Yet there the nightingale filled all the desert with inviolable voice

Life moves on. No matter how bad things seem, life always keeps going. The only thing you can do is keep moving along with it.

I suppose what's prompted my most recent wave of introspection is - and I have no qualms about posting here, since no one actually reads this - is the fact that a week ago, I received an 'apology' note from someone who hurt me very deeply. I suppose, on the off chance that someone stumbles across this, that I can at least try not to mention names or specifics. Suffice to say, I allowed myself to become very attached to this person and s/he decided her/his feelings had changed and as a result s/he treated me very poorly.

In a nutshell, the note described how s/he was in a similar position to the one in which s/he had put me, saying how awful it felt and how s/he realised how I must 'feel' in regards to her/his treatment of me. The note was delivered by a dear friend of mine with whom this person had recently begun associating; I hadn't been close to my friend when everything had happened, so I spent last Friday explaining how s/he who had written the note had hurt me.

What I didn't realise before starting to explain was that the act of explaining, and revisiting those memories, would put me back in that frame of mind (basically take me back to how I felt when everything happened). I spent from about 3pm Friday afternoon until probably 2pm Saturday in a state of extreme emotional instability - Friday night I kept crying for no apparent reason, and Saturday I was anxious and tense until I got in the pool and started swimming laps instead of just dinging around.

As of yet I have no real solid plans to respond to the 'apology'. I have difficulty believing it's truly sincere, especially after what was said to me. It also feels somewhat weak - as if s/he is just apologising because s/he believes it's expected. This goes along with my earlier feeling that this person has been acting like I'm the one being irrational for being hurt (some of the things said include 'You're clearly still obsessed with me' and 'You know you're not going to be able to meet your goal, right?' among others) and like I'm completely out of line for not wanting anything to do with her/him.

Maybe I AM out of line for not wanting to be around someone who treated me like putrescence and expected me to magically forgive and forget the next day, because s/he 'didn't mean it'. I firmly believe that 'What's said is said' and that very few things said are truly not meant - sometimes you don't mean to SAY something, but that doesn't mean you don't feel it or you don't believe it. It just means you let yourself SAY it.

Partially because it's coming on April again and partially because of my general mood of late, Eliot reigns supreme in my head once more. Prufrock seems to be wandering in the Waste Land with several of Old Possum's Practical Cats... recognising the reasons for my melancholy and rectifying the situation seem to be completely unrelated. Music and coffee seem to help.

On the topic of coffee, I've discovered a new drink: it's called a cherry cordial and (when made properly) it tastes almost exactly like one of the Queen Anne cherries they sell at the grocery shop. It's just hot cocoa with cherry syrup and vanilla syrup - black cherry is optimal, and French vanilla (although the latter is a personal preference).

I've been considering moving. Not just out of my parents' house, but possibly further. It'd be lovely if I could make it on my own in the city, but I'm wondering at the feasibility and the practicality. Above most things I want to keep my cat and my current job - I adore my coworkers and my kittyface is my dearest companion (soz to all my human compatriots, but Scamper is... it's difficult to explain). I can't imagine starting someplace new without my kitty.

I suppose I'll post this for now, but hopefully I'll have something more eloquent to say later.

I may post the note I received, as well as drafts of a potential response if/when I write them.

Perhaps. I'm not sure yet. In the meantime, holding onto the thing with feathers - my internal nightingale, filling me with an inviolable voice...

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

Gotten into a rut. Dunno who reads this anymore, if anyone ever did or if anyone still does. I can feel myself slipping back into old learned behaviour and it is somewhat frightening because it reminds me of how I used to feel. As in, how I felt... two years ago. It is terrifying. I don't want to go back to that. I don't know how to not go back to that. I am so scared that I am going to go back to that.

I graduated high school. I got dumped. I went back to him - why'd I do that? I shouldn't've done that, I must've been out of my mind - and got dumped again. I learned that some people aren't who I thought they were. I got a new job - I love being a barista. I wouldn't trade this job for the world.

I don't want to go into too much detail on how helplessly Prufrockian I've been - constantly - of late. It doesn't really matter outside my own head anyway.

If any ladies read this, girls, be careful of boys. Don't ever trust them 100%. Boys, I suppose that applies to you as well: never trust girls 100%. It just leads to getting hurt. If I can save anybody from getting hurt like I got hurt, then I guess it'll've all happened for the best. No one should have to go through that.

'Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

'I do not think that they will sing to me.

'...We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.'

Annual Christmas Post

We take pleasure in answering at once and thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of THE SUN:

DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.

Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.

Papa says, "If you see it in THE SUN, it's so."

Please tell me the truth: Is there a Santa Claus?

VIRGINIA O'HANLON.

