"I tried so hard, and got so far
But in the end, it doesn't even matter
I had to fall, to lose it all
But in the end, it doesn't even matter"
I've had this song by Linkin Park stuck in my brain for the past couple days, to the point where I have it playing continuously on repeat, and thought I'd try to figure out why it's so stuck.
I know it's a cliche careless listener trait, but that lyric is the only lyric out of that song that I really resonate to- the rest of the words have their own message, but for me they're essentially padding for the rest of the song as far as personal resonance goes. For those who don't know this song, essentially it's speaking about a betrayal in a relationship, but that doesn't really speak to me. I've been lucky enough to not run into unpleasant personal situations- most of my struggles have all been internal rather than external.
But anyways. After taking a look at that chorus in words, I realize I'm interpreting it in a positive way- a sort of reminder that this great big game we call life isn't worth putting too much worry and pain and negative into to try to "win", because in the end it really doesn't matter. And that even when the wheel turns and you lose everything, in the end that isn't going to matter either. And that's a philosophy I can definitely get behind (or rather, apparently I have already gotten behind this philosophy... and shut up gutter brain I don't mean it that way). There's alot of freedom in not caring about things. Of course there's things you gain when you care about things (stability, passion, joy), so it really comes down to your personal balance.
And yes, I realize this post is full of suck. No, I don't particularly care.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
A Scarlet Letter
The last time I saw my inspiration, it had formed a trio with my mind and my wits and they were singing Christmas carols as a round in the pub... that was last week and they still haven't come back. So, I'm gonna try having a few friends feed me prompts to keep this little blog breathing a bit of fresh air. Apparently, today's topic is the scarlet letter.
Now, all I know of this book is only a bit more coherent than a quarter-finished pointalism painting, but the impression I got was the protagonist commited adultery by sleeping with a preacher, and was punished to public shame and bullying by way of a scarlet 'A' she had to wear on all of her clothes. At the time, I was miffed because I never noticed the preacher she slept with being punished (though there's plenty of room for me to be wrong, it's not like I actually read the book), but now I have another idea...
What would life be like if we had to visually declare our shames everywhere we went? Not necessarily for crimes (that's what public records are for), and the idea of exposing all our secret things gets rather complicated, but things society at large declares as shameful. Bigots of any flavor. Homophobes. Hypocrites. Control freaks. Creepy "Nice Guys (TM)". Right-wing fundamentalists. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone like that had a warning label on them?
I do have a rather liberal mindset, so a conservative person would probably come up with a different list of the people they'd like to put a warning label on. And the beauty of this is, they could and it would make life easier: everyone is warned away from the people they wouldn't want to associate with.
Of course, you really can't put all of a book's contents on it's cover. And trying to is a really bad idea- the best you can do is a paragraph summary, which completely misses all the detail and emotion and everything that makes the book worth reading. So the progression of this little idea ends up in a very stupid place, one that would make any libertarian terrified of the future (well, moreso than a cynical person already is).
All the really interesting things in life are only found when you look deep; and passing by the things that look weird and ugly on the surface leads to an unfulfilled life.
Now, all I know of this book is only a bit more coherent than a quarter-finished pointalism painting, but the impression I got was the protagonist commited adultery by sleeping with a preacher, and was punished to public shame and bullying by way of a scarlet 'A' she had to wear on all of her clothes. At the time, I was miffed because I never noticed the preacher she slept with being punished (though there's plenty of room for me to be wrong, it's not like I actually read the book), but now I have another idea...
What would life be like if we had to visually declare our shames everywhere we went? Not necessarily for crimes (that's what public records are for), and the idea of exposing all our secret things gets rather complicated, but things society at large declares as shameful. Bigots of any flavor. Homophobes. Hypocrites. Control freaks. Creepy "Nice Guys (TM)". Right-wing fundamentalists. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone like that had a warning label on them?
I do have a rather liberal mindset, so a conservative person would probably come up with a different list of the people they'd like to put a warning label on. And the beauty of this is, they could and it would make life easier: everyone is warned away from the people they wouldn't want to associate with.
