Heart of Slumbers

Just a quick update:

I never finished Heart of Darkness nor would I recommend anyone to read it in this day in age. I give myself a gold star on my fridge for trying. I made it to page 60 yet only managed to grasp the most superficial and vague idea of what the plot may or may not be about.

Embarrassing part:

I was reporting my failure back to my mother and Sean and in a passing comment about the book I saw their faces freeze. They then approached the conversation carefully. I simply said that the book reminded me too much of Apocalypse Now and how silly that this Kurtz man is so sought after and mysterious EXACTLY like Marlon Brando.

Fact:

Apocalypse Now was based on the novella Heart of Darkness. They are so similar because they are the same story. The movie has just been set in an more recent war.

Result:

Sean thought I was using incredible wit to create a very dry humor joke. His shame was all that remained when he realized the truth. Mum sheepishly corrected me - thanks Tips.

Near disaster:

If I had gone to book club and mentioned this silly "link" on Tuesday, I would have definitely been asked to leave and never return. Maggie would have cut up my library card then lit it on fire in front of me.

Crisis averted.

Return of the Mack or...Mr. Bond

Tomorrow is the long-anticipated and most-exciting return of Mr. Bond. You will all be happy to know I survived my week of abandonment independence with style and maturity-ish. I have become devishly addicted to the Hunger Games trilogy and spent many a free minute whizzing through the books. I have also spent the time working. Not as much fun, but still a worthwhile experience. That and worrying.

Worrying is in my blood. I am at several intersections of heritage that have led me to this life and if you look at where I came from, it's not hard to see why I spend much of my life worrying. Not that I have had a stressful life but I have been surrounded by worriers. My life has still been pleasant with my family, however I find most of my relatives are worriers and also Hungarians, which naturally brings them into mental loops of worry. Glenn Turner once said "worry is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do but it gets you no where." How true it is, as I have worried about everything in the past week and I am still exactly where I was before. Worrying is so common in my family that when I told my stepdad that I was writing a post on worrying, he emailed the quote that has been stuck to our family fridge since as long as I can remember. Worrying is somewhat similar to my high expectations - outlandish and unfounded. I don't worry that Bond won't have a warm enough jumper for the week, I worry that while swimming in the Sea, he somehow managed to be consumed by a shark.

Anyway, I anticipation of his return, I had to make sure my schedule would be clear tomorrow so I have had to complete all my lesson planning today. I spent all day working, yet have managed to not complete my lessons. I have been distracted by the hair on the carpet (THAT needed to be vacuumed), dust floating in a sunbeam (how beautiful and wonderful! I wonder, is the dust always floating like that or only in this beam of the sun...), the state of my eyebrows (this sunlight picks up the hairs on my face too), and obviously this blog. Now I must get back to devising a scheme for teaching 2-dimensional symmetry, maybe I will worry about how my distracted lesson planning will impact the future educational studies of my children...

Here is the family quote:

When you worry, you go over the same ground endlessly and come out the same place you started. Thinking makes progress from one place to another; worry remains static.
Walker, Harold B

My Heart of Darkness

I have made it another day! Although today was altogether uneventful. I have begun Heart of Darkness for my book club which meets next week and I am not sure why I have agreed to this torture. I sadly left the novel to the last minute so reading it coupled with my isolation is enough to make me start to rock in a corner.

As a teacher, I push my children to focus, be better, learn more, and cram as much knowledge into them as I can before they fly off into the world of...year 3. However sometimes, I catch myself becoming one of them and I wonder why I am so demanding of their little minds. As adults we forget what it is like to read, write, or do anything that is beyond our capabilities. It is not like anyone is currently forcing me to complete an algebraic calculation or solve for x. Adults choose what they succeed at to continue doing for the rest of their lives. For books, if we don't like a novel for whatever reason, we put it down and choose another one. I find more often than not, I put down a book because it is out of my grasp, not because it is bad writing. I will read any poorly written book (Twilight) as long as it has a gripping storyline (Twilight), and an intense love affair (Twilight) usually between an immortal and a human (Twilight). However, throw me a copy of...well...Heart of Darkness, and I approach the book with resentment, boredom, and mind-wandering.

