lauraells

[lauraells]

So, I decided to write the fic myself

I mean, it was half written anyways

You’re thirty-three when you shoot yourself in the head on the rooftop of St. Bart’s hospital. You’ve been holding London by the balls for almost ten years. Rich Brook may have been the (temporary) downfall of Sherlock Holmes, but he did more damage than you anticipated.

Seb has been picking up the slack over the last two years. He thinks that you can’t see the consequences of your obsession, but Seb can be so annoyingly human sometimes. You see everything. It was always going to end like this. But you didn’t anticipate the effect it would have on Seb. He’s surprised you again. Despite everything, he still loves you. He can be so annoyingly human sometimes.

The story can’t pick up again for another five years. You need to distance yourself from your kingdom. The stories of your reign need time to become legends. And you just know Seb is going to hold a grudge about this, he always did have trouble seeing the whole picture.

So, you have five years to spare. Five years to disappear into somebody else, somebody less. It’s all planned out, you’re going to Allen Hall. Maybe you should leave London, but people are so boring and this is the last place they’ll look for you. Seb won’t want to stick around and someone needs to keep an eye of things. Even if it is the distant eye of a broken man determined to change his life by going to seminary and becoming a priest. That really is the last place anyone would look for you.

You enter seminary and it quickly becomes a bit of a game. You’re thirty-three, older than the other prospective priests but you’re used to being an outsider. So, you push boundaries. You never paid them any mind before, why should you start now? You swear more than is acceptable, you talk about your alcoholic parents, you even make up a pedophile brother. (Seb would love that one. You’ll have to tell him about the silence that follows whenever you drop that tidbit). But like all games, you grow weary of this one. Everyone is so fucking predictable. You wish you could just sleep through the next five years.

At long last you're ordained. You do your six months as a deacon and every day you contemplate stabbing the priest in the face. He’s an old fucker. Probably wouldn’t live much longer even if you weren’t there to speed things along with a touch of aconite. He had a weak heart an no one questions the heart attack he suffers the week before your parish assignment comes through. Asking you to take over is only logical.

Things get a bit more interesting after that. Pam really keeps you on your toes, she’s always there when you turn around – you contemplate getting a little bell for her to wear around her neck. The parishioners are a bit of fun. You revisit your game from seminary – push boundaries just to see how far you can push them. And then this batty woman comes and ask you to be the priest at her wedding to the father of her godchildren. You leap at the chance to join them for dinner and that’s when you meet her. There’s something just a bit...off with her. She’s resonating at a different frequency than everyone else – an outsider, like you but not like you.

When you meet her at the restaurant she asks if you’re a real priest; she surprises you. You can count on one finger the number of people who have done that. Yes, you say, I’m a real priest. But, darling, you doesn’t say, I’m so much more.

She’s good, but no one is as good at wearing a mask as you. You read her easily, unconsciously, the mask falling away as if it were never there. There’s so much grief and fear and guilt and loneliness – it’s intoxicating. The chaos she brings would be a work of art, were it intentional. You want to harness it, own it, teach her to wield it like a knife. But that won’t work. She doesn’t mean for any of it to happen – it’s her sister who had the miscarriage, obviously, and the ensuing violence simply the result of sisterly affection. But, God, who gives someone a voucher for counseling? (That’s another thing you’ll have to tell Seb about – that list is starting to get long.)

There are these moments when she slips away. You don’t know where she goes, don’t see the destination. That intrigues you more than it should. It’s more of a testament about your life these last few years than it is of her. But where is she going? It infuriates you that you can’t figure it out.

You have time, and you know how this ends, but everyone else is so very boring; you don’t care that she’ll be just as boring afterwards. You’re exile is nearly over and you’ve missed making the world dance for you. She falls for you easily, so ready to believe how vulnerable and how human you are. It’s so predictable and so beautiful and so fun – the most fun you’ve had since before the trial. (Before you began to lose yourself in Rich Brook and before you began distancing yourself from Seb.) You know how this ends, but why shouldn’t you have your fun?

You’re not going to have sex, you tell her in the back garden, drinking those disgusting canned G&Ts from M&S. That’s a lie, but you almost wish it weren’t. You don’t really like sex – this stint as a priest is hardly your first go at celibacy. Seb is the exception, of course, but that has more to do with Seb than you. And if there is anyone to blame for this mess, it’s Seb. You find yourself furious at him for turning you into such a romantic idiot. You’re Jim Moriarty – you don’t love, you own. But you’re not Jim Moriarty – Jim died almost five years ago and it’s not yet time for him to return. Right now, you’re the broken priest with the broken girl falling in love with you. It’s as hilarious as it is annoying.