115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, VIRGINIA, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernatural beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank GOD! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, VIRGINIA, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm not quite sure what I can add this year. I have never stopped believing that Santa Claus is real. In the past I've talked a little bit about belief, or about faith, or stuff like that. In light of everything this year, I really don't know that I can discuss belief or faith with any degree of legitimacy.

Well. I suppose I actually can. Despite everything this year, I still believe in Santa. I still believe in love, and in fancy, and in poetry, and in romance, and in faith. I still cling to hope, and I believe in love, and that's faith enough for me.

... I think I just quoted Rush in my Christmas blog. o.o That is awesome. And a sign of how tired I am.

At any rate. Christmastime is a time to remember the good things about the previous year, and anticipate the better things of the year to come. It's like New Year's, but with more love and joy and family and less alcohol. Hopefully.

Being nineteen this year, and having been a legal adult for more than twelve months now, I think I can pretty safely exhort you all - whoever reads my mindless drivel - to NEVER LET GO of that childlike wonder. Don't let it go, don't lose it, no matter WHAT. That is what keeps us human, that is what keeps us going when things suck so badly that we want to give up because what's the point, it's never going to get better after this... that innocent joy in the simple things - Santa. Snow. Eggnog. The magic that is the Internet. Seeing people you've not seen in years, people who mean the world to you - THAT is what defines who we are and what our lives are. Don't let that go, whatever else you do, stay innocent. Don't give in to the skepticism of a skeptical age.

"He lives, and he lives forever." Santa is the age-old embodiment of that childlike wonder we all need so much. Besides, if you believe in nothing, what point is there in living? Consider a modified Pascal's Wager. If you don't believe in Santa Claus, and he turns out to be real...... how much joy and surprise and love have you missed in your life, just because you had to see to believe?

One of my favorite holiday movies is Miracle on 34th Street. The old, old one, the original movie. No one ever conclusively proved anything; Kris could've been Santa, he could've been a nice old man with a beard. The fact remains that Doris and Susan believed, and so for them, he WAS Santa. That is all that mattered. Perception shapes reality. If you believe in goodness and right, then that is what you will see. If you believe everyone hates you, that is how the world will seem to you. It's as simple as that.

(No it's not, nothing ever is, but if you believe, then that's more LIKELY how you'll perceive it.)

Yes, I am spinning out writing this so I can post it on Christmas Day proper instead of in the last moments of Christmas Eve.

I really don't know how to wrap this up, except... "Fill your hearts with the Christmas cheer, 'cos Santa Claus comes tonight." :)

I will talk to you all tomorrow morning - a more sane hour of tomorrow morning - "'cos tonight's the night the world begins again."

I hope you've all been good this year! I haven't been perfect. I know this. But I have been true to myself, and I believe that is what matters.

Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year. <3

Torturing Food

I am a kitchen NINJA. Having spent the morning craving something unknown, I ventured into my head and attempted to discern what it was I was craving. The answer: COOKIE DOUGH. However, cookie dough takes approximately twenty minutes to make, and then you have to actually bake cookies. I don't have time for that at present, as I have someplace I have to be in less than an hour.

My solution? Make a much smaller, improvised cookie dough, maybe a quarter the usual size. But then how to cook it?

FRY IT.

GRACE'S FRIED COOKIE DOUGH

1/4 c sugar

1/4 c brown sugar

-mix, then add

1/4 c butter, melted

1 egg

- mix, then add

vanilla extract, to taste

pinch of salt

- mix, then add

3/4 c flour (a little bit at a time)

- put a frypan on medium heat. Melt butter over heat. Add cookie dough; fry till done.

I have yet to finish the last step - we'll see how it turns out!

Chase the frothy bubbles

And it's been forever since I've posted. Yet again. Sigh.

When last I wrote, I was desperately clinging to the edifice of a not-as-decadent-as-it-felt-at-the-time past, which was causing some of the upset in my mental stability. Since then I have moved on and opened my eyes - dear god did I ever open my eyes.

To briefly recap:

My ex-loser (nothing personal, Consumptive, but you turned out to be a loser) broke up with me at the beginning of March but then took me back, and later tried to claim that it'd been over since then anyway. He finally stopped drawing it out at the end of Spring Break after not speaking to me for a week - ended it by changing his relationship status on Facebook, which whenever I say it sounds really stupid and immature that it should matter. But whatever.

The following weekend one of my longtime close friends was acting.. different. He usually was quiet, but not *that* quiet, and for serious I am NOT "too cute" to attack. I was a KENDER. >.< We were playing Dungeons and Dragons and I was a kender and one of our party members had a thing against kender.. but D was a pixie and he kept antagonizing DB who hated kender.. so DB was targeting D more than me, and then M decided that it was because I was "too cute," which I protested, and D and I were keeping a running text commentary, and he said that M was right, and I said ?? and he said I *was* too cute and I said ?????.

