ladymirth

My best friend has been going around town for a week  WITH A CONCUSSION!

At least, I'm pretty sure it's a concussion based on the following evidence:
a) She has a painful lump on her head.
b) She gets headaches and says "she doesn't feel too good".
c) Her left eye has gone blurry.
d) She sounds disorientated.
e) She had a curtain pole dropped on her head.

Of course, we don't know for sure, because she hasn't been to see the doctor yet!  And her parents know all her symptoms and they aren't bothered in the slightest. She told me last night when she came to see my play that she was "considering" going to the doctor because the swelling still hurt. Seeing as last time she felt ill she didn't go to the hospital till she was coughing up blood with bronchitis, this might be an improvement. 

I don't know who I want to whack harder - her or her parents. Her parents are the most astonishing pair of people who ever avoided being slapped with a reckless child endangerment suit that I ever heard of. I wish I could drop a curtain pole on their heads. 

*fumes* 

Some people need to have their babies taken away, because they don't deserve them. 

So...I'm in a play. A professional one.

I realize it's odd that I've never talked about it after that first mention of it back in January, especially considering it's virtually takn over my life for the last couple of months. The more something stresses me out, the less I talk about it.

Here's what it's about, in a nutshell:


Here are a couple more articles, if you want pictures.

We had a preview performance yesterday for the university and school kids. Some of them didn't quite get it, but they weren't bored or anything, and most people were positive about it. Tonight is opening night. I don't suppose I'll be very nervous tonight, since I was only a little nervous last night and I think I got it out of my system. But the critics are coming today, so I hope I don't gum up just the same.

It's going to be very strange on Monday, when I won't have any rehearsals to go to. I'll have to get myself partially lobotomized to stop myself reciting random bits of dialogue at intervals for the rest of my life.

Wish me luck.

Sis: *white-faced* *trembles from head to foot*
Me: What?
Sis: My Mechanics A/Level exam was at 11 AM not 4 PM like I thought.
Time: *is 3 pm*
Me: D: How'd that happen?  
Sis: I must have copied it down wrong!
Me: Like you copied down the date of the exam payment deadline, the date of your SATs and how many other vital dates and times wrong? 
Sis: *has woobie face* 
Me: Aaargh! *headdesk* 

(Ten minutes later)
Sis: *skips in* It's alright!
Me: *not looking up* If you're going to tell me that it's at 4 o'clock after all, so help me God...
Sis: No, no...It's just that I realized I've already taken the M2 exam paper. 
Me: *incredulous* WHAT?
Sis: Yeah, last June. 
Me: Then why the fuck did we pay for it again? 
Sis: Because I didn't get enough marks for it the first time. But the mark's still valid so it's all alright! *skips off merrily* 
Me: *attempts not to hyperventilate* 

My sister is nineteen. She is also a walking exampe of why people need to take a qualification test before being declared legal adults. 

Those of you who follow the world news know that there's a lot happening in Sri Lanka right now. The terrorist leader Vellupilai Prabhakaran, who has terrorized the nation for the past 26 years with his LTTE guerrilla organization, has reportedly been killed and all the land that has been annexed by them for 20 years been retaken by the Sri Lankan Army. It's purported to be a final end to the years of atrocities and fear that has stunted this country's economic and infrastructural development since the 80s. There are celebrations in the streets, fireworks from all sides and Friday has been declared a national holiday. The Commander in Cheif of the Army, His Excellency President Mahinda Rajapaksha has been declared the nation's favourite son, and they are carrying poster slogans of him which proclaims him to be "King Mahinda". It's suuposed to be a pretty damn big day for the Singhalese. 

For me? Not so much. I'm glad that that monster is dead, and I hope he died painfully. I'm thankful to our boys on the front lines for having unified the entire island for the first time in a quarter of a century. 

