Oh dear, the date charges onward leaving a trail of heartache and nervous twitching. Yes, it is once again time to embark into the wilds and camp. And fish. And read. And play Harvest Moon. It wouldn’t be so bad if, for example, I actually wanted to spend days outside in the bright, with the bugs and dirt. But I don’t- and trust me- that’s sad. Alright, I leave in two days and need some ideas in how to keep sane (beyond playing Harvest Moon, which is quite the opposite of sane for the obsessive tendencies it brings out). Mom is snappish, Aunt has decided to go into a technologic panic, Nannie is disapproving in our lack of preparation this year, and Pop-pop is telling the same seven stories and three jokes I could dictate verbatim when I was eight.

Gosh, I need to get Mars’s oil changed, cleaned and vacuumed. I need to be up tomorrow at bright:thrity to load the camping gear into Pop-pop’s beast of a truck. I need to call work. I need to do massive amounts of laundry. I need to clean my room (alright, maybe not need, but sorta-possibly-might-have-to in order to locate everything needed to this ‘vacation’) and program my iRiver and find batteries and headphones and happy blue pills. I need to respond to a wedding invitation (which I managed to miss the bride-to-be's girl's-thing-thingy, also known as a Bridal Shower) before the RSVP deadline comes and I'm SOL. I need to call some wacked-out campus security number on account of an idiot losing a laptop with my blasted social-security number and all manner of other assorted identification information (this is why we’re supposed to be using only our Z-Number, morons!) and switch banking accounts or move all my money under a mattress I wont see in weeks! *wails*

Thusday. I leave Thursday afternoon.

This isn't going to be fun; pass the aspirin.

Edit (because I'm to lazy to hit the post button, yeah, I know) 1:16 Wednesday:
A rec of sorts. Potter Puppet Pals, because I've apparently degraded to a five year old boy...

I’ve done it. And it’s horrible! Unthinkable! Unimaginable! Un-bloody-believable! I haven’t even read the blasted books and what do I do? What happens? Damnable plotbunnies decided to scout out fertile land, out of the dry dustbowl of the Who universe and into Harry Potter. Harry Potter! I’ve barely made it to the half waypoint of the Philosopher’s Stone and suddenly I’m writing fanfiction?

Not only that, but I enjoyed it.

*sniff* It’s wrong I tell you. Wrong. Right up there with kicking puppies. The only thing that makes it somewhat bearable is the terribly vague writing style (on account of drawing my knowledge from the movies and various wikipedia articles) I employed… and the basterization of cannon relationships and gleeful disregard of the epilogue to Deathy Hollows. 

Oh dear, this is worse than falling off the wagon. I’ve jumped ship and swam to distant shores. 

What'll I do? 

At least I didn't pick on Neville.

I grew bored as the day marched onward and started a narration that grew with duration. From mind to lip to hand I created a rhythmical land filled with wonder and fiction before stopping my diction. Disclaimer and warning became the quick following:

Chaotic ramblings of a deranged mind, nonsensical whimsy that amuse; a study in sincerity and truthful recollection now question and confuse. Pay no heed to the written word found within for it came as a babble inked in sin. Prideful yearning of lawful right keep me from claming all in sight. This was all in good fun, so of course may it harm none, now let it be over and done. 



And if that wasn’t enough, next came this awful stuff: 

she dreams of darkness while the sun warms her skin
and cringes from their bark of laughter,
never a'fore come she to this land of men
limbs trip then fumble with pressure.

she dreams of darkness while walking in a crowd,
shivering and cloaked with such fear,
suffocating walls, enclosure pressing down;
flesh and bone and blacked eyes leer.

she dreams of the darkness while posed on display
degusted by their sweating hands;
bile rises and she succombs to dismay
learning of hate ruling the lands. 



What's a few things more? Go ahead 'n snore (know that I did, so please don't fib). They follow a scheme that many do deem an ancient wisdom that set the tradition:

freedom's illusion
  shattered 'neeth the open door
once a gilded cage

and she became a 
  spectator watching from the
sidelines forgotten

And here's something old brought out to fight mold;

burnt out firefly
  hiding beneath rain dew night
discarded, alone

There’s a hamster that rules in m'head

Who frolics all day out of bed

       He jumps with such glee

       While directing me
Now ignore what the shrink just said!

Little posting of links to find fanfiction on the cannon pairing (though not necessarily set during cannon events within Goblet of Fire) of Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum. Why? Because every now and then cannon can be a good thing... and because sometimes- just sometimes- a shinny distraction in the library can do a bookworm good.


Hermione/Viktor recommended story tag: here

bethalaina's tag pages of her Hermione/Viktor stories 

And of course, the big link for today:

VicktorKrum/HermioneGranger LiveJournal Community
  and it's 'Memorable Entries' page

Me: I had no idea that pixilated manslaughter was paramount to your mental health.
Mom: Where've you been the last twenty-odd years?
Me: Playing with my cardboard box.
Mom: How's that working for you?
Me: Well, I've made it to Pluto but due to a misunderstanding at Planet-Side Border Patrol my passport's been confiscated and The Man's after me for being an illegal alien.

Mom: Try Neptune.

(pause)

Mom: Naw, go for Saturn. You wouldn’t want to spend the rest of your days working in a bar.

Me: (thinks) Oh, as long as they’re not sexually challenged saxophone players, I’d be shinny.