Children don't have the luxury adults have. I make them read nonfiction. I make them jump to the nearest ten before continuing to add the units. I make them research on sharks, light and dark, and insects. I of course don't have an issue with exposing them to things they might not be interested in or good at, I am all for that because you won't know what you like or what you are good at until you try it and practice makes perfect...there is also no I in team and absence makes the heart grow fonder, and any other cliche you want to throw in there.

I am just stating that sometimes we forget that a child might not be perfectly engaged when listening to the BFG because they don't friggen care. They may find Roald Dahl's made up words hard to decode and inaccessible. But it is adults that demand them to stay focused and try harder when it is something they would not expect of themselves. I am obviously not going to change what I teach the children because they drift off, but this new found awareness will make me call in to question how I teach certain topics and allow for some mental drifting without the harsh snap-out-of-its.

I do also now sympathize greatly with my teachers from the past and present and mostly my parents and my partner. I certainly wasn't and am not the easiest pupil but I am trying and isn't that what we also hope from our children? So back to the book. I read it because I know it is a significant piece of literature, but I do it with great turmoil. Averaging one page a fortnight isn't all that bad but it will be come Tuesday when Maggie asks my input on the author's take on good versus evil and the destructive nature of colonialism. Because after all, I may be a new generation of teacher but I guarantee Maggie is plain old school and I am sure I will get my knuckles rapped if I don't come up with the answer or if it starts to look like I am off with the fairies.

Here goes nothing. Zzzzzzzzzz

Peaks and Valleys

Anyone who knows me, knows my emotions tend to peak and valley more than Frodo's route to Mordor. With age I have gained the wisdomosity to recognise when they will be valleying, which is of course a great step. They always say the first step is admitting you have a problem. Well done. Now what to do with that information.

First of all things that I now know set me off:
- loud noises
- bad smells
- crowded spaces
- disappointment
- shattered expectations (which goes hand-in-hand with my "problem" of setting extraordinary expectations, leading to my hopes always being shattered. For example a typical night out would result in a daydream of starting the dancing on the dancefloor, being watched while I complete an outrageous routine in a circle - usually involving several others joining in to my steps, being signed to a dance team, and as a result hosting SNL...it could happen.)
- douchebaggery
- snarky comments - from others, never my own
- hunger
- not being able to get a hold of someone by either phone, text, email
- negative feedback

That is a small list considering some people are set off by women in the work force...right?

One of my moment's of revelation was when I worked at a call centre and boss made all the supervisors take a personality test as a part of team building. We all found our results dead ringers of who we were and I was quite pleased with mine until I got to the second last comment "often plagued by dark thoughts, if you hear 99 positive comments and 1 negative, the 1 will stick in your head to fester." The test was overall positive and things I happily related to, but this one seemed to just stay in my mind. I turned it over and over in my mind and made a list of my so-called "dark thoughts." What a bullshit test.

Anyway, I have come up with several coping mechanisms to overcome my mini-rages such as

- watching episodes of Seinfeld (this is interesting to mention that this is opposite for my mother. In fact, this could be added to her list of things that set her off. One day I was home sick on a day that coincided with one of her mornings off. Just as my mum was about to sit down - cheeks centimetres hovering over the couch, I flicked to an episode of Seinfeld and she sprang back up like a Jack in the Box. She unleashed a slew of curses and refused to watch such "infuriating garbage" and if I didn't turn it she would withhold love from me from the rest of the morning. My mother feels very similar to South Park)
- reading - fiction, non-fiction can never break me from a funk, who wants to get out of their mood by reading about other people's struggles? Not me.
- writing
- dancing to Whitney Houston's I wanna dance with somebody...RIP
- looking at pictures of baby animals particularly kittens, puppies, pandas, piglets, and rodents (odd choice, I know, but have you seen a baby mouse? You are dead inside if you don't at least let out a sigh)
- speaking to my family and Mr. Bond - obv

I have recently been put to the ultimate test of emotional strength and positivity. My partner in crime, Mr. Bond has ventured to the lovely Mauritius for a work trip. Now before you start to groan, I want to clarify I am a fiercely independent person - I live in England away from all my family and friends for Christmas sake, so give me some credit. As I look out the window of my London flat, I think I recognise one of the emotions at play - jealousy. Bond has already messaged that he is starting to tan while I am here with my British tan (white as snow) and looking at a Spring grey sky.