But despite claims that the LTTE was merely Prabhakran's personality cult, to me, his death is merely the cutting of a head of Medusa - another one will grow back in its place. This country has been riddled with violence and insecurity ever since 1972, first with the JVP revolts and the ensuing political unrest and constantly with religious and ethnic unrest. This entire war was a result of the 1983 riots, which were incited when 13 Singhalese soldiers were killed by the LTTE (which was at the time little more than a  gang of thugs hated by their own). Singhalese hot-heads retaliated by  hunting down and lynching innocent Tamil civilians by the hundreds while the Singhalese settled in Tamil areas were run out of their homes. Droves of Tamils migrated to other countries as politcal refugees  with  the enduring image  the Singhalese as murderers in their hearts (to this day those Tamils call the Singhalese "Sinha-ban", as in Taliban) and the persecuted Tamils ran into the arms of the LTTE, who promised to protect and avenge them. Overnight, we had ourselves created a monster that would  take the lives of hundreds of thousands of our soldiers and civilians in the name of that blood debt. 

There are those who see the beginning of Independence on this day. I see a dangerously powerful government headed by a leader who himself is becoming a cult personality. Every single time we've had a political leader that was this powerful, their ego ballooned tosuch a degree that it pressed on their brain cells and they ended up making decisions that screwed the country for the rest of time. I see the voices of caution and much-needed checks and balances becoming weaker and weaker. I foresee the rise of nationalism, and with it rampant fundamentalism and racism taking root amongst our people. I see my people refusing to acknowledge or learn from past mistakes. I see growing hostilities between ourselves and the international community, culminating in devastating trade bans and the refusal of the IMF loan that we so desperately need (btw, fuck you very much, Hillary Clinton). I see war refugees being interned and mistreated, festering more inter-racial hatred until a new wave of terrorists are begot within their ranks. I see pro-LTTE factions rising up and retaliating all over the world. I see terrorist witch-hunts that eventually lead to pogroms against the minorities until rioting once again breaks out and the vicious cycle starts again...

Maybe I'm being as skeptical and jaded as only the young can be. But how can you blame me? My entire generation grew up with this war. We learned to live knowing that each day might be our last. And now, are we supposed to rearrange our mindset and suddenly learn to trust our leaders justbecause they flipped a switch and said, "ding-dong, the witch is dead"? It's a known fact that Prabhakaran's son escaped to Malaysia, not to mention the untold numbers of LTTE sleepers scattered all over the world and in the suburbs of Colombo. How long before they form splinter factions and regroup to avenge their fallen leader? Ten years? Twenty? Just in time to draft our own children into another war? 

For me, one of the most horrifying scenes in Greek Literature is the one in Euripides' Women of Troy where Hector's baby son Astyanax is wrenched from his imploring mother Andromache's arms and thrown off the battlements to his death, because the Greeks are afriad the boy will grow up to avenge his father. I've always thanked any gods that were still around that that sort of thing wouldn't happen today - and then I realized that actually, it would, only it would be done quietly and without alerting the press. What guarantee do we have that  our politicians would not have quietly disposed of Prabhakaran and his lieutenants children, whether they were full-grown rebels or babies? And yet, wouldn't it be inevitable that these children would grow up with hate in their hearts for their fathers' killers? 

Medusa, in the end, could only be defeated and killed by being made to see the reflection of her own horrible face. And until the Sri Lankan people, Tamil, Singhala or Muslim, realize their vengeful, righteous chest-thumping for the evil that it is, peace and prosperity will only ever continue to be a dream for this country. 

As for you, "King Mahinda"...beware the Ides of March!

People come back from the dead, two hours after they die, completely deranged.

Seriously?!

I thought this stuff only happened in DC Comics.

Does this mean the Lazarus Pits have a strain of swine flu in it?

DC characters who were secretly infected with swine flu:
1. Jason Todd
2. Jericho
3. Ra's Al Ghul
3. Black Canary (she married Ollie after he made her believe her daughter was dead)
4. Superboy (oh, just you wait and see!) 

Sometimes truth is as strange as fiction. They're even calling it "novel flu". 

AWESOME!

Songs for the Soul

A song played on the radio
Sweet notes and simple words
Recalling happy times before
World-weary woes and hurts

Joy for joy I’ll give, thought I
Plunder smiles long buried deep
Into soft lyrics crystallized
That into other souls may seep

And comfort lonely dawnings
Soothe their sorrowing nights
Sustain the joyless mornings
And evening's dying light

To see beyond pretenses
The scarring of past wrongs
In music find forgiveness
And set them free in songs

I set my song free long ago
Sweet notes and simple words
I yet may find it still echoes 
In a stranger's healing verse
 

Feedback is appreciated, as always.