And maybe it’s out of spite, or maybe it’s out of boredom, but you’re starting to get a bit tired of this charade. You pry a bit too much, pick at the wounds she tries so hard to hide, and kicks you out of her little cafe. It won’t last, you know, and it doesn’t. She’s runs back to you later the same night. You act the tipsy fool and convince her to bare her soul to you in the confessional. You tell her to kneel and for a second, you’re Jim Moriarty again – back on your throne with genuflecting subjects before you. You revel in her discomfort and to stop yourself from laughing you kneel down and kiss her. It really is luck that brings the painting crashing down to the ground.

You fuck her a few nights later. It’s not your worst sexual experience, but she’s not Seb. She’s suffocates you with her emotions and you’re honestly surprised you can even perform under these conditions. She’s stopped slipping away quite as much when she’s with you. And isn’t that interesting? And just a tiny bit disappointing?

You notice it at the wedding – she’s still out of step with everyone around her, but it’s a bit less obvious now. And you knew this would happen, but still, your so disappointed. She’s so ordinary now.

You leave, pretend to be all heartbroken about it, pretend to love her. You even manage to shed a few tears. But you have an empire to reclaim, a right hand to whip into shape, and a pair of brothers to destroy once and for all.

You leave, because that’s what people do.

[lauraells]

Moriarty & the Priest

(This will contain spoilers for the second season of Fleabag)

So, I discovered the fic These Violent Delights by @pasiphile (and its accompanying stories) last year and it was incredible. I have loved Andrew Scott’s Jim Moriarty since the freaking pool scene and just devoured the world that @pasiphile has created. Truly spectacular. It’s canon as far as I’m concerned.

Then I saw that Andrew Scott was playing a character in the show Fleabag so I watched a clip on youtube from the show (of him and Fleabag making out by a confessional) and I thought, “I have to watch this show.” 

So, I watched it. And it was beautiful. Bittersweet. I started watching the second season again and this thought popped into my brain (and I can’t have been the first to think this):

What if, after Jim “died,” he spent the ensuing time (before his resurrection) becoming a priest? 

(Now, I like to consider myself to be a fanfic reader of discerning taste. In any crossover fic there has to be a believable reason for the crossover. I’m pretty good with the whole “expansion of disbelief” thing, but there are limits.)

So, here’s how it would work: 

Jim “kills” himself on the roof of the hospital and he needs to lie low for awhile. He needs to distance himself from Seb because while the rest of the world may be ignorant of Seb’s existence, the criminal world is rife with information (all rumors and hearsay because Jim is nothing if not thorough) and they can’t be seen together (or even rumored to be seen together) until Jim’s ready for the next stage of his plan to commence. What’s he gonna do in the interim? He’s not going to be himself, that’s for sure. And a priest is pretty far removed from consulting criminal, so why not go to seminary? 

He’s ordained and is sent to a perish and that is where we enter the Fleabag universe (yeah, we might be getting a bit timey-whimey, get over it). One thing he forgot was how Seb helped ground him in reality. Without him (and his Web) it is easy to get lost in a character. He’s molded himself into this foulmouthed priest and people are drawn to him - they can’t help themselves. Jim’s magnetism is a lot harder to hide, easier to do for smaller characters, and he makes it work for the priest. He meets this woman, this beautifully tragic woman who doesn’t fit in with the rest of the world - her resonance doesn’t quite match up. 

(I love that, in the show, the Priest is the only one who notices Fleabag’s 4th wall breaks. That is such a Jim thing - after all, the Priest may not be Jim but Jim is the Priest and he can never fully turn off his brain. Of course he’s going to notice someone slipping away here and there.)

Jim loves chaos, he thrives in it - it’s never chaotic for him - and he revels in the chance to see what chaos this woman will cause. He reads her easily, unconsciously, the mask falling away as if it were never there. There’s so much grief and fear and guilt and loneliness - it’s intoxicating.

