Rhaegar & Lyanna

Anais

“I don’t care”, Anais said out loud, to nobody in particular.

If there were another person in the room, she would have possibly said it to them, but as there was no one else in the entire house, she said it to nobody in particular. This struck her as a very odd thing to do, but if there actually was another in the room, she thought, she probably would have refrained from saying anything out loud at all. Anais frowned and toyed with the scab on her ankle, frowning even more because toying with it was actually quite painful and also more of a bad idea that she should have thought about beforehand but didn’t. Had she thought about it, it is likely that she would have thought it was a bad idea, but her mind was currently trying to convince itself of the state of complete unconcernedness that it was failing to achieve.

“I don’t even care”, she repeated out loud, stressing the word even to try and convince herself of this sentiment.

It didn’t work, and Anais ended up caring even more so. She stood up and went to put the kettle on and get a pair of socks.

What Anais was convincing herself that she didn’t care about, but actually caring about was that Henry had not shown up to what was very clearly supposed to be a date. She was almost sure that it was supposed to be a date, because even though she hadn’t been on very many in her life, she had read enough books and seen enough films to wind up with the assumption that when someone mumbles something shyly about maybe perhaps going to dinner on Friday night, and you answer with “I’ll see you at seven”: a date has very much just been planned underneath your very noses.

Seven isn’t really the most convenient time for dinner, Anais thought resentfully as the kettle boiled away merrily in front of her and her stomach rumbled. By the time you’ve gotten home from work you’re already starving, except knowing that you’re going out to dinner stops you from eating anything, until at about six-thirty when you’re finally ravenous and gorge yourself on last night’s leftovers before you realise that you’re now not hungry at all, and dinner will wind up being an awkward affair for your stomach, who will have to take one for the team and cope with more than it can actually handle. Or, if you’re feeling rather magnanimous, your stomach will wind up quite content while you fumble though having to explain that you’re actually not that hungry, where the rest of you will have to deal with the awkward situation that you’ve brought upon yourself.

At a rolling boil, Anais stopped paying what little attention was focused on the kettle and was hit with a stomach-cringingly horrid thought that maybe it wasn’t actually a date that Henry had asked her on, but merely conversation about what his own plans were for Friday night, and Anais: who, after reading too much and socialising too little for the greater part of her life, had read too much into the conversation and was now suffering from what authors like to call the “oh-gods-I-am-such-a-damn-fool” state of mind. To this wave of self-loathing, she countered with the loudest “I DON’T CARE” of all, which was unexpectedly answered not by any thought of her own, but with a knock on her door.

The knocker, who had swiped a few good, decent years of charity work and philanthropy of Anais’ life, continued to wait behind the closed door as Anais struggled to reign in her heart, which had conveniently adopted the spirit of a race-horse and was now thundering fast enough to win a few cups and maybe also break a few records while it was at it, for which it was secretly quite pleased. After giving up on trying to calm down her heart, which had gotten quite a large head about it all and was refusing to listen to any form of sense, she opened the door to find Henry, dripping wet and shoeless.

“What…” Was all Anais could manage, as Henry let himself into her apartment.

“I could very well ask you the same question” Henry replied, looking uncertainly at the odd pair of socks and the just recently boiled kettle in her hands. She looked at the combination blankly as her mind gave up on trying to convince her of anything, and resolved that it actually didn’t care at all, and was going to be taking a few days break from all this madness. Shutting the door behind Henry, Anais followed him around as he began opening and closing doors, peering into each, sometimes feeling around for a light switch, other times standing back to let the light from the hallway in.

“You could tell me where this kitchen of yours is,” Henry said, “Unless you only own a homeless kettle and in that case, I should very much like a cup of tea.”

“Straight ahead” was all Anais could manage.

Henry marched onwards into the kitchen, where only a few moments ago, Anais had been wondering whether she was delusional. This seemed likely. She pulled two cups out of the cupboard and began silently filling them from her kettle. Henry took one glance at her and began rummaging around in the pantry.

“Middle shelf, to the left”, Anais managed.

“What? Oh. Excellent.” Henry said as he pulled the teabags out. “You know, for someone showing up on a date drenched and shoeless, I’m doing a lot better than you at handling this situation.”

“So this is a date?” Anais asked, while her brain wrenched itself back into motion.

“Yes, of course it is. Or at least, it was. I’m not entirely sure anymore, but when I left home it most definitely was.” He looked at her for a few seconds before turning back to the pantry.

“One shelf up, in the middle.”

“Why on earth do you keep your sugar there?” Henry asked, almost incredulously.
“I don’t know, it just happened that way.” She turned to get the milk out. As she turned back to the cups, Henry was holding the spoon above her cup.

“One. Please.”

He nodded and continued. She passed the milk, willing herself to get a grip on the situation and stop acting like such a fool.

