It is finished

If the party hadn't been so cool, and last night's roleplay hadn't been so interesting, I might have lacked the mental strength this morning to sort this bizarre assignment on Counselling Concepts.

There are so many good things about my course; The tutors and people involved are really fantastic. Unfortunately, it hasn't been as well structured as it might have been; This is the one piece of writing we had to hand in, until they gave us the other two, which they had somehow forgotten about, or never knew existed in the first place.

2000 words, they told us. I was confident; I can write 2000 words in my sleep. I'm also OK at hitting a given deadline with a given word count. But ooh, I am doomed if no-one can tell me what the word count is. They say 2000; I check the test paper and it says 1500 with no more than 10% give either way before penalty. I phone and ask. The head tutor says, 'Oh...is that what it says? Better do that then...' One extra assignment then turned up, and another phone call from the same genuinely well meaning lady telling me not to do assignment 2 until she has sent me some stuff through the post. Stuff hasn't arrived (or at least, stuff to do with the essay; she and her companion tutor posted us all handmade 'warmnfuzzies', ie plaited strings of coloured wool... it's very charming, but I am a little lost as to how it helps) Last day of the course tomorrow. There is an ominous sense of too much entertainment about it.

Note to self: Stop seeing Gestalt cycles everywhere. It's not big and it's not clever.

Note to self 2: People are talking about the Game of Thrones RPG, so clearly it's out. Time for those naughty, remiss, and bleedin' late publishers to put some peanuts in my paws.

Pretty Maid Ibronka

So the fog is making strange shapes at the window, and winter is here and night has come. If we were together, long ago, you and I, we would have told each other stories to entertain ourselves. Now we watch them, and that's great, but I am in a writing mood and I have a story to tell, about demon lovers and how to deal with them.

It isn't my story. Pretty Maid Ibronka is an old Hungarian folk tale. I've come across it several times in print, and once, very luckily, in full traditional flow from a Hungarian story-teller. Be warned that though this is a highly truncated version, these stories were designed to be long and meandering* so this is for when you've done all the memes, posted comments to everybody, and still can't be bothered with going to bed.

( Pretty Maid Ibronka )

It's a peculiar story for a number of reasons; first of all, what is the moral of this story? Speak out? Shut up? Avoid footsy at parties? Does telling the demon the truth destroy him? If so, why does he keep insisting on hearing it? And how does she banish him by telling him he's dead? The only person we know for sure has died is her and she's our heroine; he might just be a village lad with sweaty skin and manky feet (he wouldn't be the first, now would he?) she's the one who's resurrected in full view right out of the compost heap.

There was a time when such stories would have lots of repetition; they would be spun out, like the wise woman's spool of thread, only to end when the embers of the fire were dying, and little ones would have conked out not knowing what happened to Pretty Maid Ibronka. They might never know until they reached that age between falling asleep in the middle of the story, and forgetting the whole thing when a good looking stranger walked into the sewing circle...

The mist has lifted, and it's time to sleep. Don't go sticking pins into any strange boys now, or they'll just come back and never let you be.

Night night lj.

*That's right, it's the oral tradition that's meandering; nothing to do with me!

**Yes, yes, what did you think it was going to be?

Clearly the most accurate meme/quiz ever written

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