(At the dinner scene in the restaurant, when Fleabag asks if he is a real priest, she surprises him. He can count on one finger the number of people who have done that. But Jim is Jim and his mask stays up. Yes, he is a real priest. But, darling, he doesn’t say, I’m so much more.)

Jim enjoys making her fall in love with him, pretending to be so vulnerable and so human. It’s beautiful and, despite being predictable, it’s the most fun he’s had since before the trial - before he began to lose himself in Rich Brook and before he started distancing himself from Seb. And for a moment Jim’s irreversibly furious at Seb for turning him into such a romantic idiot. But that’s the Priest, not Jim. Jim doesn’t love. Jim owns. 

(When their drinking G&Ts in his garden and he tells her they’re not going to have sex he knows he’s lying. He also wishes that he could convince her to drop it. He doesn’t really like sex - this stint as a priest is hardly his first go of celibacy. [Seb is the exception, of course, but that had more to do with Seb than Jim.] But then he get’s a bit bored and messes with his own plan and has her bear her soul to him in the confessional. For a second he’s Jim Moriarty again, commanding his subjects to kneel. He can see how uncomfortable this makes her, how vulnerable she is. And he almost laughs. But instead he drags the Priest back up and the Priest kneels before he and kisses her. It really is luck that brings the painting crashing to the ground.

In the end, they do have sex. Of course they do. Even she knew they would. And it’s…not his worst sexual experience. She’s not Seb, so the emotion she’s practically suffocating him with is uncomfortable. But she’s stopped slipping away quite as much when she’s with him. Interesting…and a bit disappointing.

He notices it at the wedding. Her resonance is not quite as off as it use to be. She’s a bit less out of step with the everyone else around her. And he’s so disappointed. She’s so ordinary now. But he knew it would end like this, of course.)

He leaves, pretends to be heartbroken about it, pretends to love her, even manages to shed a few tears. But he has an empire to get back to, a right hand to whip into shape, and a pair of brothers to destroy once and for all. 

He leaves, because that’s what people do. 

[lauraells]

Why I Don't Care About the Super Bowl

A very subjective take on things:

I live in the Boston area. I was born here and have spent the subsequent years of my life here. I don't have a Boston accent (at least not a distinctive one and I even went through years of speech therapy to correct the non-rhotic tendencies I had which were unrelated to my regional surroundings), I'm not Irish (not any more Irish than Welsh, German, Polish, or English, as I my heritage truly is a melting pot), and I really really really don't care about how well Boston's sports team perform in their respective competitions. My happiness at any given time is not affected by the job performance of strangers, and for that I feel free. But I also have nothing to contribute to the conversations centered around these strangers and their adversaries, and for that I feel, not left out, per say, but uninitiated. But I learned to accept that feeling around the same time that I learned it was okay to not care about sports.

I like stories. I like a captivating beginning, strong characters that I can sympathize with, interesting conflict, and satisfying resolution. The ending doesn't have to be happy, it just has to make sense. I have learned that this is very hard to find in sports. Yes, aspects of some games can be twisted into my interests. You could tell me about the long-standing rivalry between certain teams and provide interesting facts about specific players that make them seem more than just random players. But where is the true conflict? Conflict is created by rules being broken. In sport, the referees are there in part to both stop that from happening and make examples of the players who choose to ignore these rules of engagement. Imagine, instead, a game where one player, let's call him Player X, has been given permission to ignore the rules of the sport and do whatever they desire to make sure their team wins. Already you have more intrigue. Especially if Player X's role cannot be transferred to another player were they to be injured or taken out of play. That is a game I would watch, maybe. But the rules are there for a reason, apparently. And while I am not saying that rules universally stifle creativity, the explicitness and thoroughness of the rules can certainly make it very hard to express that creativity. So, the lack of true conflict negatively affects my ability to enjoy sports (And please don't mix up conflict and controversy. One adds dimension and incentive to a story, the other just creates argument. Controversy can cause interesting conflict, like the 2002 Winter Olympics pairs figure skating gold medal controversy. But more often than not, it just seams to create pettiness and disappointment, like the reveal of Lance Armstrong's doping).

