I just realized this.
I'm sitting in my room, a candle for my evening ritual glowing and incensing the air of the room with the smell of vanilla-scented wax. I'm listening to the Pagan Radio Network, a song called Secret Garden by Windancer, which hums and throbs pleasantly and mildly in the background through these speakers. I am saving up for a new grimoire. I have a pet rabbit who walks in and out of my circles as she pleases, named after a flower. I have ritual honey sitting on my desk, goddess research lying on my dresser, and an altar by my bed with an offering basket, vase, and pedestal (with aforementioned candle) on it. That aside, I'm doing an eve3ning ritual, in my regimen.
How odd.
The next entry will be a mock-revision for my Juno ritual. LIIIIKKKEEEE a hipster.
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
I was called by Hecate last night.
I was just reading my correspondences book (It's called The Wicca Handbook by Eileen Holland and I recommend it) and I just... I think, happened to glance across her name. Earlier that day I had been at Barnes and Noble. The one we have locally has this whole wall dedicated to journals. Half of them are these beautiful (though expensive) leather-bound notebooks, with intricate design...
I was flipping through these today, just casually, and it occurred to me: These would make beautiful grimoires (for a lazy person such as myself who can't and won't bind her own). So I came home later, before I was going to do my nightly meditation/protection (which I have actually been doing... I've decided to go ahead and give Witch School: First Degree by Lewis-Highcorrell a chance, even though I have no intention of following Correllian tradition. It just seems like a good regimen... something I need, religiously). And I'm reading this correspondence book, I think because I'd thought, Hecate. It just popped in my head, I don't remember why, and I was looking her up, and I found she was the goddess of witches and I just heard her, in my ear, saying, It's time for you to make an honest grimoire.
Weird. But true, as far as I believe. So now I'm saving up for a BoS at B&N, instead of a gorgeous custom wand from Etsy. It's alright. This one will be purely for spells and chants that I write myself or need to remember. No correspondences or anything, just useful spells and spell-chants.
So I'm familiarizing myself with the community.
I was flipping through these today, just casually, and it occurred to me: These would make beautiful grimoires (for a lazy person such as myself who can't and won't bind her own). So I came home later, before I was going to do my nightly meditation/protection (which I have actually been doing... I've decided to go ahead and give Witch School: First Degree by Lewis-Highcorrell a chance, even though I have no intention of following Correllian tradition. It just seems like a good regimen... something I need, religiously). And I'm reading this correspondence book, I think because I'd thought, Hecate. It just popped in my head, I don't remember why, and I was looking her up, and I found she was the goddess of witches and I just heard her, in my ear, saying, It's time for you to make an honest grimoire.
Weird. But true, as far as I believe. So now I'm saving up for a BoS at B&N, instead of a gorgeous custom wand from Etsy. It's alright. This one will be purely for spells and chants that I write myself or need to remember. No correspondences or anything, just useful spells and spell-chants.
So I'm familiarizing myself with the community.
Friday, July 29, 2011
A Vacation
My family and I are crammed into a car for over eight hours. This isn't so bad. I'm in the back right seat. My little brother is beside me, on the left, and my mother in front of me, in the passenger's seat (my usual seat of choice). My father is in the driver's--driving, obviously.
I occupy my time with my old limited edition DS Lite (my brother the same, with his... what, DSiXL? Something). I'm playing Pokemon. It's a Nuzlocke challenge on Pokemon Black. Everything dies; I have a trainer's touch of death, apparently. I become upset. I write everything down in a notebook so that I can make it into a comic later.
That becomes boring. It's dark outside now. We pass through Atlanta, Georgia. I marvel at the city. It's so alive. Cities fascinate me, having never lived in one. On the road I live on, a car goes by about every two minutes at most. We're in the deep country, our house. But Atlanta breathes. I think about going to college here. There's an art college. Does it have sciences, video game design? I doubt it. I'll look into it.
I fall asleep. When I wake up, our family has found a cheap motel off the side of the road. We park our car by the door and go into our room. It's standard. A bathroom next to a refrigerator (the "kitchen" in these places), and two full-sized beds in front of a television. It's gross, a little too bright; the paint on the wall is a yellow-cream, and is directly over a brick pattern that is fairly obvious. I take a restroom break, brush my teeth, and collapse in bed. The place is fine, except for a permeating smell of... must, but something about it make me wary. I sleep on top of the covers, that is, until I wake up in the middle of the night freezing my ass off.
We set out immediately. I've barely even changed from my unattractive-but-comfortable garb yesterday: from a t-shirt and cotton pants, to the same t-shirt and pajama shorts. We eat at a little hub called the Huddle House. I can't help but compare it to Waffle House (which we've seen tons of on the way down to Florida); worse food, less business, and with an understated sort of fifties theme that doesn't seem to come together just right.
We continue on our voyage. We've crossed the Florida-Georgia border now, and we're closer to Orlando, closer, closer. We can't check in until three, my dad reminds us, so we take a detour to Daytona. We drive by the racetrack (my family are fans; I don't particularly like it, but some of it is mildly interesting) and then down to the beach, where we park, run into the ocean, get our feet wet, and laugh until we have to run back. It wasn't worth it. My shorts are wet thanks to waves of varying size and my legs are covered with sand. "Maybe we can come back sometime this week," my dad suggests. My mom has a stomachache. My brother has gotten carsick twice on this trip today.
When we check in, there are a lot of maids going in and out of our rooms. "We're sorry," they say in Mexican and Korean accents. Why don't any white Americans work here? Is it that kind of job, the kind we don't have in our northern, mostly-white state, the kind that only immigrants do? "This room hasn't been rented out for a while. We're cleaning it now." This room is owned by my grandmother's boss, who lent it to us for a week for free. If he hadn't, it would have cost us over six hundred a night. It's a suite. I've stayed in it once before, with my grandmother.