I've been depressed since February. Quit my job. Refused to be medicated. Tried homeopathy. Reccomended cousellor won't be available till the 10th though. Went back to gym. I thought I was getting better for a while. 

Went on a downward spiral again two days ago. Back at rock bottom now. So many things to do, so many talents and opportunities I have to make use of and I can't make myself do a shitting thing without having a massive panic attack. Wondering whether I won't be able to go to uni this year as well. 

Not that I particularly want to go. I don't want anything, much. I don't want to read anything, watch anything on TV, listen to new music or talk to friends or hunt up my old dreams...nothing really. Can't focus to save my life.

I just really want to want something from life again, so I can start remembering who I am. I just want to not be in pain anymore. 

I didn't want to say anything because so many of you are dealing with worse problems than mine. I know it's selfish to whine. Academically, I know there's nothing wrong with my life apart from my depression. That's why it's even more infuriating to have every advantage available to you and still feel crippled because your dumbass brain is refusing to let you be happy. 

Ann Bauer writes about the Darker side of Autism. 

My brother is autistic. Not high-functioning austistic, just severely autistic. He's eleven years old and can't understand more than direct commands and can't read or write. He loves attention and people, and he's sweet and quiet and affectionate most of the time. He loves dancing and music and swimming pools and long drives along the beach. 

He also goes through periods of intense rage, where he screams for hours and stims and slams doors hard enough to break them. He will pull our hair and claw at our faces and bite and hit anyone who tries to touch him. My father, who is 6 ft and 210 pounds, is the only one who can subdue him or withstand his assaults. My brother is developing in the same build as my father - tall and with significant strength even at the age of 11. The more he loves a person, the more he takes the brunt of his anger out on that person, or harm himself if he isn't allowed to hurt someone else. He loves Dad more than anyone else; as a result, my father's body resembles that of an SF veteran's. 

We early on decided not to dope our bright and beautiful baby up with pills, like he's some kind of a wild animal. He doesn't throw tantrums because he's bad. They can be triggered by anything from a nightmare to a bird chirping outside (some sounds are painful and disorientating to him) to being sad about being scolded. His response to sadness and guilt his also anger;  even after the inital reason for the tantrum has passed, his sadness and guilt at having hurt us or being scolded for it will make him continue to be angry. 

I know my brother's world is a painful and uncomprehending one and that he isn't in control of his reponses. Just as I know that his world is also a beautiful and simple one - being surrounded by family, praise and attention, bright colors on TV all elicit huge grins and overwhelming happiness that he can only express by stimming, dancing and full-body hugs. I know he doesn't mean to hurt us. 

But we're still human. We can't help but yell at him and hurt him back sometimes, when his tempers go on for hours and neighbours become curious and his fingernail marks burn all over our arms. I don't know what's worse to watch - my mother's unreasoning anger that has her crying and hitting her own baby when he won't stop hurting her and screaming that he's a demon sent to by God to punsh her for her sins or my father's resigned stocism as he impassively lets my brother beat him and scratch his face bloody until he burns himself out. 

He rarely beats on me, though. I can't decide whether its because I don't spend much time with him and therefore he is least affectionate toward me of all the family, or because I have never hesitated to return his blows with interest whenever he does beat me. The rest of the family says that he's scared of me. I'm not proud of this, I don't want to hurt my baby brother whom I love, but I really do believe that there should be at least one person in the household who can put the fear of God in him. Usually, he both adores and is cowed by my father, but Dad refuses to check him when baby is in one of his pain-induced rages. So I do it for him. 

In my defence, I at least make sure I never hit him in anger. Nor do I hit him unless he's hurting someone else and will not respond to any other method to get him to stop. When I hit him, it's a calculated message: "this is what it feels like for the person you are hurting. You stop inflicting pain, and I will stop inflicting pain on you. You can scratch and hit all you want, but I'm going to keep returning every single one at you until you stop. I don't care how angry you are, it is NEVER EVER okay to hurt someone else because of it. If you do, YOU WILL GE HURT." 

Now, if he is as incapable of self-control they say he is, how come he reigns himself in when I give him a warning or refrains from hitting me even when he's in a tantrum? He's enough in control to be afriad of the policemen, for Christ's sake! We've told him that policemen take naughty children to jail, and he stops all stimming and screaming when we point one out. I know that fact that he suppresses his tantrums doesn't dissapate his anger, but at least it stops him hurting other people.

