I feel like I'm waiting for something to happen.  Trouble is, nothing will happen without an inciting action.  I need to do something - but I keep waiting for that something to happen to spark me.  Nothingness is perpetual.

Everyday I go to work, I alternately feel more in control, more at ease and having power over something, even little somethings. But I also get more burned out and hate people.

I feel ugly. I hate myself because I know no one will ever love me. And I can't muster enough energy to really change anything. This is killing me.

My mother is getting married to her boyfriend on Aug 4th. I'm not enthused about it. She's not even enthused about it. This wedding is so fucking wrong. He annoys her on several levels. All I hear about is how his habits annoy her. I think she seriously believes that marrying him will change him. I've confronted her about all this. I've told her that marrying someone with the expectation for them to suddenly change is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And she agreed with me. But she's in denial or something, because part of her still wants to believe it will make everything change. He's a nice enough guy, but he's just kind of off. They're incompatible. I predict that they'll be divorced soon enough after they get married. Don't get me wrong, I don't wish my mom grief, but I know how she is and I know that these things that piss her off now will only continue to pile up, and she'll be the one to break it off with him if it comes to that. But there's nothing I can do to stop it - I already said my piece, and she tried to convince me that all of my concerns (issues that she herself told me) were being handled. I don't think they are. Now I just have to let what will happen, happen.

This needs to fucking stop. I'm so sad right now, I'm crying. Eric James Borges contributed to the "It Gets Better" project, a series of videos by various people to let gay teens know that life will get better, and just keep hanging in there because there is hope.


January 12th, a month after he produced this video, Eric lost that hope and took his life.

I didn't know him, I won't pretend to, but this is just too much. The hate needs to stop. Life is hard enough. Never again will I tolerate someone hating homosexuals, or belittling us in any way. Fucking never.

I'm angry that it came to this, and that he surely isn't the only one hurting and struggling to find a reason just to go on every single day. I know I sometimes wonder why I go on living, why I don't just give up. I will go on for Eric, and for everyone else who has suffered so much and lost the fight. I will put my foot down for them and for the rest of us who are struggling to live in this world. This needs to fucking stop.

I've been having a hard time lately trying to cope with a few things.  Or maybe just one incredibly complicated thing.  I can't put one particular word on it to definitively say what it is.  It has to do with religion and spirituality, with self confidence, assertiveness, humility, and the right for one to be accepted for who they are.

I have a strange sense of morality.  I don't believe in a God (neither Christian nor Pagan or anything in between) or even an abstract Higher Power kind of external thing.  But at the same time, I think that maybe God does exist for other people, but that somehow I am cut out of that loop without the possibility to join it.  I don't want to join it, to be honest, but it's still weird to feel like that one kid left out.

Yet, despite the fact that I don't believe in a God-like being, I do believe in some spiritual things.  I believe in a sort of spirituality in improving myself, and having this strong love for humanity.  I know that I am full of love, pure and unconditional love, but at the same time I don't believe I have a soul.  Maybe this is because of the religion thing.  Everyone I know seems to either proclaim themselves Christian, or they have their own sense of what a god(dess) to them is.  Because I can't put my faith in anything that isn't real, because I refuse to conjure a god to believe in, I feel like I am less than everyone else, like some implicit part of my humanity is missing.  Because I am not the type of person who would dare say that everyone else is wrong and there is no God.  Maybe they are right, and I am wrong.  Maybe I don't have a soul and that's why I'm incapable of feeling this spiritual thing that everyone else seems to.  This first came to me in a dream after my stepdad passed away.  He called me on the phone to tell me that he was in heaven and wanted to say goodbye, because we would never meeet again.  I could not go to heaven simply because I did not have a soul.  As good of a person as I may be, I was raised with Christianity, and it teaches that those who don't believe can never inherit heaven.  I can't help but inherit those beliefs that are so engrained, even though it hurts me more than I can say.  I can't say Heaven is or isn't a real place any more than I could say Hawaii is or isn't real.  The only way I could truly know or not is by going there one day or not.  Believing doesn't make it real, it just makes it easier to go on living.