Of course, you really can't put all of a book's contents on it's cover. And trying to is a really bad idea- the best you can do is a paragraph summary, which completely misses all the detail and emotion and everything that makes the book worth reading. So the progression of this little idea ends up in a very stupid place, one that would make any libertarian terrified of the future (well, moreso than a cynical person already is).
All the really interesting things in life are only found when you look deep; and passing by the things that look weird and ugly on the surface leads to an unfulfilled life.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Sketches of Beauty
There is beauty in order
Stable structures stretching to infinity in complex patterns...
There is beauty in chaos
Ever-changing structures interacting in complex ways...
There is beauty in ice
Brilliant forms reflecting and spreading light.
There is beauty in fire
Wild forms growing and creating light.
There is beauty in light
Letting seeking eyes see the world.
There is beauty in darkness
Giving tired eyes a rest from the world.
People speak of opinions and black and white
And varying shades of grey
But that implies a much simpler world than we live in
For we live in an explosion of color
And those whose opinions are red-orange and yellow-orange
Will argue just as vehemetly
As those whose opinions are orange and blue
There is beauty and poetry in everything, if you know how to see
If I were a better poet, I would invite you in to wander in my world
Look through my eyes, dear explorers, see the joy...
But alas, I can only sketch
And let you fill in the detail with your own eyes, own experience
Though I suppose that is a perfectly valid form of writing in itself
To direct your mind along a path, let you see what you notice
Stable structures stretching to infinity in complex patterns...
There is beauty in chaos
Ever-changing structures interacting in complex ways...
There is beauty in ice
Brilliant forms reflecting and spreading light.
There is beauty in fire
Wild forms growing and creating light.
There is beauty in light
Letting seeking eyes see the world.
There is beauty in darkness
Giving tired eyes a rest from the world.
People speak of opinions and black and white
And varying shades of grey
But that implies a much simpler world than we live in
For we live in an explosion of color
And those whose opinions are red-orange and yellow-orange
Will argue just as vehemetly
As those whose opinions are orange and blue
There is beauty and poetry in everything, if you know how to see
If I were a better poet, I would invite you in to wander in my world
Look through my eyes, dear explorers, see the joy...
But alas, I can only sketch
And let you fill in the detail with your own eyes, own experience
Though I suppose that is a perfectly valid form of writing in itself
To direct your mind along a path, let you see what you notice
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Wrackspurts
An amusing form of local life around the Shyenia resort
located on Mar's northern hemisphere. The closest botanical comparison
to Earth species is the venus flytrap; however, wrackspurts show much
more ambulatory characteristics, possessing the ability to withdraw and
expend from their root system at will. Essentially, they will burrow
into their root system until they detect vibrations from the surface,
then errupt suddenly and stun their prey with their toxic needles. Over
the course of a a day to a month, depending on the size of their prey,
they shall drain the animal of blood.
This is the art of taking a random-ass word and running with it.
This is the art of taking a random-ass word and running with it.
Friday, February 22, 2013
"Well, go see someone!"
Try talking to me about my depression. I dare you. Actually, I don't, but here's what that conversation looks like. For my dear imaginaries, the main reason I'm writing this is so when people try and start this conversation with me I can just link them to this post, since I'm kinda sick of trying to type this all out articulately at various times when I'm in various mindsets.
"Well, go see someone!"
Um, well, see, there's a problem with that. Several, actually.
A) I'm in the military. Which means I do have an option for confidentiality (chaplains, and of course there's the speech over how they won't shove their religion down your throat to help you, which I do actually kinda trust), but I'm still putting my career (and essentially my future, since I don't really have prospects for a plan B if I get kicked out just yet. We can discuss this in a later post) in the hands of a random person who would feel bound to do anything necessary to keep me from killing myself on their watch. These options could range to breaking confidentiality and relaying this secret of mine up the chain of command, or they could order me to the doctor and shove pills down my throat, or they could declare me unfit and get me booted out.
