Once I got up, I had to call the vet about a hundred times because the line was always busy. I finally was able to go.

Beatrice is not exactly at her full adult size yet, but she still is rather heavy to carry in her cage. My arms were tired and my hands are irritated from holding the cage. It was also really hot too, so I got rather tired.

The vet examinated her and asked some questions, mostly things I had already observed and been reassured by their good state (e.g. she ate and didn’t vomit).

He found that she wasn’t injured, except some minor scratches around her nose and mouth. It’s nothing more serious than, say, the injury you could get from falling off in roller skates.

The evaluation cost $45 CAN. FORTY FIVE? That hurt more than the accident.

Beatrice is right by now. She moves from one box to another to find some place to sleep. She tried the recycling box, then a red plastic box, now she’s in yet another…she’s cute.

Rambling rocks.

Leading to the backyard is what is called an “emergency staircase”: a very tiny metal, sweeping staircase which is guaranteed to kill you if you run down it while there is fire. This staircase allows us to reach a long but not large gallery which a glassed door* separates from our apartment. The stairs, however, also continue up to a small balcony upstairs. From the upstairs bathroom of my apartment, I can theoretically take the exit on this balcony and walk down the stairs in case of an emergency. Of course, this means passing through an extremely small window, which is located rather high up the wall.

I have a very cute kitten (with thumbs!) who will be 1 year old in August, around the same time as my 19th birthday. She’s very easily scared and will let pretty much nobody but myself approach her. However, of course, she’s also a kitten, so she’s curious and likes to explore.

I somehow had the idea of letting her go outside. At first, I watched her closely. I didn’t want her to wander too far off and I know she could get scared if someone came or something like that. So I sat there with her. However, it was pretty hot outside, so I came back inside and let her alone, leaving the door open so she could come back in if she felt like it. That was really stupid of me.

She’s thin enough to pass through the bars of the gallery. From there, she could jump on the roof of a shed just below, and access the neighbor’s gallery (in the same block as I live). I went to get her there (lots of pretty plants to take a shit in), but I decided to let her climb up the stairs on her own.

I thought that, well, if wandering around and smelling things is all that interests her, I could as well return inside and watch her climb the second part of the stairs. I thought ‘Hey, it would be cool if I waited for her in the bathroom upstairs and let her in through the window. She’d think it’s so cool to climb up from outdoors like that.’

So, because I lack stupid acts in my life, I went indoors and watched her climb up. She reached some of the top steps…and then she was the one to do something stupid. Instead of climbing up the rest of the stairs and coming to me, she jumped onto the gallery’s roof. It’s inclined, so she had a hard time holding on to it and meowed her throat out. I was glad I hadn’t cut off her claws, as she could cling to the roof. Of course, she was in a rather panicking state. She would see me through the window and couldn’t quite figure out how to make it to the other side.

She was under the balcony, so she couldn’t just dissolve to pass through the bars (she could pass through the handrail bars, but not through the tiny bars that form the floor). I thought up of two ways she could have been safe. First, she could have kept moving to the left and climbed up onto the balcony, but that was dangerous, scary and hard to explain to a kitty. So I went with trying the second option. I went into the stairs and started calling her out. I was a bit panicking, but I know she was hearing me, and I’m quite sure she was only longing to get off of there. But she was also scared and couldn’t control her movements quite well. She would sometimes slip off a little, and always return as high as possible. She never really seemed to be moving towards me.

I didn’t really know what else to do, so I just kept calling her, in the hope that she would understand. She could easily have jumped onto me. She would have clung her claws into my skin, but it would have been much more relaxing than what happened next.

She fell off the roof. She made a two-floor fall onto cement.

I cried out as she fell. I never cried out but I was so scared for her!

I ran to get her, she was so scared. She ran and jumped onto the nearest window she found. I brought her back in and checked whether she was hurt. Her legs seem okay, but a few minutes ago I noticed she got blood under her nose. Even if she had had nothing, I would have taken her to the vet tomorrow, but now I feel even more as it is my duty.

I feel so stupid for letting her out there without watching her…

*a “patio door” in Quebec, I am not sure of the English name. They are large doors made only of glass (and plastic to hold the glass…).

Edit. I’m placing “Heather Locklear” on my list of spam words for the moment because I keep getting spam referring to her. So if for some reason you think that Heather Lockler has anything to do with my blog and want to tell me about her, find some way to get around the spam blocker (by spacing out her name, for example).

