"We've Bicuits One, Pease Pudding None, and Salt Beef Only Half!"

Horatio! Did you see me?! Did you see me?! I killed two! Well, one, certainly...

BWAH! Die soda cans, die!

^________^ Had my first shooting lesson today. Contrary to my fear, did not shoot myself in the foot! Did not shoot any chickens! Did not shoot the cat! Only shot the soda cans, lots of times on my very first lesson. Da' made all lovely clean shots, but all mine ripped right through the aluminum. The poor soda cans look terrible now, with long scars all through them. Da' says this is to remind me that that could be done to a person, too, and that's why I've got to be extra careful. He's mad, of course. Does he actually think I'd shoot at a person? God, I was terrified to death shooting at cans. But I killed a can, all by myself! A whole entire blue soda can.

Am well on my way to becoming Enjolras. Well on my way to becoming fourth lieutenant Kennedy. But with no intention whatsoever of breaking any of my rules of pacifism.

Still, a whole entire blue soda can is quite an achievement.

So, Horatio. Were you watching?

EDIT: LJ spellcheck corrects Enjolras to Angora. I think I would like an Enjolras Angora. Fluffy and golden. Squee.

"From Ushant to Scilly Tis Thirty-Five Leagues!"

I'm going to die, for various reasons. I'm supposed to read a lesson tomorrow at Church; of all possible lessons, I'm reading the one in Genesis wherein Eve takes fruit from the serpent, etc, etc, which not only do I not believe, but which I dislike particularly. The pastor says he doesn't believe it either, but that's little comfort. He also made comments about my height. *fume*

Also, Mum wants to "get me ready" for Iceland. Good God. In June we are going to Iceland and staying with Uncle Joi's family. The only words in Icelandic I know are yao, nay, brunterta, and levabred; two of those are foodstuffs (delicious foodstuffs, I grant, but not overly helpful for a conversation), and I am very dubious as to the spelling of the first two, which are simply yes and no. Icelandic is a completely beautiful language, but I have no basic comprehension of it. Also, this trip is going to be two weeks long. One week of that will be spent on bloody horses riding over craters and bloody glaciers! And therefore, Mum wants me to start riding our home-horses, the vicious Titania, the apathetic when not annoyed Falcon, and the ditzy Lily, as Waen puts it. I am doomed. I am incredibly, unutterably doomed.

And in remarkable high spirits, considering. At least Icelandic ponies are rather fat and very short. I shan't have far to fall.

And I shall be able to listen to lots of men speaking with very thick Icelandic accents, as well as possibly singing with them. How much closer to heaven, I ask you, can one get?