Sunday, May 29, 2011
Niche
This is kind of a... niche blog, isn't it? With no real purpose? Teenaged female with psychological issues talks about the internet, said issues, games, books, movies, friends, psychology, science, writing, art, and her life? It's too broad to be of a specific purpose and too specific to appeal to... well, anyone, really. I take heart in the idea that I can't be totally unique, though.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Pills
Been having a lot of psychological issues lately, and I finally got my doctor to put me on pills. Prozac - for depression. I'm frank here because I won't be with anyone else.
I take them once daily. They usually aren't prescribed to teenagers because they work so well... that is, they work very well in comparison to others, with fewer side effects.
Make sense? I thought not.
My mother, a psychologist and also on depression meds for a heck of a lot of years, explained it like this: when you're depressed, all anyone ever cares about it whether or not you're suicidal, right? So most people think that if you're not, it's not serious, or at least not very. But a lot of times it's because people hit that low. The psychological low that means you can barely function, if at all; the feeling where you want to lie in bed and let things get worse because you don't have the energy to counteract it, to do anything. And that can be good too (though, having experienced it, I'd never call it "good"): if you don't have the energy to get up in the morning, you don't have the energy to commit suicide.
So the pills start working, better than most other pills. And you're right in that transitory stage, right in that place where you're still feeling horrible but you've come up with some energy to do something about it.
And so you do.
I don't feel that many people have... the right, honestly, to tell us about or diagnose depression. I watched a movie in the eighth grade in Health class - it was mandatory - called "Silence of the Heart." I felt offended at the movie, frankly. The way it depicted depression... well. For starters, the main character at the beginning, the one who commits suicide, named Skip - he's apparently depressed because of all of the hardships he's been going through, because he didn't pass a test and his daddy doesn't love him or something (I'm serious). And so he drives his car off of a cliff.
And the rest of the movie was all of the characters dealing with the aftermath, trying to pick up the pieces of their lives. A guilt trip for me because at one point that year I had been mildly suicidal (can you be mildly suicidal?) and it only made me feel worse.
It's awful because movies like this perpetually give "normal people" a reason to differentiate depressed people between themselves, to make them feel worse about themselves. The people who think this kind of movie are right, completely right, are making things worse by using guilt tactics to coerce depressed/suicidal people and trying to find a reason for a person's depression, or obvious warning signs just before they commit suicide. That's all total bullshit. Some people don't have warning signs, or at least not ones you'll recognize. Some people don't have reasons... that's me; sometimes I realize I've just looked for any excuse to be angry or depressed, even one as stupid as getting the cold, a friend taking too long to reply, or getting a paper-cut. Mentally I know that's all very stupid, but sometimes my brain uses it as a horrible excuse to go on a downward spiral, just like that. And then sometimes there are no reasons at all.
Depression is an illness. An illness caused by defects in the processes in your brain involving "happy chemicals" and "mood balancing chemicals" called serotonin and norepinephrine* in your brain.
And I'm tired of it being treated like it's just me complaining all day, because goddammit, I've been diagnosed and I'm obviously not using it as an excuse - I can talk coherently and politely, can't I? If anything, I need to complain more. Because you know what other people think of me, even my closest friends? That I'm confident, that I have a brilliant sense of humor, that I always give stuff my best shot, that I'm an overachiever, that I'm a good artist and writer, that I'm a shoulder to cry on and a good friend, sometimes a truthfully selfish person and sometimes an altruist.
Normal person, confident in her abilities and in her life, right? Right?
That's what everyone sees, but on the inside, I'm just a vulnerable little five-year-old girl, and every hit doled out to me like someone would hit a person of my apparent strength and resilience just goes straight through the facade and beats that little girl.
I'm not saying that I hate critique, or something (it helps you improve, so I enjoy it, mostly, in fact), but... there are some hits I have trouble taking. And most people out there will never tell the difference. All I know is how to dish back what I just took, harder, faster, stronger, more accurately. My only defense is an offense, and guess how well that works out? Which is why I never did like arguments with friends (or "frenemies," for that matter). There are always sharp barbs in your words, always something asinine. There hasn't been an argument in the past two years that didn't involve an angry someone calling someone else "honey" or "sweetie" or "sugar." Because those names are like powdered sugar, sweetening you up before they cut you open and making it oh, so much easier to wound and bite and hurt.
I am very... something right now. It's a dull feeling, kind of numb, where talking hurts, moving is impossible and thinking is all you can do, and so you think a lot.
I take them once daily. They usually aren't prescribed to teenagers because they work so well... that is, they work very well in comparison to others, with fewer side effects.
Make sense? I thought not.
My mother, a psychologist and also on depression meds for a heck of a lot of years, explained it like this: when you're depressed, all anyone ever cares about it whether or not you're suicidal, right? So most people think that if you're not, it's not serious, or at least not very. But a lot of times it's because people hit that low. The psychological low that means you can barely function, if at all; the feeling where you want to lie in bed and let things get worse because you don't have the energy to counteract it, to do anything. And that can be good too (though, having experienced it, I'd never call it "good"): if you don't have the energy to get up in the morning, you don't have the energy to commit suicide.