After taking a sip, she managed to ask Henry where his shoes were.

“Well, I suppose it’s a rather strange story, but I could probably tell you all of it.”

Anais sunk down to the floor and pulled her knees up. Henry looked down at her, shrugged and sat leaning against the next cupboard.

“I think the strangest part is that I can’t actually remember where my shoes went. I’m sure I left home with them on, but you know how these things are.” Henry began. 

Anais nodded and her brain shook it’s head and packed up for extended long service leave.

Madmen and Kahlo.

Today has been one of those crazy sorts of days when I'm not entirely sure which parts are real and which parts are just life taking whatever secret joke he's made too far. They tell you to stay hungry, stay thin, these are the roles you need to fit into, like those jeans that even though they're too big on you, still show how fat you are. Kahlo told you not to get too skinny, but the girls on shiny paper don't look like her, and anyway, she had a monobrow so what does she know about beauty?

It's funny how the smallest part of a person's life can shape their legacy: Kahlo with her facial hair, Van Gogh, who in a few hours of estranged passion cut off his ear. At least most people leave out the brothel part. How do you know where to start? Is it when your bones begin to show and your ears burn, or is it earlier? What can you do except stay warm?

For hundreds of years they told us all that the sun followed us, and burned anyone who said differently. I wonder if the sun ever became jealous that he wasn't getting the recognition due to him. Still, he didn't burn anyone in all that time. It's funny how the ones who are proven right after all that time are the ones with the most grace.

Now the men who once burned men of science tell us that our bodies are not our own, that we are men not fit for living in liberty. They bind us up in seat belts and insurance policies and nightly news stories and tell us not to ask questions. "Why" is only fit for children, and even then will never be answered seriously. You grow up and live in boxes and stop feeling the sun, forgetting why men asked about the it in the first place. Stay quiet, stay quiet, this is the way things are. Leave it be, grow thin, what did Van Gogh know about these things anyway, he cut off his ear didn't he?

And we grow tired, aching to know what's missing from our lives, is it just vitamin D, or is it something else. Lips forget how to form the word "why" and we go for years living in the dark.

I'd rather be taken as a passionate madwoman with a legacy of one ear and a monobrow, living in the sun, rather than someone who stopped asking questions.

STAY HUNGRY

Over the past few months I’ve been trying to discover, in a way, the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. Strange as it may seem, I still have no idea. It wasn’t always this way, but I think what really threw me out was the realisation that I am a shy person. Why it took me twenty-one years to figure that out, I may never know, but after so long believing that shy was not something I had, to finding out that it is indeed something that I had, and in great quantities which happily prevent me from making any form of cohesive conversation with basically all peoples who I don’t already know, things get a little confusing. You can see how it might have thrown a spanner in the works, right?

So, with a life-changing realisation under my belt, I embarked upon what most people would call a mid-life crisis if I was about twenty-five years older. This led to some marvellous times, so everybody gather ‘round.

Part of this “issue”, I think, is due to the fact that I am living in a year of waiting: dwelling in a sort of restless middle ground, where the person I am is separated from the person I feel I should be by a gaping canyon, not unlike the Grand Canyon, in fact, except much larger. This in turn, has led to some rather marvellous bouts of existential crisis, where my dear, dear loved ones have heard a splendid amount of colourful language; experienced unexplained tears at unexpected moments; and seen the emotional stability of a nuclear reactor.

I’m not sure if things are getting better or not, and I’m not willing to make any promises just yet, but I have come to a conclusion, and I shall tell you children the story of how I came about this. It’s really quite simple, actually. All I did was get into my car after work one day with the phrase “stay hungry” stuck in my head. I don’t know what it is about that phrase, but it seems to carry as much weight as a wrecking ball, and hit me directly in the gut. And after that, my winded state decided that I wasn’t going to wait until next year, when I am doing what I want to do and living where I want to live, before I became the person I want to be: I’m going to damn well start right now.

Where does that leave us? WELL do I have some answers for you! For too long I have been slightly afraid of showing any personality on any of my blogs, and it’s quite funny how restricting a cage I have made for myself. I think I got caught up with creating the sort of persona that one can do so easily on the internet, and that I became trapped by it, afraid to deviate from what I had already done because I was afraid. And I still am, a little, because I am a massive wuss and also apparently quite shy. But I have to grow up and be a big girl and start doing things that scare me because there are bigger things in life that are more scarier than showing personality on the internet and I’m not really keen on letting what was once a creative outlet become a cage in which I have to fit (which explains why I haven’t really been posting things here recently).

 So I’m stopping. Starting new. Learning to drive again. Staying hungry: which is when I have the most energy. Hungry for everything I can get, hands open and mouth full.  You may join me if you’d like, or you may laugh at me from the sidelines, or you may continue on oblivious to it all. This is my battle and conquest, and I’m damn well going to come out a better person because of it all.