My leg injury is getting better. Slowly. Which means that my family won't let me out of the house. Which in turn would usually be a good thing, but seeing (or NOT, as the case may be) that my right eye has some delusions of grandeaur too and I had to switch my contact lenses for old, too weak glasses, I'm not allowed to :
1. Even switch the computer on, and Gran is so going to kill me if she catches me writing this entry.
2. Read. I'm reading Ben Bova's "Mars" when nobody's looking. Darn, who knew that my biology teacher had good taste when it comes to science-fiction books? Ah well, I'll have to thank her for the author recommendation.
3. Draw. You have to strain your eyes too much to see the lines on the paper. I finished a few sketches, but nothing major.
4.Write. Requires either the use of a pen and some paper, *snark* or a computer, so it's out.
5. Knit. And I mean, how much does knitting strain the eyes? Nevermind.
6. Do anything that actually requires the use of eyesight for anything other than not bumping into walls.
And considering my leg injury, I can't even do any strenous physical activities. So, I'm spending my time basically laying on the ed and staring at the v. blurry ceiling. I'm bored out of my freaking mind.
Well, Mum still has a lot grovelling to do, but she's made a start, at last, what with the boquet of flowers (irises and yellow roses) she bought Gran. Then again, Gran has every right to be pissed off at her, and while she accepted the apology, she said that it would take her a while to forgive. I mean, calling Gran a 'kuchta'*? Never mind being drunk, Mum screwed that one up. Big time. Oh hell, at least she's trying.
She also took me to the doctor today, what with my misterious leg injury. And thank God she did, because while it looked to be healing on the outside, the flesh lost was being replaced hastily by a 3rd class material, so the wound had to be reopened and cleaned out of the 'wrong' flesh, so it could heal properly. Small as it is, it still hurt like a bitch. Might have something to do with the noticeable lack of anestethics, but then, doc said they would have hurt more than just doing it right away.
And darn, I'm glad Mum's paying for private medical insurance, 'cause if we'd had to wait normally, it would've taken at least four hours. Which in turn would've made us both extremely grumpy and irritable.
On a brighter note, thanks to the exams the soon-too-be graduates of senior high are taking, our class had the last two days free (well, mostly), but today Mrs Wardrobe dragged the whole class to the cinema, to see "Kingdom of Heaven". Wasn't bad, and I liked Bloom's characterization a lot more than the one from LotR, but I wanted to see the main hero, a blacksmith Balian turned knight's son turned knight turned crusader turned a lord turned the defender of Jerusalem die. Which he didn't. Which in turn really pissed me off, because I had spent the second half of the film really wanting to visit the bathroom and not doing so for fear of missing the one and only scene. At least I sat next to Olga and we had some good laughs.
Bought myself a Ben Bova book, "Mars" to be exact. Yum.
It's raining all day. God, how I love rain.
* a Polish derogatory name for a kitchen servant, the lowest of the low, and one that doesn't fulfill their purpose well too
Just had an earth-shattering whole-family quarrel, complete with me sobbing uncontrollably, nearly catatonic Mum, extremely angry Gran and the discovery that the man that I've always regarded as a grandfather is no blood relative of mine, just my Grandmother's second husband, that her first one was a drunk and she got a divorce when Mum was barely six years old, and all that rot. Doesn't matter, though. Ryszard was still my Grandfather and no damn drunk is going to take his place.
And I hope, just hope, that Mum will try. Because what I wrote a few hours ago was bullshit - I can't cope. It is not simply something uneasy anymore, I was scared, just scared, even though there is no violence and only a bit of shouting, but if I have to choose between them, I will tear myself apart. But Mum promised. Promised to never make me choose. And Gran did, too. I just hope that they will keep that promise.
And on a more trivial note, my eyes are so fucking puffy that at times I can't see the fucking screen.
Mum is drunk. Very drunk, in fact. And yeah, I know she did it only because she promised to do so in celebration months prior if this big deal at work turned out well. And yeah, I know that her alcohol problem stopped some time ago. But I hate seeing her like this. And every time I do, I remember, and I fear that she'll crawl back into the bottle, like she did after Granddad's death.
And right now, I don't even have the energy to think it's childish. She dragged two of her friends home, a guy from work and his wife, and I normally like them, but right now, THEY aren't drunk. They are, however, obviously embarassed about her state and it makes their company stifling. And Gran is clearly hurt. She hates seeing her daugther like this too.
