I usually like to think of things as having a personality - trees, germs, guts (as above), supermarket trolleys, you name it. But well, I don't even like to dignify a mosquito by giving it its proper gender (only the female ones bite). No, this is not your average gravid female looking for nourishment for her eggs, and this is not a bitch-slap fest. It is an IT. Kill it.

There used to be a catchy television advertisement for insect spray, that featured an anthropomorphic, singing housefly. I'm Louie the fly, Louie the fly, straight from rubbish tip to you! Spreading disease, with the greatest of ease ... But when you're in a room with a mosquito ... well, it's not exactly a planning genius.

"Right, we go around the bedpost here and between the slats, and they'll be straight ahead. Ignore the golden-haired one, the Asian one has a better blood group, taste that carbon dioxide on her breath ... So we're going to zoom over the face, we don't want her to wake up, focus on the hands, arms, anything but the head, you got me? And do not, I repeat, DO NOT land on the hair - it's a trap. They're not called hair triggers for nothing. Okay, you ready?"

No, I like to think of a mosquito more as a machine. In its nervous system and what counts for a brain, it has, what, ten thousand neurones? A hundred thousand? I don't really have a clue, although I bet it's not in the billions. And there are probably only a few basic impulses - eat, mate, hide. Each one would have excitatory and inhibitory factors, and you can kind of predict what they are.

Anyone who's done neuroscience probably knows what I mean by that, but here's an analogy. Mating aside, let's say that 'hide' and 'feed' are at opposite ends of a dial. What the mosquito does depends on where the dial is at a particular time, and that depends on the environment. The time of day is one factor pushing the dial towards one end or another - feeding at dawn or dusk, and hiding the rest of the day. The presence of food pushes it towards feeding - I've just looked it up, and apparently carbon dioxide and oct-1-en-3-ol in breath and sweat are strong attractants. I used to watch them come up to me, mesmerised, tracking along the trail of my breath - conveniently, right in front of my face so I could smack them between my hands.

Obviously being swatted at is a fast swing towards the "life-preservation" end of the dial, but also, the presence of a good place to hide will attract it. I've learned that mosquitoes like to hide on dark wood-grain surfaces, and I used to be able to go hunt them down on my bedroom door or the bookshelf. (Now my bed is wooden and there's an underneath for them to hide. Grr.) And, to my despair, having the light on (so I can see it!) seems to be a strong push towards the 'go hide' end. Maybe having a 35 watt fluorescent for sewing and reading as the top light (100W incandescent equivalent) wasn't such a good idea.

Other than that, I'm guessing. I suspect that while light is a fast swing to the hiding end, darkness is only a slow push in the other direction. I wonder if the strength of the light is a factor in the speed. Sometimes I wonder if they're tempted to hide on my hair, being a dark, grainy surface. I haven't yet gone as far as digging out my tiny stash of acupuncture pins and opening a vein to attract it despite the light, but tonight I'm tempted. It did come out when I had a nosebleed earlier tonight, after all.

That only accounts for about fifty neurones in total, so obviously a mosquito is more complicated than that. But I've got a hundred billion ... I win, right? Well, that's what I'm hoping...

neeed ... sleeeep.....

People will forget what you said
People will forget what you did
But people will never forget how you made them feel.

Maya Angelou

Of course, this is true even when people have completely misunderstood what you said and don't know what you did.

Ordering a Life

What do you do when life leaves you with nothing to do, and all the time in the world to do it in?

For some people, this is called a holiday. It may be a welcome break from the constant demands of working life. But for others, it can become a lifestyle. And it gradually becomes a hole that is very difficult to get out of.