My family is surprised at the size. When we enter, there's a den to the left, with a futon and a TV. To the right, a kitchen, with a counter, a microwave, an electric stove with four places, a refrigerator and freezer with ice/water dispensers, a pantry. In front of us, a dining room with a chandelier; beyond that, a living room, and a door to the balcony. Off to the right side, a master bedroom with a huge bathroom, which has a large bath and a shower, and a separate room for the toilet, as if to show off how much the owner was spending for this place. Off to the left, the room I'm staying in: a hotel room inside a hotel, the two full-sized beds and the television. I make my brother sleep on the futon. A room to myself is wonderful.
We go to the grocery and stock our kitchen, that first day.
The next day, we just lazed around. We went to the hotel pool and laughed and pushed each other. I tried to teach my brother to swim. It rained.
After that we spent a day at Sea World. "We've done Disney," my mom reasons. "Let's do everything else this time." I agree. Disney was boring. But Sea World is more boring, with all the aquariums that I've seen before, last year with my grandmother, for my birthday. The Kraken is a good roller-coaster, but just a roller-coaster, the kind you find everywhere. The Manta is better, with cool aquariums in the waiting line and a novelty: lying on your stomach, feeling like you're going to fly into everything. Journey to Atlantis is good, but I almost pass out in line because of the heat. I am miserable.
We go home. The next day we go to Universal Studios. That's my favorite. I'm so excited. "It's my third favorite place in the world," I declare to my brother, smiling. "What's the first?" he asks, and I say, "My room." "What's the second?" he says, and I reply, "The internet." He protests. I have to explain how the internet is a place (all of that data has to be somewhere).
Islands of Adventure makes me sigh with glee. The Dr. Suess place is whimsical, but not particularly entrancing. My brother wants to ride something... a "High-in-the-Sky Suess Trolley Train Ride," I believe. Boring, but I humor him. We go to the Lost Continent next. Harry Potter is better at night and we can't get in now anyway, so we go around to the Marvel area... my favorite in the park (maybe tied with Harry Potter). I look in the comic store, do the sky-drop (Dr. Doom's... something) with my brother, take a picture with Cyclops. I miss Rogue, when she's out. It makes me upset.
We leave to actual Universal and do all sorts of things there. We watch shows, ride rides, whatever. Lunch/dinner is at the Nascar restaurant in Citywalk. It's surprisingly good. I have pot roast that's better than what we make at home. I can't fit all of it into my stomach. My dad eats the rest. I laugh a lot. My mom gets another stomachache. She's been picking fights the whole trip; I don't think she's used to all of us being together all of the time.
We go back to Harry Potter. I ride Dragon Challenge with my dad. We wait for the front line, but get pulled to the very front of that line because we're a party of two. Afterwards my dad laughs and high fives me and says, "That's my favorite ride this whole trip."
Our feet hurt so much that I'm hopping from heel to heel and they're starting to go numb, but we still but two Butterbeers and I drink mine. It's sweet, like liquid ice cream, so good, maybe too sugary--my brother can't even finish his, because he gets a stomachache. We go into a Hogsmeade shop. It's great. But I soon find that everything is... expensive. My mother humors me and purchases a Gryffindor scarf for me. I debate between Gryffindor and Slytherin for a long time, holding each one up. "I'm really a Slytherin, according to, you know, the internet," I sigh. But I've been proclaiming myself a Gryffindor my whole life before those online tests, and, well, red and gold look better on me than green and silver, and I decide one test can't change who I've been for my whole fandom career. This is a big decision to me. I get the Gryffindor.
On the way out, our feet hurt so much, so god-fucking-damn much, but I get a poster from the comic shop anyway. It's Spider-Woman. I'm a nerd. It's over twenty dollars less than the scarf.
We go to Daytona Beach and I get a sunburn. I put on so much sunscreen that I look eight shades paler than I really am, but I burn anyway. But I'm naturally dark, so it goes away by the time we go home. We spend one day at the beach before I decide I'm done.
That night, we go crab hunting on the shore. We find one. It makes me smile, and freak out, squealing like the girl I am, when it scuttles toward me. We laugh and go back to the hotel. I eat a Milky Way. That night my mom and dad stay out on the balcony. In the morning, when I drop my wrapper into the trash can, I see nothing but Diet Coke cans and beer bottles. I realize that I never want to drink as much as they do.
We spend one day just relaxing before we go home. I spend all day watching a Let's Play of Silent Hill and looking up the plot on the wiki. I stay up until four in the morning doing this.
The next day, I'm tired. We're in the car. I play Pokemon Black, continue my challenge. Everyone sleeps for two hours then wakes up, not at the same time. I get tired of Pokemon. I try to sleep. I wake up. We go to Starbucks. Wendy's. Over the course of the day, we eat at two gas stations. I drink a melon-berry smoothie and half of my brother's frappe when we go to Starbucks again for my dad, the driver, who needs a pick-me-up. I'm not supposed to drink much caffeine, but I drink half of his. It's a mocha-coconut. Too much coffee for him. He was expecting more chocolate.
On the way back we stop at an outlet mall. "We should do some back to school shopping, maybe," my mom suggests. I end up with more than all of my other family members combined. Since it's an outlet mall, everything's cheaper than a regular store. My mom asks if I like Charlotte Russe. I wouldn't know, I say; I've never been. I get a dress and a belt and a pair of skinny jeans. My mom takes me to the next store and the next. And I see an outlet Fossil store. I freak out so very much that she actually takes me in. I find a purse that I saw in our mall for two hundred bucks... for forty-five. I'm so excited that my mother actually buys it for me. I spend the rest of the trip putting things in it. There's an outlet Rue 21, too; I get a minidress and some leggings and some shoes that I've wanted forever. It's sad, but this was one of my favorite parts of the trip, this side stop at an outdoor outlet mall.
We go home. We sleep on the way. My mom and my brother are asleep, my dad is driving; it's too dark to read my school book by, so I turn on my DS to the main screen, the white one, and hold it to my chest. I need to sleep but I can't put down the book. It's "A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier" by Ishmael Beah. I usually don't like nonfiction, but this is pretty okay. When I finally finish it, I stretch out and sleep on my brother's pillow, which I steal from under his head. My dad's decided to push through the night and go all the way home in one day. I only sleep for an hour before I wake up in the driveway.
