Frosty Meets Hairdryer

The holidays have ever been a stressful, near-disastrous time of year for me. Now, I try to keep calm, but this is a hard trick to pull with family members who consistently overreact to circumstances. A single dish gets overcooked, and wham! Holiday's ruined. Maybe this Santaday will be better. However, I'm not going to get my hopes up.

I've already discerned that one of my gifts is some sort of jewelry. Weird. I don't give or receive the stuff, I'm much more fond of music. Or obscenely large stuffed creatures.

Oh! I must mention a little incident of a week ago. Now, without my medication, I am prone to insomnia, nightmares, and waking constantly. Betimes I have even woken myself screaming. It's a short story: I woke up in darkness, I'd say about 2-4 am. I saw a person-shaped something not two feet from my face, closed my eyes, and shrieked. When my eyes opened, it was gone. I then awoke more fully, and it took my some time to resume sleep

I hadn't missed my meds, so it wasn't a figment of withdrawals. It may have been a dream, I admit, but it had the quality of the dreams that come to be. Let me explain. I have these short flashes, from my own perspective, of a scene with no context. They're nothing out of the ordinary, and this is what makes them peculiar. Most dreams have no logic and are highly symbolic. These dreams are logical, quite mundane, and only a few seconds long. I'll see teachers speaking, the stuff on the floor of my room, and the covers of albums. Then, a few weeks later, those nonsense scenes happen. The person shaped thing, if I dreamt it, was most likely a premonition. Usually, if I tell someone of the premonition, it does not come to pass. This is why I am recounting the story. I do not want to see that again, for it scared the life out of me.

Yes. That's right. I'm dead.

So much for waking up with the sun...

I forgot, until about 10:40, and it was a need for some sort of influence to be under that drove me to seek my medication. I counted the pills, there were three left. I don't know why I counted. I've counted them every night for the past week, and I know that Friday night I will have nothing to swallow. So I ate one, I had no other choice. Three days, I thought. Three days until a nightmare begins. Life becomes a fever-dream. Forgive me if I'm a little less than thrilled.

I probably could have gone out, or at least seen some people who would relieve the monotany. But going out would mean coming home again, and I don't think that I could stand that. Though it may not have done any good for my antisocial tendencies, I decided to abstain. Sometimes, just staying home and taking in a Cure album can be really nice.

I woke up this morning much the worse for a longer night's sleep than those I have had of late. I sleepwalked down the road to the gas station. I looked over my shoulder often, as I heard leaves rustling and suspected the worst from the rustler. I assume that my paranoia will abate in November. I downed twenty ounces of coffee before school was even in sight, and the only change in my temperament is increased irritation because I'm waiting to get a pass to the bathroom. I'll probably be directing rehearsal again, and I expect my shoulders to be in knots before three. When I get home I will be craving the drug again, and there I will be, right back where I started.

A Letter To Roark

I know you. I know you because you were once me, and one day I will be you. Detachment grows as days and months go by. I put myself through agonies, working to deserve the memory of you. You are the image of perfection that I carry with me, to remind me that there is still something ahead. When I am tired, suffering, or afraid, I remember you, and tell myself that if someone like you cannot exist in my life, then I will become you. I will fill that void.

But you don't feel fear, do you? And I've seen you smile at your own agony. When you catch your own reflection on accident, you are never startled by the person that you see. Through the years you will remain, implacable, unhurt, and maybe someday I will meet you. In finding you, I may find myself.

Honest to God?

These are my secrets, so I'm passing them on to you. You're starting to see it, too- the heroes that you loved weren't always what they claim. They're atoning. They never used to care, but now they have a debt to repay. No one is pure.

The cold ones, the cruel ones- we never wanted to be this way. We wanted to be warm, and loving, and surrounded by friends. We extended our hands in welcome. No one took them. And realizing our plight, we closed our hands into fists and turned away. Have you felt it, too? You hate because you hurt. Maybe someday you'll be like me- detached and puzzled- and miraculously unscathed. It doesn't hurt to be like me. Not one little bit. I don't hate anyone. I don't know anyone.

Havok told me that I don't have to be afraid. Bert taught me how to smile and to scream. "I'm always alright," is what The Doctor said. Now his words are mine as well. Raistlin showed me how to be cruel, and his brother taught me how to forgive. Because of Elphaba, I never forget. For Van I learned how to fly. Howard Roark killed what was left of my pity, and Dominique approved when I learned to be cold. But Vanyel showed that the ice will kill you, and that love, once earned, will always return. These are the things I know. This is what I will remember.

Catnap

So I'm having a zombie day right now. I want to sleep, but can't. And to think that today the real work begins. At least I have someone to help me out. If only I had the money to back up my mouth. My muscles tighten and spasm, and the pain drags through my head yet again.

I feel that I am turning narcoleptic, I fall asleep so quickly. My pills cost about $400 a month, so I have a feeling I won't be buying any (I haven't so far. I get samples.) However well they work, I know that I won't be getting them for long. I think that I'm mildly addicted to them, and with good reason, too. They knock me right out. Sadly, I'll be going back to the old ones soon. At least I won't have to go through withdrawals. Those are terrifying.