So the pills start working, better than most other pills. And you're right in that transitory stage, right in that place where you're still feeling horrible but you've come up with some energy to do something about it.
And so you do.
I don't feel that many people have... the right, honestly, to tell us about or diagnose depression. I watched a movie in the eighth grade in Health class - it was mandatory - called "Silence of the Heart." I felt offended at the movie, frankly. The way it depicted depression... well. For starters, the main character at the beginning, the one who commits suicide, named Skip - he's apparently depressed because of all of the hardships he's been going through, because he didn't pass a test and his daddy doesn't love him or something (I'm serious). And so he drives his car off of a cliff.
And the rest of the movie was all of the characters dealing with the aftermath, trying to pick up the pieces of their lives. A guilt trip for me because at one point that year I had been mildly suicidal (can you be mildly suicidal?) and it only made me feel worse.
It's awful because movies like this perpetually give "normal people" a reason to differentiate depressed people between themselves, to make them feel worse about themselves. The people who think this kind of movie are right, completely right, are making things worse by using guilt tactics to coerce depressed/suicidal people and trying to find a reason for a person's depression, or obvious warning signs just before they commit suicide. That's all total bullshit. Some people don't have warning signs, or at least not ones you'll recognize. Some people don't have reasons... that's me; sometimes I realize I've just looked for any excuse to be angry or depressed, even one as stupid as getting the cold, a friend taking too long to reply, or getting a paper-cut. Mentally I know that's all very stupid, but sometimes my brain uses it as a horrible excuse to go on a downward spiral, just like that. And then sometimes there are no reasons at all.
Depression is an illness. An illness caused by defects in the processes in your brain involving "happy chemicals" and "mood balancing chemicals" called serotonin and norepinephrine* in your brain.
And I'm tired of it being treated like it's just me complaining all day, because goddammit, I've been diagnosed and I'm obviously not using it as an excuse - I can talk coherently and politely, can't I? If anything, I need to complain more. Because you know what other people think of me, even my closest friends? That I'm confident, that I have a brilliant sense of humor, that I always give stuff my best shot, that I'm an overachiever, that I'm a good artist and writer, that I'm a shoulder to cry on and a good friend, sometimes a truthfully selfish person and sometimes an altruist.
Normal person, confident in her abilities and in her life, right? Right?
That's what everyone sees, but on the inside, I'm just a vulnerable little five-year-old girl, and every hit doled out to me like someone would hit a person of my apparent strength and resilience just goes straight through the facade and beats that little girl.
I'm not saying that I hate critique, or something (it helps you improve, so I enjoy it, mostly, in fact), but... there are some hits I have trouble taking. And most people out there will never tell the difference. All I know is how to dish back what I just took, harder, faster, stronger, more accurately. My only defense is an offense, and guess how well that works out? Which is why I never did like arguments with friends (or "frenemies," for that matter). There are always sharp barbs in your words, always something asinine. There hasn't been an argument in the past two years that didn't involve an angry someone calling someone else "honey" or "sweetie" or "sugar." Because those names are like powdered sugar, sweetening you up before they cut you open and making it oh, so much easier to wound and bite and hurt.
I am very... something right now. It's a dull feeling, kind of numb, where talking hurts, moving is impossible and thinking is all you can do, and so you think a lot.
When it's really difficult to keep a straight opinion.
I've realized lately how much other people affect my opinions. When I'm talking about a game or a book or a movie that I like and someone mentions that someone I dislike loves it sooooooo much, immediately I feel my like for the game slipping away...
...or when my best friend plays it and critiques things I love about the game... or loves things I hate...
No. I'm done letting other people affect me. From here on out, I am a loner as much as I have to be in order to keep my opinions whole. Because if that can happen with something I look at or study or use a lot, and on a frequent basis... I can only imagine how it affects my lifestyle choices, my actions and decisions, my political stance, my personality as a whole. Do I want to know?
No, I don't.
So here's my oath of mental traffic: that there will be none.
...or when my best friend plays it and critiques things I love about the game... or loves things I hate...
No. I'm done letting other people affect me. From here on out, I am a loner as much as I have to be in order to keep my opinions whole. Because if that can happen with something I look at or study or use a lot, and on a frequent basis... I can only imagine how it affects my lifestyle choices, my actions and decisions, my political stance, my personality as a whole. Do I want to know?
No, I don't.
So here's my oath of mental traffic: that there will be none.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Mass Effect 2
IS THE AWESOMEST THING EVER.
I like it even more than Dragon Age: Origins. I've been playing it NONSTOP. I thought I loved Bioware before - I want to work there when I grow up - but WOW, this just is brilliance incarnate.
It's reestablished my confidence with shooters - I used to hate them, but now I see that I can play them pretty damn well with a decent interface (James Bond, I hate you so). And the default key layouts are extremely intuitive. I love it.
I must say that I don't like the character conversational options as much as in Dragon Age, because there aren't many. I realized halfway through the game how important getting Renegade (and its good equivalent with the blue because I can't remember what it was called) scores is. Especially during that Morinth mission. Which was the best/most hilarious thing ever, thank you very much.
