Concerning Top Hats and Sleep Deprivation

     I did it again.

     I went back.

     I learned so many things and haunted a surprisingly moderate amount of corners and realized I am very weak in that I actually sometimes need to sleep.

     In short, I went back to the BWSC.

     There I realized that the only real point of hanging around one's friends is being able to follow them around, shoot them (with a camera), and therefore end up with extraordinarily  dramatic photos which are rather perfect for blog pictures. Without further ado, then, allow me to relate the awkward and mildly terrifying experience of constantly being around 130+ people for over a week.

Image credits to @smaugerellathenotsoterrible

     Reminiscing is a bit difficult when the week passed in a blur of caffeine and lectures. I suppose it was sort of like college? Or at least the internet's portrayal of college, which I sincerely hope is exaggerated. *glances at next semester with equal parts curiosity and deep foreboding* We didn't lose that much sleep, I suppose. But the campus at which the conference was held is quite the quintessential Tennessee landscape.

     ...which means the hills waged a continual war against one's leg muscles. 

     (The would normally be a pictorial example here, but I neglected to take many pictures besides the one with text slapped on it.)

     As I am a writer as well as a homeschooler, I don't tend to...go outside much. And even if I did, it would be rather difficult to tell, as for some reason my skin remains at a cadaver-like paleness even after prolonged exposure to the death rays we call sunlight. 

     Top hats. I'm supposed to talk about top hats.

     Top hats are beautiful things. They make one look quite sophisticated (or intentionally ridiculous) with minimal effort. They are large enough to hide small objects or animals in, but not large enough to cause difficulty in crowds or doorways. (See sombreros for a theoretical example.) 

     The also can make one look quite villainous. Perhaps I'm biased due to Sylvester's (who has been taking over my thought processes lately--story for another blog post) corrupting influence, but something about the black silhouette, paired with a suit... Instant sophistication. And so many villains attempt to be sophisticated that it's almost a trope of its own. 

     Why do villains try to look sophisticated? Why is it that the man in the suit and tie and dark sunglasses (seen in every action or disaster movie) is almost universally recognized instantly as the bad guy? Is it a critique on capitalism? Is it an attempt by the villain or the story teller to disguise or contrast the ugliness of the villain's actions with the perfection of their attire? 

Image credits to @shadow.cosplay

     Meh. I think it's just to screw with people's heads. Because enough people are confused by the odd headgear to make it quite easy to carry out one's "evil" plans.

     Top hats do have their disadvantages, though. They attract notice, but sometimes that notice is slightly unwelcome. For instance, when I had to read my novel excerpt aloud and my critique group leader noticed my top hat and thought I should be the very first to go, because...

     Well.
     I can't give away everything at once, can I?
     Perhaps I shan't write about the context of the above headgear predicament, and leave all you citizens of the interwebs in manageable suspense that shan't keep you awake at night.
     Nah... I actually have emotions about said event. I'll probably write about them.
     I also probably shouldn't be so vague, but being dark and mysterious is something I strive for, even though the aforementioned event isn't anything spectacular to the outside onlooker. One hint, though....

....there's no place like home.

Concerning Wings

     But guys.
     WINGS.

     Wings are such a cool concept

    I want story that contains a society in which having wings is normal, and, being normal, are reduced to the normality of other appendages. For example, one could tap someone on the shoulder with the tip of one's wing to get their attention, since wings are usually longer than arms are and make excellent instruments of poking. Or one could work out to get stronger wings to fly longer distances. Because it takes an incredible amount of muscle power to even fly a short distance and only the fit people could likely fly very far.

     Perhaps one would have wings that match one's personality; like the nerdy professor has owl like wings. Or contradict; the macho weightlifter has sparkly pink wings.

     Just...
     Wings.

     (And no, I did not steal this from a popular Tumblr post. I'm just overly excited.)

     After abandoning the draft of this post for several weeks, I started thinking about how I apply this weird enthusiasm to a story. Thus, the obvious came to mind: fairies.