Lately I had to try to confront this idea of a God.  I had to find something that I could put in place of the idea of a "God" just so I could cope with life.  Because I can't cope when just people telling me "one day you'll find God" feels like they are wishing me death.  I simply have to fill in something for that one powerful word, 'God' that I could agree with.  Something that I can believe in, something that gives me strength, something that is akin to me what 'God' is to those who believe in Him.

I found it.  Myself.  The part of me that is wise, and forgiving, and feels eternal.  The part of me that reminds me of real logic when the depression comes and my inner demons try to tell me that I am worthless.  The part of me that reminds me to hang on even though I want to let go.  The part of me that just radiates all of this unconditional love.

But it's strange to say.  I feel arrogant, or selfish, to place myself as this concept of "God".  This is just because I was raised Christian and still believe in some of those ideals - worship no false idols.  It's conflicting, I know.  Imagine how I feel with these conflicting beliefs!

There's another hard layer to cope with, aside from not believing in God - being lesbian. Until recently, Christianity (for me at least) was unwavering on this.  Homosexuality is a sin, they said.  My own mother told my brother and I that dating another race was fine, but if we were homosexual, she'd disown us.  Now my mother pretends she never said such a thing.  No amends, no apologies.  Just buried denial.  I kind of hate her wondering how she can just go into denial and live with herself.  I wish I could do that so readily.

Many people say that they are Christian and accept homosexuality.  I appreciate that.  Some sincerely do.  But others - and it's hard to say who exactly - seem to accept me... but only because they believe that if they pray for me long enough, I will realize the error of my ways and turn to Jesus.  Or they believe that if they forgive me for my sins, at least they are themselves being good.  I don't want to be converted.  I don't want to be forgiven.   I am not a sin.  I want to be accepted for me as I am.  I know right from wrong without the fear of a wrathful God, or being denied access into Heaven.  I don't believe I'll ever get into a Heaven, and still I do the right things, simply because I couldn't live with myself otherwise.

But I can hardly live with myself now.  I respect so many people and accept them as they are now.  I truly appreciate those who have other beliefs and are at peace with themselves.  A man comes into my store now and then, carrying crosses and doves, and he always has a smile on his face and brings a smile to mine.  But there are people out there who would want me dead just for loving other women, whether they'd say it to my face or keep the secret inside their hearts.  They deeply terrify me.

I am to the point where I think that if someone were to tell me I was a horrible being and didn't deserve to live, I would actually apologize for existing, and mean it.  I know, because I tell myself that I am less, that I have no soul, that I must be wrong somehow, that I am undeserving of the acceptance and compassion that I readily give to others.  I've come to the point where it feels like I should have to die because I've sinned on some level just by existing.  Somehow, all of these lies became a demon, and it lives inside of me.  I don't need anyone to say these things to me anymore, because I have already internalized it all and let them win.  I'm fucking sick of it.  I don't plan on dying for a faceless group of hateful people, as if they deserve to live and I don't.

These words from "Make it Stop" by Rise Against remind me of what I believe in...
What God would damn a heart?
And what God drove us apart?
...
Push me and I'll push back.
I'm done asking, I demand.
From a nation under God,
I feel its love like a cattle prod.
Born free, but still they hate.
Born me, no I can't change.
...
This life chose me, I'm not lost in sin.
But proud I stand of who I am,
I plan to go on living.

 There are people who would tell me that I am wrong, for being gay, for not believing in God.  People who would tell me that I will burn in hell.  I don't know why I accept them for those beliefs.  It's not something I should accept.  It's just hate, through and through.  It's not infringing on their beliefs to tell them to take a flying fuck.  Because I really need to do that now and then, for my own well-being.  They are stepping on my beliefs, on my right to be who I am.  I respect them, and if they tell me that their God damns me to hell, I need to withdraw that respect and stand my ground.  I cannot be a mat for people to walk on, for others to spew their convictions at and look down at.  I am human, you are human.  You may believe in God, but I do not, and I don't want to live in your world.