Then both of my parents said Um, D totally likes you - to which I said No way, 'cos D and I were together for a while a long time ago, and I was a complete b***h to him for a really long time, and it's only been in about the last year that I stopped being a b***h and we became friends again.. but so I asked K if she'd noticed anything, and then on Tuesday D told me that yes, he DID like me again, and I was upset because I did NOT want to lose my best guy friend AGAIN, and he understood and didn't ask for an answer (since technically he didn't ASK anything), and that afternoon my sister and I came home and our house had been broken into, and D was the first person to respond (after my grandparents and my dad and the cops) and he came over on his break from work and just held me.. but I was still being an idiot and I was still hung up on the Consumptive, who didn't respond to my hysterical text for about three hours. So that was Tuesday. By Sunday I'd stopped texting the Consumptive, and D and I were talking almost constantly, and then he asked me out on Monday. The 18th. Which is today. But two months ago. <3

I have not cried because of him; before the FIRST month with the Consumptive was up, I'd probably cried a half-dozen times on his account.. D has been nothing but gentle, sweet, solicitious, kind, warm, understanding.. I swear this boy - man - knows me better than I know myself. This relationship is the most stable relationship I've ever had with anyone EVER, friend or boyfriend or anything, and it's so nice to have him back in my life.

-x-

I graduated high school just over a week ago; I still am in a bit of shock. I didn't break down crying until my dad hugged me, and then - oop. There I go again. Urgh. I got hired yesterday - a corporation called NorPac, which is a division of Vector Marketing? which is in turn a child company of Cutco.. which manufactures cutlery. Like kitchen knives. But kitchen knives like WHOA. The interviewer demonstrated with a pair of their kitchen shears and cut. a. penny. OMG. I swear it's true; the penny got passed around. It was INSANE.

-x-

I've spent the last four days sitting for my aunt and uncle.. their two elder boys needed a chauffeur for the week and OH HEY I've had my license for more than two years now.. so yay. The boys' parents come back.. hopefully in about half an hour. I want to sleep at home tonight.

I start training for the job with NorPac this coming Thursday.

I still can't figure out how to load Office or any sort of decent word processor on my laptop (shiny new toy I got for graduation yay <3 ). Which is insanely frustrating.

So it's down to about ten minutes till they're s'posed to get home.. I'mma post and log off for now. *really insanely tired* I'm determined to sleep at my house in my own bed tonight.. I *will* make this happen. D:<

'Till next time, then, I suppose! :)

In a minute there is time

Well. It's been a long while since I've posted anything. And I hate beginning blogs with that, but oh well. T. S. Eliot has been on my mind quite a bit of late; that I've chosen to study his Waste Land for my AP Lit final project might have something to do with this. Also we read two of his other poems in class. I've felt rather Prufrockian recently... I didn't know it was a word until we read the poem and Simonson told us.

I've felt uninspired. I can't write at present. At least not fiction. I had been working on a new incarnation of the same old Starlight plotline and characters, but around mid-January, Venitus decided to stop answering my increasingly-frantic calls... He still is, blast him... and I can't write poetry - I've never been able to write good poetry, except that one. Everything keeps coming out like really bad teenage girl emo poetry, like the kind of stuff I would've written in junior high. And I should've moved beyond that as a writer, no matter how not-good I am. It's mildly frustrating.

Spring is coming late this year... and April always brings me back to Eliot anyway; it is indeed "the cruellest month..."

I've been getting headaches fairly frequently. This past weekend I decided to try not wearing a headband, and instead pinned my hair back for the first time since I had to for synchronized swimming in third grade. It's interesting, I like how it looks and feels, but it's fairly labor-intensive.

My sleep patterns are shot all to blazes. Sunday night I couldn't sleep at all; I think I fell asleep around one in the morning, woke up at about three, fell back asleep, and then woke up a bit after five after dreaming about spiders the size of my two closed fists. I HATE spiders. And then last night I fell asleep at about ten and could not, for the life of me, get up this morning. I'm toying with the idea of deliberate sleep deprivation tonight... probably not worth it, hmm?

Looking back... I am so much further now than I ever thought I would be, this time last year. This time last year I was moody, desperately unhappy (not fanciful language; I was unhappy in the active sense. I can't describe it any other way. There was a constant cold sucking hole just below my solar plexus - it was almost a physical sensation), borderline suicidal, and looking for any help I could possibly get. I tried not to lash out at my friends and family, although I know I did, and when I did I cut off contact with everyone and tried to drown myself in this awful self-loathing. I only know all this because I left evidence of it: posts on Facebook, a journal that I've not used since then, stories I started and abandoned, even a handful of CDs I burned to try to express my mood tangibly somehow.

