Snowbound and Irate

The damn power isn't staying on long enough for me to get a proper entry written. I keep trying, it keeps dying. I'm writing it on paper for now; when things get more stable, I'll try transcribing it. Or I'll see if I can type like the wind during the next flash of light and warmth.

However, in brief:
* Not a Tropical Popsicle
* Not shaving
* Rethinking Lent for Thought-Out Reasons
* Worried
* Regretful
* Pleased with D&D
* Considering setting up a camera outside Byron's open door

More on most of these, if not all, when weather permits. I bless the world for hot chocolate; I manage to get heat in bursts enough to keep making more. People are welcome to drop by to share.

I've never done well with silence. Maybe it gives me too much time to hear what's going on in my own head...though I think that may be a cop-out. I know what's going on inside my head half the time, after all. I like it in there; it's warm, and dark, and a little squishy in the right places, and private. I don't necessarily like what I find, though, which may be closer to the crux of the problem.

That, or maybe I'm simply a dancing fool, always looking for a song cue. Which is a note as good as any other for seguing to the next topic. Namely: I've been crowned king! Come on, not Homecoming, I know that's been a regular topic around here with me, but you've got to keep up. No, I got cast as Charlemagne in this year's production of Pippin. I'm kind of glad I know most of the lyrics already, as we're doing a sort of crash-course in rehearsal-and-production timing. Really, I sort of wonder if this was all planned and meant to be some devious drama department development to see how many of us crack under the pressure. (And for those interested? I'm starting a betting pool. Get in touch, we'll talk.)

There was indeed a Black Friday Turkey-a-thon, with a bigger crowd that I expected. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that I'm not the only one too far out of reach of parents, and that didn't even factor in not wanting to see family. Dot's turkey was divine, and my pumpkin pies didn't turn out half-bad, so I think I'll call it a success.

That was the high point. The week or more since has been a slow, steady descent into less pleasant times. The weekend was shot entirely for reasons I don't want to get into, rehearsal schedule on top of studying and paper schedule is hellish, and plans for this past Friday? Shot down by a combination of bad timing, unavailable train tickets, and an emergency rehearsal. Which means it'll be two weeks after Thanksgiving, at the earliest, before I get a chance to see Neela. She's going to kill me. At least my originally planned travel companion is still up for the trip. We just have to find time for it. And soon. I can't keep putting it off, for a thousand reasons.

It's been an interesting scattershot of social time across the rest of the week. There was the study break that turned into no study at all, there was some unexpected comfort offered on THanksgiving, there was a bit of chatting about my impending madness, and then? I met someone old who's new again, and I think scared them off. Which was a shame, since she was fun to talk to. Actually, most of the scattershot was up rather than down, just...not peaking above the general downward trend.

Which leads me to my second awkward admission of the day: I don't understand people. Women in particular, but I think that may just be because I pay attention to them more than the men. Most men, after all, are still struggling to rise above the level of barbarians. And I include myself in that assessment.

I don't understand why it's been radio silence for so long. Is it that hard to say "we're over", if that's what you've decided? Or...Krishna, I don't know. You don't want to know how many disasterous possibilities have rotated through my head in the last week.

Unfortunately, there is no excuse when it comes to me. I understand me. I know exactly why I react the way I do, most of the time. But that doesn't make me happy about it, or proud, or...anything terribly positive. Blushing women of the world, lured in by my easy smile and my admittedly charming banter? Get away while you still can. Just trust me on this one. I'll miss you, but it may blow up less in all our faces.

It's been a rather interesting week or so. I think I'm settled in a bit more around here, which comes with both good and bad sides, as most things generally do. I'm not certain I want this to be home, even away from home. This isn't some longing for Miami thing, it's more a desire to be anywhere that really fits. I'm still not sure here does that trick, or even if it does, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the parts that do.

Yes, that's vague. It's staying that way.

It started with Halloween. I was late getting to the dance; I just didn't anticipate how long it was going to take to lace the damn corset up, I'm afraid to say. And then things got...strange. I'm still not sure what the hell happened, or how to explain it, or if it's some elaborate hoax. I may come back and deal with this later, when my head's clear on the subject...but no one else seems to be really dealing or talking about it either. I can't decide if that's healthy, or if it's just a sign that everyone around here is fucked up.

There's better news, though. They announced homecoming court nominations, and in the spirit of school pride, I decided to nominate myself as campaign manager for one of the impending royalty. Don't forget, boys and girls: Dorothy Rothschild for Homecoming Queen!

Speaking of, in fact: keep your social calendars for Thursday night clear. A formal announcement will be forthcoming later tonight.