It's hard to explain the difference.  But the only way I can make sense of this is that there seems to be two different Gods for other people.  One who is benevolent, and the other who is a lie and only exists as a way for them to feel validated and given permission to hate others.  This is why it's hard to talk to a religious person either way - I always have to wonder if they are sincere and follow the teachings of that benevolent God who helps them be kind, or do they go through the motions to be a 'good Christian' to their false God, and to hell with everyone else?  I see many people who are the latter.  They don't love other people, don't try to understand or forgive or show humility, they just go to church and somehow believe that they are better human beings than everyone else.  But I also see those sincere Christians, who love everyone without expecting anything in return, who send out good wishes to the less fortunate because they sincerely care.  They use the Bible to better themselves and help others find peace, nothing else.  I appreciate them so deeply.

I am not any better than anyone else.  I am not more enlightened.  I'm not pretending or even believing that those who believe in God are gullible.  I think everyone needs something to believe in, and for me it has to just be my own inner convictions, and what I know is right.  But I am also not less than anyone else, and that's the bottom line.  I don't deserve to be stepped on.  I deserve to be given the same acceptance as anyone else, the same rights, the same respect as long as I earn it.

At the risk of being taken the wrong way and upsetting any people who are true friends to me, who are sincere in their religions, who are pure-hearted, loving strangers...

If you think I'm going to burn in hell, if your love for me is conditional, if you think that I have sinned just by accepting who I am as a person and believing that I don't need a God to be moral or better myself spiritually, then very simply and sincerely, fuck you.

Okay, I'm back.  I need to clean house on my blogs.  I've been moping around the internet going, "where can I share my thoughts?" and then I was like, "duh, I used to have blogs I actually wrote in."

So one blog I'm using to keep track of my meals, cals, exercise, and weight.  I am not overweight - I am 'obese' and I need that to stop.  If anyone is interested in that journey, this is the blog: http://weightworry.blogspot.com/ but I'd like to keep things separated from now on.  :)

So what else is up in my life?

My cat had babies 2 days before Christmas
My sister-in-law gave me another nephew the day after Christmas (I'm an auntie x3!)
I fell into and out of love. Ow.
I managed to keep my part-time job for long-term. Wow.
I've been happily writing thousands of words of fanfic. Big yay!
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic (no, the fanfic is not for that)
Typical dramaz at home

Oh, and my mom is planning on buying an actual HOUSE soon and moving me somewhere.  Not a big move, distance-wise, but wow an actual house. My mind is blown. I thought for sure I was way too poor for that.

Day one of my 'college' experience.  What a not awesome experience.  TL;DR below the cut

Let's talk about writing again.

Yeah, sometimes I write stuff.

Basically my WIP is about a girl who can't cope with her father's death.  When a new friend claims to be a werewolf, she chooses to believe it and try to become a werewolf, just to escape from reality.  Her friend was being honest, however, and the virus has an unexpected effect.

I guess I don't really have an interesting excerpt yet.  Posting anything makes me nervous, because I want this to be published and such.  I cut a bunch of stuff, though, because I was taking the wrong path in my writing.  How about I share something that probably won't be put into the book whatsoever?

Warning: The following contains swearing and characters that touch and proclaim plans to eat dead rabbits.  Roughly 1,200 words.

I must have stood there for twenty minutes, searching every possible crevice of that fucking rock. There was nothing that hinted to my father ever being here. I know he had to have been here -- I believed that -- but there was no trace.

I curled my fist and punched at the rock. My hand was still wrapped in gauze, still bruised, and it started throbbing in pain far too soon. I wanted to keep punching, but my body wouldn't obey, sending out feeble strikes instead.