That being said, I'm not as far as I would've liked to be now, a year after this started. But, I'm willing to accept this milestone and be satisfied with how far I've come, and keep pushing forward.

There have been times when it hasn't seemed like I've made any progress. There are still days when I get that horrible, cold emptiness just above my stomach, and when I wish that there was some way I could justify asking someone to hold me until it passes. But there are also days when I can't explain why I'm smiling, and when I start dancing a little bit while playing badminton in gym class. And, remembering where I was and how far I've come, I will say that it. Is. Worth. It. Those days where I laugh for no reason or start humming while walking to class - those days make every SECOND of the last year worth it. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Yes, this time last year I realized that the Gutterflower album by the Goo Goo Dolls fit my mindset almost scarily well - scarily due to tracks like What A Scene, which I still can't listen to without feeling myself start losing what I've worked for. And I still feel that way, to an extent. There are songs that describe moods I have, better than I could ever hope to do so myself. But it's not just What A Scene or Truth Is A Whisper or What Do You Need? or those songs.

I am no longer that girl. I am who she never thought she could be. Granted, I'm still not who she wanted to be, but I'm closer than she ever thought she'd get.

And that, that hope, is why I laugh.

You've Got To Have Faith

We take pleasure in answering at once and thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of "THE SUN":

Dear Editor,
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in The Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O'Hanlon

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernatural beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! He lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years form now he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm not sure how I can update my postscript for the 2010 holiday season. This has been a year of huge changes, at least for me - turning 18, hitting my senior year, panickedly thinking about college and after high school... it's been a year of changes and upheavals and a lot of growth. But something happened last night and this morning that has led me to realize that growing up isn't forever, and it doesn't mean you lose that childlike joy. We got home from my grandma's for Christmas Eve dinner and Mom asked if we wanted to watch a Christmas movie. I got enthusiastic and was chanting "Christmas movie! Christmas movie!" until Dad said that Santa wouldn't come if we were awake. Like someone flipped a switch the chant changed to "I'mma go get ready for bed! Come on guys, let's go to sleep!"

This morning - I actually slept in quite more than I'd intended. 8:30, honestly. And I woke up to my mom and my brother wishing each other Merry Christmas outside my room, and Mom adding that she didn't hear her "five-year-old" downstairs. The "five-year-old" being me. At any rate, "growing older but not up" has been my catchphrase for the last few months.

The Virginia editorial is a constant reminder for me that childhood is a state of mind, not a period of time. That simple wonder, that pure, innocent love... I've seen it in everyone, from the smallest child to some of the eldest people I know. You're never too old to believe in that ideal, and the beauty of Santa is that he never dies. As long as there's love and happiness, there will be a Santa Claus. And he will always be a beacon of light for all that's good in this world.

Smile. <3 He sees you when you're sleeping, and knows when you're awake.

Out, out, damned spot! What, will these hands never be clean?

Lady Macbeth's hand-washing scene has a good deal of back story for me, personally. In junior high I participated in a Shakespeare club: a handful of kids would get together in the counselor's office and read a play. We got to work through A Midsummer Night's Dream one year, and Macbeth the next - despite all of our wanting to do Hamlet or Romeo And Juliet (the counselor who sponsored us gently pointed out that we'd be studying both of those in high school). As there were, as I said, a handful of us, I got to read more parts than I thought I would: in Midsummer Night's Dream, we would all trade off. I believe I was Titania for a while, Helena or Hermia in the catfight scene... I may have even gotten to read Puck.


In Macbeth, a group of us were the Witches, along with other roles. And, to my immense pleasure, I got to be Lady Macbeth in the hand-washing scene. "The Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now?" The speech, the character, the play didn't mean a lot to me until this year, my senior year of high school, when my Literature class read it these past few weeks.

Roughly translated, what I'm getting at is guilt. Lady Macbeth was, in the end, consumed by the "spot" on her psyche: she was the catalyst for Macbeth's killings. She blamed herself at the same time that she took credit.

As this is the third consecutive day I've attempted to work on this post, I have absolutely no bleeding idea where I was trying to go with it. Suffice to say, regret blows. Don't do stupid stuff.

Bugger this. I'm POSITIVE I had something else to talk about. *gives up*

Those are pearls that were his eyes.

I've been on a slight T. S. Eliot kick these past few days. "The Waste Land" strikes something of a chord for me, and I rediscovered it while reading Macbeth. I don't quite remember the exact circumstances.

In light of the fact that I am now eighteen years and nine days old, I thought perhaps I should re-start this blog. I don't know if anyone reads it anymore, I don't know if I have anything particularly interesting to say today as opposed to any other day, but this way at least I feel like I've done something to acknowledge my reaching adulthood comparatively unscathed.