I knew Garrus was a romance option from some conversations with another chick on dA, just in passing. Then, in game, I figured out that he was awesome, and I was like HECK YES LET'S BE THE AWKWARD INTERSPECIES COUPLE BECAUSE YOU ARE AWESOMENESS INCARNATE. Then I found out that for some reason the only way to initiate that is through casual sex? What?
Anyway, I don't even know. I can't wait for ME3. But in the meantime, I'm going to download and play the first. I thought I wouldn't have enough time to play the first before the third came out, but evidence says otherwise: I've just about cleared this game in two days. (Granted, they were two long, twenty-four-hour-periods-of-sleeplessness days, but who cares? In the summer, that's how I roll). I might even have time to load that character onto this one and play it again .___. Wow, that'd be... signs of being an addict.
But also rewarding. In the long run.
I love this game, I love third-person shooters (WHY did I decide I hated ALL shooters after all those first-persons?!), I love these characters (I know Jack probably pisses the rest of the world off, but I like her), I love being an intergalactic space badass who could chop Samus Aran in half with her pinky fingernail. I love it.
My regular team is Garrus and Jack, I'm an Adept, my favorite weapon is the Collector Particle Beam followed by the M-6c Carnifex Hand Cannon. I'm doing all of the various missions, loyalty and otherwise, before I pick up that IFF.
And then, IT'S PLOT GO-TIME. WOOOOOOO.
This has been a fangirl, fangirling out like a fangirl. FANGIRL OUT.
I like it even more than Dragon Age: Origins. I've been playing it NONSTOP. I thought I loved Bioware before - I want to work there when I grow up - but WOW, this just is brilliance incarnate.
It's reestablished my confidence with shooters - I used to hate them, but now I see that I can play them pretty damn well with a decent interface (James Bond, I hate you so). And the default key layouts are extremely intuitive. I love it.
I must say that I don't like the character conversational options as much as in Dragon Age, because there aren't many. I realized halfway through the game how important getting Renegade (and its good equivalent with the blue because I can't remember what it was called) scores is. Especially during that Morinth mission. Which was the best/most hilarious thing ever, thank you very much.
I knew Garrus was a romance option from some conversations with another chick on dA, just in passing. Then, in game, I figured out that he was awesome, and I was like HECK YES LET'S BE THE AWKWARD INTERSPECIES COUPLE BECAUSE YOU ARE AWESOMENESS INCARNATE. Then I found out that for some reason the only way to initiate that is through casual sex? What?
Anyway, I don't even know. I can't wait for ME3. But in the meantime, I'm going to download and play the first. I thought I wouldn't have enough time to play the first before the third came out, but evidence says otherwise: I've just about cleared this game in two days. (Granted, they were two long, twenty-four-hour-periods-of-sleeplessness days, but who cares? In the summer, that's how I roll). I might even have time to load that character onto this one and play it again .___. Wow, that'd be... signs of being an addict.
But also rewarding. In the long run.
I love this game, I love third-person shooters (WHY did I decide I hated ALL shooters after all those first-persons?!), I love these characters (I know Jack probably pisses the rest of the world off, but I like her), I love being an intergalactic space badass who could chop Samus Aran in half with her pinky fingernail. I love it.
My regular team is Garrus and Jack, I'm an Adept, my favorite weapon is the Collector Particle Beam followed by the M-6c Carnifex Hand Cannon. I'm doing all of the various missions, loyalty and otherwise, before I pick up that IFF.
And then, IT'S PLOT GO-TIME. WOOOOOOO.
This has been a fangirl, fangirling out like a fangirl. FANGIRL OUT.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
School is almost GONE
Thank the gods because I hate it to DEATH. To bloody, fiery, doomy death.
ATE HATE HATE HATE HAT.
Anyway, it's Geometry finals tomorrow, then Biology the next day, and that is it. That's all. I'm done. It's over. Kaput.
I shall stand and rejoice and praise not only the gods of THANK FUCKING GOD, but also the gods of FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFINALLY.
School likes to kill me slowly with a stake and a pitchfork. It's funny like that.
ATE HATE HATE HATE HAT.
Anyway, it's Geometry finals tomorrow, then Biology the next day, and that is it. That's all. I'm done. It's over. Kaput.
I shall stand and rejoice and praise not only the gods of THANK FUCKING GOD, but also the gods of FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFINALLY.
School likes to kill me slowly with a stake and a pitchfork. It's funny like that.
Meet my baby, Carrie.
She is a round red bouncy-ball that Kate and I purchased from Toys 'R' Us on Saturday. We drew a face on her and named her (it's Carrie Cherrycakes, then our combined surnames) and now we have joint custody of her. As we speak (ahem, I write), she sits on the desk, looking up with that adorable sultry expression of hers. If she looks like this as a child, she is going to have to be either a supermodel or a porn star when she grows up.
Anyway, she's wearing my glasses and looks odd, because her left eye is SUPER MAGNIFIED! because I'm blind on the left side. Which is bad anyway because her left eye is bigger than the right anyway, haha.
