The Wild Hunt

I began reading Swallowing Darkness by Laurell K. Hamilton this morning, since I finished A Lick of Frost last night before falling asleep.

In this series, Hamilton delves into a lot of fairy-tale lore; she talks about the idea of faerie being both a place and a people, as well as all different kinds of mythical history and how it ties in with the series' characters. Of these many splendid topics, I find myself most intrigued by the idea of The Wild Hunt. As horrifying as it is, I find it genuinely intriguing. The idea in the Hamilton series is that when the Hunt is headed by the Huntsman and has been given a purpose, or a Target (read: "victim"), that it delivers a sort of vengeful, unstoppable justice. And that is a concept with some weight to it.

Just think: you give your solemn oath to avenge some terrible wrong and - with enough power and forethought - you have the ability to do just that.

Hell. Yes.

Why am I thinking about revenge so early in the day? Well, my friends, it's been a hard time here recently. I am feeling mighty scorned and mighty angry with the powers that be. There's only so many times you can duck your head and cast your eyes downward under the weight of rebuff before you start to resent the rebuker.

In other words, this dog has been kicked too many damn times to resist the urge to bite off the hand that feeds it.

Not to worry, it's all just angry poetry looking for a way out onto the page. So many feelings to use as paints upon the canvas. I wonder what sort of picture they will paint when the emotional well has run dry at last. If it ever truly runs dry. I'm thinking more of geyser than a well at this point. Nothing as clockwork and predictable as Old Faithful, but something along the lines of a watery Mount Saint Helen. Attached to my tear ducts.

Anyway. Enough waxing poetical.

I'm on the hunt myself. Not the wild hunt, though wild it can be - the job hunt. And it has been brutal. Not necessarily brutal due to the potential employers, but because of my father.

I love my father dearly, I do. And I am so grateful for the opportunity to live here with him and my dear Stepmother in their beautiful home. But sometimes, like today, I just can't stand the way he fusses at me.

Ah, c'est la vie.

In about fifteen minutes, I shall brave the horrors of Atlanta rush hour traffic. My destination: Athens. Not the one in Greece. The one about two hours away, that holds my brother and - for this weekend - my mama. I really can't wait to see them. It's always good to be around those who love you unconditionally. Especially when one is feeling so down on oneself.

Sigh.

Okay, folks. I'm going to jet. Smoke a cigarette before climbing into my car and facing the evils of Atlantians behind the wheel. Wish me luck.