     When I was little I loved fairies. I had multiple fairy dolls, costumes, and some tiny figurines I had to use extra care with because they were just so fragile. Much like the fairies themselves. And humans, too, but we don't often realize how fragile we are, possibly because we, unlike fairy figurines, don't have breakable plastic wings.

     I firmly believed in them until I was four or five, I think. Though I stopped believing in them, I don't think I ever really stopped liking them (a short, induced tomboy stage aside). Liking my perception of them, I mean. True, I shifted interests to more "grown up" fantasy creatures and concepts--Tolkien's elves, for example. (I won an argument with my teacher once, concerning whether or not Gandalf was a Maia, bringing in the Silmarillion to back me up. But that's bragging, and a rather boring story on my end of things.)

     But why are the fairy stories always included or written towards the juvenile side of things? (Well, unless you count the side of people who actually believe in them and in magic....and produce books that reflect such things....I am not one of those people. Just a disclaimer.) The fairy legends are so dark; I don't understand why the creatures are included in children's stories as the sparkling embodiments of hope and caffeine. If one were to meet an actual fairy portrayed in many of the legends, it wouldn't be a dream come true. One would grab one's iron implement of choice or hold in shaking hands one of the plants said to repel fairies, or take the wiser route and run away screaming. (It's rather useless to bargain with or beg for mercy from the demonic embodiment of mischief.) Why are they relegated to the juvenile side of American media? (I'm looking at you, '90s-early 2000s Barbie fairy movies. WHY DO YOU EXIST, and why did eight year old me like you so much. If I watched you now it would be to mock you, unless it was the one in which Tom Hiddleston voice acts the villain. In that case I'd watch it to hear Tom Hiddleston sing. And no, that's not an endorsement. I merely wish everyone to be made aware of the fact that TOM HIDDLESTON AKA ONE OF THE MOST COMPLICATED MARVEL VILLAINS AND AN ACCLAIMED SHAKESPEAREAN ACTOR IS A VOICE ACTOR IN A FAIRY MOVIE.) Is it because our young nation lacks the centuries-in-the-brewing superstitious lore that Europe is steeped in? Have we all been brainwashed by the American media to expect pastel hyperness? Is the Illuminati hiding some key secret to the human psyche that could unravel the very fabric of the universe if it was discovered and exploited??

     Also, why is there so little variety in fairy stories (at least in America). why are there no fairy dystopias? And few modern fairy stories? (Forgive the homeschoolism if I'm missing a wildly popular book or series that includes fairies in a modern setting. Perhaps Artemis Fowl is an obvious example, but I know next to nothing about it besides the fact it exists.) Why does a human always have to save the fairy world? Why do fairies always tend to speak in high pitched voices? Why are they so darn cheerful all the time? Where are their personalities outside of cliche niches and terrible song lyrics? Why do humans have to save extraordinarily powerful magical beings from the Dark Powers? If the fairies can't handle it then why could a human, usually an angsty human teenager, possibly expect to be taken seriously? Why is everything saved through the Power of Friendship, which is the True Magic All Fairies Seem to Forget About? Why do people forget about the changelings? Why do people romanticize changelings? Why aren't there any emo fairies??

     (Wait, wait; I remembered an exception to some of the cliches: N. D. Wilson's 100 Cupboards books. Go read them. The first one's slow but the foreshadowing is beautiful. And no, I'm not getting paid to endorse it. And yet I still endorse it.)

     But that's the only series I can think of at the moment that takes an not commonly taken spin on fairies. All that's coming to mind are the memories of childhood movies and stereotypes and cliches. (Though cliches can be useful, which is a rant for another time.) I've heard these things are better in Britain--yet another reason why I should Forget About the Silly Notion of Education and Move to Scotland. Anyway, despite the fact that Sylvester's story has a deadline attached to it now, and Tinumali's story is simmering in the proverbial back of my mind, begging to be written....

     I wanna write a fairy story.

Concerning Treachery and Missed Opportunities

     Do you ever have a moment where your brains feel like it's about to ooze out your ears for no apparent reason?