And speaking of the social calendar, Eliza's birthday was Sunday. I was going to go over and bring her a present on my own, but then she opted for a big public party, back in the woods behind the school. Which was lovely, until I dared speak to my social betters and attracted the ire of the European Elite. I just have to ask: when the fuck did we sign up to recreate episodes of The O.C.? I just never quite expected to hear the equivalent of "Welcome to the Eupheme, bitch!" Mind, I didn't actually get my ass kicked, but that's because the girls stepped in and saved the day. Though I suspect to get tossed into a trash can by the end of the month, don't you worry.

Well, yesterday certainly didn't end up the going the way I expected. Not that I consider it a bad thing, when all the factors are considered. Kisses from pretty girls outweigh hangovers, after all. But, as the talespinners would say, I'm getting ahead of myself.

After giving up on waiting for my ride, I hauled myself away from the train station and across town, in search of the school. Icaria isn't quite a one-horse town, but it's a hell of a lot closer to it than Miami is. Besides, after being on the train for that long, I figured it wouldn't hurt to get a good walk and some fresh air.

(Yes, you read it here first: exercise is a good thing. Who would have thought!)

I didn't end up finding Eupheme, however; not for lack of trying, but because I ended up sidetracked. Exploring a new town, however small, turns out to be thirsty work, so when I ran across the local liquor store I stepped inside. I'd been planning to pick up a bottle of water, maybe some libations to stock my personal minibar for later. Instead, I ended up running into two of my fellow students. Couple that with an offer to buy as much liquor as we could carry for the more curvaceous of the pair, and my afternoon plans had just been changed.

Important side note: you can get limes in this god-forsaken little berg. Which is good, because I wasn't quite sure how I was going to explain to my parents that importing them from Miami was a vital and necessary excuse. Is it my fault that mojitos remind me of the sun? I think not.

Our little trio ended up back at the lovely redhead's house -- one Eliza Phelp, singular. That grinding noise you hear is my brain attempting not to imagine having a plurality of them at my disposal. The fellow who came as well is Austin. I got the impression the two of them didn't know each other terribly well, though they'd at least seen each other once or twice. He seemed a bit mousy to me, but I couldn't tell if that was the way he normally was, or if he was a bit intimidated by our little alcoholic firebrand of a hostess. I can't say I'd blame him entirely, if that was the case, but either way he seemed to be a pretty good guy.

There then proceeded to be a great deal of drinking, with a smattering of 'get to know you' and 'gathering the gossip'. This is the point in the evening where things got a bit strange, I'll admit. According to my new friends? Icaria is trying to compete with Carl Hiaasen's version of Florida for weirdness, with Eupheme as ground zero. Two murders (yeah, I know, I may be from Miami, but let's consider ratio of the living to the dead here, shall we?), hallucinations, hot air balloons with strange men arriving at parties...and a student building a time machine that someone else stole. I'm just waiting for someone to invite me on the snipe hunt next.

So perhaps this Eliza is out of her mind. That, or this was her idea of hazing the new kids. This is New England, after all; look what this place did to Poe's mind. Honestly, even now, I'm not quite sure what I think, but I'm angling for the long view: mouth shut, eyes and ears open, ask a few strategic questions when the time is right, decide when I have the facts.

In any case, eventually our little triad of teenage alcoholics had consumed enough that Austin and Eliza both passed out, with a parting kiss from the latter just before unconsciousness took her. Because I am a gentleman (damn my soul), I didn't take further advantage of the situation. I'm fairly sure I made it outside into the nicely frigid air just in time to keep from passing out myself, too.

The last thing I needed was to stumble into school looking for the administration after I'd been marinating myself in rum, lime, and vodka for a good chunk of the evenings. Thankfully, I managed to find that bastion of the tiny New England town: the bed and breakfast. It's comforting to know that enough cash will still buy you a room with few questions even up here. I don't quite remember what happened after I got to the room, but I presume that I stripped myself out of my own clothes before crawling into bed. It's that, or the landlady was of the opinion that roofies were so passe compared to the good old-fashioned alcoholic stupor.

Now, however, it's a new morning. Dawn and hangovers don't mix nearly as well as gin and tonic, I'm afraid. That may be a reason to start drinking earlier, now that I think about it. But the landlady, even if she is a dirty date rapist, makes a mean blueberry muffin. I've had sufficent application of hot showers, baked goods, and over-sugared coffee that I'm starting to feel human again, so I think it's time for me to drag my sorry self up to the school and actually check in before they start sending out the search parties -- or worse, they try and get in touch with my parents.