I am also nearly in complete isolation this weekend. I spent a lovely Friday night with my closest friends in London and had a fabulous time but I needed to return to the flat to lesson plan and get back to life. The weather and workload are keeping me from exploring the city but now I know why solitary confinement is a severe punishment in prisons. I have begun to scratch out a daily tally chart on the wall with my fingernails and I swear Pinkball is following me with her eyes. I will play a game of monopoly with her later to make sure she stays happy enough to not kill me in my sleep.

Coupled with my beginning insanity, I do generally miss Mr. Bond as he is very fit. And funny. Oh and I do generally love him. Also, I am beginning to starve as he does cook the majority of the meals to ensure my bones don't crumble by the age of 30, my teeth stay in my skull, and I have something called an "immune system" to fight "sickness". I have begun to boil and chew my shoe leather as I saw it in an episode of Due South once.

I have begun to notice a slight shift in my positivity and I believe I might, just might, be heading for a valley. In preparation I have made my desktop a picture of a baby piglet, purchased the Hunger Games trilogy, made a Whitney playlist consisting of I wanna dance with somebody, and planned out a rigorous skype schedule. I am also writing this blog daily to see how I do. Check back daily to see if Pinkball has locked me in the bathroom and supplied me with only my wellies for a meal.

Now for a cheer-you-up, take a gander at what I mean:

Baby badger. Awww

Payback

Well there have been no further mouse spottings or deaths in the Haus of Mousie. so this is a different kind of payback.

I love to read. I need to read everyday and before bed or I can't sleep. I have stacks of books on my bedside table and reading lists from 2009 that always seem to carry over to the next year. One problem great thing with London is that there are bookshops everywhere and every station I go into has a bookstall close by for me to creep through. This inevitably leads to me purchasing new books and expanding my reading list. Sadly, the moment I feel I have control over the books I am going to read, WH Smith has a book sale (buy 1 book, get 6 free) and I have another huge stack to get through. I have been meaning to read Wuthering Heights for months now, but a new We Need to Talk About Kevin comes out and I have to snatch it up.

 

Why I read.

My book club doesn't help this sick addiction either, because 80-something year old ladies refer to me all these life-changing books that I just HAVE to read. This also brings with it their movie adaptations that I must see because it-is-nothing-like-the-book-but-just-as-poignant-and-life-altering-as-its-literary-match. Book club also messes up the order of the reading list, because there is a time pressure that comes with it. I have to read and research my latest book before our next meet, otherwise I will look like a chimp when Maggie (the 70-something year old retired English professor) says "the book has sweeping metaphors and symbolism similar, but not equal to that of Poe. Don't you agree Katie?" leaving me blank-faced and awe-inspired over these brilliant and revolutionary women. Something in their British accent also gives them an authority that makes my North American twang sound Neanderthal, "I think dem der books are mighty fine reads ma'am and I likes de looks of dem pages with all thurr words on it." So I am left to read book review after book review, and wikipedia pages of authors, publishers, print dates, etc.

One anthology we read in October had the ladies referencing the time periods the short stories were written in and they were comparing their previous works to this snippet. The women had of course NOT read the book in order from start to finish, but instead read by author according to those they liked the most to the least. They also referenced printing presses, cultural influences, and the authors' pets who undoubtedly shaped the entire text. I was baffled. I had read the book from start to middle and begrudgingly so as the stories used too many words like whilst and henceforth and I couldn't make out if the main character was happy or sad most of the time because the subtext was too coded.

Anyway, the point is, I have a lot of books and I search out only really classic, literary novels to read that will shape me as a person or entertain whole-heartedly. This is why I am deeply disappointed, if not disgusted, if a book misleads me. If I pick a shit book because I am in a hurry and don't put in the time, then it is my own fault. However, if I put in a solid 20 minutes into selecting your book, it better damn well be worth it. The last book I read had this on the front "Winner of the 2011 COSTA Novel Award" and "'Irresistibly compelling' - Daily Telegraph" "'Gripping' - The Times" and on the back a blurb of

Paris, 1785. A year of bones, of grave-dirt, relentless work. Of mummified corpses and chanting priests. A year of rape, suicide, sudden death. Of friendship too. Of desire. Of love.. A year unlike any other he has lived.