In August last year, I took extended sick leave from my job. I found that the pressures of being a first-year doctor required a lot more energy than I had. Don't get me wrong, I loved my job. But after five months of working, my energy levels were low to the point that I would take at least a day off every fortnight because I couldn't get out of bed, and at work every afternoon around lunchtime I started feeling exhausted and by 3 I would need a nap. Hardly compatible with full-time work. So, despite the fact that I got an excellent report from the last team I worked with, it was decided that I would take leave until I felt better. (I think the excellent report was something to do with the fact that when I was there, I was doing my job as well as replacing other people who were supposed to be there but weren't. :P)

We'd already planned to take a holiday in early September - went off skiing. But after that, and after Smith went back to his job, there was nothing much for me to do. As far as I knew, my job was to get better so I could go back to work. But what would that involve? I didn't know.

Medical investigations had been organised to work out if there was any medical reason for my exhaustion. All I had to do was wait for them and then wait for the results. (In the end, there was no convincing medical reason.) In the meanwhile ... I slept. Seemed like the right thing to do, when I was so tired.

September, October, November ... I think I lost three months of my life.

I certainly can't remember doing anything worthwhile. I wasn't particularly enjoying myself, either. A lot of the time I would sleep until midday, or 1pm. I'd get up, mooch about on the computer a bit, maybe go back to bed. Computer time was spent reading webcomics, playing Insaniquarium or LOTRO, and doing puzzles. In the afternoon I'd nap again, wake up when Smith made dinner, and then sleep; or stay up late playing LOTRO. To tell the truth, I don't remember much about that period. It wasn't much of a life.

Nice work if you can get it, you might say. A life of leisure, with a job to go back to when I was ready (but how would I know I was ready?). Loving husband. Every need met. Capable of doing anything I wanted to do. No time pressures. No financial pressures, thanks to my husband's job. No obligations.

From another perspective, I was a bum. A highly privileged one, to be sure, but still a bum, leeching off my husband.

Of course, I'm not what you'd think of as your typical bum. You know the kind: the guy who lives in his mother's basement, on the computer all day (or all night, doesn't matter which) but doing nothing productive, doesn't cook, clean, wash or take care of himself, baulks at the idea of getting a job or even studying. In the 50s he'd be hanging out on street corners, 'bumming' cigarettes off his friends, in the 80s he'd be at the garage talking about all the cars he'd love to do up. But your privileged bum of the 21st century ... well, I sure acted like it. A female version, at least. You couldn't even call me a housewife, I wouldn't have met that standard by any stretch.

Naturally, I didn't recognise it at the time. There aren't many bums in medical circles :P And of course, nobody thinks of themselves as a bum, because the concept that comes to mind when you think of a bum is of how unfair it is on the people around him, that he isn't pulling his weight. Nobody likes to think of themselves that way. Even my husband was kind enough to think of it as me being ill, and that one day I'd get better; he'd support me until then. He knew I was capable of much more, and he figured I'd get back to it one day.

And the way it looks from the inside ... of course there's that nagging feeling that you're not being a productive member of society, and you're not even really enjoying yourself. For some people, I imagine that feeling is easily overruled by the simple ego-feeding thrills of whatever it was they're spending time on - World of Warcraft, or an addiction like gambling at the poker machines. For others, it is strong, the sense that you're a dead weight on the people around you, and that you really could be doing more with your life ... if only you knew how, or what. But it also feels like there are insurmountable obstacles in your path. For me, I knew there was more to life, but I didn't feel I had the energy, or the motivation, to do anything. It was all just too hard. This inner struggle in itself weighed down on me, the feeling that I couldn't do anything I wanted to do, I didn't know what would become of my career ... a cloud constantly in the background dampening my mood, blunting my emotions.

---------

If you recognise this as a picture of yourself ... well, I'm writing a series of posts for you. I've gradually, very slowly, pulled myself out of that hole, using nothing but willpower I didn't know I needed, didn't know I had, borrowing strength from the people around me. I think it's time to detail how I did it, because when it comes to a hole like this, only you can pull yourself out, no matter how many hands are reaching in to help you. But know this: There is a way out.

There is a way out.