Admittedly, I'm not quite sure how a chaplain would handle this situation, and it does kinda depend on what I tell them- there's a sliding scale between absolute truth: "Well sir, I've known I was bipolar well before I joined the military, and I've had suicidal ideation since I was around 7 years old, but I lied on every psych eval to get in the military since I didn't see another option for myself to have a future, but I recently realized that I don't like my brain that much so I want to take shameless advantage of the military's benefits to fix this life-long problem I lied to the Air Force about", half-lie: "Well sir, I recently found out from my parents that I was diagnosed with bipolar at an early age, and it's made alot of things come clear for me- I've always assumed that I was normal, but I did more research and holy shit but my brain is actually rather fucked up, and I think I'd like to see what it would be like if I didn't have random depressive spells, maybe see if I could be an even better, more productive Airman" and shameless lie: "Well sir, I've recently developed suicidal ideation, and thanks to friends not leaving me alone I haven't given into the impulses, but it's gotten to the point where I honestly scare myself and I want to take shameless advantage of the military's benefits to fix this problem". Problem with the truth is that I could very well get kicked out; problem with the half-lie and outright lie is that everyone involved would make incorrect assumptions about the sort of treatment I would need and probably end up fucking me up worse.
B) Treatment options. The two main options are therapy and medication.
Therapy: The is probably the safer route. I could probably go to a chaplain, spill everything that's bothering me, let them help me work out issues, or let the chaplain refer me to a therapist who could help with said issues. The problem with this is... professional therapy wouldn't actually help that much, permanently. I already have a cadre of friends I use as therapists, I meditate daily and I'm slowly researching therapy techniques, psychology, all sorts of things in that general body of knowledge to help myself out. I'm already getting alot of theraputic value at no risk to myself, so to involve risk to my future for better therapy when I'm already getting enough to keep me alive? Hell to the no.
Medication. Aka having some random-ass doctor feed me a bunch of chemicals designed to fuck with my brain that doctors haven't quite gotten the science down on. Meaning there are all sorts of horror stories about how different chemicals affect different people for different reasons and the doctors haven't figured out why yet, and I'm terrified of being a horror story. What's worse, bipolar II (my issue) hasn't been studied nearly as much as bipolar I, bipolar hasn't been studied nearly as much as depression, what works for depression makes the depressive side of bipolar even worse, AND the medications for bipolar are all designed around treating the mania first, depression second. Which sucks for me because I LIKE MY HYPOMANIA, and I know I won't be able to convince any doctor that letting me keep my hypomania is a legitimate option.
C) I am managing alright already. I have made loads of progress on the therapy front; Basic was hell but it also forced me to confront alot of what I hated about myself, so now depressive spells just entitle lac of energy rather than loads of self-hate, I was serious when I said I have a good group of friends as therapists, and I've been meditating daily and doing my best to resolve issues as they come up. As far as intellectual and emotional understanding, I'm pretty damn far ahead of alot of healthy people. I've been paying conscious attention to my mood, the sort of things that trigger certain reactions, practicing emotional regulating techniques to keep bad spells from getting worse and great spells from getting too out of had, and I'm much more regulated than I've ever been. For the chemical front (which is the dominant factor of this whole issue), I've started taking fish oil supplements based on some research I found (multiple sources confirming this, yes it's casual internet research but then again I can't really do much harm to myself with this) that suggests that the omega-3 proteins can help ease depression while boosting/ignoring maniac effects (differing opinions), which is certainly my goal. And yes, I've been incorporating ways to protect my life from suicidal ideation- not letting myself research best ways to kill myself (beyond what knowledge I've already gathered, and I know half of which is probably inaccurate), not letting myself buy rope, not letting myself leave my room when I'm depressed unless I'm in the company of friends or going to work (aka not letting myself climb the stairs and jump off the fourth floor), etc.
And yes, I do know that my bipolar is all about the chemicals in my brain, therapy won't really change the fact that I get major depressive and maniac spells, so if I want to stop feeling depressed I need to seriously fuck with my brain chemicals. Which I'm terrified of doing. And adding the possible damage to my future as a condition for fucking with my brain.... yeah, hell to the no. I'll stick with what I have and occasionally rail against Fate for putting me in the position to where I'm no longer allowed to consider killing myself as an escape option. Life sucks and then you die, and all that...
And no, I haven't figured out why the hell I'm feeling the need to talk about this shit on this blog. If you figure it out, let me know XD
"Well, go see someone!"
Um, well, see, there's a problem with that. Several, actually.