Typing this because my Rift download failed so many times that it took my entire seven-day trial just to download it, and now I have to buy it off Steam. :B
Well, that's all. Maybe pictures of Carrie and her two mommies later :)
Anyway, she's wearing my glasses and looks odd, because her left eye is SUPER MAGNIFIED! because I'm blind on the left side. Which is bad anyway because her left eye is bigger than the right anyway, haha.
Typing this because my Rift download failed so many times that it took my entire seven-day trial just to download it, and now I have to buy it off Steam. :B
Well, that's all. Maybe pictures of Carrie and her two mommies later :)
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
I see you driving 'round town with the girl I love
and I'm like FUCK YOU, LADY AT THE PET SHOP. FUCK YOU.
Yes, it seems that my intuition was correct and the woman at the pet store when we first bought the rabbits was completely INcorrect. She told me Fiona (Finn?) was a girl, and now I have a pregnant rabbit. Thanks a lot, you stupid girl. Thanks a LOT.
On another note, does anyone want rabbit babies?
I might be jumping the gun here, but I'm pretty sure that when a mammal is getting fat and has nipples showing, that means babies. Going to see the vet soon, and going to never trust a pet store employee again. Dear karma, I've learned my lesson: learn how to sex rabbits and then sex them yourself. At least then it's MY fault.
I'm just... SO ANGRY right now. Angry enough that I'm not going to do any more than mention my illness, how I had to have blood drawn this morning, how finals are encroaching evilly, how my Rift download and my Mass Effect 2 download fucked up and now I have to start ALL OVER, or how I figured out how to draw rabbits. I am just so ANGRY.
You know what's good for anger management? Guitar Hero. Man, I am gonna go wreck that shit up.
Yes, it seems that my intuition was correct and the woman at the pet store when we first bought the rabbits was completely INcorrect. She told me Fiona (Finn?) was a girl, and now I have a pregnant rabbit. Thanks a lot, you stupid girl. Thanks a LOT.
On another note, does anyone want rabbit babies?
I might be jumping the gun here, but I'm pretty sure that when a mammal is getting fat and has nipples showing, that means babies. Going to see the vet soon, and going to never trust a pet store employee again. Dear karma, I've learned my lesson: learn how to sex rabbits and then sex them yourself. At least then it's MY fault.
I'm just... SO ANGRY right now. Angry enough that I'm not going to do any more than mention my illness, how I had to have blood drawn this morning, how finals are encroaching evilly, how my Rift download and my Mass Effect 2 download fucked up and now I have to start ALL OVER, or how I figured out how to draw rabbits. I am just so ANGRY.
You know what's good for anger management? Guitar Hero. Man, I am gonna go wreck that shit up.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
YAY: Rift LPs, homework (yay?!) and tech
Gonna download the week-long free trial of Rift, then stream it on my usteam channel (look me up :D "MMORPGs with Skee :o", and my username is scenis) and record it and put it on Youtube, finally do some let's plays, you know... I'm just... in a good mood.
Now, let's see what happens when I open my homework agenda...
...
WHOA. No homework. That always happens when I think I have a lot... (and vice versa, which is bad).
Shit... 54 more hours on the Rift updates. Ugghhhhhhhhhh.
Maybe I'll try The Path?!
...
Ugh, never mind. I keep forgetting the (in my humble opinion) outdated graphics.
I need a new indie game :o This is horrible.
Now, let's see what happens when I open my homework agenda...
...
WHOA. No homework. That always happens when I think I have a lot... (and vice versa, which is bad).
Shit... 54 more hours on the Rift updates. Ugghhhhhhhhhh.
Maybe I'll try The Path?!
...
Ugh, never mind. I keep forgetting the (in my humble opinion) outdated graphics.
I need a new indie game :o This is horrible.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Angry pt. 2
Unrelated note to pt. 1:
When I think bad things lately, such as
Maybe my best friend is romantically interested in me... I should reciprocate.
or
I don't like this person, and they've really hurt me in the past... I should "lose" these important papers of theirs.
or
I'll never get a straight A in all of these classes. I should stop trying now - finals will be a breeze.
or
I'm not terribly pretty, so maybe it doesn't matter if I brush my hair and take a shower today.
When I leave the room, everyone looks at each other and snickers.
No one really cares what I say.
It doesn't matter if I eat badly - it's not like I ever gain any weight.
I don't have to clean the pet cage today, even though it stinks pretty bad and the pets are unhappy.
My friends don't truly care about me - they just don't want to have to make new friends.
All of life is politics, and I'll never fit in anywhere.
It is physically impossible to desire me - I am undesirable.
I take things far too seriously.
I take things far too lightly.
Everything I've done is going to bite me in the ass when karma finds me.
My family doesn't like it when I talk.
There's nobody who can truly help me.
Then I slap myself, because I have to stop thinking those things if I want to be happy.
I am declining. My mood is like a roller-coaster that I'm driving, and sometimes I can make it slow down, if I try really hard. But there's still only one track, and the only way off it is to turn the thing into the empty air and hope I land right. So all I can do is clutch the bars as we go down those huge dips, and convince myself that there's another hill upwards just around the bend. In the meantime, my mind is in a shit condition, and everything is really hard to deal with. When I last visited my social worker for psychological therapy, she caught me on a "happy" day. So we talked about how I was managing. We talked about how physical activity would help, how eating right and sleeping well would help, how my friends could help, how I dealt with school and people.