"The Waste Land." 'You gave my hyacinths first a year ago; they called me the hyacinth girl.' What speaks to me most about this poem is the lack of answers. Eliot's train of thought is unclear and fairly flighty, and the work doesn't make terribly much sense, at least not to me. And yet... and yet. The multitudinous allusions and repetitions and tiny little recurrences and the structure and the titles and the words...

-"What do you read, my lord?"

-"Words, words, words."

"While the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning and, for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth."

Language, the ability to vocalize and communicate thought, is what sets humans apart from animals or trees or rocks. We think, therefore we are. Not only do we exist, we know we exist. And it's long been said that knowledge is power.

However, in existing, we must take responsibility for those around us - other humans, other existences, other beings.

Please forgive my heavy reliance on Christian doctrine - I was baptized Catholic shortly after birth, and grew up in the Episcopalian and Anglican churches. Were I better read, I would pull from other teachings. That being said, I refer to the Ten Commandments that Moses passed on to the Israelites: Thou shalt not kill, covet, disobey those with authority. Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself, although that's not in the Commandments, I believe.

That phrase in italics, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself, appears in many forms throughout world history and religion. Kong Fuzi, Confucius to the Anglicized reader, dubbed it the Golden Rule. It is at the center of almost every major form of organized religion, and - differently phrased - at the heart of secular morals.

"Treat others the way you would like them to treat you."

"If it would bring you displeasure, don't do it to others."

"We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness..."

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or the press; or of the right of the people peacably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

All forms of loving and respecting others as you would have them love and respect you. Every last one of us is an individual - I for one would like to be treated as such. So, in light of the cliche "You have to give respect to get it," I try to live my life in such a way as does not infringe on the individuality of any other...individual.

This is part one of at least two parts to the post. I apologize for cutting this short, but time does not permit that I finish my thoughts at present.

Until next time.

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Shantih shantih shantih.

Ramblings.

I suppose I'm going to write about... emotions. Feelings. Thoughts. People. Myself, and others. The way the world seems to me.

-x-

I've noticed a perturbing pattern - a slight double standard, if you like. I don't. It bothers me that I'm criticizing people for something that I feel I do. At any rate, the pattern. I personally cannot tell when people are joking. Almost every time I assume they are, they're not, and so I decided it was safer to treat every statement like it's serious unless I'm uncomfortable, in which case I play it off as a joke. But. People get irritated when I take their joking statements seriously, or at least they try to explain how to tell when they're joking. So why is it that when *I* try to make a joke or tease someone, they fly off the handle at me?

It's frustrating. I try to gently tease a friend and they wind up mad at me. But when people tease ME and I get upset, they get defensive and all "WTF it was a JOKE" at me and then I guilt and apologize.

Am I doomed to be the one apologizing in every altercation?

And all my friends yell at me for apologizing. I'm confused and slightly hurt - I don't like making my friends mad at me, and I don't know how to fix it.

-x-

On a slightly related note, I've been noticing another pattern. The people I feel I'm closest to - friends I talk to frequently, family - seem to have an incredibly short fuse where I'm concerned. My sister acts irrationally, I get even SLIGHTLY bristly, and my mom flips - at me. My friends snark at me, confuse me, tell me only where I'm messing up...

In fairly vivid contrast, a brief anecdote. I work at a gym in my town, maybe a mile from my high school. Where I live, I went to a different junior high than almost everyone else at my high school, so I have contacts at both high schools. This morning, one of the people who came in for the class recognized me and chatted briefly. Turns out I went to junior high with her. I expressed my anxiety and overall uncertainty about senior year this fall and she replied that I'll be fine; I'm smart and will do just fine.

This is not the first time this has happened to me, I'll admit. I seem to have managed to leave a decent impression on people with whom I used to go to school... but you know, it still kind of startles me. I'm flattered that Maddi even remembered me - we weren't ever very close; and even more flattered that she seems to have such confidence in me.

The unwitting generosity of a near-stranger. I wonder if she knows how much that meant to me...

-x-

On a completely unrelated tangent, I seem to be afraid of falling for someone I can actually have. Whenever I start developing even vague feelings for someone, it's someone I don't know, someone I'd never stand a chance with, someone with whom I'd be doomed from the start... but at the same time, I don't crush on actors or singers or public figures or anyone like that. I firmly grasp the idea of untouchability, and I understand that movie stars are NOT their characters and that it's not healthy to pine after a fictional character. Yes, there are actors and singers and public figures I'd bend over for in a HEARTBEAT, were it just about the physical attractiveness or their looks or their voice...