A) I'm in the military. Which means I do have an option for confidentiality (chaplains, and of course there's the speech over how they won't shove their religion down your throat to help you, which I do actually kinda trust), but I'm still putting my career (and essentially my future, since I don't really have prospects for a plan B if I get kicked out just yet. We can discuss this in a later post) in the hands of a random person who would feel bound to do anything necessary to keep me from killing myself on their watch. These options could range to breaking confidentiality and relaying this secret of mine up the chain of command, or they could order me to the doctor and shove pills down my throat, or they could declare me unfit and get me booted out.
Admittedly, I'm not quite sure how a chaplain would handle this situation, and it does kinda depend on what I tell them- there's a sliding scale between absolute truth: "Well sir, I've known I was bipolar well before I joined the military, and I've had suicidal ideation since I was around 7 years old, but I lied on every psych eval to get in the military since I didn't see another option for myself to have a future, but I recently realized that I don't like my brain that much so I want to take shameless advantage of the military's benefits to fix this life-long problem I lied to the Air Force about", half-lie: "Well sir, I recently found out from my parents that I was diagnosed with bipolar at an early age, and it's made alot of things come clear for me- I've always assumed that I was normal, but I did more research and holy shit but my brain is actually rather fucked up, and I think I'd like to see what it would be like if I didn't have random depressive spells, maybe see if I could be an even better, more productive Airman" and shameless lie: "Well sir, I've recently developed suicidal ideation, and thanks to friends not leaving me alone I haven't given into the impulses, but it's gotten to the point where I honestly scare myself and I want to take shameless advantage of the military's benefits to fix this problem". Problem with the truth is that I could very well get kicked out; problem with the half-lie and outright lie is that everyone involved would make incorrect assumptions about the sort of treatment I would need and probably end up fucking me up worse.
B) Treatment options. The two main options are therapy and medication.
Therapy: The is probably the safer route. I could probably go to a chaplain, spill everything that's bothering me, let them help me work out issues, or let the chaplain refer me to a therapist who could help with said issues. The problem with this is... professional therapy wouldn't actually help that much, permanently. I already have a cadre of friends I use as therapists, I meditate daily and I'm slowly researching therapy techniques, psychology, all sorts of things in that general body of knowledge to help myself out. I'm already getting alot of theraputic value at no risk to myself, so to involve risk to my future for better therapy when I'm already getting enough to keep me alive? Hell to the no.
Medication. Aka having some random-ass doctor feed me a bunch of chemicals designed to fuck with my brain that doctors haven't quite gotten the science down on. Meaning there are all sorts of horror stories about how different chemicals affect different people for different reasons and the doctors haven't figured out why yet, and I'm terrified of being a horror story. What's worse, bipolar II (my issue) hasn't been studied nearly as much as bipolar I, bipolar hasn't been studied nearly as much as depression, what works for depression makes the depressive side of bipolar even worse, AND the medications for bipolar are all designed around treating the mania first, depression second. Which sucks for me because I LIKE MY HYPOMANIA, and I know I won't be able to convince any doctor that letting me keep my hypomania is a legitimate option.
C) I am managing alright already. I have made loads of progress on the therapy front; Basic was hell but it also forced me to confront alot of what I hated about myself, so now depressive spells just entitle lac of energy rather than loads of self-hate, I was serious when I said I have a good group of friends as therapists, and I've been meditating daily and doing my best to resolve issues as they come up. As far as intellectual and emotional understanding, I'm pretty damn far ahead of alot of healthy people. I've been paying conscious attention to my mood, the sort of things that trigger certain reactions, practicing emotional regulating techniques to keep bad spells from getting worse and great spells from getting too out of had, and I'm much more regulated than I've ever been. For the chemical front (which is the dominant factor of this whole issue), I've started taking fish oil supplements based on some research I found (multiple sources confirming this, yes it's casual internet research but then again I can't really do much harm to myself with this) that suggests that the omega-3 proteins can help ease depression while boosting/ignoring maniac effects (differing opinions), which is certainly my goal. And yes, I've been incorporating ways to protect my life from suicidal ideation- not letting myself research best ways to kill myself (beyond what knowledge I've already gathered, and I know half of which is probably inaccurate), not letting myself buy rope, not letting myself leave my room when I'm depressed unless I'm in the company of friends or going to work (aka not letting myself climb the stairs and jump off the fourth floor), etc.