I also mentioned my love of strong, sympathetic characters, by which I mean well-developed and multidimensional characters whose actions and responses make sense. I have to care about the character(s) and understand why I'm rooting for them other than the fact that they have been presented as the protagonist. I want to know why they are in conflict with the antagonist, their relationship to the antagonist, etc. I was going to write about my love of Joss Whedon and how awesome he is at character development while citing examples from his work, but I kept getting distracted by Buffy-tangents, which I have learned hold little interest for those unfamiliar with the series. So I have reigned myself in. Your welcome. Instead I will state this: the members of sports teams are not characters, they are people employed by the team. Their motivation is money and glory. They don't necessarily have any ties to the city they represent. They may have great friendships with players on the opposing team. All they want is the claim the greatness that winning ascribes along with more money than they would have made were their group efforts not so coordinated. There is nothing poetic about that.

Give me a hero, or better yet, an anti-hero. Give me a villain who might not be an villainous as they seem. Give me grand stories full of imagination. In short, I need a reason the stay interested as my attention span is constantly shifting. So no, I didn't/won't be watching the game or rooting for the home team. They have not earned my attention or my affection and I am long since over pretending otherwise.

In the interest of full disclosure, I tend to enjoy the Olympics and Bob Costas.

*Consider this my general disclaimer of the subjective nature of this rant*

[lauraells]

So, this is happening... part 2!

Because part 1 was exceedingly long and lacking in general amusement I have decided to put together a list of things I have done over the past three weeks to stave off boredom while on lorazepam.

Things I Have Done Over the Last Three Weeks to Stave Off Boredom While on Lorazepam:

  watch seasons 1-3 of "Game of Thrones".

read the first 370 pages of the book A Game of Thrones, decide to get back to it after I'm finished being interrupted by other things

watch "Orange is the New Black" on Netflix

play a crap-load of of "The Secret Society-Hidden Mystery" on my iPad (level 96 at the moment, what what!)

rediscover the joy of British panel shows

watch a lot of British panel shows

at one point I watched Mission Impossible 3

collect all 8 badges from the gym leaders, defeat the elite four, defeat my rival, and beat Pokemon Blue on gameboy

not wear a bra 99.9% of the time

shower infrequently

get a good night's sleep more often than not

spend a lot of time with my cat (when she's willing)

spend hours on BuzzFeed, trying to keep up with the "relevant news"

there's probably more that I'm forgetting. I'll call it "other forgettable mind excursions."

At least I've never been the type of person who worries/thinks about the future. I've always been more of the "be here now" type. That, I've found, is conductive with my current comings and goings (metaphorically, because you shouldn't drive while on lorazepam).

[lauraells]

So, this is happening...

I haven't done anything on here for a while now. Thanks to those who have continued following me despite that. I wanted to write a bit about what has been going on in my life recently, more specifically, my health (Bear in mind, when I say "a bit" I really mean "a butt-load").

So, about a month ago I found myself in a near constant state of vertigo (the one with nausea and dizziness, not Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak). This was frustrating and uncomfortable. Frustrating, because I had just taken a week off of work and upon returning to work, I found it really hard to actually be at work [for those who don't know, I work in retail specializing in stock and visual stuff]. That first day I had to leave work early, even going so far as getting a ride home from my dad. I had the next few days off, so that was good, and the following week I was scheduled pretty lightly. Normally, that would have bothered me (given the fact that I had just taken a week off without pay), but that week it was a blessing. Especially since shipment mornings really did a number on me. Which brings me into the uncomfortable side of things. For anyone who has never experienced vertigo, I think the best way for me to describe it is being similar to incredibly bad motion-sickness. For anyone who has never experienced motion-sickness, I felt like I had consumed copious amounts of tequila and instead of getting drunk, I just got the side-effects. Rooms were spinning, thoughts of certain foods made me want to puke, and this was all made worse with movement.

This went on for about a week. That alone is annoying. Based on my studious internet research on vertigo, most people don't experience it constantly for days on end. But I was. And that sucked. And I tried to work as much as I could throughout it all. 

But after that first week, things got worse. I went to work Friday three weeks ago and had to leave after a mere half-hour. My right hand had starting shaking and it wasn't stopping. Not after drinking a lot of water, not after sitting down for fifteen minutes or so, not after eating a cookie. So I went home and my mom had to practically beg me to go see a doctor (I have this thing about going to the doctor: I don't like it, so I avoid it). She finally wore me down and made the next available appointment for urgent care. Luckily for me, it wasn't until the next morning.

