Snowbound and Irate

Dear Vinny,

I hope the rest of your winter vacation went well after you left cold-ass Icaria. Please, mark your calendar when I say this: I'm glad you came up. Things have been weird still -- hell, I'm not sure you yet believe how weird they've been. And they've certainly not gotten any less fucked-up. Oh, no possession or ghosts visiting since the last time, but I'm not sure I need that kind of mess to make it this bad. But...

Well. Let me just put it this way. As much as I freaked out at you showing up, and hemmed and hawwed, and was generally a complete mess? Seeing you helped straighten my head out a bit, even if it took a couple of weeks afterward to really do it. And it was good to see you.

And yes, the sex was bloody hot. As always. Sigh.

Anyway. Remember when I said they've been fucked up since? Yeah. I seem to have developed a twitch where I would say the single worst thing possible in a conversation, while thinking I was being funny. Or trying to lighten the mood. Or...well. You get the idea. Frankly, I'm surprised anyone wants to talk to me at all, but I seem to have pulled myself out of it. At least a bit. The bloody nose helped.

Just as an aside: if I get arrested, will you come bail me out? I may need it this semester. There are...plans. I'm tired of the people I care about being screwed over. I'm tired of them fucking with me. Maybe we're all wrong, and it's not the school staff...but if that's the case, I have even less of an idea what to do than I do now. So I'm running with this.

Yes. I know that was cryptic. It's called plausible deniability. Learn to love it.

Anyway. In news that is neither related to cryptic remarks or a sign of my impending insanity...or perhaps it is? I...have friends who would like to meet you. If you want to consider yourself invited back to visit for spring break, I think I can manage not to hide under rocks the whole time you're here. That is, of course, if you want to

(Yes, that also means I'm contemplating letting you meet them. Don't look too surprised.)

I hope your conquests have been swift and absolute, and that Miami is not too boring without me to torment.

In Exile,
William

For the last week, I've only come out of my room for classes and rehearsal. Which admittedly is most of my free time around studying anyway, so who knows if anyone's noticed. I'm looking forward to Sunday's final curtain call, because it means I can come back. If there's a cast party planned, I think I'm skipping. If you think I'm showing up at the dance tonight, you're badly hallucinating.

There is no option I appreciate more right now. Either the world is as Hamlet says, and I'm simply haunted in one form of the term or the other? Or it's not paranoia when they really are out to get you, in which case I can't for the LIFE of me think of why. Either way, it makes the bottom fall out of my stomach.

Sometimes, the sinking feeling is realizing that your facade is fooling even the people you care most about, who you thought knew better.

The rest of the time, it's getting incontrovertible proof that you cared more, and you aren't even worth telling that they're not coming back. Because nothing says "I cared about you" like letting you read that you're taking a quick vacation to Italy before your house arrest elsewhere in Europe as an off-hand comment in someone else's journal.

I'd swear off women, but Dot's right. That I couldn't manage. Instead, I'm swearing off the whole god-damn human race. I think I'll take up alcoholism for Winter Break. I have to do something with my time.

Oh, and George? Lesson learned. I just didn't realize your cock was so small you had to overcompensate to that degree. But as they say: knowing is half the battle.

(This is locked down to Dot only.)

Had another vision. No drowning or lashes this time. I snuck back here to MacArthur during lunch; had a phone call that completely killed my appetite. The moment my head hit the pillow, there was...an eye. Not flaming, nor stuck at the top of a tower, just an eye. Like someone was inches from my face, staring at me.

Only it wasn't just an eye. There was...as crazy as this sounds (and that's saying something, when all of this sounds insane)...there was a crow, or a raven. I can never tell the difference. But it was -inside- the eye, staring back at me.

What the hell does that mean?

And on a different note...just what did you tell Hem to make him curious?

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.

Well, I got what I wanted in some senses, and what I deserved in others. Which is probably the proper balance for that sort of thing, but that's a very zen sort of way to look at it, and my feng shui is all sorts of fucked up right now.

Homecoming was...well, not exactly what I expected it to be. However, I'm fairly certain that I didn't make a fool of myself playing with the band, so I'll at least count that part of things as a success. Honestly, the whole event made me inclined to give out extra awards. In fact...

* For "Shortest Reign of a Queen", Dot Rothschild. I mean, we're talking putting Lady Jane Gray to shame. However short, she was spectacular in her noblesse oblige.

* For "Best Catch of the Crown", Jane Austen. Because taking over after the abdication with that much grace and style takes talent. Plus, the crown was cute perched on Howie's head.

* For "Most Spectacular Failed Kidnapping", Chris de Troyes. Because that level of death-defying stupidity in the name of a girl is hard to resist. Especially if the girl is smart like this one.

* For "Had Most Fun On the Dance Floor", Hildy Doolittle. I'm sorry, the band has the best view of that sort of thing, and she wins hands-down.

* For "Clearly Born To be King", Nico Machiavelli. I mean, the man even arrived with appropriate entourage and courtiers. How can you beat that?

* For "Cutest Band Groupie", Anne Bronte. Even if she was technically our only groupie. And not my groupie, at that.

