(no subject)

I had a good weekend, mostly. It was fun revisiting Escaflowne. :) I may have to break down and buy the box set of DVDs at this point. I also got my hair done! a gazillion braids wonderously accented in purple, navy blue and green. sundart didn't seem to be having quite as much fun as she was stressing about her mystery gastrointestinal thing on Saturday, but she finally worked out a to do list for herself towards going to the doctor, so that helped. She liked the anime though. Escaflowne is another example of an anime series or movie where I don't much care for the protagonist, but I love the supporting cast and the story around them. Spirited Away, which we also watched this weekend (second time for me) kinda falls into the same category - I love the world of the bath house and the story of Chihiro's quest, but I don't care much for her as a character. I guess for me, it just seems that the heroines of shoujo anime are just kind of there and things happen to them and they don't usually have a clue what's going on. At least, that seems to be the case of almost all of the series I've seen, which doesn't amount to very many. I'll have to see if this trend pans out in any others I see.

In other news, I had way too much time to brood to myself on the way home as I was staring out the window of the bus and listening to loud, angsty, goth music (redundant, yes, I know). I guess that plus observing how lonely and isolated highways always seem got to me . . . Anyway, I found myself remembering a conversation I had had with sundart ages back about intense relationships and remarking to her that if we ever broke up that would probably be it for me and I wouldn't try for any level of serious relationship with anyone else again. I remember saying that those levels of relationships required a lot of work in getting to certain levels of intimacy, and the more work you put into a relationship, the more potential they have to turn around and bite you in the ass. Disturbingly enough, as some aspect of everyone's and their sister's husband's mistress' cousin's sex-slave's dog's lives seem to be falling apart, the voice responsible for that statement has reared her ugly head, and lately she's getting hard to ignore. I've been having these urges to run into my room, dive under the covers and scream "LEAVE ME ALONE!" to the world at large. Although I'm wondering what harm a little period of antisociability will do, not that I have much opportunity to be antisocial packed into an apartment with three, sometimes four other people, not to mention other people who keep calling or who expect me to call them . . . I dunno. *sigh* I don't like these misanthropic periods in my life, they suck and make me want to throw things. bleh.

There were some good things about the trip home. On I 91, just outside of Springfield I saw a whole herd of deer by the side of the road grazing in the sunset, which I'd never seen before. And even though the music playing was deep and angsty, it fell well into the category of music that is vastly improved by going 60 + miles per hour. That and I discovered an amusing thing about the chickenscratch I call my handwriting - it retains its wierd, slanty, spidery, clearly left-handed tendancies whether I'm writing in English, Russian, or attempting to write Japanese kanji like I was earlier. Ball point pens, BTW, don't do ideographs any kind of justice. I wonder if the same trait would hold true for a script-y language written from right to left, like Arabic?

Anyway, there was my weekend.