I slumped against the rock wall, and then slid down onto the ground. There was broken glass all around me. Old beer bottles, I guessed. I didn't think I'd ever understand how it felt to drink your problems away. It didn't seem like a viable plan. It wouldn't fix anything, even if I was given the opportunity. My mother would be at home, waiting for me, ready to chew me out for leaving like this.

It was weird, because I thought mothers were supposed to have a bond with their kids. But she felt cold. More obligated than anything else. She'd been in California for years, but never settled down with any of her boyfriends, and never had any more kids. I don't think she even wanted to have me. All she wanted was that sunshine state.

As I sat there, a smell came through the air. At first it was too faint to place, but then it really hit me. Something rancid was out here. Something that smelled like three-month-old leftovers.

I got onto my feet and looked around, wondering where the smell was coming from. It was probably really gross, but I wanted to find out. I've always been guilty of being too curious, and needing to satisfy that curiosity.

So I plucked out a path towards the scent. The stench led me into the woods, and it was hard walking. For a while I had to carefully choose my footing, because the ground was so uneven with tree roots and rocks.

I found it before I could even see it. The stench was so strong, I had to cover my mouth and nose with my hand. Whatever it was, I could smell it, but I couldn't spot exactly what it was yet. Every step I took was very cautious. The last thing I wanted was to accidentally step in whatever this was. Then I saw a trail of fur, and the mystery was solved.

It looked like a snowshoe hare, judging by the mixture of white and brown fur. The poor thing never made it to winter. It's eyes were all glassy and wide-open. Did my dad die with his eyes open? Did some man in a lab coat cut him open on a table, the way they do on TV? I hoped to hell that whoever was handling him was giving him all the respect he deserved.  Even though it was just a rabbit, the eyes bothered me.

"That's mine."

I nearly came out of my skin, whirling around to see who spoke. A girl about my age had somehow managed to sneak up on me. She had reddish hair that went past her shoulders. It was odd, because I couldn't place her. Of the very few redheads I knew from school, she certainly wasn't one of them. But this was eclipsed when I realized what she was wearing. Just a stained t-shirt, faded jeans, and worn-out old sneakers.

She stared at me for a while, and then walked around me. I watched her go to the rabbit, tilt her head as she inspected it, and then kneel down.

"Yours?" I asked. "Was it your pet?" I suddenly imagined Moose lying on the ground, glassy-eyed and lifeless. God, I didn't know what I'd do.

"Pet?" she repeated, as if not understanding what I was asking. She gave me a look that made me feel stupid, as if rabbits were terrible pets in her opinion.

I tried to choose my words more carefully.

"Do you raise rabbits?"

She made a 'hmm'ing noise as she thought about it, and looked at the rabbit again. "Sure."

This girl was strange. "Sorry about your rabbit," I said, but couldn't help but notice her dry eyes.

"It looks good," she said. I didn't get what she meant, and cringed when she stroked the pelt. Then she grabbed the rabbit by the neck, and -- accompanied by the most wretched sound -- peeled the rabbit off the ground. The fur on the downward half of its body did not come out of the frost.

"Oh my God," I said, covering my mouth and nose for renewed reasons. The sight was nearly as bad as the smell.

The girl looked at the rabbit in her outstretched hand, and then at me. "Does it bother you?"

"Of course it does," I said, but I dropped my hands from my face, trying to reserve a little dignity.

"Why?"

Was she serious? I couldn't fathom a stupider question, but then I realized that she wanted an answer. And the question wasn't so stupid to her.

"It's dead. Worse than that, it's rotting and it stinks. Why would you touch it?"

"To take it home," she answered, almost laughing at me. She started walking away.

"I don't understand." There was no point in stuffing the animal since it had lost most of the fur. "Are you going to bury it?" The only other thing I could think of would be if she wanted to get the bones somehow.

Then she really did laugh at me.

"I'm gonna eat it."

"You're kidding!"

"No," she stopped and laughed again, giving me a perplexed look. "You don't eat rabbit?"

