Angels and ministers of grace

Please, oh please, help me get myself free of cat fur. Blake's been shedding enough to make several new cats. Zenia, Zenobia and Zapata all pointed at me when I walked into English class today. I love my cat, but I hate his stupid shedding. Half the cast of Macbeth now has Blake fur on them, too. I hate drama club so much. Mirabell's been demanding more and more special effects. I told him after practice that the words of Shakespeare should be enough, although I understood the Stuart theatre had special effects too. He told me to watch it or he'd make sure I couldn't get into Nipissing U, let alone U of T. Then he started sketching out the light design he wants Jerome to use for Act II.
Tomorrow is Duncan's friend April's birthday. I helped him get her a present: he said he wanted to get her something that said, I've known you for years, you're one of my best friends, I don't want to date you. It seemed hard, but we settled on a purse. Duncan didn't want to trust me on helping to pick one out since he said "Zandra, you don't use a purse, you've just got a gasmask bag you dyed black." I told him I just didn't like purses for myself, and he seemed happy. Now to go home: Arne's working on a new illusion, and my father's enjoying his last free night before he has to do everyone in town's taxes.

Heaven knows I'm miserable now

I hate drama club. Mirabell had me re-block my mad scene yesterday because he decided that Jerome the lighting guy had to use a red spot on my hands when I try to wash the IMAGINARY blood off them. Mirabell kept changing the angles so the spot would be clear. I asked him if he wanted me to wear a "I'm Crazy" sign around my neck for that scene, and he said he's thinking about it. He gave Jerome a lot of instructions for the sound effects, too, and told him the fog machine is coming soon.
Blake just got on my lap, so now I'm covered in orange cat fur. Duncan gets worried every time he sees a cat now. I don't know why, since his cat came back from where ever it was.

Comfortably not numb

It figures that spring is here, it's nice and warm and I had to get the flu. Last Monday after drama club I went to the medical building to get a ride home from my mother, and killed time in the drugstore again. This time, when I was looking at the soaps, the pharmacist came over to me and instead of giving me medical advice, sneezed on me. Twice. She coughed and apologized, and then went behind the prescription desk to call into a doctor about some person's drugs. I went upstairs to my mother's office and found my mother on the phone. "I hate it when she does this," my mother said. It seems the pharmacist downstairs keeps phoning my mother (and every other doctor in town) every time she prescribes something vaguely drug-like.
The next day I felt sick, and by the time I got to drama club I felt fuzzy, and Lady Macduff had to wake me up (she poked me and asked Mirabell if Lady Macbeth was supposed to be dead yet). Arne came to pick me up from the school and I spent the rest of the week in bed with what my mother said was the flu with strep. Duncan called a lot to see how I was, and Zenia brought over my homework. My mother and father had me stay in all weekend so I didn't go to Toronto, but I helped Duncan get something for his friend April last week.
The good part of being home sick was that Arne sort of has a job now. He's doing illusions on the Milborough retirement home circuit. Mondays and Wednesdays he's at Milborough Manor, Tuesdays at Shady Pines, and Thursdays at the Fletcher Memorial Home. He's got Donalbain from the drama club to assist him (it's for Donalbain's community service).

This time

Springtime means no spring for me. At least not yet. Arne hasn't left yet and my brother is back. My parents were really happy that I kept Arne from getting arrested for DUI, but are pretty angry at him for making me drive illegally. Then there's the matter of the children's party. My parents are really angry at Arne for breaking the "no family members, no friends" rule. "Nigel Anderson's going to have my head," my father said. "I guess I'll be doing his taxes for free this year." My mother asked about Duncan, and said that she's heard he had a lot of trouble in the past but that he's trying to make it up. "What kind of trouble?" I asked, but my mother didn't say anything more concrete than, "YCJA," when she saw Charles Wallace come into the room. "I know what that means," Charles Wallace said, "Sandra's dating a felon."
"He's not a felon, Charles Wallace, and I'm not dating him. I've just gone out with him a few times and put out his shirt."
Anyway, today at school Duncan gave me tickets for Bauhaus: it was so nice of him. There was something in the air: I had a sudden urge to just sweep him into my arms and kiss him. I wasn't the only one. Zenia Parkinson grabbed Fred Halbmensch and picked him up to kiss, but she had too much air on the swoop and he fell into a water fountain. There must have been something springlike around, since I didn't even mind drama club.