I don't know whether all autistic kids are capable of that kind of self-restraint, but I do know that for my brother, fear tactics are usually a temporary but effective counter-measure against uncontrolled aggression. True, these don't work on the rare occasions that he really loses it, but we can still subdue him when he needs to be. 

But I'm afraid of the future. Will we still be able to control him when he's 6 ft tall like my Dad, and he weighs 100 pounds more than I do? Will my Dad be able to be his son's punching bag when he's old and frail and brittle? Will he one day hurt my parents when my sister and I are no longer at home to intervene? I've always promised myself that my brother would live with me if and when my parents got too old to handle him - I've already told Boy that I won't marry him if he has a problem with that. (Group homes and social support are not viable options for us in the third world). But what if I can't take care of him? My husband, whoever he may be, may be a very good man, but will he be able to bear all the inconveniences and hazards of co-habitation with my brother for years and years, without the bond of blood that ties me to him? Will my children, if I have any, be safe around him? Will I one day be made to choose between caring for his life and having a life of my own? 

Ann Bauer's resolution to kill herself if her son ever took a life is deeply resonant with me, because both my parents have expressed similar resolve. My mother, in her lowest moments, have declared that if Baba ever proves to be uncontrollable and dangerous to others, she will kill him herself and then commit suicide. My father repeatedly says that his only desire is for Baba to die before he does, so that no one else will be burdened with the task of caring for him. My sister and I have railed time and again at my parents' conception that our brother would ever be a "burden" on us, but in our secret hearts, we all know he will be in the long run. We all love him beyond everything, but it doesn't change the reality that my parents are never going to have the peaceful sunset years they deserve.

I hate watching my brother grow up. It is a travesty to watch him grow big and strong and beautiful, when his mind will always remained trapped, stunted and under-developed and he will never be able to gain more than a child's comprehension of the world around him. I wish I could freeze time and make him stay a small boy, who is regarded with pitying forgiveness by society, whose tempers can't yet accidentally kill his parents and whose only impulse when he meets a pretty lady is to kiss her on the cheek. 

Hereafter, if people have a problem with my internet addiction, poetry writing, fanfiction writing and comic book fixation, I'm just going to throw this poem at them.

Dear Friends
By EA Robinson

Dear friends, reproach me not for what I do,
Nor counsel me, nor pity me; nor say
That I am wearing half my life away
For bubble-work that only fools pursue.

And if my bubbles be too small for you,
Blow bigger then your own: the games we play
To fill the frittered minutes of a day,
Good glasses are to read the spirit through.

And whose reads may get him some shrewd skill;
And some unprofitable scorn resign,
To praise the very thing that he deplores;
So, friends (dear friends), remember, if you will,
The shame I win for singing is all mine,
The gold I miss for dreaming is all yours.

Find courtesy of copperbadge 
 

How not to get possessed/ your plane crashed by a demon:

1.  Stay away from air vents.

2.  Hack into the airline employee database and make sure nobody who was previously involved in a plane crash is on board. 

3.  Take a nonchalant stroll up and down the ramp and check whether anybody creepy black or yellow eyes. If somebody has red eyes, it's either a crossroads demon or an Underworld fangeek and should be avoided at all costs in either case.

4.   Always carry your Handy Instant Holy Water Making Tool Kit - a water squirter, Bible and rosary.

5.   If you see anybody moving toward the emergency exit, slug him and threaten him with your Holy Water Gun.

6.   Learn excorcism rituals by heart in case your Bible flies out the emergency exit while you're grappling with the demon.

7.   Avoid grappling with the demon.

8.  Road trips are good alternatives to plane travel, but stay away from possibly haunted inter-state highways (in case of ghosts and phantom Ku Klux Klan trucks), bridges (also in case of ghosts), moors (more ghosts), swamps, cross-roads (demons), corn-fields (high school football players), orchards (man-eating pagan gods), woods (vampires) and any form of abandoned houses, factories, barns and motels.

Aw hell, you might just stay the fuck at home. But remember to salt the windows and keep an iron poker on you at all times. And NEVER GO IN THE BASEMENT!