Everyone pulls their luggage from the trunk and carries it in. I don't remember much, and when I woke up this morning all of my stuff was still in the car's trunk. But I went to my room that night and collapsed in my bed, my clothes still on, and had the best sleep I'd had in a week.
I occupy my time with my old limited edition DS Lite (my brother the same, with his... what, DSiXL? Something). I'm playing Pokemon. It's a Nuzlocke challenge on Pokemon Black. Everything dies; I have a trainer's touch of death, apparently. I become upset. I write everything down in a notebook so that I can make it into a comic later.
That becomes boring. It's dark outside now. We pass through Atlanta, Georgia. I marvel at the city. It's so alive. Cities fascinate me, having never lived in one. On the road I live on, a car goes by about every two minutes at most. We're in the deep country, our house. But Atlanta breathes. I think about going to college here. There's an art college. Does it have sciences, video game design? I doubt it. I'll look into it.
I fall asleep. When I wake up, our family has found a cheap motel off the side of the road. We park our car by the door and go into our room. It's standard. A bathroom next to a refrigerator (the "kitchen" in these places), and two full-sized beds in front of a television. It's gross, a little too bright; the paint on the wall is a yellow-cream, and is directly over a brick pattern that is fairly obvious. I take a restroom break, brush my teeth, and collapse in bed. The place is fine, except for a permeating smell of... must, but something about it make me wary. I sleep on top of the covers, that is, until I wake up in the middle of the night freezing my ass off.
We set out immediately. I've barely even changed from my unattractive-but-comfortable garb yesterday: from a t-shirt and cotton pants, to the same t-shirt and pajama shorts. We eat at a little hub called the Huddle House. I can't help but compare it to Waffle House (which we've seen tons of on the way down to Florida); worse food, less business, and with an understated sort of fifties theme that doesn't seem to come together just right.
We continue on our voyage. We've crossed the Florida-Georgia border now, and we're closer to Orlando, closer, closer. We can't check in until three, my dad reminds us, so we take a detour to Daytona. We drive by the racetrack (my family are fans; I don't particularly like it, but some of it is mildly interesting) and then down to the beach, where we park, run into the ocean, get our feet wet, and laugh until we have to run back. It wasn't worth it. My shorts are wet thanks to waves of varying size and my legs are covered with sand. "Maybe we can come back sometime this week," my dad suggests. My mom has a stomachache. My brother has gotten carsick twice on this trip today.
When we check in, there are a lot of maids going in and out of our rooms. "We're sorry," they say in Mexican and Korean accents. Why don't any white Americans work here? Is it that kind of job, the kind we don't have in our northern, mostly-white state, the kind that only immigrants do? "This room hasn't been rented out for a while. We're cleaning it now." This room is owned by my grandmother's boss, who lent it to us for a week for free. If he hadn't, it would have cost us over six hundred a night. It's a suite. I've stayed in it once before, with my grandmother.
My family is surprised at the size. When we enter, there's a den to the left, with a futon and a TV. To the right, a kitchen, with a counter, a microwave, an electric stove with four places, a refrigerator and freezer with ice/water dispensers, a pantry. In front of us, a dining room with a chandelier; beyond that, a living room, and a door to the balcony. Off to the right side, a master bedroom with a huge bathroom, which has a large bath and a shower, and a separate room for the toilet, as if to show off how much the owner was spending for this place. Off to the left, the room I'm staying in: a hotel room inside a hotel, the two full-sized beds and the television. I make my brother sleep on the futon. A room to myself is wonderful.
We go to the grocery and stock our kitchen, that first day.
The next day, we just lazed around. We went to the hotel pool and laughed and pushed each other. I tried to teach my brother to swim. It rained.
After that we spent a day at Sea World. "We've done Disney," my mom reasons. "Let's do everything else this time." I agree. Disney was boring. But Sea World is more boring, with all the aquariums that I've seen before, last year with my grandmother, for my birthday. The Kraken is a good roller-coaster, but just a roller-coaster, the kind you find everywhere. The Manta is better, with cool aquariums in the waiting line and a novelty: lying on your stomach, feeling like you're going to fly into everything. Journey to Atlantis is good, but I almost pass out in line because of the heat. I am miserable.
We go home. The next day we go to Universal Studios. That's my favorite. I'm so excited. "It's my third favorite place in the world," I declare to my brother, smiling. "What's the first?" he asks, and I say, "My room." "What's the second?" he says, and I reply, "The internet." He protests. I have to explain how the internet is a place (all of that data has to be somewhere).
Islands of Adventure makes me sigh with glee. The Dr. Suess place is whimsical, but not particularly entrancing. My brother wants to ride something... a "High-in-the-Sky Suess Trolley Train Ride," I believe. Boring, but I humor him. We go to the Lost Continent next. Harry Potter is better at night and we can't get in now anyway, so we go around to the Marvel area... my favorite in the park (maybe tied with Harry Potter). I look in the comic store, do the sky-drop (Dr. Doom's... something) with my brother, take a picture with Cyclops. I miss Rogue, when she's out. It makes me upset.
We leave to actual Universal and do all sorts of things there. We watch shows, ride rides, whatever. Lunch/dinner is at the Nascar restaurant in Citywalk. It's surprisingly good. I have pot roast that's better than what we make at home. I can't fit all of it into my stomach. My dad eats the rest. I laugh a lot. My mom gets another stomachache. She's been picking fights the whole trip; I don't think she's used to all of us being together all of the time.
We go back to Harry Potter. I ride Dragon Challenge with my dad. We wait for the front line, but get pulled to the very front of that line because we're a party of two. Afterwards my dad laughs and high fives me and says, "That's my favorite ride this whole trip."