I think I'm afraid of people. I don't want to face their rejection, and I don't want to face their approval, because I know I can lose it. Sometimes it surprises me when people that I consider only the vaguest of acquaintances call me a friend. I don't make "friends" easily. In fact, I would consider myself almost friendless, with one, maybe two friends that I really trust with myself. And the others, I am constantly suspicious of. Is she thinking I shouldn't be sitting here with them? Is he secretly angry at me for infringing on some strange friendship-related "rule"? And the worst part is that I can't help it. I need help. I need to beat my head into the table and feel someone tell me that I am right.
When I think bad things lately, such as
Maybe my best friend is romantically interested in me... I should reciprocate.
or
I don't like this person, and they've really hurt me in the past... I should "lose" these important papers of theirs.
or
I'll never get a straight A in all of these classes. I should stop trying now - finals will be a breeze.
or
I'm not terribly pretty, so maybe it doesn't matter if I brush my hair and take a shower today.
When I leave the room, everyone looks at each other and snickers.
No one really cares what I say.
It doesn't matter if I eat badly - it's not like I ever gain any weight.
I don't have to clean the pet cage today, even though it stinks pretty bad and the pets are unhappy.
My friends don't truly care about me - they just don't want to have to make new friends.
All of life is politics, and I'll never fit in anywhere.
It is physically impossible to desire me - I am undesirable.
I take things far too seriously.
I take things far too lightly.
Everything I've done is going to bite me in the ass when karma finds me.
My family doesn't like it when I talk.
There's nobody who can truly help me.
Then I slap myself, because I have to stop thinking those things if I want to be happy.
I am declining. My mood is like a roller-coaster that I'm driving, and sometimes I can make it slow down, if I try really hard. But there's still only one track, and the only way off it is to turn the thing into the empty air and hope I land right. So all I can do is clutch the bars as we go down those huge dips, and convince myself that there's another hill upwards just around the bend. In the meantime, my mind is in a shit condition, and everything is really hard to deal with. When I last visited my social worker for psychological therapy, she caught me on a "happy" day. So we talked about how I was managing. We talked about how physical activity would help, how eating right and sleeping well would help, how my friends could help, how I dealt with school and people.
I think I'm afraid of people. I don't want to face their rejection, and I don't want to face their approval, because I know I can lose it. Sometimes it surprises me when people that I consider only the vaguest of acquaintances call me a friend. I don't make "friends" easily. In fact, I would consider myself almost friendless, with one, maybe two friends that I really trust with myself. And the others, I am constantly suspicious of. Is she thinking I shouldn't be sitting here with them? Is he secretly angry at me for infringing on some strange friendship-related "rule"? And the worst part is that I can't help it. I need help. I need to beat my head into the table and feel someone tell me that I am right.
Angry
Because things don't go my way. Because people like looking down their nose at me. Because this is literally a game, and the more I get mad because of a game, the more angry I get at myself.
Because games aren't supposed to be taken seriously. There's supposed to be no real loss, besides time. There's supposed to be a fun way to come back, to play again. Loss shouldn't equal permanent loss. Loss should be fun, a "try again next time." Not a "now I can't allow you to play because you're a jerk, I misunderstood your instructions, I didn't do what you wanted me to do, and I won't take it back because you're being a bitch."
My overreactions do not mean you need to look down your nose at me. I fixed it, didn't I?
This is like tabletop RPGs, where the admin says "Rocks fall everyone dies." Except it's really just, "rocks fall, you die and everyone else picks all of your stuff off of your slowly chilling body."
Except this isn't a tabletop RPG.
I don't even know. This is complicated and difficult to explain.
Think of it as long-term Risk, where your country is a pet that you love fervently. And then someone kills it.
Actually, never mind, because this is too hard to explain without loads of backstory.
I AM RESOLVED FOR THIS TO BE A GOOD DAY, SO I WILL APPEASE MYSELF WITH THE KNOWLEDGE THAT I GET TO WATCH TV NOW THAT I'M DONE WITH MY ARTS HOMEWORK. Even if nothing good is on...
stop it stop it stop it no negative thoughts shut up stop it stop it stop it
Because games aren't supposed to be taken seriously. There's supposed to be no real loss, besides time. There's supposed to be a fun way to come back, to play again. Loss shouldn't equal permanent loss. Loss should be fun, a "try again next time." Not a "now I can't allow you to play because you're a jerk, I misunderstood your instructions, I didn't do what you wanted me to do, and I won't take it back because you're being a bitch."
My overreactions do not mean you need to look down your nose at me. I fixed it, didn't I?
This is like tabletop RPGs, where the admin says "Rocks fall everyone dies." Except it's really just, "rocks fall, you die and everyone else picks all of your stuff off of your slowly chilling body."
Except this isn't a tabletop RPG.
I don't even know. This is complicated and difficult to explain.
Think of it as long-term Risk, where your country is a pet that you love fervently. And then someone kills it.
Actually, never mind, because this is too hard to explain without loads of backstory.