The people that you trust have a special way of screwing you over. Especially, it seems, the people that I trust. See, the people that I like, trust, and respect are those that are like me. And that person is arrogant, distrustful, selfish, and judgemental. So a friend of mine isn't talking to me, and when they do, it's not very nice. I wish that they would speak to me, tell me why I'm being shunned. Do I deserve this? No idea. What grudge can someone who hasn't seem me all summer hold? Ah, well, we've all got our problems, and this person isn't shallow, so maybe it's not something I can't remember doing. I'm sorry. Please talk to me.

Return Of The Fly

My head is buzzing like a minor thunderstorm is brewing behind my forehead. It's raining on the television, and the volume, it's so loud it makes me feel like one of those ominous clouds are hovering outside the window. Here's what you're missing, right now. We're watching a court drama, a jury is trying to decide whether or not a teenage boy is guilty of murdering his father. Our teacher is cutting butterflies out of paper not three feet from me. I'm going to ask him to make one for me, and tell him that I have tiny paper cranes, so tiny that perhaps they were make with a pair of tweezers. This is what you're missing. Let me tell you a secret: There are people, here, that miss you, too.

But you know, this day wouldn't be quite as lovely if it were any different. I feel just a little tinge of loneliness, and a little cold. I'm wrapped up in my long coat, and though I may feel sad, there's some paper butterflies fluttering on the table. So it's a lovely day. See, just like the cold makes you feel grateful for your coat, loneliness makes you grateful for what's beautiful.

Von Trapped

I think that you can see me as I pull faces at you from across the room. That's just the kind of person I am. Someone hit my reset button! I've been listening to a lot of very bouncy, cheerful music. Erasure keeps me in a good mood. I highly recommend them.

Well, I didn't have another terror last night, and I'm grateful for that, at least. Then again, I took an extra tiny white pill to help out the usual two. The extra was for my constantly running nose. I couldn't breathe. I slept like a rock.

I've been watching a lot of musicals of late, most notably Hedwig and the Angry Inch. My favorites always seem to involve transvestites of one sort or another. I started to give The Sound of Music another chance, but I got distracted and ended up drawing scary faces on the ceiling of my bedroom.

I'm thankful that it's Thursday, it means that the week is going by fast. Honestly, I don't know where the time goes. My rings keep tapping on the keyboard, and I think this is what they call "stream of consiousness." It means that you write down anything and everything that comes to mind in the moment. Wait, if I was, you'd be getting the chorus of Erasaure's "How Can I Say" over and over again. It's a fun song, very campy. Ah, well, I feel sleepy, and shall resort to something that doesn't require quite so much exertion.

Plastic Sturgeon

Take that, people who make safety pins. They're not safe at all. I almost stabbed right through my finger. I no longer have a left thumb. It's true, I'll prove it. See, see!! I just wiggled the stump. It can twitch but it can't hit the space key. I've been hitting it with my nose. The button smells like thumb. And what does that smell like, you may ask? *Here's where I shove your face into the keyboard!* So take that, people who make computers.

I'm positively itching with excitement. I wanna go home, and make myself a key lime pie. I've wanted some since this morning. I will cover it in whipped cream and down a whole pot of coffee. Take me with coffee, never with tea. You're the pie that pleases me. People gawk, is that pie green? Ask for a bite, fuck you I'm mean.

Jeff is a cocktease

I think that I had a terror last night. I was scared out of my wits. I think I was screaming, in fact I know that I was, but it seems that nobody heard me. I don't remember what I was so afraid of, only that I'm a little apprehensive of going to sleep tonight. I swear that I hear someone yell at me and wake me up. I gotta talk to somebody or figure out what the hell is causing this. Strangely, I am not exaggerating.

The title? That's completely true. Jeff hits on gay guys, while he is in fact (though dubiously) straight. The little bitch.

Many Happy Returns

So I have officially arrived, and I plan to winter on the inter-web. The reliability of this screen is entirely dubious, and I fear that it may not work for very long. Wait, wait, I'm going to take a detour!

And he spoke of pastures green....I was never told why.

Peter Murphy would be proud. So now, given time, power, and free internet, I find myself without much to say, suffice that I would like to say "HI!" to my solitary afeeslash fan, and "Kiss my ass!" to the interweb administrators who are deleting my music because it violates some rule that I didn't bother to read.

Ah, well. Adieu.