Our feet hurt so much that I'm hopping from heel to heel and they're starting to go numb, but we still but two Butterbeers and I drink mine. It's sweet, like liquid ice cream, so good, maybe too sugary--my brother can't even finish his, because he gets a stomachache. We go into a Hogsmeade shop. It's great. But I soon find that everything is... expensive. My mother humors me and purchases a Gryffindor scarf for me. I debate between Gryffindor and Slytherin for a long time, holding each one up. "I'm really a Slytherin, according to, you know, the internet," I sigh. But I've been proclaiming myself a Gryffindor my whole life before those online tests, and, well, red and gold look better on me than green and silver, and I decide one test can't change who I've been for my whole fandom career. This is a big decision to me. I get the Gryffindor.
On the way out, our feet hurt so much, so god-fucking-damn much, but I get a poster from the comic shop anyway. It's Spider-Woman. I'm a nerd. It's over twenty dollars less than the scarf.
We go to Daytona Beach and I get a sunburn. I put on so much sunscreen that I look eight shades paler than I really am, but I burn anyway. But I'm naturally dark, so it goes away by the time we go home. We spend one day at the beach before I decide I'm done.
That night, we go crab hunting on the shore. We find one. It makes me smile, and freak out, squealing like the girl I am, when it scuttles toward me. We laugh and go back to the hotel. I eat a Milky Way. That night my mom and dad stay out on the balcony. In the morning, when I drop my wrapper into the trash can, I see nothing but Diet Coke cans and beer bottles. I realize that I never want to drink as much as they do.
We spend one day just relaxing before we go home. I spend all day watching a Let's Play of Silent Hill and looking up the plot on the wiki. I stay up until four in the morning doing this.
The next day, I'm tired. We're in the car. I play Pokemon Black, continue my challenge. Everyone sleeps for two hours then wakes up, not at the same time. I get tired of Pokemon. I try to sleep. I wake up. We go to Starbucks. Wendy's. Over the course of the day, we eat at two gas stations. I drink a melon-berry smoothie and half of my brother's frappe when we go to Starbucks again for my dad, the driver, who needs a pick-me-up. I'm not supposed to drink much caffeine, but I drink half of his. It's a mocha-coconut. Too much coffee for him. He was expecting more chocolate.
On the way back we stop at an outlet mall. "We should do some back to school shopping, maybe," my mom suggests. I end up with more than all of my other family members combined. Since it's an outlet mall, everything's cheaper than a regular store. My mom asks if I like Charlotte Russe. I wouldn't know, I say; I've never been. I get a dress and a belt and a pair of skinny jeans. My mom takes me to the next store and the next. And I see an outlet Fossil store. I freak out so very much that she actually takes me in. I find a purse that I saw in our mall for two hundred bucks... for forty-five. I'm so excited that my mother actually buys it for me. I spend the rest of the trip putting things in it. There's an outlet Rue 21, too; I get a minidress and some leggings and some shoes that I've wanted forever. It's sad, but this was one of my favorite parts of the trip, this side stop at an outdoor outlet mall.
We go home. We sleep on the way. My mom and my brother are asleep, my dad is driving; it's too dark to read my school book by, so I turn on my DS to the main screen, the white one, and hold it to my chest. I need to sleep but I can't put down the book. It's "A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier" by Ishmael Beah. I usually don't like nonfiction, but this is pretty okay. When I finally finish it, I stretch out and sleep on my brother's pillow, which I steal from under his head. My dad's decided to push through the night and go all the way home in one day. I only sleep for an hour before I wake up in the driveway.
Everyone pulls their luggage from the trunk and carries it in. I don't remember much, and when I woke up this morning all of my stuff was still in the car's trunk. But I went to my room that night and collapsed in my bed, my clothes still on, and had the best sleep I'd had in a week.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
All the useful things I did this summer
- I had a birthday, making me officially older, which is good I guess.
- I snagged myself a car, a '99 Mustang, red.
- I had a friend who moved out of country over.
- And we watched both Harry Potter musicals.
- I got a tan, though I'm not sure how.
- I figured out how to genuinely love one of my best friends, with whom things have been falling apart for some time now.
- I rediscovered Tumblr. Tumblred forever.
- I started a Nuzlocke comic and quit within the first panel.
- Rediscovered Twitter. Twittered forever.
- Found a bunch of new music I like.
- Kept up on a personal blog for once (this one, to be exact).
- Began and kept up on a gaming blog (Mnemosynister, remember her?).
- Slowly recharged my creative batteries (they're still nowhere near full, but it's better).
- Procrastinated to extremes on the three books I have for classes this coming school year.
- Worked at the zoo.
- Made a friend who had previously hated my guts, on being partnered together one day.
- Made a friend who is male and really cute, and also a nerd like me, but absolutely nothing will happen between us because that is life.
- Attempted to get a job.
- Did not get a job.
- Became addicted to hip-hop and mixed music (dj music).
- Finally became "physical" about practicing for roller derby.
- Scored 20 free admission tickets to the local rink.
- Got really fat, probably.
- Went to the doctor several times, and began to take more pills than the average 70-year-old, including anti-depression medication and three different kinds of vitamins.
- Had to give away my Fiona-turned-Finn (my black mixed-breed rabbit) because of the complications of having a boy rabbit that I thought was a girl.
- My Zinnia did not, in fact, end up having babies, which is both good and so sad (BABY BUNNIES!).
- Played through a lot of games I had wanted to before but didn't have time for (Dragon Age 2, Mass Effect, Pokemon Black Nuzlocke challenge, and lots of flash games, among others).
- Documented them using the free version of FRAPS.
- Learned to effectively use acrylic paints.
- Wasted my time on the computer from when I got up to when I fell asleep, not counting food breaks, on a near daily basis.
- Got some scars on my hands, thighs, legs, and arms from my rabbits. They will be there forever; there's no healing these. Little bloody rascals. Little carnivores.
- Put in gauges, to my parents' chagrin.
- I am currently at size 14 and my mother believes that it is large enough, and that I should not go bigger.
- Acquired a pair of Pokemon boxers, a hand-knit scarf, a purple quilted purse, and a pair of sunglasses.
- Had a child with my best friend, a red rubber bouncy ball that we drew a face on, which we named Carrie Cherry-Cakes (due to her deep blush, which encompasses her whole face).