And yes, I do know that my bipolar is all about the chemicals in my brain, therapy won't really change the fact that I get major depressive and maniac spells, so if I want to stop feeling depressed I need to seriously fuck with my brain chemicals. Which I'm terrified of doing. And adding the possible damage to my future as a condition for fucking with my brain.... yeah, hell to the no. I'll stick with what I have and occasionally rail against Fate for putting me in the position to where I'm no longer allowed to consider killing myself as an escape option. Life sucks and then you die, and all that...
And no, I haven't figured out why the hell I'm feeling the need to talk about this shit on this blog. If you figure it out, let me know XD
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Nonsensical Rhymes
Clouds racing across the sky
Wind flowing through the trees
Sunlight flashing along the ground
Gazing up with a sigh
Wind rattling your keys
Wandering round and around
In spirit, flying high
Chasing all the bees
Followed by a hound
Wishing to die
Never traversing the seas
Not to hear another sound
Oh, tell me why
I should eat my peas
And disturb their mound?
Tucking into delicious pie
Sipping rather succulent teas
What a beautiful meal I’ve found
As hard as I try
Can’t avoid the fees
Getting thrown into the pound
Well, hello, goodbye
Off to take an arrow to both the knees
Always hunted, never bound
Monday, February 18, 2013
Tarot Musings
If you know anything at all about the Tarot, you know it can be amazingly complex. For those of you who don't know anything about it... Essentially, aspects of the human condition are summed up in these cards. The classic fortune-telling use for them involves laying our these cards in a spread, and letting them tell the story of the client's life. It sounds simple, but the practice gets complicated- each card has a "basic" meaning, iterations and subtleties of that meaning, and the meanings of the cards all interact in different ways depending on what position of a spread they're in, and that's not even taking reversals into account (which can be interpreted in various different ways just by themselves, with iterations and subtleties in each different interpretation, all of which interacting with the rest of the spread in various ways). Then again, an experienced person can boil down all the meanings of the cards down to their most essential point- like any other expert, making their specialty look easy.
Of course, fortune telling isn't the only purpose for the tarot. It's easily used for analysis (either of your own life circumstances/psyche/etc or others), creative brain-jogging ways (gaining inspiration from the beautiful artwork, using the cards to build stories of your own), spiritual rituals (displaying a card you wish to have in your life and meditating on it until you find it's energy, for example)... The possibilities are only hampered by your creativity.
There are a couple different reasons I find myself thinking about the tarot. I've been helping a friend make sense of his readings, and I must admit I am feeling a bit of pride in being able to help him do so. I guess I can actually class myself as an intermediate student of tarot, no longer a beginner, and I feel amazingly accomplished for it (probably more than the achievement merits in most eyes, but screw that noise). The second reason is I've been toying with an idea of writing a series of books based on illustrating the Tarot. The idea is for four books, one for each of the suits, and in each book the protagonist would follow the evolution of the court cards (starting out young as a Page, growing a bit and becoming a Knight, maturing and becoming a Queen and finishing their growth as a King) living through the ideals of their suit and all of the major Arcana. Only problem, I'm really not sure what direction I want to take this idea... Ah well, I guess that's what I get to figure out later.
Of course, fortune telling isn't the only purpose for the tarot. It's easily used for analysis (either of your own life circumstances/psyche/etc or others), creative brain-jogging ways (gaining inspiration from the beautiful artwork, using the cards to build stories of your own), spiritual rituals (displaying a card you wish to have in your life and meditating on it until you find it's energy, for example)... The possibilities are only hampered by your creativity.
There are a couple different reasons I find myself thinking about the tarot. I've been helping a friend make sense of his readings, and I must admit I am feeling a bit of pride in being able to help him do so. I guess I can actually class myself as an intermediate student of tarot, no longer a beginner, and I feel amazingly accomplished for it (probably more than the achievement merits in most eyes, but screw that noise). The second reason is I've been toying with an idea of writing a series of books based on illustrating the Tarot. The idea is for four books, one for each of the suits, and in each book the protagonist would follow the evolution of the court cards (starting out young as a Page, growing a bit and becoming a Knight, maturing and becoming a Queen and finishing their growth as a King) living through the ideals of their suit and all of the major Arcana. Only problem, I'm really not sure what direction I want to take this idea... Ah well, I guess that's what I get to figure out later.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Blogging Woes
Obviously, this "blog a day" thing just isn't going to happen. I think I'll aim for every other day, see how far that gets me.