In Parties

I'm just finishing up the last of the phone calls after Arne's "performance" yesterday. My parents should be back sometime today, which is good: watching my uncle is a full-time job and I really need help. We picked up Duncan at the Shelbyville Credit Union, and took him back to the house. Then Arne asked Duncan if he'd get Blake into the cat carrier. Duncan looked really upset about that (I was upset too, as was Blake) but he managed to get Blake into the carrier. We then picked up a number of things from the basement and put them in the car. The Aztec Tomb was too big to carry, and smelled like cat piss, so we didn't have to bring that. I drove and Duncan sat in the backseat with the rings, hankerchiefs, boxes and cat carrier. Arne gave directions, or tried to, but I managed to get to the party without his help. It was on Sharon Park Drive, and Duncan said, "Oh, my friend April lives here." Nothing seemed to be stirring at April's house or the one next door. We were across the street for the party.
The rest is all a blur of terrified children, terrified cat, and terrified Duncan. Arne had Duncan put a yellow bow tie on Blake, and Blake didn't like that and launched himself off Duncan's face into the birthday cake. Arne tried to divert attention from that, but once he started doing ring tricks it all collapsed when he asked, "But, where did the lighter fluid come from?" We got the cat out of the cake before Arne torched the table. I was trying to put out the table and retrieve the cat and calm down the parents. It took a while to get Arne, the cat, and Duncan out and into the car. I drove Duncan to his home (the Andersons didn't move after all) and did the official apology to his mother for bringing her son home with bilateral cat scratches on his face and scorched shirt cuffs. I asked Duncan, before his mother put a lot of hydrogen peroxide on him, if he wanted to go to brunch in Toronto on Sunday before we shop for his friend April and go to the Vatikan. I had to make up somehow for his evening.

New Dawn Fades

I really, really hate my gene pool, or at least the fragment that is my uncle. I had invited Duncan over for dinner for St. Patrick's Day, so I got some DVDs out from Jumbo the Elephant Video. Duncan got over here, and at the same time he called Arne called. "They won't make any blue beer," he said, and then the phone went dead. I grabbed Duncan and told him to look old. I wished that Jerome or whatever his name is, the light man for Macbeth, were here since he doesn't have to work at looking old.

So we went to get Arne. Of course, Arne wasn't at the Three Kronen, but Valter the bartender said that Bokis, Benno and Ivar had gone off with Arne to The Fightin' Irishman over two blocks. That's where I found him, being hauled out the front by Paddy O'Malley the owner. "And don't ye be darknin' me doorstep agin, ye weak excuse for a Swede. Mats Sundin my arse!" Duncan helped me throw Arne into the backseat of the car and we drove back home very, very slowly since I didn't want Luggsworth to see me driving without a conscious fully licensed driver in the car. But we got home safe. We got Arne in the house, and I ordered in Jamaican delivery. Arne insisted on getting curried goat, but he passed out before it arrived. Duncan ate the goat, along with a jerk pork dinner and half a jerk chicken.

Then we watched the DVDs. I thought The Magdelene Sisters would have been a good St. Patrick's Day movie since it was Irish, and depressing, but the whole nun story really upset Duncan. I told him I was sorry, and he cheered up watching Leprechaun 2. I showed him Charles Wallace's room and he went to sleep. When we all woke up, Arne said he'd drive him to Shelbyville to the credit union there so I knew Arne had an ulterior motive. He asked Duncan to help in the magic show. I tried to tell him that my father had said, no family members, no friends, and no people likely to have expensive lawyers, but he cut me off.

How soon is now?