I do not do relationships well. Self-doubt, insecurity, paranoia... they all eat away at me and eventually I convince myself that I feel more for him than he does for me, or vice versa, or that he's just humoring me, or that oh hey that guy's cute too... and then I end it, because I don't feel it's fair to keep acting like nothing's wrong when EVERYTHING'S wrong, and because I don't want him to get too attached to me.

When it comes to giving someone that much influence over me, I am not a stable safe person at all. None of my relationships have ended well, and they've never been ended by the other involved party.

This just occurred to me recently when I realized that I keep inventing "feelings" for people just so I can get that feeling. Luckily, the most recent person this happened with is now beyond my reach and hopefully cutting me out of their life, at least a little. It's safer that way and maybe we can go back to being friends.

-x-

I think that's about all for today... I still need to finish writing the post I was going to type on Thursday after babysitting. I might get that done by next Wednesday... *eyerolls at self*

At any rate, happy July 25th to everyone - five months till Christmas! <3

... *snuffles like a sentimental idiot*.

To all my family and friends. To all my friends who I consider family. To all the people who crawled out of the woodwork over the last... 18-ish hours.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you. <3 Thank you all. <3

I posted the link to yesterday's blog, originally, for my closer friends who know I've been seeing a counselor for emotional issues since, um, Spring Break. Like, April-ish. Just, you know, so that they would know what's coming down the pipeline. I don't like not saying things - it makes me feel like I'm deliberately withholding information and I try very hard not to do that. I also don't like advertizing things like this - it makes me feel like I'm just looking for attention and I try even HARDER not to do that.

But...

The response I got...

*sniffles more, a little choked up*

I love you guys all so much.

I can't possibly say thank you enough.

<3

More self-centered flailage.

So. Last night. I had an appointment with, as I refer to her, my "not-Megan." At my actual like body-doctor's suggestion, we've spent about the last month and a half doing testing for ADHD. Um. So. Last night. The results came back.

It's likely that I have the inattentive form of ADHD, combined with a mild form of depression called dysthymia.

I don't know what this means for now, for the future, for my relationships with any of you. I just... I needed to say it, and this was as good a way as any - better than some; this way I just type it once and give people the link. ;) <-- Me trying to make this not as scary and nervous-making as it is...

Dr Collett said that we can do several things, depending on what Dr Anderson says. We can send me to some sort of psychotherapy thing that'll teach me how to think like a normal person? I think? The dysthymia manifests itself as a lowered sense of self-worth -

Slight tangent. I don't feel like I have a lowered sense of self-worth. I just don't feel comfortable applying my standards to other people. I think that I have room for improvement; I think that it's not my place to decide that you need to improve yourself. To me, that makes sense, and I don't get why people don't understand that that's NOT lowered self-worth or whatever, that's just me.

Anyhoo. - lowered sense of self-worth, a lack of energy in general, and stuff like that. The inattentive ADHD is more common among girls, but is usually detected later...

I don't know how I should feel about this. I'm glad we have something of a potential answer for what's wrong with me, but... I'm nervous that it's not the *right* answer or that it IS all in my head after all.

>.<

FYI. I love you all no matter what. <3

Flattery, trust, and the German language.

I received a highly flattering piece of correspondence this A.M. As you may know, when I'm at work I have next to nothing to do. Therefore I lurk on Facebook and Gmail and wherever else strikes my passing fancy, for however long I'm at work.

Today, this morning, not an hour ago, I received possibly the hugest ego-boost EVAR. And I know I spelled that "hacker" style. That's to show my absolute shock at getting this message.

The only person younger than me (by a school year) (well, one of several) asked me if I'd write a story with him.

...

I KNOW. 0.0

He said he likes my writing style and it's similar to his favorite author's, and that he'd like to write with me sometime.

So.

'Flattery' addressed.

Talking to another roleplayer, this one posting as Fullmetal Alchemist's Van Hohenheim. He's fascinating - I'm teaching someone who roleplays Scar (also FMA) German (hence the German language tag) and Hohenheim asked if I'd mind teaching him as well. So he and I struck up a conversation and - voila! Another internet friend. The 'trust' heading came into play when I gave him my email address in case my overview of German basics didn't make sense. He expressed shock that I would trust a complete stranger with that; I expressed bewilderment - it's just my email address.

Heh. Anyhoo. Roleplaying with a friend now. ^_^

Friends, part 2.

Considering the vast numbers of people who read and comment on this (), I feel it only fair to re-address my Friends. post from, um, sometime last week, I think.

I believe I've gotten all my weird-ness in regards to Fraulein Hawkeye sorted out; I have gained a younger sister. But - more would be telling. ;)

Suffice to say, I believe I'm coming to terms with internet friends. <3

A brief semi-fictional interlude.