Don't expect any startling revelations from me, though. Everything I am going to say has been said many times before. I'm not advertising any miracle product or ten-week program (You too can be shiny and successful!) No, it is all common sense that you have heard from your parents and from society ... you might even be sick of hearing it by now. The big surprise is: it works.

You don't need money. You don't need any special powers of the intellect. You don't need any special circumstances (although, come to think of it, this would be kind of difficult if you didn't have a place to live, even temporarily). Your tools are a watch, maybe a pen and paper, and the wherewithal to get out there and take care of yourself, and then others. And while it won't be easy - I plan on detailing as many pitfalls as I can think of - it can be done.

The key word, of course, is 'done'. This is a process that you must do, you cannot simply 'become' (although popular culture would love to tell us you can!) No, you must act.

Currently these are the steps I have taken:

1: Realise that you could be doing something worthwhile. (This step took the longest.)
2: Take steps to obtain the energy you would need for doing it. In other words, take good care of yourself.
3: Seek support, and recognise support when it is being offered.
4: Actually write down things you could be doing.
5: Try to do some of the things you want to do.
6: Recognise the barriers in your way, and find out which ones are within yourself.
7: Realise that everything takes time, but only a certain amount of time.
8: Plan your time concretely, and realistically.
9: Endure your first big relapse into old habits, and come out of it realising why it happened and how to limit or avoid it next time.

Of course, this isn't a complete list; I'm not yet where I want to be. In fact, I've just come through my first big relapse into amotivation and fatigue. (I didn't go back to LOTRO, but there was a lot of Insaniquarium. I did do something every day, though.) But eventually - on March 31, to be exact - I will be going back to work. And by then, I plan to be ready. I'll keep you posted on how I go.

In the meantime, though, I will be going into each of the above steps in more detail. I hope that, one day, someone finds this useful (although I don't have that many readers just yet). Just remember:

It can be done.

The Seven Basic Plots, by Christopher Booker

Have you ever thought of yourself as an 'avid reader'? Are you addicted to stories and narrative? And are you interested in structure and analysis? If so, you must read the book I am (still) reading, The Seven Basic Plots - Why we tell stories, by Christopher Booker.

I grew up on stories. As soon as I could read, I read everything I could get my hands on, especially fiction, and I kept that habit all the way through school. Even during my Uni years it wasn't uncommon for me to become completely engrossed in a series of books (to the detriment of my study, unfortunately.)

This has meant I have become quite a narrative-driven person. Everything is a story, in that it has characters, events, consequences. Even my study of medicine has been story-driven. Why does this happen in the body? What is it used for? Every part of the body has a function, so that the relevant molecules flow from food to flesh to waste. Every microorganism has its own story of survival, invasion or elimination. The textbooks I relate to most easily are the ones that tell me the best stories, so that I can just sit down and read them. (I've never been able to study anatomy, unfortunately. Or spend any amount of time on a reference book.) And I love case presentations.

As soon as I saw the book The Seven Basic Plots and flicked idly through it, I had to have it. A detailed analysis of the structure of stories? (The use of the word 'plots' here is a little arguable.) I was in heaven. I'm now on page 630-ish of 730-odd. And, as is immediately apparent even from a brief flick-through, the book is all it set out to be, and much, much more.

Yes, plots have been recycled, reinvented and reused throughout the history of literature. The author has looked deeper, though, and found seven basic ways in which a story can be structured. They are, in the order that he examines them, "Overcoming the Monster", "Rags to Riches", "The Quest", "Voyage and Return", "Comedy", "Tragedy" and "Rebirth". (Yes, there are exceptions, and he deals with those too in this book, a highly-structured thesis.) These, of course, have been combined and recombined countless times, and he gives many examples to support his ideas. There are 350-odd individual stories referenced in the book, from the oldest known (the Epic of Gilgamesh) to the ultra-modern (Harry Potter and the Philospher's Stone), with references to the literature and storytelling culture of every era between then and now. And it's not only the written word that he examines - oral culture, theatre, propaganda, movies and television also fall into the scope of the book.