So, the next morning, that morning being Saturday, I see a doctor. She sees in my records that I have generalized anxiety disorder and wonders if it may be related to that: I don't think it is, things are good at home and good at work. I get blood-work done (where I worry the phlebotomists who think they are the cause of my shaking arm), I get an EKG because my heart rate is fast, and then I get a prescription for lorazepam and instructions to make a follow-up appointment to see my GP the following week.

The lorazepam made my arm stop shaking, but it also doped me up. My parents were going away that weekend and were worried about me, but I wasn't scheduled to work so they were okay with me lazing around in my lorazepam cloud (as long as I had my cell phone with me at all times and called if there was a problem). Every morning I would wait and see if my arm had stopped shaking. It never did, so I would take my pills and try to remain entertained. It seemed like a good time to see if "Game of Thrones" really did live up to all the hype so I spent that first weekend on a mind-vacation in Westeros and Essos (it did live up to the hype, although I found the general violence to be a lot more graphic than the sex).

Monday would be the day I would have to make some decisions. And kind of Sunday. I had a dentist appointment scheduled Monday morning and had decided on Sunday to call and leave a message canceling due to medical reasons. But then I was scheduled to work later in the afternoon. No way I could work with my arm shaking like it was when I was not drugged up and there was no way I could work when I was drugged up, let alone get to work. So, on Monday, after my daily experiment of waiting and daily experience of disappointment, I called work and said I couldn't come in that day or for the foreseeable future (and with that comes not getting paid for the foreseeable future). Dang.

So, that is enough day-to-day detail for now. Let's fast-forward to Friday, my next doctors appointment, this time with my GP. First thing to check, is my are still shaking? Yes. Next, my heart rate was still fast, but my blood pressure was fine. Normally, that would indicate a thyroid problem, but one of last week's blood tests ruled that out. It was possibly something with my adrenal gland, so I got more blood-work done and was instructed to collect my pee for 24 hours to check on that. Also, I was going to need an MRI on my brain. Next appointment, next Friday. It didn't end up being the adrenal gland thing, so I won't go into the joys of 24h urine collection procedures. But the MRI was an experience worth mentioning.  

I've had MRIs before, one on my left wrist and then an extremely long one on my right elbow back in high school, so I wasn't really concerned about the whole thing. But let me tell you, a brain MRI is a COMPLETELY different experience than getting one on an extremity. First off, they kinda put your head in a box/cage to get "all the angles photographed properly" or something like that. I'm not claustrophobic. I like small spaces. Unless you put my head in a box/cage, apparently. But I'm already drugged up to keep my arm from going crazy so I figured I would be fine. Another thing about a brain MRI that is different from other MRIs is the noise level. Yeah, they gave me ear plugs (but I'm pretty sure one place gave me those noise-reducing ear-muff things once), but the ear plugs didn't seem to do much, which makes me terrified about what it might have been like without them. I don't know if it was the lorazepam, the head cage, the combination of the two, or just that it was me getting the MRI, but the noises were terrifying. To me, it seemed like a barbarian horde were making the way closer and closer and soon it would be time for battle. But I couldn't battle, I was in a giant magnet tube with a head-cage and the the horde was getting closer and closer. The clanking and banging seemed to be signaling my imminent death due to my vastly sub-par battle skills and the fact that I wasn't allowed to move [note: I know (and knew at the time) that there was no barbarian horde coming to do battle. but that didn't stop the images/ideas from forming in my mind]. But then the MRI was over and I no longer felt like the battle of the century was about to happen in my proximity.

Long story short, turns out my brain is fine. And at my next appointment (last Friday, for all you who like chronology) I learned that everything else was coming back looking just fine. Well, that was all fine and dandy, except for the fact that my arm was still shaking, at its mildest moments. At its worst moments it seemed more like a fish-out-of-water flapping around on a boat. So, more blood was drawn and I was being sent off to see a neurologist.

And that brings us to present time. I saw a neurologist today and while he described my brain as "beautifully normal looking" and told me that he didn't think I have Parkinson's, he brought in his two partners to observe my unusual tremor one at a time to get their opinions. Double dang. Next step: he's calling my therapist to discuss whether this is all some reaction to all the meds I'm on and/or different medication possibilities. I should hear from one of them on Monday.

Meanwhile, I haven't been able to work in three weeks. And that is frustrating. Also, while it may seem like I take a lot of meds to the person who only has one or two prescriptions or those weird people who don't take medicine, not even advil, every one of those pills serve a purpose. I seem to have a lot of problems, thus a lot of solutions. And I don't abuse those solutions so it seems unfair for them to turn on me now after the wonderful relationships we've formed over the years. 