"I - yeah, I've eaten rabbit. But that's is practically roadkill." Sure, there wasn't a road near here, but the word still implied what I meant. The animal was a wreck, and the meat had to be rancid.

"Same thing," she said, lifting the carcass at me in a way that was reminiscent of a shrug. She turned and walked away, and this time I didn't dare make any more comments to stop her.

 Why it was cut:

1. I really want my werewolf to be more feral.  She's supposed to communicate more with body language than complete sentences.  I still feel awkward with the idea of writing broken dialogue, though.  Even though I tried to keep her simple, I still feel like I failed on the challenge of this character.

2. No connection.  Sure, one of the bonding points between them was going to be death.  But this is doing it wrong.  My MC unexpectedly showed compassion for the animal.  My werewolf didn't teach her anything, just freaked her out.

3. Too creepy.  I love creepy. I really do.  But this rabbit scene pushed the limits.  Sure, this book is going to a dark place.  Sure, people tell me that the overall tone is very cold and depressing, as it should be.  But my MC and the werewolf are supposed to become friends.  Otherwise my plot crumbles.  Well, not completely, but it loses a level of interest. With that above scenario, my MC should run away screaming and never look back, much less become best friends with her.  So unfortunately, I will have to take a more placid approach to their friendship.


An interesting note:  I don't think I've revealed the names of my characters on this blog.  My MC and werewolf girl appear to be under wraps.  I also don't describe my MC in the book.

Another interesting note: I changed/cut one line from my WIP, and the name of my MC's mother disappeared.  I don't think it will be put back in, or ever mentioned in the novel.  For the record, it's Lisa.

P.S. I really wish I had a beta like right now to help me as I write. -pout-

My Little Pony: Bright Lights (1986)

Why this show is terrible (or possibly awesome)

1. Less than a minute into the show, I'm being taught that throwing ice cream on someone is an acceptable way to make them be quiet.
2. You should then expect the person you throw your ice cream on to buy you more.
3. It's okay to take off with a stranger without telling anyone, with no plan of returning.
4. You can be unlawfully imprisoned for trying to find your children.
5.  Inconsistency - the "sick children" cast no shadows, but neither does anyone else!
6. More inconsistency - Knight Shade's mother is supposed to have no shadow, but in the last part she and her son are drawn with shadows BEFORE the shadows return to them.

But I've heard that the original MLP series was very inconsistent, and really that could easily fall into something that makes the old series good.  The bad morality, flawed logic, and inconsistent story telling could prove to make MLP hilariously good.

Now that I finally have an episode list, I plan to track down more episodes.

The babies ate quite well this morning.  They're still alive!  They got so cold, though.  How could they be so cold when I'm so uncomfortably hot?!  I added a hot pack under their blanket and gave them layers so they can snuggle up.

I'm so tired but I can never sleep in this kind of weather.  I'm better cut for Alaska weather than Florida.

It's 59F in Alaska, and going to rain all week?  Okay, I'm seriously moving to Alaska.

So I've attempted to feed the squirrels a few times already. I have a medicine syringe to fill with milk. I believe that one of the squirrels is a girl and the other a boy. So far only the boy seems to have an appetite. He's actually started nursing and ate a small bit of milk. The other seems to be more interested in sleep. I'm worried that she will die.

I wish I could stay up all night again. But I need to sleep.

So the other squirrel I posted about is dead.

Tonight I found two more baby squirrels laying on the tar, all scuffed up.  I thought they were dead at first.  They are just as wiggly as the previous one, but much sleepier.  This time I'm taking care of them personally, but I'm very worried.  They seem dehydrated, and hungry, but I'm not sure if they're eating enough.  I need to get some better milk, which I'll do if they live through the night.  Right now they are in a bird cage, safe from my cats.  I put in a nice warm blanket and covered them with a small towel to keep them warm, but give them the option to move. I'm gonna check on them soon and make sure they aren't still cold.

I'm being advised by others that killing them with a shovel is still an option. :(

Here is my contribution to July's Blog Chain, in which we break all of the rules to remember why we need them.