Aside from playing with the band? The rest of my evening could have gone better. Spectacularly so, in fact. Let's just leave it at that. The appropriate parties know what happened. Maybe they'll be kind enough at some point to even tell me.

Also, you all can consider this your official notice that announcements will be forthcoming regarding Dot's "Took the Crown" celebration, with the funds gathered up at the fundraising pizza bash. I'm aiming for a good weekend after this one, but well before finals. Suggestions welcome on all fronts: location, DJing, specific timing, and so on.

In less official and more 'keeping the rumors in check' news, word has it that the king -- at least the crowned king, since Freddy didn't make the dance -- was felled by a mysterious ailment Sunday night. As one of the guys on the spot, I can say that yes, he was taken away by ambulance. I can also say that, as of the very next morning, Nico was also awake and bored out of his skull in the hospital. He's already posted himself, I know, but consider this secondary confirmation that his majesty is in need of distraction. So drop by and drive the nurses up the wall.

Which brings us to Thanksgiving. No way my parents are fronting for a flight to India, so I'm on my own recognizance for the holiday. I did have plans for a road trip, but those seem to be unexpectedly nixed by fate and the legal system -- and honestly, I'm not entirely certain they wouldn't have been canceled anyway for other reasons. There had been nebulous plans elsewhere for a shorter road trip, but given the events of the last week, I'm not sure those are game either. So I'm weighing the benefits of taking that shorter trip on my own, so I'm not sitting around MacArthur alone for Thanksgiving. After all, I can come back and sit around for the rest of the weekend just fine.

Maybe I should bring back a turkey and try out the kitchen in MacArthur on Black Friday. If I even really leave town. Anyone who's sticking it out is welcome to come by. If you do? Bring pie.

Dear Knee,

Let's start at the beginning: Yes, I know you hate it when I call you by that ridiculous nickname, and it's so demeaning to be shouted after like you were a loose body part. To which I give you the standard reply: I'm your big brother, so cope. At least I'm not rubbing mud in your hair and pulling your pigtails. You should be grateful.

I made it up to Massachusetts without any major tragedy, at least. It was a long train trip, but I think you would have liked it. Plenty of time for people-watching, certainly, and the chance to stretch your legs the whole time. A bit bumpier than a plane, and obviously longer, but the trade-offs were nice. Now if only it didn't cost so much compared to a flight, it might be an attractive alternative. As it is, at least when you're going so long-distance that it's more expensive than the regular commuter routes, it's more of a luxury that I would have expected. And Amtrak is nothing like the Orient Express.

It's been a little over a week, though, and I think I've settled into school here. First, the whole 'boarding school' thing is very strange. Maybe this is prep for dorm life, but I don't think so. It might be the age of the buildings, that lingering smell of decades baked into every brick and board, but it just feels archaic and strange in some way. Not that the students would help matters there. From what I can tell, we've an unhealthy mix of the overly-intellectual, the decidedly eccentric, and the rich elite. Really, all that you would expect from reading a nineteeth century boarding school drama. I'm just waiting for the headmaster to be a harsh disciplinarian, or a quiet bastion of compassionate understanding, and we'd be all set.

I wonder if they're offering Defense Against the Dark Arts next semester.

I've met some friends, too. At least, I like to delude myself into thinking they may become friends. There's Tanne, who I think you'd like. Anyone who turns their angsty rebellion against their rich and important family into actual social commentary that's worth making, and not just getting coked up and blowing money by the boatload in some dance club earns points. Of course, I don't know what I can say about her taste in men, given she's married one of the previously mentioned 'rich elite' -- rich elitist jock, even, just to compound the issue. And yes, I said married -- it's a long story. They always are, you know: controlling family, arranged marriages, and the like. It's just missing a fairy godmother and a prince charming.

There's also Dot. I know you'd like her -- she can't stand me, and doesn't see any reason to hold back from cutting me down to size any chance she gets. Clearly, I can never have the two of you meet, or you'd just give her more ammo with a gleeful little smile. That's all right; if I have anything to say about it, she's going to end up Homecoming Queen. As I do believe the young people are saying these days, "Payback is a bitch." Not that there's anything I really need to pay her back for, but I believe in preemptive strikes.

I know I joked about it being strange here, but Halloween was...there was a dance, but something happened. I'm still not certain what. I'm sorry to be so cryptic, but I'm trying to figure it out. And in the meantime, I had one new friend disappear after it, and another get hurt pretty badly. Everyone is avoiding the topic, at least with me, so it's that much harder to process. I know, I'm not being much better, I just wanted you to know that...if I was coming off a little stilted, you can probably blame it on that. I...

I miss you. And I'm worried. I'll try to explain when I can, but I don't know when that will be. I know, before you can even say it: I'll take care of myself, I promise. Things are just harder than I thought they would be here, for reasons I never expected. Maybe I'm not cut out for any pond but the familiar one, down in Miami. Wouldn't that be a depressing thought.

Anyway, I need to get back to work. I've got homework to take care of before the fundraising dinner tomorrow night (yes, I'm fundraising for a homecoming queen. Maybe it's a long way for a joke, but I'm enjoying the journey). I promise I'll come up as soon as I can to visit, as long as the doctors say it's all right. Don't let that Mary Lapinski push you around, you hear me?

Loves and noogies,
Bill