Life is sooooooo interesting!
For instance: today I woke up. And it went downhill from there. I had Cheerios for breakfast, and a slice of cheese for lunch. I watched Queer Eye. Two episodes in a row. Both I've seen before. Then my brother comandeered the tv for video games, so I started drawing, got bored, came into the computer room, and started typing! And here I am. I'm still in my Spongebob pajamas, my hair looks worse than Edward Scissorhands, and it's already 2:30. Where has the day gone in all its fun?
I was thinking of studying a bit of gaelic, then setting to work on some stuff I've promised people, but I'll do that in a minute. I decided first to bother all of you with my boring, boring, boring life. Everybody else goes out to parks and drinks lattés and talks on cellphones. I'm stuck inside watching them on tv.
My brother was supposed to go to a diabetes day camp, but my mum paid a month late on accident (mixing up June and July). She's beating herself up about it, but it's no big deal. She says we can still go to Busch Gardens on Friday, though. It'll be a lot more fun without Dad there, since he always comes to visit just to go. I don't think I'll see him for a few more months. He's not even coming down for Mum's birthday next month. I hope he at least makes it to my brother's birthday, unlike the past few years. Or maybe I don't hope so. We always seem like a burden to him, but what he doesn't realize is that for the past few years, he's been a burden on us. Sure, he pays for everything, but he's so mean. I think that's what makes me so brazen when it comes to self-reliance. The whole ain't-nobody-gonna-mess-with-me thing, only coming from a scrawny, pale Irish girl.
Which reminds me, potatoes for dinner! Yay!
Anyway, he's just going to get used to the fact that no matter what he does to keep me away, I'm going to Columbia. I don't care if he thinks I'm too stupid, I don't care if he thinks I'm a waste, I know I'm not, and I'm going to be a gosh darn burden, and I'm going to make him as miserable as he's made me. Just the way it's gonna work. And I'll get a nice, lofty education in the process, get rich, and buy my mum a big farm in Ireland, and a winter flat in Seattle. And he'll get nothing. He won't see a penny, to make up for all the money and happiness he kept from the three of us.
Anyway, happier subjects... happier subjects... I've decided to learn art nouveau! It's a type of art from the 1920's that is actually inspired by Celtic art, with the knots and stuff. It's usually very symbolic, so I'm trying my hand first with the seasons. I started out with Winter, and I imagined it as a woman with very thin lips, long black hair, a light blue dress on with a black scarf, wearing a short crown with trees in it, holding a basket with a crow fighting a dove. Next I need to work out the details, and fill in the knots. I've been working really hard on perfecting my Celtic knots, I think I'm finally getting good. Once I've got it all worked out, I'm going to draw a scene from a Cuchulain story (Cuchulain, pronounced "coo-hoo-lin", is sorta like the Irish version of Hercules, I guess you could say). I might even draw a Merrow (an Irish mermaid), but they're kinda creepy. Not nearly as creepy as the Dullaghan, but creepy enough.
Haha, the Dullaghan story scared me and my brother so badly one night! You see, the Dullaghan is a fairy (as is a merrow or a banshee or a leprechaun), but like the headless horseman. He carries his head as a lantern, because it glows, and his black eyes have a sight that can foresee a dying person from miles away. Wherever he stops, a person dies, and sometimes he stops in front of doors and calls the name of his victim, and that's the last thing they ever hear. This was how Halloween started, by trying to appease and/or frighten the Dullaghan away before nightfall. But on the scariest nights, if you sit up and wait for him by your window, he'll splash blood on your face and make you go blind. Not pretty, eh? Well, I think it was a bedtime story to keep kids from sneaking out of bed at night, but it's scary nonetheless. Well, one night I was walking through the kitchen (my kitchen has a lot of windows), and I heard my mum call my name. My brother heard it too, in the livingroom, and yelled up the stairs, "What mum?" She yelled back that she hadn't said anything. I heard my name again, but it didn't sound like Mum, so I started freaking out a little bit, remembering the stories. I told them to my brother, and he freaked out a whole lot more, and we refused to turn our heads towards the windows.
I'm seventeen years old, and I'm still scared of those silly banshee stories. I live in America, for heaven's sake! Our fairies are ones like Tinkerbell or Carson Kressley.
Anyway, yes. That's enough for me. Or else I'll freak out some more tonight. Especially since our fence is gone, and the Dullaghan can come right through our backyard on his evil horse.
I'll tell ya something though, there's something about the Isles that's morbidly beautiful. I saw something on tv last night about deer in the highlands and shores of Scotland that eat birds. No lie. How cool is that?