The Mini Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest means trying to write the worst possible first line of a book or story in the spirit of Edward "It was a dark and stormy night..." Bulwer-Lytton. "Worst" in this case is subjective, but florid and ridiculous purple prose is probably closest to the spirit of the thing.

Lillian Isabella Rosehem stared forlornly at her reflection in the mirror, studying the strikingly blue eyes, fluffy eyelashes, flawless skin, pixie nose, perfect lips, delicate chin, and perpetually silky long blonde hair, and sadly wondered why she had to be so amazingly popular at school and have such a boring, totally loving family that willingly gave her whatever she wanted.


Woo, boy, there she is!  Ain't she a bute?

Check out the others:

orion_mk3 - http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com (link to this month's post)
AuburnAssassin - http://clairegillian.com (link to this month's post)
dolores haze - http://dianedooley.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
Horseflye - http://thecozylittleplot.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
Proach - http://www.deannaproach.com/ (link to this month's post)
BigWords - http://bigwords88.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
jkellerford - http://jennykellerford.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
xcomplex - http://arielemerald.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
Ralph Pines - http://ralfast.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
Diana Rajchel - http://blog.dianarajchel.com/ (link to this month's post)
pezie - http://www.erinbrambilla.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
Guardian - http://daewrites.blogspot.com/ (YOU ARE HERE)
egoodlett - http://wordlarceny.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
Alpha Echo - http://writersramblings81.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
Euclid - http://euclid-thoughts.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)

Today my neighbors came to me, one of them holding a white towel in her hands.  She'd found a baby animal lying on the ground and wondered what to do for it.

The little guy is hairless, the length of my thumb, has sharp little claws, and make BIG yawns.  He's very active and wiggles all around and stretches his little legs.

Yaaaawn!

I'm pretty sure now that he is a baby squirrel.  I know that normally one should not pick up the baby so the mother can claim it, but in this case I think the right choice was made. It seems like the baby was already abandoned on the ground for at least an entire night (the neighbor heard squealing noises last night) and he is also wounded, as you can see in the picture above and below.  It looks like maybe a cat tried to bite him. It's scabbed up already, and I hope it will be okay but for such a little guy it's sort of big looking.  He also has a scrape on the back of his head.

Next to a quarter, for size reference.

The neighbor has decided to take care of him (rather to my disappointment. I got so attached!)  I printed off these instructions for her to take care of the squirrel.  She'll have to keep him warm, feed him regularly, help him potty, etc.

Lucky for him that he was found today, because just after I brought him inside to identify him, it started pouring outside. Imagine this little orphan caught in the rain!  Too many cats outside, as well. I'm amazed that he survived whatever attacked him the first time.


If he lives through the next few days, then things will look good for him! I have hope because he is such an active little thing, wiggling all around the way he did.

I decided to call him... Chance.  Because I'm a sucker like that. :-P  Here's to hoping!

ETA: It died.

I've not worked on my novel in days.  I'd like to blame it all on being so sick, but really it's just loss of motivation.  I think I may have plotted out this novel so much, that now it's like, "Why do I have to write this AGAIN? Even though I haven't written it yet. I feel like that about everything. Every one else should already KNOW what I'm thinking! Gosh!

But I have been sick.  I've been having "stomach" troubles.  I say stomach because I don't want to address what it really is, which isn't so much my stomach (I think) as it is the rest of it.  I've been dealing with it for years but lately things are terrible. 

So I got things that are supposed to be soothing... I bought chamomile tea, and got some things that are full of fiber.  Hasn't seemed to work a lick!  I also have those Activia yogurts, but I'm worried now that part of my issue is lactose intollerance.  I just can't stand lactose and its disgusting lifestyle! :P

But yeah, I hate talking about that stuff, so let's talk about ANOTHER thing.  I woke up this morning with my bottom left wisdom tooth causing so much trouble!  That particular wisdom tooth is the last one that has yet to erupt.  My others are in and didn't cause me much trouble.  But the gum was swollen up so much I couldn't shut my mouth!