I think...win. This will at least be a thrilling novel, something like a Dan Brown to occupy my mind and rip me from my rut of non-fiction texts. The front of the book even has gold shiny bits! GOLD! The front-illustration is enough to draw me and many a ferret in. 

So when I get halfway through the book I am enraged. Halfway is about when you know, just know, this book won't pick up. It isn't getting any better and you have resigned yourself to boredom. Now, I am not as near death as some older readers, who might say "you don't have long to live, put it down and choose another." I still feel I have endless time so I NEED to finish a book. If I don't it's blasphemy AND it might turn into a Life of Pi, having a huge twist at the end, which completes my life. So I, of course, read a few book reviews and get a resounding womp womp from fellow readers. It is as boring as it is long. I express to Bond my boredom and how I am dragging through it just to finish and be rid of it. 

Now here comes my payback. In 1999 Mom and Sean gave me, A Book Lover's Diary which I have written in since. The front is inscribed, "Merry Christmas Katie! Keep on reading!" which I can't help but read in a Southern accent with intense twang, so it turns into a "keep onnnnnnnn readin!" It is here where I harbour my vengeance. I give the book half a star (can you believe it!), with a malicious review and undoubtedly tearing the author a new one. Ranting about pointless words, and plots that never amount to anything; unable to draw the reader in if it had my own name woven into it. I know it might seem small to you, but I give a maniacal laugh after I place my last full stop on the page, writing something like "Who should read this book? No one." MUAHAHAHA! Revenge at last. Eat that boring authors! I will recommend your book to no one! MUAHAHAHA! It is the ultimate shame to be placed in this part of my book diary. They WILL never know my rage!

2011 Fall 2012 Spring Booklist

Mousecapades

The time for sentiment is over. I purchased a second box of After Eights to replace my the mouse's first and left it on our desk in the living room. This morning I found this:

They have managed to crawl up a table leg onto the desk, sort through the papers, find the After Eights and nibble the chocolate off from the mint.

Rage has led to retaliation...
and here it is.





Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice...

Sadness - warning for the animal lover

Unfortunately and very sadly, war means murder. Not death, murder. I was saddened today that one of the mice was found in our traps that we set. In the B & Q store (our Home Depot) Bond and I stood in the aisle staring at the various ways you can rid your house of pets. We looked for humane traps, things to deter them from entering, and unfortunately we had the tough decision to make about how to kill them. Bond was very sensitive to me, seeing my eyes with tears most of the trip. Why are mice made so damn fluffy? Why do they have the most adorable whiskers that twitch when you speak to them and they sniff your hand? Having owned mice for three years, the thought of trying to actively kill them was tragic. I wish our house was invaded by creepy crawlies, which I have no problem removing having Bond remove. However, even then, I ask Bond to move the creature outside instead of squashing in a tissue.

It didn't help that at the moment we decide for a mousetrap, that a crazy old lady starts spinning a tale of how she caught them with just a few tools from Poundland. Her graphic description of their capture and inevitable torture was enough to and did, send me over the edge. I think she got the message when Bond just about stabbed her in the throat with his eyes.

To appease me, we bought copious amounts of mouse deterrent such as sound sonars to irritate them, but we did have to buy several traps.

This morning, first one up because my bladder is the size of a walnut with the elasticity of skinny jeans (none), I saw the little friend dead on the carpet with a shining silver necklace. I know this is a First-World problem, but I do feel really saddened by its death and I have cried several times. I guess this is why Britain started the plague in the first place, a bunch of genuinely kind-hearted animal lovers refused to kill the fuzzy rodents and instead shared some bread with them (and skin cells). We have reset the traps and I fear the worst. Also, to add to my sadness, the poor fellow left a stain on the carpet which will haunt me much like Lady Macbeth.

Out, out damned spot.