Off on vacation,
So from tonight to the 29th you'll be hearing very little from me. My family and I are going on vacation in Florida. Sooooo yeah. Sea World, and also apparently other places. I don't even know.
Also I've got to convince my mom that we need to drive to the Disney marketplace so that my little brother can see that huge Lego store, because that place is the shiz.
Oh, and Universal Studios. I've been once before... last year, actually, I think, thanks to my grandmother and some other assorted stuff. The comics place. And the Harry Potter place. Seriously, that stuff was awesome. It was like living in HP-land. And when they offered us Butterbeer... and when the choir came out... and when I saw wands for sale! FANGASM. NERDGASM.
Anyway. Off we go.
Also I've got to convince my mom that we need to drive to the Disney marketplace so that my little brother can see that huge Lego store, because that place is the shiz.
Oh, and Universal Studios. I've been once before... last year, actually, I think, thanks to my grandmother and some other assorted stuff. The comics place. And the Harry Potter place. Seriously, that stuff was awesome. It was like living in HP-land. And when they offered us Butterbeer... and when the choir came out... and when I saw wands for sale! FANGASM. NERDGASM.
Anyway. Off we go.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
dreeeeeams
I had the most weird-ass dream last night. A bunch of my friends and I went on a bike-riding spelunking expedition - we biked through a cave. We'd get through one and then have to do another; every once in a while, someone would die, and we'd have to start over, at the very first one. In the bottom of this first one was this... glowy artifact. And then we'd start all over, with everyone back again. Like a video game.
So we get through the caves, and we're tired and suddenly we're going down my street, and I see my house, except it's on the wrong side, and I live right next door to Luna Lovegood. It's the middle of the night and Luna sees us from her porch, which is all lit up. And by Luna I mean that actress. The one with the incredibly blonde hair and pretty voice.
So my mom isn't out here for some reason, but someone's hurt. Luna and her dad (who looks like absolutely nothing at all, like I can't even remember what he said or what he wore) patch them up. Then we spend the next fifteen minutes arguing over who is going to marry who. I say that it's mandatory to marry someone and if my best friend won't marry, I'd totally marry Luna, so I propose to her (I'm a girl, and also straight, or at least as far as I know), and anyway I persuade her to accept and we go biking down the road again, back into a cave.
AND THEN SUDDENLY, I'm in Toys 'R' Us and nobody's there, no friends, no fictional characters from Harry Potter. Except one of my friends from freshman year pops up and is all like, "Why are you in a wedding dress?" And I'm like, "Well, it's my wedding, duh!" And then we go into an aisle and make out. (This one was a guy. Jussayin.)
I AM TWELVE AND WHAT IS THIS. (Not really. I'm actually quite older than that, but still, WHAT IS THIS.)
So we get through the caves, and we're tired and suddenly we're going down my street, and I see my house, except it's on the wrong side, and I live right next door to Luna Lovegood. It's the middle of the night and Luna sees us from her porch, which is all lit up. And by Luna I mean that actress. The one with the incredibly blonde hair and pretty voice.
So my mom isn't out here for some reason, but someone's hurt. Luna and her dad (who looks like absolutely nothing at all, like I can't even remember what he said or what he wore) patch them up. Then we spend the next fifteen minutes arguing over who is going to marry who. I say that it's mandatory to marry someone and if my best friend won't marry, I'd totally marry Luna, so I propose to her (I'm a girl, and also straight, or at least as far as I know), and anyway I persuade her to accept and we go biking down the road again, back into a cave.
AND THEN SUDDENLY, I'm in Toys 'R' Us and nobody's there, no friends, no fictional characters from Harry Potter. Except one of my friends from freshman year pops up and is all like, "Why are you in a wedding dress?" And I'm like, "Well, it's my wedding, duh!" And then we go into an aisle and make out. (This one was a guy. Jussayin.)
I AM TWELVE AND WHAT IS THIS. (Not really. I'm actually quite older than that, but still, WHAT IS THIS.)
Saturday, May 28, 2011
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.
Monday, April 18, 2011
That moment where you see someone you haven't seen in a long time,
...just coincidentally, and you get excited and hug and grin and then you have to go and you're so disappointed but your day is brightened exponentially just that you got to see them.
And that's when I realized that I miss my old friends from my old school, no matter what I might say. (This particular friend, actually, I miss a lot, and openly, but that's not the point.) I lived with those people for 12+ years... it hurts to not see them anymore.
And I saw another one from across the street, but couldn't say hi. But I waved, and he noticed me and waved back really excitedly and that gave me a temporary high too, because I didn't know we were that good of friends. But I guess we were. And yeah, looking back on that now, most of my fond memories of last year were because of him, or at least had him in them.
I want to talk to these people. And for once in my life, actually, I think I will.
And that's when I realized that I miss my old friends from my old school, no matter what I might say. (This particular friend, actually, I miss a lot, and openly, but that's not the point.) I lived with those people for 12+ years... it hurts to not see them anymore.
And I saw another one from across the street, but couldn't say hi. But I waved, and he noticed me and waved back really excitedly and that gave me a temporary high too, because I didn't know we were that good of friends. But I guess we were. And yeah, looking back on that now, most of my fond memories of last year were because of him, or at least had him in them.
I want to talk to these people. And for once in my life, actually, I think I will.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Creepers! Use the minecart!
No, no, just kidding about the Minecraft reference. Actually, I was talking about two guys who were hassling me on the street the other day. I was walking down the sidewalk when they made some very... obviously sexual remarks to me, and I sprinted in the nearby building and didn't even wait for the elevator, just went into the stairwell and sprinted up until I found someone else.
And now I'm having issues walking in the street - thinking, everyone's out to get me, anyone could want to hurt me. Anyone here. I had problems at the library today when a woman asked what I was drawing. I seriously had panicky problems where I kept glancing around and memorizing what she looked like so that I could report her if she said anything, and then I realized that I was being ridiculous.
This is bad. Especially considering that my classes are right smack in the middle of a city. I need to get a hold on myself.