Last night, when Arne was taking me through what he called "night driving maneuvers," I saw a man in a dark suit doing evasive maneuvers behind telephone poles. I had to look twice: it was Duncan, but he looked perfectly like an undertaker in his suit. Arne saw that I looked interested in Duncan and had me drive very close to the sidewalk and very slowly. Once Duncan calmed down, he realized that I was me and I wasn't trying to kill him. He's very nervous right now for some reason. I asked him if he wanted to come over for dinner Friday night and he said yes. When I offered him a ride home he gave me directions to somewhere that I didn't think was where he lived. His family must have moved since his mother was my mother's office nurse. He didn't say very much, and when I asked him about his cat he got very agitated and put his head in his hands and started moaning, "Man, oh man, don't talk about Faustus." It was very sweet that he was so worried about his cat. I dropped him off and he said goodbye very fast and went directly to the garage.
It should be a quiet afternoon, at least here. Arne is going off to get drunk for St. Patrick's Day. Of course, he isn't actually celebrating St. Patrick's Day, he's just going to get plastered at the Three Kronen or wherever he hangs out in Milborough. He just left, giving me directions. "It's on the Swedish side of town," he said, "like the cheating side of town but next to the IKEA." I've got his car keys so at least he won't get arrested by Luggsworth this year at closing time. I just hope I won't get arrested for driving him back.

A Means to an End

I should remember that real life is infinitely more frightening than fiction. I've just spent the last two days getting driving lessons from my uncle. I got my G1 license, and realized that I had to practice on a real car. With my parents gone, that meant Arne's car, and he was the closest thing to a "a fully licensed driver with at least four years of driving experience" that I had. Arne's car is a 1988 T-Bird ("the last really big one!" he kept on saying), with Swedish memorabilia and magic equipment all over it. It steers like a tank. It brakes like a tank, or at least a tank with strained brakes. This morning I nearly hit Mrs. Anderson, who was putting "missing cat" signs up on the telephone poles downtown. "Serves her right," Arne said (he's still mad at my cat for using the "Aztec Tomb" trick box as a litter box. Arne's only driving hints are "go faster" and "stop oh my god stop now." He also had me go through the Tim Horton's drive-through without paying, so I ended up with an extra-large double double all over my left arm. I hope I can stay in tomorrow and catch up on my reading and maybe call Duncan if he isn't doing anything.

Frost

By tomorrow I should know all of my lines, plus a few of Macbeth's and Banquo's, memorized. There's no drama club this week, so I don't have to put up with actually seeing Macbeth or Banquo. Arne hasn't destroyed the basement yet, but he's almost completely scared the cat away from the litter box. I didn't know hankerchief tricks could be so disruptive. I want to call Duncan, since I'm getting bored here, but I don't know when he's counting people in Shelbyville, or whatever he said he'd be doing. Anyway, if he comes over here Arne will have a new victim for trying out illusions or whatever they are.
I think I stayed up too late last night. I had three DVDs and decided to watch them all. I'm more or less by myself and no-one was there to tell me to turn the lights out or anything. But after the last one I kept wondering if there was asbestos in the ceiling. Every time the floor creaked, or something in the kitchen went on, I thought about asbestos and how it could flake and we might not even see it. I think I kept myself up doing that. Jane Eyre never had to worry about ceiling fixtures.

Pale student of unhallowed arts

High school is pretty stupid, but March break sort of makes up for it. I got up late, made coffee, and read Frankenstein. My mother left a note reminding me that I had to get my G1 licence this week, so I rounded up my ID. Arne was practising card illusions in the basement most of the day.
Yesterday I went into Toronto with Duncan. We got him a kilt at Hell's Belles and a shirt, and then looked at stuff on Queen West. We went to the weird antique store near Bathurst and he was seriously thinking of getting a mandolin. He kept saying it was like a langspille or something, and if he could play a half-eaten one of those he could play a mandolin. Luckily he didn't buy the damn thing. We went to the all-ages show at the Vatikan. He was looking a little too cheery for the scene, but he said he was fine. He got more and more depressed as we got back to Milborough. "Man oh man," he kept saying, "I have to go to Shelbyville to count people this week." I didn't think he was old enough to sound like that yet. Anyway, I've got his cell number and I'll try to get him to do something later this week.

I hate my gene pool

Arne spent part of yesterday explaining exactly what kind of tricks he wants to do at the kiddie party. "Not "tricks, Sandra, illusions," he said, and then described something with a trunk, a bird, two hankerchiefs, and either me or the cat. After that he forgot he needed to practise whatever the "illusion" was and we watched Blade III with a couple of beers. Today I'm going into TO with Duncan. He's meeting me at the GO station, and we'll get him a kilt or a reasonable substitute. Enid told me that real kilts are custom made and take a bit to make, so we'll just have to pick up something at Hell's Belles (candy-goth heaven, but they do have men's stuff).