What he has done, further, is to look at the stories in terms of the archetypal figures who appear in them, and how the plot is shaped around the relation of the hero/heroine to each of these figures. I guess it's not too surprising that he has based these around the Jungian archetypes - the Mother, the Father, the Teacher, the Alter-Ego, the Anima/Animus, the Tempter/Temptress, the Child, the Ego, the Self, the 'masculine' qualities, the 'feminine' qualities. These are supposed to be the figures of our subconscious appearing in our dreams, and it would be natural for them to appear in stories, an outwardly-projected extension of our subconscious. I wasn't that familiar with Jungian psychology myself - all I really knew was that he was a student of Freud, and that Freud was that psychoanalyst preoccupied with sex :P But as these archetypes are explained in this book - as an explanation of the figures who appear and reappear in stories throughout the ages - the author's arguments make a lot of sense.

Now, all of this analysis takes some time. 350-odd pages of quite small print on a largish page. At the same time, it is surprisingly easy to read. Of course, this is in part because he stops so often to tell us the plot of yet another story, before weaving it in to his overall theme. This plethora of stories had me completely engrossed. But it cannot be denied that he is a highly-skilled writer. I was not surprised, when I looked up his biography an hour ago, to find that he has been a lifelong journalist. And, despite his age (more on that later), he writes in very contemporary language - as you'd expect from anyone wanting a book published in 2003.


And then ... And then, at the halfway point of the book, having completed an analysis of all these plots, he embarks on two even greater endeavours. The first is a study of the progress of literature in the past two hundred years, as these plots have gradually changed, been overtaken by fashions, stereotypes, sentimentalism, sex and violence. For me, this was a very difficult section of the book to read, and I believe that many people will instinctively find it so.

Now, this is not to say that I was offended by the content. The stories themselves ranged from the shocking to the bleak and the pointless, and having read the analysis I am actually inspired to read (or in some cases see) the originals; many of the ones he includes have been lauded as great, groundbreaking works of literature, theatre and film. And the author presents all of these items in a very objective, analytical, impartial manner. He examines our reactions to each, and combines them into his analysis and his theme: the disintegration of our relationship with stories. But his main point rang true with every page - that these stories no longer resonate with our sense of the struggle to become one's own Self, and so each story, in its own way, feels somehow wrong and unresolved.

Finally, after a brief interlude in which he tells how stories relate to the 'real world' and history, he presents a gargantuan chapter on what I think is his final topic: the stories of religion. Here, I will not give away his thesis; although his theory is uncontroversial, I know that religion is quite a sensitive topic with many people. Being an atheist myself, I was very much impressed at his absolutely impartial treatment of a near-comprehensive list of religions and cultures. But it will probably be slightly uncomfortable for any person who adheres to a particular religion to see the roots of their own culture analysed so objectively, especially those which the author shows to be varying from his theme.

All the same, I feel this is the most important part of the book; it is the one which finally prompted me to write all this. The level of understanding of the human psyche he demonstrates is awe-inspiring. You would not tell from his tone of writing that he is in his seventies, but his insight in finding these themes, these values, these relationships, shows the true wisdom obtained only by experience. My idols and role-models have always been those who show such insight, and while they have previously been the Galileos, the scientists of the world, or more recently Terry Pratchett ... this is one man I would really want to meet and shake by the hand. (And then he'd wonder who this shy little girl was, who couldn't express herself properly.)

Yes, in my ideal world everyone would read this book and learn something about themselves, their culture, the history of literature. But of course, the book itself is not accessible to everyone. People may be discouraged by its small print and large size (although many who look inside may find it to be surprisingly readable, as I did). There is extensive use of three- and four-syllable words (sample from one paragraph: incognito, disarray, overshadowed, arrogance, dissipation, infesting, miserably, majesty, massacre, reunited, triumphantly) which may unfortunately rule out a proportion of the population, and then of course there are those who simply are not interested in stories, literature or analysis. I even saw a writer's review complaining about typographical errors and excessive use of the word 'little'. But for the rest of us, I implore you to read this book.