I’m sick and tired of seeing people being rude, calling her a retard, mocking her for having a therapy, etc. Shut the fuck up.

Some people got mental diseases and it’s a good thing to talk about it, to let it out.

I’m not talking about her coding or anything, I don’t really care at the moment, in fact. What I’m pissed off about is people’s reaction to her, like she was some worthless person with nothing of interest.

There are people in the world who suffer, and maybe it’s fucking time you stop trying to take us down and actually accept us as we are. I’m not talking about ass-kissing or spending your whole fucking time telling us that “zomg you’re sooo great i lyke tutally luv u!11!” I’m talking about shutting the fuck up with your goddamn insults.

When I post about mental problems, I’m not expecting to have 50 people commenting to tell me that they’re totally sorry and really wish I’m gonna be better. I’m just venting out because it’s an important issue for me. Other people are saying that Fark Oath is shit, well I’m saying that phobias suck.

Another thing that pissed me off in the past month was someone’s post on a message board talking about how she was in pain and nobody cared. She immediately proceeded to say that she was referring to physical pain, not emotional, as she isn’t an emo person. Why is it wrong to speak about emotional pain? I’m not talking about the crappy .tk site I found the other day, where the owners posted extremely crappy poems and talked constantly about their pain and cutting themselves. I’m just saying that I have the right as a human being to post on my blog about depression, phobias, OCD and whatever else I might want to talk about.

If you want to stick to my happier posts, go ahead and do it. But if you start talking shit about me because I post about my mental diseases, I’ll be pissed off (just like if you make fun of me or something because of my orientation).

Now I’m working on some little project of mine and for the occasion I dugg into old sites of mine (which are still on my computer) and found some way old sites that are still working! They haven’t been updated for ages and they look ugly as hell, but they are still there!

Christa’s Titanic Gallery was one of the cool places to get images from the movie. Warning: the site loads extremely slowly. Images look really small, but note two things. First, back then, most people had much smaller resolutions. 800×600 was probably the most popular, and there were certainly people with 640×480 (there are still some today, but they are mostly hiding from shame). Second, it was not yet the age of DVDs. Most people bought VHSs. I remember when DVDs came out and they were the expensive things the privileged ones bought…

A careful eye might also have noticed how few coding errors are actually in the site because it doesn’t even use crappy tables or something like that

I’m going back to the good old days now…

I still have problems getting my entries posted correctly, whence the incomplete last post. I have a full copy on my computer.

First, I found potential hosts (actually, two people have replied to a forum thread by me asking for a host, and I just have to choose one). This means, of course, that the site will MOVE AWAY FROM HERE! Celebration!

Second, I will change the file naming system. I already have finished, I think…I just need to make sure nothing’s broken. I think it will be better for SEO.

Third, I have no reason for saying third because there’s nothing else that comes to my mind.

I’m trying to do some revi

There are still things to fix, mainly articles to complete or rewrite and my fanlistings pages to clean up (broken images, broken links, etc.), but the site is mostly ready, so enjoy.

I came back to delight in a capiccolo (spelling?) and tomato sandwich (with mayonnaise, of course). I just finished eating and am now sitting at the computer (duh!), listening to good music and drinking a huge glass of water. The one thing I longed for during my walk was something to drink, but I didn’t want to buy anything there because I knew it would be far too expensive. I was going to buy a popsicle in some shop on the way back, but then I remembered I have some delicious ones in the freezer. This means that I will have taken a lengthy walk, which is good for one’s legs, digestion, sleep and mind, at no cost at all. Isn’t it wonderful?

I’m still working on my novel. I haven’t written much since yesterday, but it is forming in my head progressively and I’m satisfied with the result up to now.

My sister and her boyfriend are going to the United States next Monday “to climb up a mountain”. This means that I will be alone all day long, unless Eric comes here. I’m trying to see one of our common friends (his best friend and a not-so-well-known friend of mine), but he’s pretty much always busy…

I know I have posted it several times, but, god, Green Day’s old music rocks.

I have finally made my first entry on As A Dream and already have an idea for the next one. I only need to gather a few websites and think of a longer entry to write along with it.