So that's been this past month of my life. The vertigo is not as bad as it was, it comes and goes instead of being a constant companion. I don't even know it the vertigo is related to the tremor/demon arm.

Consider this the whiny installment. I'll write about what I've done while on lorazepam for three weeks next.

[lauraells]

Recent Development

UPDATE: yeah, so it happened. awhile ago. sorry.

I'm going to be showing my rocking chairs illustrations at Atomic Cafe in Beverly, MA! Atomic is one of my favorite places and I am very excited! When I lived in Beverly I would go to Atomic at the very least once a week. Usually more. Like 2 or 3 times a week. No wonder I was broke when I graduated.

I'll post more details when I know them.

http://atomicgallery.wordpress.com/

[lauraells]

I have something to admit. I am really hesitant about breaking the status quo that has been established as of late. the status quo being living with my parents and working in retail. and that hesitation, my dislike of change, is prohibiting me from making art, moving forward. why am I hesitating? nothing original. I am scared. terrified that once someone gives me a chance I'll blow it and no one will give me a second thought. I'm scared that I'm not good enough to be a real artist. I can be an art student at a small liberal art school with a very supportive team of professors surrounded by friends and people in the same situation. that is easy. this is hard.

[lauraells]

don't talk on your cell phone while you are shopping

stores are not appropriate places to have personal conversations. a quick conversation is okay, but other than that, just don't. please.

a customer today was talking on her phone while she was walking towards the fitting rooms, hoping to try on her selected apparel. she did not stop talking to politely ask me if she could try on said items. instead, with hardly a look in my direction, she pointed towards me and then towards the fitting rooms, ordering me to tend to her needs. there was already a room unlocked. I just pointed her towards the open door. 

another customer was on her phone for the entire length of her visit to my little place of employment. she did not interact with any of the employees, she continued to talk while trying on things (I don't know how this is done. I need to hands to get dressed. maybe she was hiding a third and that's why she avoided human interaction), and even continued her conversation while returning one shirt and purchasing another (while talking to her phone companion about said returned shirt). even at the register she didn't pause once in her conversation to address us employees. there were four of us just looking at her while she avoided eye contact. then she left, still on the phone. the whole experience lasted at least a half an hour. and I can tell you, based on the one side of the conversation that I did hear, it did not sound urgent.

both of these women left messes in the fitting rooms for me to clean up, but that is another point that I may or may not address at another time.

is it too much to ask, as a retail employee, to be treated like a human being? before I was one of these under-appreciated and hard-working individuals I would have said no. but now my opinion has changed. you may have noticed that I just wrote that retail employees are hard-working. don't ever let anyone tell you anything different. we are on our feet all day. those of us who do not ring walk back and forth (always at a brisk pace) countless times throughout the day. some of us do things like set up shelving, put together visual displays, unpack shipment, etc. it can get pretty labor intensive. and for me at least, this is all done in work appropriate clothing.

so please, respect the employees when you shop.

[lauraells]

robots

here are some robots that I've drawn while on break at work:

[lauraells]

christmas music

the store where I work has been playing christmas music since november 1st. at first it was just one song every 5 or so non-christmas songs. but now that is over. for a whole week it has been the opposite, only instead of catching a break every 5 or so songs, I swear it is probably 10. and this is tough. to make it even worse, there is no variety. every day I hear "sleigh ride," "let it snow," "santa clause is coming to town," "the man with the bag," "rudolph the red-nosed reindeer," "have yourself a merry little christmas," white christmas," "all I want for christmas is my two front teeth," "so this is christmas," and "santa baby" at least 5 times a day. and a number of those have different versions that play. sometimes one after another. and during my break if I choose to leave the store, which I usually do, there is christmas music playing on the loud speaker of the outdoor plaza. saturday night I felt like screaming because I thought my head was going to explode. but there were a lot of people walking by. I don't think I can last another month. I will go crazy.

[lauraells]

collaboration!

so my friend tim lewis is doing a not-so-dry-and boring retelling of the bible over on his blog and he asked me if I would like to contribute some illustrations. I said yes, so now you should go check out the first installment.