As always, I've been kinda struggling with what the purpose of this blog even is, really. So I went and asked people on facebook what the purpose of a blog could be, and I got a few helpful responses that already kinda fit in with what I've done. One person said that blogs can "relate ones personal experiences to other people, not unlike an advice column", which is essentially what I've been doing with the personal bullshit posts (except I kinda leave out the advice part, should try and do better in the future about that). Another said they're good for waxing philosophic, which is kind of right up my alley and what I already do with my opinionations. The third stated that blogs are for self-improvement, which I don't think I do but I probably try to accomplish with the scribble posts. It's weird, I've had this assumption in the back of my brain that matches what the last opinion is, blogging for the advancement of a cause, which has been making me the littlest bit stir-crazy because I have no real causes to advance, I have no real passion for anything , but I guess it's time to let that assumption die quietly since apparently I already accomplish worthy purposes for a blog!
As always, I've been kinda struggling with what the purpose of this blog even is, really. So I went and asked people on facebook what the purpose of a blog could be, and I got a few helpful responses that already kinda fit in with what I've done. One person said that blogs can "relate ones personal experiences to other people, not unlike an advice column", which is essentially what I've been doing with the personal bullshit posts (except I kinda leave out the advice part, should try and do better in the future about that). Another said they're good for waxing philosophic, which is kind of right up my alley and what I already do with my opinionations. The third stated that blogs are for self-improvement, which I don't think I do but I probably try to accomplish with the scribble posts. It's weird, I've had this assumption in the back of my brain that matches what the last opinion is, blogging for the advancement of a cause, which has been making me the littlest bit stir-crazy because I have no real causes to advance, I have no real passion for anything , but I guess it's time to let that assumption die quietly since apparently I already accomplish worthy purposes for a blog!
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Valentine for thought
Valentine's Day. Some see it as a day to pay special romantic attention to their loved ones, some see it as a day they're obligated to pay special romantic attention to loved ones, some see it as "Single's Awareness Day", and some manage not to notice the holiday until they log onto Facebook.
I'm lucky enough to fall into the latter category, but despite my standing opinion of Valentine's Day sentiments (either the classic gushy stuff or the bitter "corporations just want money" or "way to make single peeps feel awful" thoughts) being trite and overdone (seriously! Everybody has an opinion about this holiday!), I hold on to hope that one day we as a culture will regrow a brain and stop working ourselves into tizzies over unimportant shit.
Yeah, we really should show our loved ones our affection often, but should we take offense to an occasion to spoil the people we love? Is there a reason we should take the holiday the way others take it, instead of taking a not-so-random day and celebrating the things we wish to celebrate? Go give a friend a hug, let a sibling know you love them even when they're annoying, pop on facebook and see which old aquaintences you've forgotten about, see if you'd like to fix that or not. Go spoil yourself, show yourself love however you need it, take the time to meditate or relax and do nothing or make time for an project dear to your heart. Go spend some time volunteering, picking up litter, planting a tree or flower bush. Honestly, go show some love for somebody or something... And then do it the next day and the day after, too. Go develop some valentine moments you can bring into your life regularly.
Have a merry Valentine's love!
I'm lucky enough to fall into the latter category, but despite my standing opinion of Valentine's Day sentiments (either the classic gushy stuff or the bitter "corporations just want money" or "way to make single peeps feel awful" thoughts) being trite and overdone (seriously! Everybody has an opinion about this holiday!), I hold on to hope that one day we as a culture will regrow a brain and stop working ourselves into tizzies over unimportant shit.