And now I'm having issues walking in the street - thinking, everyone's out to get me, anyone could want to hurt me. Anyone here. I had problems at the library today when a woman asked what I was drawing. I seriously had panicky problems where I kept glancing around and memorizing what she looked like so that I could report her if she said anything, and then I realized that I was being ridiculous.
This is bad. Especially considering that my classes are right smack in the middle of a city. I need to get a hold on myself.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Made myself do something, at least.
I dug myself out of my hole. (Existentialists do it pointlessly!) I ate a delicious salad that my mom made, with her homemade dressing and whatnot. I made myself start an art trade with an online friend. And uphill from there, with my father suggesting that I should draw the Christmas cards this year.
Now, I need to get back into my acrylics practice. And then, I need to write. And tomorrow I'm going to do my work before I go meet up with my Biology partner at the library. All is well, because I make it well.
Now, I need to get back into my acrylics practice. And then, I need to write. And tomorrow I'm going to do my work before I go meet up with my Biology partner at the library. All is well, because I make it well.
I hate it when a day feels so pointless.
It's Saturday, and I've been begging for the weekend to arrive all week, so what's wrong with me? I want to do so much - write poetry, do my homework assignments, talk to friends, finish some art trades/commissions, listen to music, continue writing my story, buy Mass Effect 2 before it goes out of stores - no, buy Dragon Age 2 (I love you, Bioware) - no, I want to get on deviantArt - no, Facebook, I haven't gotten on FB for a month...
And now it's 4:45 PM and I've done nothing productive - so much nothing.
And there's this looming sense of do it now! There's no time during the week! Do it now! Now!
But I have nothing to do - and yet, too much. I'm drowning in my own uselessness.
I did accomplish one thing today, though. I formulated a pattern of prayers for my pagan rosary. Feels good to get something done. Feels bad to know that I did it just to have something to do.
I need a de-stressor. When I am getting stressed about having too many fun things to do... I've hit a point that I need to back away from. Quickly.
And now it's 4:45 PM and I've done nothing productive - so much nothing.
And there's this looming sense of do it now! There's no time during the week! Do it now! Now!
But I have nothing to do - and yet, too much. I'm drowning in my own uselessness.
I did accomplish one thing today, though. I formulated a pattern of prayers for my pagan rosary. Feels good to get something done. Feels bad to know that I did it just to have something to do.
I need a de-stressor. When I am getting stressed about having too many fun things to do... I've hit a point that I need to back away from. Quickly.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
More complaints about the asshat
As promised, a brief rant. Because it'll make me feel like I'm right. And apparently, that's the thrill everyone's after nowadays.
Have you ever met one of those people who just absolutely had to be right? They couldn't just defer - they just constantly pick arguments about things that don't matter, like how I shouldn't say that I'm just using intuition to do this grammar worksheet because pretty much everyone in the class does the same thing and it sounded like I was implying that I was special, or perhaps Even though it goes against my personal moral code, I'm totally listening to a conversation I promised not to listen to, so would I please step ten feet back so that you can talk about things that don't matter with my best friend, with whom I'd just like to spend a little time with? Or... well, you get it.
Geez. I just want to hit him sometimes. It's the arguments - the constant arguments about things that don't matter. God, we used to be best friends, and now he's so fucking right all of the time. I'm going to call it rightallthetimeitis. Or maybe just use my Latin roots. It's just headitis - he's gotten all inflated over himself and now he's got a big head. Which I'd desperately love to knock off.
It's stuff like this that I get angry about and stress over and has me going back to a therapist I haven't seen in a year. Geez.
But back to the point - there's one argument we have over and over again. Over and over. He thinks I'm being ridiculous, and I think he's being utterly stupid. He thinks I'm not using any semblance of logic at all and I think... well, he's being utterly stupid.
Here's the lowdown: after a long, multiple-year slog through multiple religions, he has apparently now settled on hardcore atheism.
No, no, I have nothing against atheists or atheism. I was once a heavy agnostic, then an atheist for a solid year, before finding a religion that made some sense to me. But...
It just seems to me that he is using Atheism as a label for his Headitis. You can lather a pig in lavender soap and rub it down with the softest and most wonderful lotions before giving it a delicate bath in the most perfect and serene of hot springs... But it's still a pig, and you're still going to send it to the slaughter.
My reasoning behind this - 1: "The whole point of atheism is that religion is stupid." Quote and end quote. While he may believe this - and I'd have no problem with that, if he weren't so forceful about everyone else believing it too - that is not the whole point of atheism. I was an atheist once. I never thought religion was stupid. I know its psychological significance and what it can do for a person. I know how it can give someone hope or comfort or even - and forgive the cliche - solace. I have had and have atheist friends other than him. One, in particular, was my best friend for several years - the years in which I found my current religion. She heard me out, gave her opinions. I know, from experience, that atheism does not, necessarily, recognize that all religion is stupid.
2: His arguments for atheism. Whenever he gets the chance, he makes fun of organized Christianity, in particular. Sure, it'll sound joking, just for fun, the works. But I know him. I've known him for... what? upwards of five years? And he's so bad at his "jokes" and trying to make them seem both antagonizing and humorous. It's only funny to him. Consider the audience in this scene: me, a friend (who at first he assumed would take his side in the ensuing argument) whom he has known for upwards of two years is an eclectic pagan; a Methodist girl who dislikes him; a Catholic, conservative boy who on-and-off likes him; a Muslim boy who is incredibly devout, as far as I'm aware. He purposefully seeks us out and brings these jokes to us, trying to make off like it's funny. It's not.
He always, always "beats" me (and note the quotes) in these arguments. Simply because it gets to the point where I start to think it's all pointless and give up and, presumably, he thinks he's won some sort of mental trophy. Well, I call bullshit.
Usually, the "debate" (and that's in quotes because the word debate implies that both sides are willing to listen to the other's opinion) ends with something along the following lines -
Me: Look, you can't use your oh-so-logical arguments to convince a devout Christian that their faith is stupid and that they should drop it like a hot rock and convert to atheism and instantly believe you because you prevent a few arguments.
Him: Yes, I can, because logically, religion doesn't exist.