Damn, I love this woman to pieces, but doesn't she realise what she's doing to Gran? It's not about me, I can deal, but Gran has been hurt enough in her life. I wish Mum just stopped doing things like that.
I just gave Piotr his "Good soldier Szwejk" DVD. Damn, but I haven't seen him this happy in a long time. But then, he has been searching for a copy of this movie for even longer, in three different countries, so he has a reason to be happy. And my Grandma's cooking should be illegal. I'm trying to loose some excess pounds before the ball, and if it continues like this? No way my dress is going to fit.
And to those that think I might be another one of those anorexic madwomen - no way in hell. I still eat, I still eat a lot, and I'm still a chocaholic. A bored, ill chocaholic with nothing to do but read (this time my victim is Emma Bull's "War for the Oaks", and hell, give me a good urban fantasy anytime) and eat. And possibly listen to some really depressing music.
Or maybe not so depresing. Enya sounds good about now.
And Zyg? You are the most annoying IMVTPOFN (Irritating Mental Voice That Pops Out Of Nowhere) I have ever dreamed of having, Liriel included. So either stop snorting at my choice of music, or I am going to a psychiatrist and getting rid of you.
All right, the post-gymnasium tests are finished. And I am moderately pleased with the results. Sure, I had authomatic full points from the humanistic(?) part, but I've hoped for a better score at the math/biology one. Not that 49 out of 50 (or so I think, after one of the portals posted the answers) is bad, but the one point I lost? Was for a dumb mistake. And now I don't have perfect scores. Gah.
And now, on top of everything, I caught the cold for good. Probably because I dared to laugh at authoressnebula. I swear it's allergic in origin, but I have no idea what might have caused it. Unless... Eureka! The new, pretty flowers I got three days ago from my Grandma. I mean, it must be it.
At least I'm staing home for the next week. I'm going to sleep 'til I can sleep no more, and nobody's gonna stop me! *insert manic laughter here* Oh shut up, Zygfryd. Like you don't like to do nothing at all too.
Oh boy, my head is killing me. Third day in a row. And I think I'm going down with a cold.
Screw that, I'm going to sleep.
Haven't written for a while, but right now, I really need to.
I've just told Mum that I won't be able to take my CAE test until december, because I missed the deadline and can't sign up for the June take anymore. It went better than expacted.
Basically, she told me that if I can tell her with my behaviour to fuck off (she's been asking me to take that bloody certificate for two years) then she will treat her promises to me the exact same way I did to this one. She also mentioned that if I want to take part in the next year's English Olympiad, I'm on my own. My fault, really, because I should've known that my teacher wouldn't inform me of the deadline. He has decided, somewhere along the way, that it would be a waste of time and money. Pity he's trying to save MY time and money. I would have rather saved my mother's disappointment for never.
And she said something else. She told me that I always go and win the competitions for Urban and my teacher and never do anything for myself, not because I matter, but because the school needs statistics. And I realized that she was right. I've become what I always hated. Just another number in a long row. Not a person any more, but a fucking trophy. And I hate that even as I realise this, I'm still excited about the "Omnibus Humanistyczny" contest I took part in this morning. Well, we'll see. Maybe they will even put the number in italics, if I do really well.
And my head is killing me. The only brighter note is that I found "The adventures of good soldier Szwejk" on DVD, and I know Piotr's going to be happy. He loves Szwejk.
The Pope is dying, and people all over the world are praying for his recovery. And God, it's not going to work, because I know the illness, it's the same one my Grandfather had, and with Parkinson on top of it, he's not going to make it, and he knows it, and he's happy. He's ready to go.
All Poland is already in a state of half-grief, half-denial, and people sometimes spontaneously burst into tears, and everyone is prayinf, and all TV and radio channels are tuned to Vatican, and it'snot going to help, because even if he lives on, it's only going to be prolonging the agony, and I know it's selfish, but I don't want him to suffer, he of us all doesn't deserve to suffer, but he's uniting people and with his death teaching us the most important lesson of all.
He shows us hat we should be with the people we love to the very end, no excuses, no cowardice, that every person deserves what he has now - the unwavering support of everyone aroun them, and that life is the most important thing in the world. He dedicated his whole life to God and His mankind, and I just hope that when he reaches heaven, he will get the reception he deserves. That he'll be happy.
And that people will understand what he's trying to show them. Because, despite how great everything he's done in his life is, this suffering with a smile might be the greatest of all. An example we should all follow. And, on some level, I feel like a scumbag. Because I envy his strenght.