[lauraells]

current things

I got a job earlier this month. I'm working retail. It is interesting. One thing that is particularly interesting is how much more exhausting being on your feet for 5+ hours a day can be. I've been sleeping a lot more than I'm used to. I told my mom yesterday that I think I need more sleep working retail than I did being an art student. She told me that maybe I just have more opportunities to sleep than I did while in school. This makes sense.

At first I didn't think the long hours on my feet would be a particularly new thing for me. After all, some of my studio classes required me to stand for long periods of time. But I've come to realize that I was able to sit down much more than I realized. Also, the tasks I was completely whilst standing - such as inking a plate and printing said plate in printmaking, or carving a block of limestone or alabaster - proved to distract my mind and body from the exhaustion that standing and walking around for long periods at a time seemed to be causing. Unfortunately, folding clothes and the like has not proved to be quite as stimulating. Also, I was spoiled my last semester, completing the majority of my thesis sitting down - albeit hunched over, resulting in different problems. But the most crucial discovery I have made is that I need to find better shoes.

On an unrelated note, the keyboard problems I mentioned have disappeared. It seems the problems arose because of my computer's perception of the control key being engaged when it had not been. At the height of the problem my keyboard became utterly useless, as engaging the control key negates the ability to use the keyboard normally. However, I updated all my software - something I had been putting off as it required me to restart my computer - and everything seems to be behaving correctly. Except that the esc key still does not work, but that is very easy to work around. 

[lauraells]

keyboard malfunctions

Recently the keyboard of my macbook has been giving me great difficulty. Specifically, some of the keys have stopped working. The keys in question, chronologically as best as I can remember, are the "esc", "p", ";", ":", "/", "?", "-", "_", "\" , "|",  and "return".

All but "return" are refusing to work at all while "return" is still at the stage where it chooses when to work and malfunctions at its leisure. I've had to resort to copying and pasting whenever I've needed to use one of the keys in question. "esc", or course, has simply fallen into extinction in terms of its usefulness. I wonder which keys will become defunct next?

Has anyone else been afflicted with similar frustrations? If so, how did you fix it? I haven't found anything useful in my searches through the interwebs and I'm not really jumping at the chance to take my dilemma to the Apple Store as my warranty ran out. 

[lauraells]

The third pattern I've been working on. Unlike the first and second, I did use a straight edge while working on this one because I needed to grid the paper. I could have done that free handed, but I didn't want to. I'm stubborn like that. 

[lauraells]

This is a continuation of my first pattern. Here is an anecdote that I was thinking about while working on it.

I had a professor who never let us use a straight edge on any projects. Her reasoning was that the imperfections of our lines gave our work an element that was intrinsically human, that the imperfections were what made the work beautiful. I really like that idea.

That is not my way of saying that I think this pattern is beautiful. No, I only mention it because all of the patterns I am drawing are done by hand and are therefore greatly flawed. But I am okay with that.

[lauraells]

I've been drawing patterns. Here is the first one.

[lauraells]

I decided to make an infograph for Primer, the 2004 ultra-low budget sci-fi directorial debut of Shane Carruth. This is a time-travel, greed, and manipulation. It is also incredibly hard to follow. Perhaps this snazzy timeline will help your brain process the convoluted storyline.

There are not very many characters: the plot centers around two characters and through their interactions we are introduced to some additional ones. But since this movie is about time travel there are different versions of the two main guys: one gets 2 versions, the other gets 3 (possibly more, but that is never explicitly explained). 

I wanted to make the timeline more visually appealing than the few I have seen in the past so I decided to use a system of symbols for the major nouns that pop up throughout the plot (such as names and time machines). Hopefully that did not make things harder to understand.

Here is the complete infograph. Clicking on the image will bring you to the full size version.

The movie deals with time travel in the sense that, with the device from the film, a person can travel back in time but not forward. One interesting thing that occurs is that the amount of time spent in the time-traveling device equals the amount of time in the past the time-traveler has journeyed: if it was Thursday and you wanted to go back to Monday you would have to spend 3 days just waiting in the device.

Note: for those of you thinking, "What about when Abe shows Aaron a version of himself entering the storage unit? Isn't a new version of the two guys created every time they travel back in time?" I am not counting those short-term multiples as new manifestations of Abe and Aaron because as soon as they enter the device, the multiple ceases to exist. In this infograph the only way a new version of someone can be created is through the use of a failsafe device.