     Perhaps you're Roland, a once-living and slightly legendary example of why it's a bad idea to play brass. (I'm fully aware that probably only 2% of the readership shall laugh. Please comment if you did indeed laugh, or used any of the various ways of expressing amusement, including exhaling slightly louder than one normally would, so we can be weird minorities together.)

     Or perhaps the brain-ooze is caused by reflecting on life, planning for the future, having an existential crisis about the color of one's eyes and the concept of favorite colors...

     Well...perhaps the latter brain-melting thought is special to my mind alone. But when I began this post, I was musing on missed opportunities. And...treachery? Yes. The INTP's mind works in mysterious ways. The real trouble is figuring out how to make those mysterious ways actually applicable to reality.

     Missed opportunities themselves are not usually insignificant. They generally speak a lot about who you are as a person, and what sort of decisions you make. Sometimes, they're completely accidental, and you're left to fume in mediocrity.

     Other times, they're ridiculous enough to make you question all your minor life choices.

     Recently, I had to give a speech on whether or not treachery should be a capital crime. (I shan't elaborate, but it mainly consisted of me wearing a bow tie and arguing with myself throughout most of the speech. Ah well; the class seemed to enjoy it ((meaning they stayed awake)) despite lack of preparation on my part.) But as I was finishing writing the said speech, I realized I committed a horrible oversight: I didn't reference a Star Wars meme even though I had the perfect opportunity to. Oh the unforgivable sin... I suppose you could say I'm a...

Image found on starwars.com

...traitor B). And yes, you may laugh at my use of the cool sunglasses emoji. I'm not ashamed in the least. Perhaps I've been in Sylv's head for too long...

     Well, missing an opportunity to reference Star Wars is quite the tragedy. But closer to home is the fact that I completely forgot to celebrate the birthday of this esteemed Wandering Typewriter.

     *single tear falls off the pale face of our narrator and finds its rest on a dusty "V" key*

     Anyway, happy birthday to this blog. *throws confetti and assorted weapons*I may not be terribly consistent, but at least I'm not like the writers of Sherlock; the esteemed readers get a post more than one every two years. Though I probably shouldn't say that, in case the next hiatus stretches extra long.

Concerning Two Thoughts

     I'm supposed to be studying. I even have a hot, sweet, comforting cup of tea nearby to give me strength. However, I made the mistake of choosing a Star Wars mug, and as I stare at the faces of the characters, my textbook metaphorically screaming at me in the background, the thought(s) attack my mind and refuse to leave:

     Did Kylo Ren throw temper tantrums over chemistry homework?
     And what sort of chemistry did they teach a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away??

     The answers are yes, and I'm not certain. And yet the questions still scamper about the ol' cranium, wreaking havoc on intellectual productivity.

     And thus dies my sanity. Again.

In Which I...Lack Words?

     Words. I'm supposed to excel in finding the right ones and putting them in the right order. I'm a writer; it's what I do when I'm not researching what sort of weapon causes what sort of wound and when the refrigerator was invented.

     I'm also not supposed to have emotions. I'm an INTP; it's what I do. Well, what I do when I'm not acting like this:

Image probably found on Pinterest.
If you don't know which comic I'm referencing, you shall be thrown out the window in a most undignified manner. 

     Lately I've been reminded that words are actually quite hard to find, and emotions are something I posses. (Wow, look at the passive voice in that sentence; my judgmental Shakespeare finger puppet is glaring at me in utmost disapproval.) That to say, I don't really have much to say this Thursday. Perhaps I'll give an update on what things I'm doing.

     ...

     I'm taking the ACT soon.

     ...

     I've been listening to a lot of Twenty One Pilots lately?

     Alright, I'll admit. My life is currently horrifically boring to blog about. Well, actually some of it isn't, but that portion is the portion I'd rather not paste all over the Internet.

     ...here, have a horribly timed picture of Watson yawning.

Concerning the Sudden Outpouring of White Death

     We tend to have wacky weather in Tennessee. By wacky I mean it can be comfortably in the 60s one week, and snowing the next. Sometimes the aforementioned variation takes place in the span of a few days, rather than weeks. One would think, with all our wacky weather, snow wouldn't phase us in the least. We'd merely attach makeshift snowplows to our cars, rev up the engine, and go about our business as usual.