My first solution was to wad up some paper and bite on it, so I wouldn't bite on the gums anymore (I think I tend to clench my teeth when I sleep).  But as I looked up what it was (probably pericoronitus) I decided that it would be better to get up for the day and try to take care of it.  Plus, My Little Pony was coming on!

So I gently brushed my teeth and the gum area, although it hurt pretty bad.  This was worrying because it could lead to the only solution being dental surgery.  Then I made a warm salt water mixture and gargled that for a while.  I also ate a popsicle to get something cold in my mouth.  They said to check for food stuck in your gums... I did manage to get a tiny flake of something out that might have been a popcorn shell.  The swelling went down within no time!

I went back to sleep (after watching My Little Pony) and my gums have been good ever since.  I noticed since then that the gums seem to be shredding, which hopefully means that the tooth is getting ready to emerge soon.  I hope that the swelling doesn't come back, but at least I know how to take care of it.

Now if only I knew such a quick cure for my stomach problems.

So I tried to make a joke by making a ridiculous, contradicting political claim. I tried doing this by mushing together liberal/conservative/republican/democrat and saying that they (as if all of these different groups were the same) would create a dictatorship/communist/fascist society.  Funny because so many of those things are polar opposites, right?  Well, except that apparently "Libertarian" is NOT a synonym for "liberal".  Oops.  So I very nearly offended someone who thought I was ripping on conservatives. I did offend her until I explained that I got the wrong word. Man, I fail! I tried to make a joke about political ignorance and ended up showing it instead.

I need to have someone like Inigo Montoya to always check what I'm typing and say, "That word - I do not think it means what you think it means."

I should just never talk about politics.  Personally I used to think I was Democrat until I realized I have a lot in common with Republicans, and I've been confused ever since. But in my opinion both sides can be massive idiots. Maybe a dichromatic system is too black and white for me. So I don't know what I am anymore.  I'm so confused by political jargon, that if it weren't for America's emphasis on WWII in history class, I might have ended up in the National Socialist German Workers' Party or some crazy thing. 

I guess I'll just either a) stay out altogether or b) overdose on some sort of psychedelic drug that will permanently put me into a comatose state of My Little Pony hallucinations. That's a solid plan, right?  If anyone knows how to raise my chances of success with plan b, let me know.

I'm awesome.  Can I say that?  I give myself so much flak - I think I deserve this one.

I have posted a 500 word minimum story/chapter each week for the last 210 weeks!

That's at least 105,000 words... which is seriously an underestimation because ONE story I have edges close to 160k and it couldn't have taken up 30 of those weeks. So a better estimate is 250,000 words.

This is 4 YEARS of consecutively weekly prompt fulfillment, people.  Not saying all of those weeks are good. LOL. But I did them. Holy hay.  Now I just need to wait for the moderators to confirm... and for someone to make my award.  If I screwed up somewhere, I will be SO upset. I still want my shiny graphic, even if to some people it's just an image.  It means EVERYTHING to me because I worked so hard to get it. 

Now what will I do, I wonder?  Aside from watch My Little Pony like a fiend! That's my new favorite show by far! But as far as writing goes, I need to figure out how to take this weekly dedication... and put it 100% into my novel.

Seriously, this is the best show ever. EVER. More on that later.

Some people hate feet. I hate fingernails. I hate any kind of fingernail torture in horror (having them pulled off, or the infamous scenes of victims clawing at the floor or walls as they are dragged away by a killer, often ripping one off in the process.  BARF.)  Specifically, in real life, I HATE long fingernails. They creep me right the hell out, especially the people who have them. Let me describe the people I have in mind. These people never cut their nails. Only sharpen them.  They seriously consider them weapons.  They flick their nails together like they think they are mother freaking Wolverine, but with a much creepier sound effect.  It doesn't help that the people I've known like this all have questionable mental stability.  They scratch at everything with these horrific nails, like their arms in the middle of a silent room.  Think nails on a chalkboard to feel my anguish.  Skrch skrch skrch skrch skrch.