I still don’t know what I’m going to do next semester. I’m still in cinema for the university, but, for me, I’m not sure it’s a good idea anymore. My “deepest” vocation is wri

That said, I was supposed to go see my parents this weekend. I would have left this morning with my godmother, aunt and uncle. Obviously, my careful choice of tenses and vocabulary makes it clear that I have not left with them. I had to take the train to go to my godmother yesterday, early in the evening. I made it there in the subway with Eric, and arrived on time. However, as the afternoon went on, and then as we approached our destination, I felt less and less the will of going. I wanted to stay, and was on the verge of crying. Eric forced me (not physically, mind you) to at least go at my godmother’s. Good little girl that I am, I obeyed, or rather bent to his will with a strong mixture of fear, anxiety and will to go. The night at my godmother’s place was good, except for the part where they all sang, because, God, I hate when they sing. And they love to sing. All the time. It’s awful.

I called my mother, as advised by Eric and as I wished to do anyway, and told her of my will to stay here instead. She was the one who wanted me to go in the first place. To my surprise, she seemed quite comprehensive, or at least she didn’t really argue with me. She did state a thing or two that could have convinced me to go, but there was no anger. So, of course, I stayed here.

I had to take the train again this morning, but the ride is pleasant and passes quickly. Trains are far less noisy and shaky than subways or buses. A great plus, too, is that they are outside at all times, and not in dark tunnels. They also don’t get caught in traffic like buses do.

Some of the sight is beautiful. I love passing over rivers (you pass over two big ones to go from Montreal to where my godmother lives), with all the trees on each side of it. A part of it, however, is just plain ugly. There’s a point where you stop nearby something that looks like a series of small gardens. There are a bunch of squares of earth, with small fence-like things, and some tools I could not identify. It looked rather, erm, ugly to me. You also stop at, whatever the name is, a factory where they make wooden boards. Not exactly the prettiest sight in the world. There’s also a stop just beside a car “cemetery”, with a bunch of old cars, with broken windows, missing wheels, and a lot of mud on the soil.

I’m writing a novel which I quite like. The main line of the story came to me several years ago, at the time where I would use so many sheets (of which one side was already used by something else, usually school-related) to write one-sentence summaries of stories. “Dying Florence” was one of those that remained in my mind for years, and I finally started writing it. I only have a little over seven pages written down, but I have a lot of future events already in my mind, and the main structure of the story is mostly in my mind too. The title, however, has changed to just “Florence”, and I moved the action away from the city of the same name. The title used to refer to both the city of “Florence” (the Italian city) and to one of the main characters. It now refers only to the character.

I have almost finished re-reading the first book from the Emily series by Lucy Maud Montgomery. I quite like it and I guess I find in it a pleasure different from that I had as a child. Being older and having more experience makes me understand certain things better than I could at the moment, including Emily’s relationship to her writings, old and new. Once I’ve finished it, I will go back to reading Jane Eyre and proceed with the other Brontë’s novels that are in the volume I have borrowed from the library.

I forgot to mention that one of the main things that I will miss from not going to see my parents is Vincent (friend of mine, mentioned in several posts before, sometimes referred to as “V”, without the quotation marks). I haven’t seen him for nearly a year and I miss him. I have spoken to him on MSN quite often, but it never equals the real sight of him. Also, he hasn’t signed on for some time, which makes me assume he either has returned to his home city (nearby my village) or is on a trip.

I spoke to my cousin, my godmother’s daughter, yesterday. Not for a very long time, but still long enough to learn something that made me languish and feel nostalgia for something I never saw…I guess it’s just in my blood. She has had depressive tendencies for years, she has been through anorexia, she has had burnouts, she moved a lot, has had unstable relationships with men. She says she longs to leave, she wishes to go away. Of all the countries in the world, her choice did not fall on the United States, on France, or even on England, not on New Zealand, India or China. No, she is making preparations (passport, working visa, etc.) to go to Ireland. It’s so unfair! Ireland! I mean, of every single country in the world, it is the one I most wish to see! Walk on the earth that saw my ancestors grow and die, then leave to come to America…Granted, I’m only 1/8th Irish (saying such a small number makes me feel awkward), but I gain much pride in it, perhaps too much for my own good, much more than I do from my French blood. Ireland! How often has my father told us he wishes to go there, but doesn’t have the money, passing this desire onto me! It’s like THE big dream. Yes, I wish to write, make movies and all, but, dude, Ireland! I named one of my imaginary father’s houses Ireland House. I want a .ie domain (now isn’t this a sign of love for a country?). I want to learn Irish Gaelic, even if it’s a language so few people speak on the Earth. Perhaps I have a too romantic vision of Ireland, but you must admit that it isn’t a bad place to go visit…