Yeah, we really should show our loved ones our affection often, but should we take offense to an occasion to spoil the people we love? Is there a reason we should take the holiday the way others take it, instead of taking a not-so-random day and celebrating the things we wish to celebrate? Go give a friend a hug, let a sibling know you love them even when they're annoying, pop on facebook and see which old aquaintences you've forgotten about, see if you'd like to fix that or not. Go spoil yourself, show yourself love however you need it, take the time to meditate or relax and do nothing or make time for an project dear to your heart. Go spend some time volunteering, picking up litter, planting a tree or flower bush. Honestly, go show some love for somebody or something... And then do it the next day and the day after, too. Go develop some valentine moments you can bring into your life regularly.
Have a merry Valentine's love!
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Emotional Crap
All these chains, dragging down
Legs growing strong to bear the weight
Shoulders and heart sore and aching
Stress tearing muscle from bone
Head exploding from tension building up
Sad to see how little it takes
To reach the limit I can bear
without lashing out to remove it all
Should be stronger
Should be kinder
Should be available
Shouldn’t complain
Shouldn’t frown
Shouldn’t hide
Good for nothing else
And should do what you’re good at
Or otherwise, why should you stick around?
Round and round, same old problems
Tired of hearing it, but you’re guilty of the same
Oh why should life always hurt like this?
Monday, February 11, 2013
Dream of Insanity
In a classroom, a group of about 8 students sitting
on the floor around the teacher sitting on the stool. She’s given out
Oracle cards, one per student, and has us read the meaning. Then she
passes around another card, and has us connect the two cards meanings.
The first card I received is Night’s ___ [cannot remember], and the
common card is Night’s Witch. Night’s ___ always wears blue, and is of
sky and tempest and star; Night’s Witch never wears red, is of copper
and silver (alchemical associations of beauty and purity respectively,
and both are considered feminine) and blood. [Retrospectively, it makes
more sense to my logical brain to have the one named Night and the other
named Witch, and even in the dream I was confused as to why there were
two cards of the night] I drew them together saying that they are very
similar but fundamentally different, and that they could be snapshots in
time (past and present, present and future), outcomes of a choice, or
people in your life (as not even the court cards cover all aspects),
concluding that I could not tell for certain- “But you would know”, the
teacher says, wearing the body of my old high school English teacher but
having the voice of the moon (smooth and cool and uniquely feminine,
with a timbre of amusement).
She
then passes around a book, and has all read bits of the following fairy
tale… [Which I experience as the boy, even afterwards, as he was a
ghost]
Once
upon a time, two best friends went wandering in the forest. The elder
girl wore a dress of cotton, while the younger boy wore a suit of silk.
While they were playing. the boy saw a pretty little silkworm, and he
was so enamored by it he caught it and tied it around his beltloop. His
friend was upset by this and kept asking him to set it free, but he
refused. The next thing he knew, he was laying naked in the grass, and a
butterfly flew out of a cocoon woven into the tree in front of him,
right in sight. Amazed by this apparent miracle, he ran back to town to
tell them of it. But when he arrives, the townsfolk instantly gather
around and stone him to death.
Wait,
what? By fairy tale logic, the pretty little silkworm wove it’s cocoon
by the silk he was wearing. Though you may have noticed that he never
questioned why he woke up in the grass, nor where his friend was to be
found; or indeed, why she was so upset at his capture of the silkworm.
See,
the girl was trying to save his life. She knocked him over the head so
she could remove his pants, and then stole the rest of his suit so he
wouldn’t suspect. She ran the silkworm over to the village healer, but
alas it had already died. She convinced the mayor of her innocence, but
maintained that it twas a stranger who has done this… then the boy
showed up and all knew his crime. She kept the little silkworm until it
started to rot, and when she went to bury it, the silkworm left a dark
stain on her fingers that never went away for the rest of her days. At
the end of it all, “He got his, and she got hers”.
I
hand the book back to the teacher, and say the moral is to not disturb
what isn’t yours, whilst the others say things like greed and justice
and guilt. Teacher simply smiles at me, as if she thinks I only got half
the point.