Even if you do not start off sympathetic to the points of view he later proposes, you will find his arguments compelling. Even if you read critically with an eye to his omissions, his elisions and biases, his thesis will still be interesting. Because, readable though it may be, this is a finely-constructed essay building on point after point after point, example after example, theory after theory, to a stunning understanding of the way we tell ourselves who we are.

I've been busy...

getting my life organised. It's taken some effort, but I'm really getting there :) Unfortunately, writing this blog seems to have fallen by the wayside. Probably because I keep procrastinating about what I wanted to write about.

Ahh well. Time to write about something else instead!

This evening I went for a walk around the neighbourhood, and came across a little Japanese supermarket. I wished I'd brought my purse with me (I'd deliberately decided not to) because they sell little tubs of green tea and sesame ice cream! I love Japanese ice-cream flavours.

They're an interesting east-west fusion - while green tea, black sesame, red bean, taro (a kind of purple very starchy turnip), lotus seed and lychee are traditional Asian flavours, dairy is not. Soy milk mixes are a tiny bit more common, but usually you see these flavours on their own - red bean paste or lotus seed paste in buns, red bean sweet soup, black sesame soup dumplings, taro cakes (often more taro, less cake, and no egg), lotus seed cake (ditto), lychee and green tea ice drinks, green tea jelly. But the Japanese have made them into traditional milk-and-egg-base icecreams, and they work really well. Black sesame is the hardest on western palates, but green tea and red bean work really well, and I assume taro would too.

----

Oh, and in an odd turn of events, I found out that the thing I was so angry about the other week ... I'd attributed to the wrong person. She had nothing to do with it. In fact, it was a guy, who doesn't know me that well at all. I know for a fact he resents me for something I refused once long ago, and I don't particularly care. So I don' t need to pay any attention! So much for the positive effects of anger. Someone mentioned that it gives you tunnel vision ... here, it seems it did.

Well, actually, maybe there have been positive effects after all. I have done a lot of stuff directly sparked by the thoughts I had that night, and none of them have been negative. I certainly haven't done anything to hurt anyone, or anything that I regret. I didn't go speak to her, or him. I have, on the other hand, started some projects which I'm sure, later on, I'll be really proud of. All because I was forced to get creative.

Okay, enough for now! Time to go have dinner.

Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street

A couple of weeks ago I begged Smith to take me to go see Sweeney Todd at the movies. We enjoyed it thoroughly. And tonight I bought a recording of the musical, done in 2005 by a Broadway Revival cast, over iTunes. Listened to that and also enjoyed it.

I saw the movie first without knowing much about the plot. Now, I love musicals, but I hate suspense and gore. I'm a scaredy-cat type who, if there is any indication that 'somebody might get hurt!', will hide under the seat with my ears blocked, or leave the area. As a result, I don't watch much TV :P Or at least not the kind of stuff that Smith watches - he likes supernatural themes. I like documentaries and comedian revues.

Anyway, I normally wouldn't see a movie with so much violence and death. But this was a musical, and highly recommended by my type of people (xkcd readers). So I steeled myself, I even read spoilers. (I like to read plot synopses if I have to watch something with suspense, but this time I didn't, so I didn't really know the plot.) However, I knew it was about a barber who kills people, so I was fully prepared for everybody who went anywhere near Johnny Depp to die. This served me well - the couple of people who didn't die were a pleasant surprise :P And for anyone who hasn't seen it and wants to, firstly DO SEE IT ... and secondly, be prepared for blood. Lots and lots of blood. Lots and lots and LOTS of blood. Mostly fake-looking, but hey, that's part of the fun.