Listening to the air whistle past me, I sighed. It had happened again; just when I least expected it, I tripped on a sidelong glance, stumbled over a smile, and tumbled head-over-heels after my heart.

I sighed again. After the last time, I'd thought I'd learned my lesson: the boy I'd fallen for that time had... well, I didn't even like to think about how he'd treated me.

The air continued to whistle past my ears. I was getting a little tired of it; couldn't the ground hurry up and get here? I had other things to do, and it would take a while to piece myself back together.

Gradually I felt the warmth that signaled imminent landing. I braced myself, ready to splatter...

... and felt flesh, instead of rocks. Warm arms surrounded me, welcomed me; I heard wingbeats and felt myself carried back up, higher than I'd fallen from.

Of course they'd call it falling in love - it hurts to sprawl flat on your face, doesn't it? The initial adrenaline rush is the same. But when you're caught...

When the one you fell for catches you...

... you can let yourself fall again. And again.

They'll be there, every time.

Technology.

A brief tale of my cell phone escapades.

On the night of January 29/30th, I fell asleep with an open can of Fresca in my hand and my cell phone in my pocket, as usual. The cell phone is usual, not the Fresca. >_< When I woke up several hours later (this was at Kaitie's birthday party, which was a sleepover, so this probably all happened on the morning of the 30th), my leg was cold and wet and - this is the *facepalm* part - the can of soda was still mostly full and in my hand, right way up.

I went home, and decided to try to dry out my phone. Even though it was on the other side of me from the soda, it still got - how should I put this - it was still affected. >_< Much to my chagrin. In the process of drying out the battery casing area, I accidentally snagged one of the wires that connected to the SD card. This KILLED my phone, I realize now.

For the rest of the day, my phone would not hold a charge and was obscenely slow to respond. I was afraid it had gone senile. I FINALLY figured out that if I pulled out the memory card, it would function again. This caused me to lose all of my music, some five hundred plus songs.

Flash forward to late May early June. Now my phone has taken to turning itself off while it's charging, and doesn't like taking or making calls. For every fifteen minutes I spend on the phone, roughly, I lose a quarter of my battery life. Except for while I'm actually MAKING the call; then for every THREE minutes I lose a quarter of the available battery. Once I hang up, the battery starts recovering (very very slowly) until it's back up at 3/4 or full impulse power.

Skip ahead two weeks, to the morning of June 24. My phone, which I almost always keep on while it's charging, was off when I woke up. And it wasn't displaying the charging-battery icon thing. Last time this happened, it was a power outage and EVERYTHING was off. Or at least inactive. However, my clock radio was still functioning and my desk light turned on. My phone would not.

I took it out to the Verizon store (will address that later). The first thing they asked me was, "Did you try taking the battery out and putting it back in?" For the record, that was my first 'instinct' and I did it upwards of ten times myself. The guy then asked me if he could see my phone; I handed it over; he pulled the battery out and slid it back in. My first thought: I did that. Like, a LOT. WTF?

Then I got to the tech support desk. That guy went through the same procedure: he asked me the stupid question, did the EXACT SAME THING, and for some reason it worked for him. >_>

THEN Friday morning, the same thing happened. My phone was off and unresponsive. I fiddled with the battery a little bit and got it to turn on. Then, while I was at Hot Shots waiting for Teddy to finish up with Cross Country, it shut down, leaving me stranded.

So a VERY long story short, I believe some of the soda shorted out the battery (yes, almost 6 months later; IDK how that happened), as my LG Chocolate 3 is now dead. Completely. RIP Chocolate. The good news: I got an early upgrade, and am now the proud (?) owner of a Samsung Reality. Still with Verizon. The bad news: my parents have to shell out $50 for a phone with more intelligence than the computers that ran the space program ten years ago. More good news: One of those fees goes to phone internet access, which is (bad news) no longer optional, my poor parents' bank account... and I have unlimited texting to other Verizon phones. So. Technology marches on, confusing and confounding me as always.

Side note on the Verizon store: slight rant. Since when do you have to SIGN IN to a STORE?! It used to be you just waited in line for your turn and someone got to you in due time. You knew you would eventually be helped, and people were polite and didn't cut in line. NOW, evidently, you sign in on this silly touchscreen computer thing and they call your name when it's your turn. And the entire time, your name is up on the overhead screen showing your place in line and what you're going to be helped with! AND they want your phone number when you sign in! Am I the only one who thinks this is slightly more than creepy? I do NOT like the idea of anyone I don't directly know tracking my movements, and it's aggravating enough that my parents keep such tight tabs on me.

