Cardassia and the Cardassians

Downstairs, everyone is watching some Hindi language television programme. Is it just me, or does "Gul Sanobar" sound like a Cardassian?

I now have mental imagery of that nuts Cardassian with the five-lights thing. Unless, of course, I just made that up. There was one, wasn't there? One involving the Enterprise sans Picard, who is being tortured by a Cardassian with this strange obsession with flashing lights?

I have just been reading through a couple of communities on LJ - hathy_col's latest rants about Mary-Sues made me wonder why I never saw any - apparently, they're all over the place and I just never noticed. The pain is physical.

And talking of things that cause physical pain, I just got my pairings from Leigh for the mash-slash challenge. I'm going to kill her.
Well, I'm not. It wasn't her fault. But still. Argle.

That would appear to be all. I have now been here for two weeks. Most of all, I miss my bed. Seriously.
No doubt, if Becca were here, she would insert some comment about the mess on aforementioned bed of mine. I tidied my room before coming here. There were bits of papers all over the computer table, I had "Joint Christmas present?!" on the whiteboard, and books under the bed. They're still there. I didn't tidy up that thoroughly.

Blah; or, a general feeling of helplessness

I just had a slight adventure. Actually, it was nothing very exciting, but being here has taught me that exitement is relative. I went with Shivani to her swimming practice as usual, and we were dropped off and tried to get inside the pool. The door was locked. Further investigation proved all the doors were locked. I was stuck. Once again, I was aware of how helpless I am when I'm here - no phone, no money, no knowledge of local geography, and besides, you can't bloody well walk anywhere. Thankfully, Shivani spotted a friend of hers, whose father had a mobile that we borrowed. In the end, they gave us a lift and we got back safely, leaving me slightly aggravated that I wasn't more help, but I'm glad I was there, and Shivani didn't have to deal with it on her own.

Blah. The one plus point to the experience was meeting Shivani's friend, whose name was Devaki. In the car, her father mentioned going to the library, she got all exited ("Bring me a book!") and I, in search of a kindred spirit, asked if she liked reading. She said she loved it, but she loved writing even more. I was moved to show her the red ringbinder. She laughed, and we would have had an interesting conversation about books if it hadn't been cut short. Not so long ago, I was moved to wonder if all eight-year-olds are like Shivani (ie, make so much of a racket) and I'd just been too wrapped up in myself to notice. My aunt informed me that I was the quietest eight-year-old she'd ever met, and she'd never met anyone who read so much before. I was startled.