Oh hell

My parents and Charles Wallace left about an hour ago. Right before they drove off, my uncle Arne pulled into the driveway. I came back outside, and Charles Wallace left the car when my uncle went over to talk to my father. We couldn't hear very much after my uncle said, "I made a huge mistake," but my father was shaking his head and then he called me and Charles Wallace over. "Sandra," my father said, "Arne'll be staying with you this week. I feel a bit better having him here," and as he said that Charles Wallace mouthed "You're taking care of him. Sucker!" So after my parents left Arne started taking his stuff out of the trunk of his car. His girlfriend/assistant dumped him again so he's camping out in the basement. Unfortunately this means that sometime next week I have to go help him on a job doing "magic" tricks at a kiddie party. He explained it to me when I brought the Europe CD he dropped downstairs, and tried not to land on the prop Sword of Destiny. I'm just glad I won't have to be hankerchief/pigeon jockey for him tonight, since I'm going with Enid to see the Sisters with the tickets Duncan gave me.

Haunted

I really shouldn't have shown Zenobia the tattoo I got. Mirabell's soundman (I think his name is Jerome) kept staring at me all day. The teachers rushed through everything because tomorrow is a PA day. In drama club, Mirabell stuck to rehearsing Macbeth through the difficult fourth act. I guess it's difficult since he can't remember his lines and keeps trying to kill Lady Macduff himself. There was nothing to do all rehearsal, so I went over to Duncan and thanked him again for the tickets (I realized he couldn't run away here). He's looked so sad ever since he got that letter from that nun-girl. Anyway, he just started talking, like he just got out of a years-long coma. I was wrong about the kind of band geek he is: he was actually in a band, although they broke up. I thought the band name may have had something to do with it. So he said he's open to all sorts of musical experiences, and had never heard the Sisters of Mercy, so I just asked him if he'd like to go to the Vatikan Sunday for the all-ages show. He said yes. We'll have to fit in picking him up a kilt: Mirabell hasn't found any yet for the male roles and might end up having to use some old army-surplus ones in the old marching band storage cupboard. We're bound to find something on Queen West. Then I found myself asking him about the two people he eats lunch with. The girl with the bad propeller hair looked so furious all day: I had to give her a hand, since I didn't manage to get that fed up with this stupid school until Grade 10. Duncan said he'd tell April: I hope he realized it was a compliment.

Hate My Way

Another horrid day. Time crawled. Lunch went frame by frame, and I was stuck watching Duncan have lunch with some red guy (who looked a bit like the drama club's new soundman) and a girl with a propeller stuck on the back of her head. Drama itself was the usual: do the end of the play first before Macbeth has to leave, then rush through Act I. I have plenty of time to practise sleepwalking as a result. My parents aren't going to Florida after all, but I still won't go with them. They're going to Washington. As my mother said to my father over the roadmaps, "That dentist down the hall from me does this sort of thing all the time: he books one week trips with his wife, then extends them for a week, maybe two, longer." At least my parents are only driving south and can pretty much stop wherever they want. Charles Wallace should be happy about going to DC, since he wants to see the FBI building.

Not drowning, waving

Drama club was a near complete waste of time. Mirabell decided to do fight blocking, so everyone in the cast but me and the witches waved metersticks around and tried not to hit the guy Mirabell found to do light and sound. Supposedly the sound guy is in Grade 9 but he looks 40 to me.
My parents have come up with a solution to the "our children hate warm weather" problem: I don't have to go to Florida this year, but next year I have to watch Charles Wallace during the break. Luckily they're driving south this year. My father is already starting to collate the emergency telephone numbers for me.