Me: Logically, no, but the whole concept of religion is that you believe in something without proof. That's why it's called faith. Say you're right, and there is no god or life force or whatever out there. We have no way of knowing. But no matter how many logical arguments you present, they will never work, because logic operates on a different level than faith. It's apples and oranges.
Him: But there is no proof that any god exists! God is a delusion... do you really want to live under a delusion?
Me: If it makes me happy and gives me a sense of acceptance and contentment? Fuck yes.
Him: (I'll admit, actually, that at this point it usually goes down into stupid stuff that I can't even remember - presumably because it usually makes me mad, no matter what argument he uses, and I get the Red Tint of Anger and things go a tad hazy.)
It pissed him off that, originally, when this first started happening, I didn't take his side in that little group I described before. He turned to a boy, said, "But logically, that doesn't make sense. I mean, Inky just said -"
I stopped him cold. I said, "Don't drag me onto your side. I may not be Christian but you seem to have forgotten that I do, in fact, believe in a god."
I don't know. Something about him and his damnable "logic" just anger me in a way that African poverty never could or will. If he's so logical then why can't he deduce that no one besides him is ever going to believe exactly as he does, and he needs to get over his own head, then pull it out of his ass, then put his fucking pants back on and get on with his life?
I feel old for my age, sometimes. And then there are times like these, where I don't.
Have you ever met one of those people who just absolutely had to be right? They couldn't just defer - they just constantly pick arguments about things that don't matter, like how I shouldn't say that I'm just using intuition to do this grammar worksheet because pretty much everyone in the class does the same thing and it sounded like I was implying that I was special, or perhaps Even though it goes against my personal moral code, I'm totally listening to a conversation I promised not to listen to, so would I please step ten feet back so that you can talk about things that don't matter with my best friend, with whom I'd just like to spend a little time with? Or... well, you get it.
Geez. I just want to hit him sometimes. It's the arguments - the constant arguments about things that don't matter. God, we used to be best friends, and now he's so fucking right all of the time. I'm going to call it rightallthetimeitis. Or maybe just use my Latin roots. It's just headitis - he's gotten all inflated over himself and now he's got a big head. Which I'd desperately love to knock off.
It's stuff like this that I get angry about and stress over and has me going back to a therapist I haven't seen in a year. Geez.
But back to the point - there's one argument we have over and over again. Over and over. He thinks I'm being ridiculous, and I think he's being utterly stupid. He thinks I'm not using any semblance of logic at all and I think... well, he's being utterly stupid.
Here's the lowdown: after a long, multiple-year slog through multiple religions, he has apparently now settled on hardcore atheism.
No, no, I have nothing against atheists or atheism. I was once a heavy agnostic, then an atheist for a solid year, before finding a religion that made some sense to me. But...
It just seems to me that he is using Atheism as a label for his Headitis. You can lather a pig in lavender soap and rub it down with the softest and most wonderful lotions before giving it a delicate bath in the most perfect and serene of hot springs... But it's still a pig, and you're still going to send it to the slaughter.
My reasoning behind this - 1: "The whole point of atheism is that religion is stupid." Quote and end quote. While he may believe this - and I'd have no problem with that, if he weren't so forceful about everyone else believing it too - that is not the whole point of atheism. I was an atheist once. I never thought religion was stupid. I know its psychological significance and what it can do for a person. I know how it can give someone hope or comfort or even - and forgive the cliche - solace. I have had and have atheist friends other than him. One, in particular, was my best friend for several years - the years in which I found my current religion. She heard me out, gave her opinions. I know, from experience, that atheism does not, necessarily, recognize that all religion is stupid.
2: His arguments for atheism. Whenever he gets the chance, he makes fun of organized Christianity, in particular. Sure, it'll sound joking, just for fun, the works. But I know him. I've known him for... what? upwards of five years? And he's so bad at his "jokes" and trying to make them seem both antagonizing and humorous. It's only funny to him. Consider the audience in this scene: me, a friend (who at first he assumed would take his side in the ensuing argument) whom he has known for upwards of two years is an eclectic pagan; a Methodist girl who dislikes him; a Catholic, conservative boy who on-and-off likes him; a Muslim boy who is incredibly devout, as far as I'm aware. He purposefully seeks us out and brings these jokes to us, trying to make off like it's funny. It's not.
He always, always "beats" me (and note the quotes) in these arguments. Simply because it gets to the point where I start to think it's all pointless and give up and, presumably, he thinks he's won some sort of mental trophy. Well, I call bullshit.
Usually, the "debate" (and that's in quotes because the word debate implies that both sides are willing to listen to the other's opinion) ends with something along the following lines -
Me: Look, you can't use your oh-so-logical arguments to convince a devout Christian that their faith is stupid and that they should drop it like a hot rock and convert to atheism and instantly believe you because you prevent a few arguments.
Him: Yes, I can, because logically, religion doesn't exist.
Me: Logically, no, but the whole concept of religion is that you believe in something without proof. That's why it's called faith. Say you're right, and there is no god or life force or whatever out there. We have no way of knowing. But no matter how many logical arguments you present, they will never work, because logic operates on a different level than faith. It's apples and oranges.
Him: But there is no proof that any god exists! God is a delusion... do you really want to live under a delusion?
Me: If it makes me happy and gives me a sense of acceptance and contentment? Fuck yes.
Him: (I'll admit, actually, that at this point it usually goes down into stupid stuff that I can't even remember - presumably because it usually makes me mad, no matter what argument he uses, and I get the Red Tint of Anger and things go a tad hazy.)
It pissed him off that, originally, when this first started happening, I didn't take his side in that little group I described before. He turned to a boy, said, "But logically, that doesn't make sense. I mean, Inky just said -"
I stopped him cold. I said, "Don't drag me onto your side. I may not be Christian but you seem to have forgotten that I do, in fact, believe in a god."
I don't know. Something about him and his damnable "logic" just anger me in a way that African poverty never could or will. If he's so logical then why can't he deduce that no one besides him is ever going to believe exactly as he does, and he needs to get over his own head, then pull it out of his ass, then put his fucking pants back on and get on with his life?