I AM RESOLVED FOR THIS TO BE A GOOD DAY, SO I WILL APPEASE MYSELF WITH THE KNOWLEDGE THAT I GET TO WATCH TV NOW THAT I'M DONE WITH MY ARTS HOMEWORK. Even if nothing good is on...
stop it stop it stop it no negative thoughts shut up stop it stop it stop it
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Testimonials
For Skechers Shape-ups:
"I have never found more comfortable shoes than Shape-ups. I can feel the burn in my legs and buttocks almost immediately." -Monica, Wyoming
Do people even actually read these things?
"I have never found more comfortable shoes than Shape-ups. I can feel the burn in my legs and buttocks almost immediately." -Monica, Wyoming
Do people even actually read these things?
Friday, May 6, 2011
Writing romance.
There's only so much to add. The way he smells. The way he moves. The way he looks. The way he walks. Where they put their hands and feet and where. The devastatingly beautiful look in their eyes (what?) or the way the protagonist shivers as his fingers touch her shoulder (or something). I can't do it. I'm hopeless. High fantasy and science fiction are my genres. Not... romance. But what would a book-length story be without it? Oh, screw this. I'm going to go back to writing epic battle scenes with wizardry/plasma guns and cyborgs/shapeshifters.
HEAR THAT, GENRE CONVENTIONS? SCREW YOU FOR AS LONG AS I CAN AVOID IT.
HEAR THAT, GENRE CONVENTIONS? SCREW YOU FOR AS LONG AS I CAN AVOID IT.
Silicone. Saline.
Here's a list of my recent favorite songs. No particular genre favoritism. I'm unbiased like that.
1. Beep - The Pussycat Dolls
2. Skelling - Loreena Mckennit
3. Dance in the Dark (Monarchy 'Stylites' Remix) - Lady Gaga (Silicone... saline...)
4. The Cave - Mumford and Sons
5. Ireland - Tori Amos
6. Phenomena - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
7. Paradise Circus - Massive Attack
8. SexSlaveShip - Flying Lotus
9. Rhinestone Eyes - Gorillaz
10. That's Not My Name - The Ting Tings
1. Beep - The Pussycat Dolls
2. Skelling - Loreena Mckennit
3. Dance in the Dark (Monarchy 'Stylites' Remix) - Lady Gaga (Silicone... saline...)
4. The Cave - Mumford and Sons
5. Ireland - Tori Amos
6. Phenomena - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
7. Paradise Circus - Massive Attack
8. SexSlaveShip - Flying Lotus
9. Rhinestone Eyes - Gorillaz
10. That's Not My Name - The Ting Tings
Get Out. Of. My. Plans.
Dear Unfriend,
I am sick and tired of your constant "woe-is-me," I'm-going-to-come-to-your-plans-too whinemongering. Shut up. Shut up about me, shut up about your own sorry-ass self. Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.
I am so tired of your shit. You wonder why I hate you so much, why I am a " TOTAL BITCH to EVERYONE that tries to befriend SOMEONE" and think that "obviously, if you would have matured, we wouldn´t be having this conversation."
I am through with your fucking assholery. Kiss my ass.
I am sick and tired of your constant "woe-is-me," I'm-going-to-come-to-your-plans-too whinemongering. Shut up. Shut up about me, shut up about your own sorry-ass self. Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.
I am so tired of your shit. You wonder why I hate you so much, why I am a " TOTAL BITCH to EVERYONE that tries to befriend SOMEONE" and think that "obviously, if you would have matured, we wouldn´t be having this conversation."
I am through with your fucking assholery. Kiss my ass.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
I still believe in fairy-tale love.
I am the only teenager who still believes that there is a man out there who's nice when you want him to be, protective when you want him to be, mean when you want him to be, smart, funny, good-looking, with a good job, wonderful parents, no fear of marriage/a family but still no urge to procreate right that instant, a good kisser, good in bed, likes pets, doesn't think what you do for a living is stupid, supports your hobbies, understands, and has a last name that won't get you ridiculed. E.g., the perfect guy.
In reality, one of my friends says, that is impossible. That's all fairy-tale bullshit because no one can be perfect. You might as well wish that he also be the Prince of Britain.
But someone can be perfect, for you. So I choose to believe in fairy-tale love, because if I don't then no one will, and that'd be sad. Everyone tries too hard to be a cynic. Don't get me wrong - I'm among the most cynical of the cynical, but I'm still an idealist. Sounds impossible... might be, depending on the definitions you assign them. But while I have a bleak, rather realistic look on the world, I also know that it can and should be changed for the better.
So when I find a guy who is almost perfect, I'm not going to drive him off and wait for Prince Charming (to invoke a cliche). I'm not going to change him either - because we should appreciate people for who they are, not who they could be.
In reality, one of my friends says, that is impossible. That's all fairy-tale bullshit because no one can be perfect. You might as well wish that he also be the Prince of Britain.
But someone can be perfect, for you. So I choose to believe in fairy-tale love, because if I don't then no one will, and that'd be sad. Everyone tries too hard to be a cynic. Don't get me wrong - I'm among the most cynical of the cynical, but I'm still an idealist. Sounds impossible... might be, depending on the definitions you assign them. But while I have a bleak, rather realistic look on the world, I also know that it can and should be changed for the better.