Everyday is like Tuesday

I'm spending too much time at this stupid school. I missed a day writing here and the therapist said I'm avoiding things. Yes, I wanted to say, but since I'm here it's not really working. So I'm doing catchup in the library before drama club. Yesterday at drama club Duncan was acting strange. Well, maybe a little stranger than usual. He gave me an envelope, then scuttled across the room. I put it in my bag and practise went on as usual, except that Mirabell had to coach Duncan a bit more than usual. He told Duncan that King Duncan isn't supposed to be terrified of Macbeth and his wife in Act I, and that he has to stand closer to us during our lines. "You're out the door again, Duncan," he said at least three times.
I went to my mother's office after drama club for a ride home. She was still busy so I went to the drugstore on the ground floor. The pharmacist is kind of creepy. She came up to me in the aisle and said, "Can I help you? I'm a certified pharmacist, and I find at this time of year people need extra help." I told her that I was only looking at the shampoo. When I left she was using up a bottle of hand sanitizer. My mother's office is on the same floor as the crazy dentist, and it was pretty quiet this time. My mother said that the dentist and his wife had gone for a trip to Mexico without their daughter again. "Funny thing," she said, "they always leave the week before March break, and they never take her anywhere." I suggested that she and my father could take her to Florida instead of taking me. She ignored me and wondered again why anyone would want to pay extra to go on a vacation with loads of other people's children while leaving their own at home.
When I got home I opened Duncan's envelope--he left a little note about how he thought I might like this, and two tickets for the Sisters of Mercy show Friday in Toronto. Enid's contact hadn't come up with any tickets, so this was really great and totally surprising. I tried to thank Duncan today at school but he looked at me, nodded, then ran down the hallway.

Full fathom five

My mother and father are trying to get me to go to Florida with them for the March break. I know the only reason they want me to go is to make sure my brother goes. Charles Wallace hates Florida more than I do, and they think I can make him go. Right now my mother is muttering something up here in the hallway about "the drama of having gifted children" and my dad is trying to talk to Charles Wallace about baseball. Bad idea. I'm just sitting upstairs, re-reading the tattoo FAQ: my parents got me one for my birthday and I got it yesterday in TO with Enid. It's an ouroboros (which Mom likes because it's scientific), and it looks good, as far as I saw since it's on my back. Before going to TO, I had to do the run-through with Duncan. His mother was my mother's nurse years ago, and at one of the medical building's Christmas parties he threw up on me. He was so happy yesterday so he mustn't have actually been reading the play. Anyway, he had bought a double-double for me and a maple dip. When I was in line to get a black coffee, he was reading this letter. When I got back he was waving it around and saying, "Yes! Kimmi's coming back! Yes!" He showed me the letter. Kimmi's got stupid girly handwriting, all round and puffy. Unfortunately that makes it hard to read. "Vacation" and "vocation" look pretty similar if you're writing like a nearsighted eight-year old. I never saw anyone get devastated more quickly than Duncan did right then. I felt sorry for him and got him another double-double and went to catch the bus to TO. He's a bit of a band geek but he seems harmless enough, as long as he doesn't vomit on me again.

Stale Flat and Unprofitable

I'm so glad there's no stupid drama club today. Yesterday Mirabell said afterwards, "Zandra, will you help Duncan get up to speed with his lines? You seem to know the play better than most of the club." I asked him why I wasn't practicing with Macbeth, since I had lots of scenes with him. Mirabell said that because of the terms of Macbeth's probation, he couldn't stay at school for more than an hour afterwards and that one of the workers in the group home was helping him with his lines. So I have to help Duncan. He wants to run through the first act at Tim Hortons. So I have to go to Corporate Coffee Hell for this. At least I'm going to Toronto this weekend. My cousin Enid and I are going shopping on Queen West. Sometimes Toronto just seems so far from Hellborough.

Ice Age

According to Mirabell, we'll be doing our play in the cafeteria. Apparently there's going to be some great health-related assembly the day we're supposed to perform for our fellow students, so we'll be declaiming Shakespeare to the sound of a thousand chip bags popping. I hate this stupid school. At least we won't have to go to the stupid assembly.

I don't know what it is about the play, but two nights ago we had Duncan-confusion and then yesterday we had no Duncans at all. Mirabell got a phonecall about one of them, I think it's the fake one, so now we have to find a new king. The porter's pretty bad too, since he can't talk very loud and refuses on religious grounds to act like he's drunk. This is all so stupid.