     Unfortunately, we don't live in a perfect world, or even a hypothetical world. (Or do we? Would we know if our world was hypothetical?) More unfortunately, snow days don't apply to homeschoolers. 

     Ah yes. Snow days. Such a magical blessing of the weather provides the setting for many classic movies; at least, that's what I've been told. Being a homeschooler, I wouldn't know from experience. 

     ...are two homeschooler jokes too much for one blog post? Perhaps. 'Tis a question that could inspire a whole unit study, or, at the very least, an essay. I blame my education for my tendency for accidentally write the said essays.

     *ahem* Anyway. Even though I experience the blessing of being able to do schoolwork in my pajamas (though the fact that I can doesn't mean I do it), I don't think I'm too badly set in the ways of awkwardness that seem to follow homeschoolers around like an evil snow cloud. I have friends...I think. I think I quote BBC Sherlock far too much for this to seem like a reasonable assumption.

GIF found on Tumblr

     I also like to think I'm somewhat of a rebel. I drank tea on national coffee day, I didn't go sledding when it snowed (instead, I took ominous pictures in black and white), and I still haven't seen the new Star Wars (though hopefully that shall be corrected tomorrow). Also, I forgot to build a snowman, possibly because an animated Disney princess didn't ask me to via song. Pity....especially if in doing so, I could have fashioned minions like these:

Image found on http://tardis.wikia.com/

     ...Doctor Who creates nightmare fuel like nothing else does. It also does a decent job of tearing one's heart to pieces and stealing one's sanity, though Sherlock is better at both. 

     Speaking of BBC Sherlock....

     ...no. This post has too many tangents already. Besides, even though we've had a new Sherlock episode for nearly a month now, I doubt I could express my opinions on it in any way other than punching the keyboard randomly and uncontrollably. Like so: aslkjkljlkjJASLDKFJASLJK;L. Quite expressive, hmm? Impossible to pronounce and beyond the feeblest clutches of logic, but expressive nonetheless. 

     Well... this was supposed to be about snow. Instead, it became a long ramble about nothing in particular, without even the title of "novel" to paint a thin excuse of sanity on the nonsense. It might be about homeschooling. It might also, more subtlely, be a study in the mind of a cabin fever-ridden INTP. Or merely.....lack of tea and warmth.

     I think I need socialization. 

Concerning Accidental Hiatuses

     Well. I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas. I know I did. The holiday itself was rather quiet, which was nice, especially after all the pandemonium in the weeks (and months) leading up to it. It felt a bit odd, though, for it to be over so quickly. Months of anticipation, weeks of preparation (or procrastinating on preparing), days and days and days of listening to Christmas music... and it's over in two days. Then one is left to wander around in shock, searching for one's life (and the meaning to it), until New Year's, when things finally begin to settle back to hectic normality. Anticlimatic much?

     Obviously, Christmas comes and goes every year. I've had sixteen long years to come to terms with this fact of life, and usually I don't pay much heed to it. But this year it hit me a bit harder than most. Perhaps it was due to the fact that I was immersed in the physical manifestation of the metaphorical Christmas spirit (aka, being forced to hear and/or sing the same few Christmas songs over and over) since the beginning of November. Late October, if one counts auditions. Or maybe it was due to the 70°F weather we had. In either case, I was rather busy, and missed a beautiful opportunity to use yet another Sherlock Christmas gif on this blog:

GIF found on Pinterest

     But, at last, I think I've regained the scattered pieces of my soul, dusted them off, and proceeded on with my life in a completely disorganized relatively orderly fashion.

     ....oh. There was supposed to be a point to this post, wasn't there? Twould be a pity to leave my painstakingly crafted graphic design to lie forgotten in an abandoned folder... I'm not an Ebenezer Scrooge, am I?

I've forgotten where I found this image. But it is intended to be humorous in that
I insist on using it as a profile picture throughout the year. Don't judge me.

...who am I kidding.