So when I find a guy who is almost perfect, I'm not going to drive him off and wait for Prince Charming (to invoke a cliche). I'm not going to change him either - because we should appreciate people for who they are, not who they could be.
"Be respectful to your elders."
Even if they have silly prejudices. Even if they won't give things a chance because it sounds stupid to them. Even if they don't, can't, and won't understand. Even if they're wrong. Even if they have no evidence for their silly "factual" claims. Even if they're terribly restrictive in ways that make no sense. Even if they say what they do from secondhand or even third-hand perspective.
It's a pretty fair guess that it was the elders who came up with that mantra in the first place.
Needless to say, I have an irritating grand-aunt with no personality. She's the kind of person who puts "anything but country!" on the spot where you're supposed to put music preferences on Facebook. The kind of person who will argue with you forever on why "people who use curse words have limited vocabulary and aren't very smart."
I'm just... tired of being the person who has to deal with all of that stereotypist elitist bullshit. But I guess I'm not the only one.
It's a pretty fair guess that it was the elders who came up with that mantra in the first place.
Needless to say, I have an irritating grand-aunt with no personality. She's the kind of person who puts "anything but country!" on the spot where you're supposed to put music preferences on Facebook. The kind of person who will argue with you forever on why "people who use curse words have limited vocabulary and aren't very smart."
I'm just... tired of being the person who has to deal with all of that stereotypist elitist bullshit. But I guess I'm not the only one.
I need inspiration, and need it now.
It's odd. I can't remember a moment in my life that I haven't had an amazing idea for a story in my head, sustaining me with characters and plot and setting like mental lifeblood. And now... nothing. I have enough characters, sure, but... they're so meaningless. All of them feel the same to me, not because they're similar at all, just because they're old. Why? Why do I feel so creatively exhausted, like I won't be able to come up with anything new, like I've exhausted all of my ideas?
I need to feel that rush. It is seriously like a drug to me. I feel like there are people out there, characters, waiting for me to summon them up. But I can't. I can't come up with anything new or original. I can't create anything that hasn't been created by me. I've had the faerie shapeshifters, the weird deformed people, the steampunk dark romance, the guardian created to protect a magic girl, the girl and her robot, the cute little kid coloring book story about kids and their giant plushy dragons, various demons and roleplay characters, superheroes, humanoid stars. Why isn't there anything new?
Why does it seem like I've done everything there is to do?!
I need to feel that rush. It is seriously like a drug to me. I feel like there are people out there, characters, waiting for me to summon them up. But I can't. I can't come up with anything new or original. I can't create anything that hasn't been created by me. I've had the faerie shapeshifters, the weird deformed people, the steampunk dark romance, the guardian created to protect a magic girl, the girl and her robot, the cute little kid coloring book story about kids and their giant plushy dragons, various demons and roleplay characters, superheroes, humanoid stars. Why isn't there anything new?
Why does it seem like I've done everything there is to do?!
One-Shot: Fire and Lightning (tbe)
Avalesq was made to be a carnivore, to be clever, to be cunning and crafty and conniving, to hunt down little delectable rats like this... hellhound. Hellhounds in Rannigthein, the lightning world, were the most common of the common, barring nymphs. And nymphs were... well, usually, either stupid, or downright irritatingly difficult to catch. And the stupid ones were never satisfying, didn't give him an adrenaline rush, just like eating a steak doesn't give anyone an adrenaline rush. Unless you were forced to eat it off the back of a loosely bound rabid tiger. Usually, however, that wasn't the case.
But this one. Short and skinny, as pale as the moon with hair as red as the paint on a stop sign. And that face. He could always remember a pretty face. It wasn't the prettiness that ever caught his eye, when he became transfixed with his prey. It was the intelligence. Some people say that you can identify intelligence - it's a certain gleam in the eye, a quickness to the movement. He disagreed. You had to meet someone, make eye contact with them, watch them for more than a moment. She had seen this one in the marketplace before, had spoken with her briefly. He could see that something in her had registered his wrongness, that she was fighting an instinctive urge to run away from him. That was intelligence.
And here she was again, as if placed here to give him a satisfying object for the chase. There were some cyrei, hellhounds, who would fight to the death in their... relatively human... form, simply because that was the one they were comfortable in. He knew, somehow, that she would do no such thing. It had to be a psychological clue - it was only ever the cyrei loyal to their hellhound shape that loped across the hills like that, that knew exactly how to take cover under trees and in the underbrush.
He swiftly, silently, bounded up to a ridge slightly above his vantage point, in order to continue following her with his eyes. His body was much like a stag's; the legs, the body, the neck, the skull, the horns. He would have been the ultimate predator animal, completely fooling its prey, if not for the jagged carnivorous teeth that could rip a shark in half or the long, muscled serpentine tail that whipped behind him, he would have just been a deer. Just a huge, badass deer.
He backed up quickly when she seemed to detect something through the limbs that were his cover, and he closed his glowing yellow eyes, trusting nature to camouflage everything else on his body. When he opened them again several long seconds later, she was gone.