I feel old for my age, sometimes. And then there are times like these, where I don't.
Butter toffee and syncretist religion.
That's what tonight has been all about. School wears on me, and so I ignored the professors for a day and just read a book I snagged from my grandmother's shelf - a thick paperback, a post-industrial romantic/business/hints of mystery novel called The Tea Rose by Jennifer Donnelly. I finished it this afternoon, procrastinated on my essay as long as possible, just like I am now.
I made myself some butter toffee coffee. Of course it smells more like butter toffee than it tastes - I take my "sweet" coffees (as if) just plain and black. Unusual for a fourteen-year-old girl. But I've grown to enjoy it.
So now, tonight, I finish that essay I believe I wrote about forever ago. Goodness, but it's boring - writing a Works Cited page over the eighth time, putting in signal phrases and varied sentence structures and all sorts of boring whatnots that I never have to think about when I write fiction - because fiction flows smoothly from my brain. So prettily. So fast. So... energetic. But school is just... forced. I have no passion for what I'm writing. Just persistence - a teeth-gritting, furrowed-brow persistence.
(Goodness, it's late. Phys-Ed is going to be hellish tomorrow.)
I feel an idea in my brain. It's sprouted from an old, old idea and an old, old, OLD character that I've made anew, and now it wants to grow. But all the schoolwork is crowding out its light and its food and its water and it can't get out, and it'll fester and die in there.
That's why I always start to falter near the end of the school year. Springtime brings me ideas - the heavy misery of cold, cold winter ends, finally, and ideas begin to form, but all of my responsibilities consume the time I need to bring them to fruition. Fuck.
If I finish this essay and I'm not tired, I'll write about a writing program I want to get into, then about a boy I can't stop arguing with (the asshat). And then, I'll sleep, like my creative, creative soul EVENTUALLY needs to do, no matter how much it protests.
Ah, and yes, that was sarcasm. Or it wasn't... to be honest, I'm too frayed to be able to tell, at the moment.
I made myself some butter toffee coffee. Of course it smells more like butter toffee than it tastes - I take my "sweet" coffees (as if) just plain and black. Unusual for a fourteen-year-old girl. But I've grown to enjoy it.
So now, tonight, I finish that essay I believe I wrote about forever ago. Goodness, but it's boring - writing a Works Cited page over the eighth time, putting in signal phrases and varied sentence structures and all sorts of boring whatnots that I never have to think about when I write fiction - because fiction flows smoothly from my brain. So prettily. So fast. So... energetic. But school is just... forced. I have no passion for what I'm writing. Just persistence - a teeth-gritting, furrowed-brow persistence.
(Goodness, it's late. Phys-Ed is going to be hellish tomorrow.)
I feel an idea in my brain. It's sprouted from an old, old idea and an old, old, OLD character that I've made anew, and now it wants to grow. But all the schoolwork is crowding out its light and its food and its water and it can't get out, and it'll fester and die in there.
That's why I always start to falter near the end of the school year. Springtime brings me ideas - the heavy misery of cold, cold winter ends, finally, and ideas begin to form, but all of my responsibilities consume the time I need to bring them to fruition. Fuck.
If I finish this essay and I'm not tired, I'll write about a writing program I want to get into, then about a boy I can't stop arguing with (the asshat). And then, I'll sleep, like my creative, creative soul EVENTUALLY needs to do, no matter how much it protests.
Ah, and yes, that was sarcasm. Or it wasn't... to be honest, I'm too frayed to be able to tell, at the moment.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Get Back on the Horse
My little brother got a dirt bike for his birthday. Wouldn't touch it after he crashed straight into a tree... passed it to me. (Can you blame him? He's unused to having to exert effort to learn something. It goes against his grain.)
So I spent today trying to learn how to drive it, and I whizzed it around the backyard for about ten minutes before taking an epic spill by accidentally using too much acceleration, freaking out, then giving it MORE acceleration, meaning I went straight forward on the back wheel for about eight feet before flinging myself off of it, I was so scared.
Went in the house, washed off, came back out. Got back on the little torture instrument.
Drove around for about twenty more minutes. Accidentally went down a hill I knew I shouldn't have gone down - almost took an AWFUL wreck on the gravel driveway, but avoided it by braking (for the first time, since I couldn't figure out how to do the brake).
My dad laughed and helped me fix it and I managed to drive it back up the hill then back to the backyard. Insert ten more minutes. I finally get the hang of it, when - WHOOSH. Get going down a hill, a tad too fast... panic... accidentally pull the gas harder... freak out... accidentally give it ALL the gas.
It was something along the lines of WzzzzzzZZZZZZZZFZFZFZFZFZFZFZFZFSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHBOOM, WZZZZZzzzzzzzpffft.
So now I have a stiff, awkward, completely scraped up right leg from the first fall and a completely muscle-wrecked left shoulder/upper back from the last.
My father fears the day that I get my own car.
So I spent today trying to learn how to drive it, and I whizzed it around the backyard for about ten minutes before taking an epic spill by accidentally using too much acceleration, freaking out, then giving it MORE acceleration, meaning I went straight forward on the back wheel for about eight feet before flinging myself off of it, I was so scared.
Went in the house, washed off, came back out. Got back on the little torture instrument.
Drove around for about twenty more minutes. Accidentally went down a hill I knew I shouldn't have gone down - almost took an AWFUL wreck on the gravel driveway, but avoided it by braking (for the first time, since I couldn't figure out how to do the brake).
My dad laughed and helped me fix it and I managed to drive it back up the hill then back to the backyard. Insert ten more minutes. I finally get the hang of it, when - WHOOSH. Get going down a hill, a tad too fast... panic... accidentally pull the gas harder... freak out... accidentally give it ALL the gas.
It was something along the lines of WzzzzzzZZZZZZZZFZFZFZFZFZFZFZFZFSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHBOOM, WZZZZZzzzzzzzpffft.
So now I have a stiff, awkward, completely scraped up right leg from the first fall and a completely muscle-wrecked left shoulder/upper back from the last.
My father fears the day that I get my own car.
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