Also: more ranting. Phones in general. TELEPHONES are to be used to CALL PEOPLE. Not check email. Not send little mini phone-emails. Not check Youtube. Not draw. WHAT IS THIS WORLD COMING TO?! I am not a technophobe; I'm really not. I appreciate the convenience of texting. But! Are there no SIMPLE cell phones left anymore? I miss my Chocolate. The QWERTY slidey keyboard on my Reality confuses me; it's too small to be of any proper use... oh well. It's not entirely bad. I just set up my email on it.

... *absorbed in internet phone*

Friends.

I have a good many close friends. I'm very lucky in this. My friends are supportive, unique, and caring people and I'm unbelievably fortunate that they decide to talk to me. ♥

So. Now that we've established that I love my friends. A brief commentary.

My friends-from-the-real-world I can kind of understand. We have stuff in common. We go to the same school, or went to the same school. We did *something* and we know about each other. We know what the other looks like, sounds like.

Something I kind of have a hard time understanding fully is this: Internet friends. People whom you've never met and likely never will meet. Don't get me wrong, I have a ton of Internet friends, at least on Facebook. Most of them are Fullmetal Alchemist roleplayers, or Fruits Basket roleplayers, or people I 'met' on some discussion in some group or on a page or someplace. The ones I've actually talked to, beyond just friend'ing, I really enjoy talking to. I've 'spoken' with Envy, Edward Elric (likely several versions), Kazuma Sohma, Kyou Sohma, Hatsuharu Sohma, and Riza Hawkeye.

It is to the last that this post is tentatively dedicated. About a week ago, I got an alert on Facebook that "Riza Hawkeye" had accepted my friend request. Considering it the polite thing to do, I dropped a "How's it going?" post on her wall and figured I'd never hear from her again as is the norm for me and roleplayers. To my surprise, three hours later she posted back.

To make quite a long story short, Riza and I have been talking for a good majority of my online time since that first post, and... I don't know. I really enjoy talking with her; it's one of the high points of my day. But, the fact keeps crossing my mind: It's all fictional. It may be that I'm being completely honest and factual and stating actual details from my day-to-day life, but... her account could be as made-up as the identity she's using. This is not me saying "OMG I'm talking to a LIAR!" this is me saying... I don't know. It feels real to me, but then my brain gets involved and I'm like, "How real can it be when you're talking to a *made-up person*?"

If I was brighter I could make this interesting and relevent and smart and actually make sense. But I'm me. I don't know... this whole thing is a challenge to my optimism. I really do mean everything I've posted on Riza's wall. And I want to believe that the friendship that's developed is real, because if it isn't, what is real? I meant it when I asked her if she'd be my older sister. Isn't that real enough?

I feel kind of like a little kid, questioning reality. I don't know. I really do love my older sister, and I think that for now that's all that really matters. That's its own form of reality, isn't it? ;)

Music trawls and eggs.

Spent an obscene chunk of the afternoon searching for music. Currently hooked on Hedley and the Goo Goo Dolls - two very different bands. Also actually ate something today, omg! Decided to get off my lazy butt and actually make something... I consider it practice for fixing dinner tonight. Hmm. IDK.

So. Have just covered the 'music' and 'eggs' portions of my day... I made eggs for a very very VERY belated breakfast. And then I'm doing something with meat and orzo and alfredo sauce for dinner. IDK exactly what, yet...

Coffee and writing.

So as an aspiring writer, I've taken the initiative this summer to make time to write. Usually, as I'm also a coffee "addict", this involves me spending close to 4 bucks for a crappy cup of coffee and then lurking in the coffee shop (a) regretting the $4 and (b) trying to focus on writing.

The last time I tried to do this (Monday at Hot Shots) I ended up writing crappy fluff songfic beginning thing. I'm not sure if I'm going to finish that.

Today, though, I wrote a brief rant about coffee, corporate greed, and atmosphere, then I wrote a short to-do list (none of which I can check off yet; I still haven't eaten breakfast) and then I started yet ANOTHER draft of Starlight. Omg. I'd like to continue with that, but I dunno if I'll be able to. I'm gonna type it up later if I have time.

Hmm. Do I have anything else to talk about? Probably not... oh well. I'll try to be better about posting here, if anyone reads this. Whatever.

Signing off.

Grah.

So methinks I should NOT fill out psychiatric self-evaluation forms when in the throes of self-induced misery, perhaps. Argh. Not that it'll change my answers at all, really... mayhap psychiatric self-evals plunge me into the throes of self-induced misery. Or maybe I'm just a moron. IDK.

For those of you reading this, I feel I should preface all this with: this is not new stuff. This has been bouncing around inside my head and I really feel sick to my stomach letting it all out because inevitably this will be construed as dramah0ring and it's not that, really I promise it isn't... it's my attempts to let you guys in. And unfortunately that means spilling out some of the excess with the incision...

Argh. Stuff this. Nvm.