He picked up her scent again. She had gone... into the thinner woods. He huffed and followed, knowing that it would be more difficult to simply watch there.
Finally, he spotted her again. She had briefly come to a kneel, examining something on the ground. He could see her eyes moving, her fingers in a fluid motion across the thin, dry grass, could practically see her heartbeat in her neck.
He paced around her brief resting spot. When she seemed to have stopped paying attention - when she sat down, he sprung from the thickest of cover he could find.
His teeth were so close, his hooves inches from colliding with her slight skeletal frame - she was almost too easy -
But no. She was suddenly standing, with a long, thin iron knife in each hand, one flying and one instantly up where his throat would shortly be. He pulled back with alarm, avoiding the fatal throat slice, but not fast enough to dodge the first cut, which slid deeply into his right front leg.
Fighting obscene curse words - he never spoke in this shape, especially during the hunt - he made a cheap shot toward her stomach, that unprotected stomach with only a single layer of white cotton between his sharp hooves and some seriously vulnerable vital organs - but again she dodged, swinging out of his reach, and made another quick jab at him, this time only two shallow cuts across his ribs which hurt nonetheless. He lunged with his teeth once again, but caught only hair, red hair that tasted like the phosphorous on the ends of matches.
But then she was running. She seemed to have decided that a fight wasn't worth it, and off she sprinted, taking only five good steps before shedding her skin and becoming a powerful, muscular dog, exactly as Avalesq had predicted only minutes before.
Now was the chase. His heart pounded satisfyingly as he heard his breath get heavy, his feet pound the ground. Hellhounds ran fast, but they were terrible jumpers. He simply had to corner her, or, better yet, jump just right...
And there, he saw, in midair. He had her.
His front hooves collided sharply with her lower back, and he heard something crack as she half-collapsed, rolled over, scrambled with her front feet, clawed the earth.
He reached down, ready to rip her throat out. He could smell her blood from inches above her neck.
She lit on fire, consuming the grass around her, and igniting his nose.
He put it out quickly, but the fiery grass spread around, and he couldn't stop it. He could only try to avoid her body, which was covered in flame.
When he reached a safe distance away, he watched the flames die out. Cyrei flames always died out - they only began at all because of the phosphorous in their hair. Not many of them could do it.
Her hair was a pale, ashen brown now, tousled and thin. Avalesq stepped forward cautiously, leaned down to examine her face. Her eyes were shut, her breathing heavy; she was helpless, having exhausted her last line of defense. But there was something... wrong.
He couldn't bite.
It wasn't a matter of physical limitation. He knew that he could close his jaw on her throat and rip it out, right then and there, gracefully and deliciously. He knew he was hungry. He hadn't had a meal in a long time. He needed at least a big meal a month, and it'd been a while.
Why couldn't he make himself do it?
There were little voices in the back of his head, murmuring, Don't kill this girl. You need this girl. Don't kill this girl. You need this girl... Don't kill this girl. It's dangerous...
He'd never had intuition before. These voices certainly weren't his... and he didn't trust them. There were too many powerful mental magicians in the fairy lands for him to trust an intuition he'd never had before.
Hesitantly, he leaned forward once more and pricked the flesh just once, a little bit, with the largest and strongest of his teeth.
An electric shock ran through him, painful and immediate. His head pounded. He felt the little bit of skin go down his esophagus and settle on the bottom of his stomach. The magic of his species took hold, immediately consuming that little bit of skin. He felt his muscular and skeletal systems grind together briefly...
There he was - she was - a redhead cyrei, identical to his/her prey. He examined his pale fingers, his perfectly round fingernails in the shape of half-moons, his skinny ribs and his painfully dislocated pelvis, a pelvis which he immediately righted through sheer force of will. When the change finally stopped, he groaned and reverted. Always this happened, every time he ate someone. He had billions of shapes inside, ready for him to use.
He tried again. Teeth on skin, single scrape - fierce, painful shock. He whimpered - whimpered! - and took a small step back.
Nothing to do then. He began to walk away.
Don't walk away, you stupid snake, the voice said. You wait for her to wake up.
He turned back toward her, disinclined to disobey the "voice" again.
Renaissance felt the red phosphorous in her hair regenerating itself, felt her entire lower body out of alignment. She concentrated hard enough that it slid back into place. That was one of the things she had mastered, while teaching herself magic. She could fix almost any sprain or dislocation, mend any mild bruises or light cuts.
When it was done, she registered the mild breathing by her side. Memories came rushing back - seeing an emerald-green sianach tail in the woods, trying to take it down, failing, running, firing up. She rolled onto her back and scrabbled back a foot or two, panicking, panicking, trying to will her fire phosphorous to return right then and there, but it was physically impossible...
But no. It was the man she'd seen in the marketplace, the man who had given her the weird feeling that she had to run and hide from him.
Sianach, she thought, connecting the dots; This man is a shapeshifter.
"Good morning," he said. "Let's not bullshit each other. I'm Avalesq. And you are?"
She stared at him blankly.
"...excellent name. Now, let's get down to business: I've decided not to eat you... for now."
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