And the music was wonderful. The musical itself is by Stephen Sondheim, who also wrote Into The Woods and A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, and the lyrics in West Side Story. The lyrics to Sweeney Todd are fantastically witty, lots of laughs, suitably cutting and cynical in places, and overall the best bit of the movie, even if you can't catch them all. Johnny Depp sang quite well, Helena Bonham Carter did a great job, Sacha Baron Cohen was hilarious and Ed Sanders (the child who played Tobias) just shone. Overall I found the movie to be tremendous fun.

So of course I had to listen to the original. I bought it over iTunes tonight, the 2005 Broadway Revival Cast recording, and it was well worth it. But quite different to the movie.

Of course, the musical came first, and so I'll be comparing the movie to the original, as it were. Firstly, in the movie they transposed a lot of the key parts to fit the voices of the actors. For instance, in the musical Mrs Lovett is probably an alto, and Patti Lupone on my recording has a reasonably deep voice. Helena Bonham Carter, on the other hand, is a mezzo-soprano at least. Likewise, the role of Tobias is sung by a light tenor in the musical, while they used a boy soprano in the movie. I can see why an adult tenor would be more practical for the musical, as the Toby role is rather large and I can't see an 11-14 year-old boy playing it night after night for however long a Broadway run lasts. (Although hey, they do it for Annie.)

Given that they could cast more freely for the movie, though, I think they did superbly. Having a young boy with an unbroken voice as assistant to Pirelli just makes the role much more likeable and poignant in the right places. The young actors who play Johanna and Antony have adolescent-like singing voices, consistent with their characters (my original recording has an adult soprano as Johanna, which doesn't grate as much on the ear, when really it should. She's supposed to be 15.) And Helena Bonham Carter ... well.

I'm still tossing up as to whether Helena Bonham Carter or Patti LuPone (Mrs Lovett in the Broadway recording) is the better voice-actor. And that's quite a compliment to Ms Carter, given how much I love Patti LuPone. Of course, I was more than halfway through the recording before I realised where I recognised the voice - she also sang Fantine in the London Cast recording of Les Miserables. And Ms Carter does a different, but equally good job. And she does a great down-to-earth accent, I'm not sure what to call it, although it's definitely a British one. Ms LuPone had an American accent in the recording, and that made me cringe in places.

They also seem to have sped up some of the songs for the movie. Either that or the professional singers have that much better diction, that everything not only comes out clearer, but seems slower. But I could swear that most of Mrs Lovett's songs in the movie are a touch faster than on the stage version, especially the patter in "The Worst Pies in London." (See, with song titles like that, you've got to see it.) And it works well, even if Smith had much trouble making out the words.

And the choice of what songs to put in the movie and what to leave out ... I think they did well. They did leave out a key 'narration' song, "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd", which it seems some musical-goers missed. Me, I wasn't that enamoured of the song itself, although maybe it needs a visual impact to go along with it. The flashback technique they used in the movie in the other songs served as a good background, so that song would have been redundant. And the rest of the songs ... well, they flattened some of the characters out severely (Judge Turpin, Johanna and the Beggar Woman) by leaving out key songs that displayed depth of character, but I don't think it detracted from the story.

Overall, I think the movie is a great rendition of the musical. Hey, apparently even Stephen Sondheim likes it. But if the musical ever comes to town, or we ever make it to London's West End, I'll be seeing that too. :)

Our anniversary

Well, I was going to write something interesting today. But I'm too tired! I woke up at 3am and started doing stuff rather than going back to sleep. And I've had two naps today, but it hasn't helped enough.

So here's something I prepared earlier.

It was Smith and my anniversary of the first time we went out, on January 24th. I wrote him a card.

[front of card]

24th January, 2008

"Dear Smith,

Well.

It had to happen sometime. After eight years, your brainwashing has finally worn off [in-joke]. Finally, I see things as they really are. I'm kicking myself now, I really am. How could I have thought I loved you?

