The Small and the Scrappy

Yesterday morning I was gazing out the window, and I noticed that one of our resident chipmunk colony was bouncing around among the dead ferns and underbrush. It took me a moment to realize what he was up to- see, we've got all kinds of migrating flocks stopping by to feed on the bushes around the vernal stream. The chipmunk was taking extreme exception to the invaders. I watched him chase away one little brown bird after another, growing increasingly frustrated as they continued to settle down again as soon as another quarry distracted him. He even attacked a cardinal. I have to admit, I was impressed.

I've been reading a book of stories written by a guy who leads safaris in Botswana. Thanks to this guy, I'm now versed in what to do if charged by a cape buffalo, as opposed to a lion. Oh yes, very different defense strategies. And he's introduced a new animal to me, something which lions and rhinos and even hippos fear-- the elephant? No. Hyena? No.... Honey Badger.
Look it up. The honey badger is apparently one of africa's most dangerous animals, partly because when it's cornered, it goes straight for the genitals with its giant, diggy-claws. Hearing this, people tend to think only of the inherent pain and humiliation, but there's also a major artery in the groin, so you'd die pretty quickly. This critter is my new hero and will definitely turn up in my books.

So this is my note of appreciation for small beings that nevertheless make their opinions known and respected- a gift I wish I had. Then again, my size is roughly average. Ah well, I work on being scrappy. I do all right in work situations, but I'm sorry to say I often crumble under social attacks. Working on it. At least the work thing is more important.

In other news, I'm still working on finding a suitable program- these things always seem to go at a snail's pace, until suddenly they kick into overdrive. Meanwhile, I'm making sure to get to the gym. There hasn't been much work this week, perhaps due to the holiday. Ironically, however, I do have work today. Although I'm a little sad not to be joining a family friend for Thanksgiving, I've never been that big on Thanksgiving, and my appetite is kinda dim these days (decongestants- it's an unpleasant side effect that seems to compound itself over time).

A few gym-related comments: first, I very nearly pushed a woman off the machine next to me the other day- heavy perfume to the point where I could taste it on my tongue! Y'don't go to the gym to smell nice, and you certainly don't go to smell like some kind of mutant chemistry experiment! I have a disdain for the women who show up in make-up, push-up bras, and heavy earrings as well, but the perfume-wearers are actually getting in the way of other people's work-outs.
On a more cheerful note, I've discovered that despite occasionally having to wait for lifting machines, I like going to the gym right after typical work hours, when it's most crowded. Better people-watching. People working out are hilarious.

So... does anyone actually read this thing? If so, someone should call me, because my tower's feeling bit isolated lately... Don't make me send a honey badger after you!

No, Amy, right now I'm the Bobblehead

Well, in some ways I'm pulling myself together. Yesterday I had my hair very carefully chopped in half, so that it sits right at my shoulders. Let's hear it for less weight on the brain-case! Continuing in the bodily vein, I've been working out 4-5 times a week, and it's definitely having an effect. I keep trying to get my mom to smack my butt and tell me that it's getting firmer, but for some reason she doesn't want to... maybe it's a generational thing.

I continue to work on flying south for the winter. I think it's funny that everyone's reaction when they hear the word Africa has been either "Why???" or "But there are so many parasites down there!" Yes, yes there are many parasites, and I plan to be one of them!

So here's a bit of insight into the little annoyances and set-backs of a search for volunteer work: In the past few weeks, I've sent two application requests to a research volunteer position, and I've heard diddly-squat. What's more, the website doesn't appear to supply any numbers where I can call and harass them. At that time, this was the only affordable place I had found, and they appear to be incompetent. So I moved on. I paid five dollars to a low-cost volunteering database, and I've been perusing the possibilities. At first glance, there are a lot of them, but when you look closer, there are ways in which they rule themselves out. The price is always a big factor, and you need to read between the lines to figure out whether they actually let volunteers do anything interesting.

And so the quest goes on. Wish me firm muscles and viable africa options.

Concerning Featherduster Bugs

First, a disclaimer: This isn't an criticism my parents. If it was, why would I write it in a blog I know they read? So, to my parents, please don't take this as a personal attack.

I don't enjoy being home. It just isn't my venue. I know most people get all dewy-eyed about childhood memories, and sigh about how great it would be to be a kid again- not me. Go back to letting someone else make all my decisions? No, thanks just the same.

I spent most of my childhood in other worlds, which is to say, deep inside my head. Well, mine and my sister's. Since we shared a lot of games, it's fair to say we spent a good deal of time in each other's heads. Being back in Skunk Hollow (yes, we named our house- get over it) has a tendency to bring back that general feeling and mindset. It feels like this (A) I have no control over what happens to me (B) Why bother trying at anything? (C) This is boring. You can imagine up a life way better than this.---It starts with a sort of catatonia, where I spend all my time reading and watching movies, and the next thing I know, I'm hearing voices- it's called writing. I start writing in every spare moment, chapters come flying from my fingers, and I've got characters prancing around in my dreams. That would all be very well, except that it also means I stop communicating with the outside world. My college friends call it Irene's Dark Place. In extreme situations, I stop answering my phone or going online at all.

So where do featherduster bugs come into this? Patience, my friends.
I don't know the proper name for these tiny beasties, and I've never seen them outside of New England in the autumn, which suggests that in other seasons, they're probably not so flamboyant. But in autumn, they are a vibrant blue-purple that stands out dramatically against our famous red and yellow foliage, despite the fact that these bugs are about the size of a pin head. They have diamond-shaped, translucent wings that sit at the same angle as a butterfly's, and my favorite characteristic, they have a tuft of feathery white stuff that puffs out from their backsides as though they were wearing tutus. They float complacently on the air currents, and are extremely easy to catch, with a slow swipe of one hand. From there, they will crawl to the highest point of your hand, just like a lightning bug, and take off again.

I like them. That was probably becoming obvious. To me, featherduster bugs are a reminder of the ridiculous in the midst of the mundane. They also remind me of all the things I haven't seen. After releasing a featherduster bug, my feet are that much itchier to leave Massachusetts (and it isn't athlete's foot- I checked). But you can't completely trust the featherdusters to get my butt in gear. They also bring out the chatty side in my characters. See, I write for the same reason I travel- to meet new people, see new places, and do things I've never done. Sometimes the featherdusters just drive me further into my head.

In conclusion, for those of you who haven't read between the lines, I'm having a bit of trouble with Liftoff. Mostly, it's decision-making that stumps me. And not wanting to see my money go away... I need to make sure that after my adventure, I still have the funds to come back and survive until my next paycheck. Not as easy to achieve as it is to type.

So this isn't so much an update of my activities as it is a bit of insight into my mindset. Because this is what happens when I come back- I start thinking, instead of doing, which is a maddening cycle to get into. Grrargh.

This is the dog who sits in my lap and gives me the "Rubbing my belly is more important than going away and leaving me" look. Hard to withstand sometimes.