Let's play comparisons.

 This is quite fine.  These nails are sexy, in fact.  They are trim and somehow you can tell that they will not at any time be used to draw blood, even though they are painted blood red.  Awesome.
NO.  HELL NO.  Trim your nails, you psychopath!  This person is even in the process of flicking their nails together.  Skrch skrch skrch...







Sorry, but I will judge you in person if I see that you have such long, horrible fingernails.  And this is YOUR fault, because likely the only reason I will notice your fingernails is if you are in the process of sharpening or otherwise celebrating your disgusting weapons.  And I will judge you by telling you to never touch me while I run away in the opposite direction.  Seriously, I have asked friends of mine to never, ever, ever touch me because of their horrible fingernails. (And they tormented me instead.)

Internet friends, I do not care.  Just never ever mention if you prefer your fingernails kept in the way that horrifies me the most, and we are all cool.  Sincerely.


P.S. I get about 98% of all the photographs I use in my posts from morguefile.com.  It's a seriously free stock photo site.  A little bit limited, but worth it to not face the hassle that other "free" stock photo sites create.  My other site of choice is flickr.com, using creative commons images.

I decided to make a change and see how it would go. I'm going to keep tweaking things, but I really like this new layout.

ETA: Hours later, the search bar finally works, I can quick edit my posts again, formatting is tweaked a little bit, and I accidentally managed to activate the feedback buttons on posts. I think I have everything I need... fingers crossed!

Time for bed.

It's amazing how many people pretend that is no discrimination against homosexuals or any other kind of sexuality differing from the hetero "norm". Do they really not see how straight people are allowed to be open about their sexuality, and others are told to stop "flaunting" it? It's amazing how they will call simple truths bullshit. I'm tired of arguing the point to death. Next time someone tries to explain why they "don't mind gay people, they just shouldn't be able to..." I'm just going to respond with a big FUCK YOU. There's seriously no way to reason with these assholes. I'm not going to tolerate their shit in a world that wants to decide whether two adults in love can get married based on whether or not their genitals interlock.

I never realized how squeamish I was until 10th grade, learning about the human heart.  I got so sick, my handwriting got worse and worse in my notes, and then stopped because I couldn't hold the pencil.  My wrists felt sensitive and frail.  I wanted to smack my head against the desk.  I wasn't going to puke, I felt I was going to pass out at any second.

I always thought that people who got sick in health class or biology class were stupid or weak.  But then it happened to me, and I couldn't help it.  And no one else was affected.  A video about a girl breaking her arm got to me when it came to the healing process involved.

And it's stupid.  Really stupid, because I can talk about gore all day long.  *I* can.  But something like an academic lecture about heart valves?  Um.

I made this diagram so maybe the non-squeamish people can get a sense of how I feel when I get enervated by talk of blood.  And it's pretty much always academic or medical talk that gets to me.


I suppose I have an overactive imagination.  It bothers me, I think, because I start thinking about me and my blood and how it is pumping away in my veins and, oh dear...

A thread came up about vampires and blood loss.  I could answer the questions, because I've donated blood before and I read the pamphlets.  But as I wrote on, I started getting the above symptoms.  I had to bow out.  I keep peeking into the thread, but each time I do, I get sick again.  Never been such a problem.

Now, me, I loved dissecting in high school.  Except for the worm dissection because worms are just gross.  I loved cutting up the frog legs.  I could shove my whole arm into a dead sheep in real life.  I don't mind getting my blood drawn at a clinic.  (Last time I donated blood was a bit different, though.)  But lordy, I can't handle someone else talking about it.

It sucks, one of my favorite things is gore.  I like looking up those old medieval torture methods and devices.  But halfway through an article listing and describing various tortures, I'm so badly affected I can't function.  I have to go lay down... for a few hours.  Pretty stupid, huh?