I suddenly started to have a bad day. Well, it's not so much a bad day as a general malaise. Some things just throw me into a mood.
Will you talk to me? It doesn't matter that you can't repond. I'll guess what you would say.
Here's what happened: you went off with Maddie, everybody else went the other way. I was indecisive for a moment, and found myself alone. Then I caught sight of Bo and Senecca together, and it took all of my will to stay in that spot and act normally. He barely looks at me, hasn't even spoken to me since last week. I feel sick and sad. It's the same thing that we were talking about, you know? I never thought that I'd catch myself so overwhelmingly jealous, but I am. I'm ashamed just thinking about it. "I was never grateful, that's why I spend my days alone."
Why aren't I a little more self-assured, you ask? Why am I letting it get to me?
Because life's too short, we're alone too long. I try to take what I can, be happy while it lasts, but the people I want around are disappearing at an alarming rate. Danielle will be gone soon, and I doubt that I will see her over the summer. She'll show up to say goodbye when she leaves for college, and it's going to be fucking hard to let her go. I miss her already. "When you go, would you even turn to say, 'I don't love you like I did yesterday'?"
I wish I didn't have to do what I do...
I would stop if only someone could say to me simply, "You don't need this. Stop."
I would say, "Why should I listen to you?" He or she would reply, "Because I am telling you to, because this is not what you should be."
That's the person I would love. Such things never happen anymore, isn't that right? I wish I were wrong.

So that damn link didn't work. It's just so frustratingly hard to find a good resolution version of Days of the Phoenix without watermarks. At least I found a music player that works. Back for more rants later, right now I have to draw adorable anime girls. Kawai~iii!!

So I found myself chucked into horrible, scathing nostalgia recently. I didn't like it, but it happened. It gives you only one thing to do, actually. Become wolfman. Run fast, dig holes, hide in said holes. Just so an "old friend" can't find you.

Swallowing incoherence,

"No, you can't stay mad at the setting sun."

A friend of mine was heart-breakingly upset today. A friend of his, or to be more precise, an ex-boyfriend, had been in the hospital. He had AIDS. He has just died, and my dear friend was broken up. I found him in a side hallway, silent and staring out the door. I was the only one in my group that went to talk to him. He fell apart, crying when I pulled him into a hug. Poor dear. He's afraid that he may have it, too. He can't tell his parents, they wouldn't understand. I don't think he's even out of the closet to them. I promised him that I'd look into finding him some place to get tested without his parents knowing. I told him that if he had anything, that I'd be there for him. He needs it. He was upset because the boy he likes, who is also a friend of mine, was not helping him through this. This other friend, though older than the first by a couple years, is markedly less mature. I told him that sometimes you need a friend, not a boyfriend. "He's just in it for the sex," I said, and he laughed. He was smiling when I left, so I'm not too worried, but I will find him later to make sure that he's alright.

I guess I got what I deserved, didn’t I?
This is the price I have to pay to get to where I’m going. I’ve pushed people back for so long that nobody bothers anymore. You can’t keep a stray cat. I’ll only run away again. I’ve gnawed my own foot off to escape the traps that have been laid for me. Everything is just a procession of unremarkable moments, so I’ll sleep to make them go faster. Why be there at all? Nothing will be different. “We all get tired; I mean eventually, there is nothing left to do but sleep." Every day is like Sunday. So I wandered off, does it matter? I don't think it did. If anyone noticed or cared, they would have come looking for me. The funny thing is, I don't want them to. All I'm trying to do is differentiate today from yesterday. All I want to know is that something is happening, that something is real. Maybe I can't get that. Maybe the fact that I walk away is what is keeping me from finding anything. Maybe they keep looking for me, but I've hidden so well that I just can't be found. Maybe I see someone comeing and run in terror. Maybe I'm always going to walk away. Let me walk away, please.

You got a perfect skin...

So I finally have chapter three up...I'm so damn relieved. I think it turned out fantastically. Scarlett is a wonderful beta. I've started chapter four, and maybe I'll get in done within my own deadline. In other news, blah blahblah blah blaaaaah. Chicken blah.

http://www.jussi69.narod.ru/2005.04.22_barcelona.avi

This kid's got beer down his pants!!!

Do Not Ask For Whom The Bell Tolls--It Tolls For Thee

The door takes forever to close. It's like one of those huge dungeon doors, the kind that closes with thunder a minute after you pass through. By no visible hand, it closes. The darkness falls like a velvet curtain, complete with dust. It chokes and tickles the throat and lungs. A spasm of coughing is the only sound that echoes through the vacant realm, excepting that of an overdramatic voice that seems to emanate from the ceiling. What? Why are you looking at me like that? I like to narrate things. It's fun. Well, because I always wanted to narrate scary movies. What do you mean, why don't I just write a book? BECAUSE A BOOK IS NOT LOUD ENOUGH! The booming noise deafens all who anger the voices. Check that shit out, bitch! I control your reality!

The Fervent Refusal to Co-operate

I will not participate in charity. I will not be ordered to create simple because you wish me to. I take these projects so my original artwork can be seen, not so you can use my skills to your end. I refuse. I will not be compromised in my ideal. I will not conform to what is acceptable and unoriginal. I will not be repressed. You will not threaten or guilt me with your imaginary consequences. Beleive that you are facing a person who knows how to make her own decisions and stand by them.

http://shyboyswin.tripod.com/Go_For_Smith.wmv

Check it out, people.