[inside card, left-hand side]

I mean, all you ever did for me was
share my interest in Physics,
share my love of Terry Pratchett [author of the Discworld series],
make interesting conversation with me,

[continued on a pasted-in loooonnnng strip of paper, folded]
share in-jokes with me, make me laugh, bounce ideas off me, invent new words for me, look at me every day, tell me you loved me in a wonderfully cryptic and creative way, decide to live where you wanted to, send me novel-length emails, tell me your innermost secrets, hopes and dreams, share most of my values and tolerate the rest, feel protective of me, consider my comfort, introduce me to online life, be nice to my family, kiss me silly, cuddle me happy, ask me to marry you, consent when I wanted to wait, give me unwrapped books, lend me your library, share bus trips home with me, be nice to my friends, fit in with my social life, accommodate my study and my timeline, provide me with a safe haven, give me your old computer, download games for me, share your home with me, accept the ring I bought, share your family with me, hold me when I needed you, wait up for me in the lab, miss me when I was away, talk about my family with me, support me through my first job, distract me from my studies, decide what you really wanted to do, move out with me, buy household goods with me, buy furniture with me, make a life for me, enjoy my cooking, buy me a ring, marry me on the MUD [imaginary], wear my ring, support me financially, endure my clinical placements, cook when I was too tired, cuddle me when I was sad, watch TV with me, kill a zillion cockroaches, pay my HECS [Uni fees], take me out to dinner, visit my family with me, tell me about your job, make me smile, take me to concerts, find a job you like, indulge my MUD addiction, sleep by my side, visit me on rural terms, help me take my medicine, support me through my exams, talk about life with me, pick a beautiful new apartment, wash up when I need to cook, buy fun jigsaw puzzles, hold me on the train, help me get out of bed, dress me for class, make sure I eat, change your work hours for me, remind me to take my medicine, take me to the doctor's, hold me when I cried, kiss me til I smiled, make sure I did paperwork, analyse my chances of getting the job I wanted, let me live away when I had to, look good in a suit, imitate HEX [from Discworld] for me, teach me to code, marry me on a beautiful day, plan a wonderful honeymoon, drive us all around New Zealand, take me bird-watching, slide down a glacier with me, surprise me with puzzles, go ballooning with me, fly on a wire, endure my horrible hours, go dancing with me, take me to the theatre, visit me at work, talk me down out of the building, make new friends and old with me, cuddle me when I made mistakes, feed me dinner when I couldn't move, cook dinner when I could, clean the house, take me skiing, push me to move when I was home alone, talk me through things on the phone, stroke my hair when I was sleepy, make me get out of the house, watch my mood for me, help my tidy my room, vacuum the house, let me have friends over, endure my bad habits,
let me know when you were irritated, guilt-trip me into good behaviour, let me buy anything I wanted, share fantastic and whimsical ideas with me, talk with me at nights, walk with me in the mornings, never show a hint of jealousy, while at the same time being perfectly possessive,

[on the card again, still left-hand side]
love me with all your heart, inspire me to be a better person, and generally make me the happiest woman in the world.

[inside card, right-hand side]
I mean, DUH! I should have realised that a man who couldn't bend the universe to my every wish [Another in-joke] would try and make up for it in other ways. And now, it's been eight years, when all along I could have been out there, looking for the man who could...

Oh, what? I actually got myself married to you?
Uh oh...
this complicates things.
let me think now...

Well, before I go on my way, I guess that to be fair, I should try and repay all that ... So I think I'll stick around for a while longer.

And you're good company, I'll give you that.

And besides, if anyone's going to bend the universe to my every wish, isn't it going to be you?

And maybe...

[back of card]
maybe I really am a little bit in love with you after all.

[Illustration: small hearts drift into big hearts forming a thundercloud, raining into a blue puddle washing away to one side.]


*brain slowly melts, and washes clean*

I see the truth ...
I love you with every subatomic particle of my being...
and I always will.

Jean"