Not sure if that dream happened because my sleep schedule was completely fucked up… See, I slept til 1800 Saturday, stayed up all night, grabbed breakfast with a friend and then crashed at his place at 1100, slept til 1500, made my way back home and promptly crashed again. Then I woke up a 0200 Monday, decided to try and sleep again, ended up tossing and turning enough that I thought I never slept at all until I woke up with that dream in my head XD.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Grains of sand
Pictures drawn in the sand
Children playing on the beach, carving simple pictures at the spur of their whim
Adults, drawing out maps to illustrate their plans
Artists wishing to show their work, using this media for reasons of their own
People guided by ritual for spiritual reasons
All of their marks fade away
Washed away by the sea, smoothed over by the wind
Some are sad to see the pictures go
Others realize that the impermanance of the forms is rather the point of it.
Old pictures go away
New ones are drawn
Again and again, the pictures in the sand constantly reform
The sand doesn't care
It always has been, it always will be, mutable and changing
Sand makes a great metaphor for life.
Children playing on the beach, carving simple pictures at the spur of their whim
Adults, drawing out maps to illustrate their plans
Artists wishing to show their work, using this media for reasons of their own
People guided by ritual for spiritual reasons
All of their marks fade away
Washed away by the sea, smoothed over by the wind
Some are sad to see the pictures go
Others realize that the impermanance of the forms is rather the point of it.
Old pictures go away
New ones are drawn
Again and again, the pictures in the sand constantly reform
The sand doesn't care
It always has been, it always will be, mutable and changing
Sand makes a great metaphor for life.
Random Ramblings
So, um, weekends do weird fucking shit to my sleep schedule. Like, I will fucking crash fairly early on Friday night if I'm not kept awake by excitements, and then I will sleep all through the day Saturday, stay up til Sunday afternoon, then fucking crash again until I have to get up and go to work on Mondays. This is what happens when a naturally nocturnal person is able to reset her sleep schedule fairly easily and has to work days. Fuck.
That above is my explaination as to why I am writing this next post on what is technically a Sunday even though to me it's registering as still Saturday. For you imaginaries keeping track, there will be a couple posts that show as being on the same day at some point to make up for this post that shows as skipping a day, which is perfectly alright because I like following the spirit of the law rather than the letter.
Philosophical note: In essence, the spirit of an idea is what should truly matter, since languages were only invented to get ideas across, though there are certainly plenty of subjects that language fails to describe atequately. So, when spirit and letter obviously conflict, as long as people understand the spirit, the spirit should be what is acted upon. Hence why I always side with justice against law and automatically distrust America's legal system (what hodge-podge education I have of it does not lend faith in the system, says the female raised by a hilariously paranoid father).
Fucking mornings. I swear, it doesn't matter how long I've been up or what I'm doing, but mornings always make me loopy. Another funny thing, fucking with the hours you're awake on a weekly basis lends itself to examining criteria you want to assign to the names to timespans... so I've come up with a fairly elegant system of dividing a 24-hour period up with consistency.
Morning = 0600-1200 (6 am to noon)
Afternoon = 1200-1800 (noon to 6 pm)
Evening = 1800-0000 (6 pm to midnight)
Night = 0000-0600 (midnight to 6 am)
In other news, a friend introduced me to Civilization 3, and holy gods but that shit is addictive o.O This friend is a person I've known since high school (he was on a different school's high school scholar's bowl team, and I competed against him a few times and friended him on facebook, but only really started talking and getting to know him recently), but he's just an amazing person ad it's one of those things where it's like "Why didn't I start talking to you sooner?", but I suppose what happens happens and we've both distilled our awesomeness to the point where we love each other for it.
And um.... yep. About time to end this post before it ends up getting even more silly. Toodle-oo!
That above is my explaination as to why I am writing this next post on what is technically a Sunday even though to me it's registering as still Saturday. For you imaginaries keeping track, there will be a couple posts that show as being on the same day at some point to make up for this post that shows as skipping a day, which is perfectly alright because I like following the spirit of the law rather than the letter.
Philosophical note: In essence, the spirit of an idea is what should truly matter, since languages were only invented to get ideas across, though there are certainly plenty of subjects that language fails to describe atequately. So, when spirit and letter obviously conflict, as long as people understand the spirit, the spirit should be what is acted upon. Hence why I always side with justice against law and automatically distrust America's legal system (what hodge-podge education I have of it does not lend faith in the system, says the female raised by a hilariously paranoid father).
Fucking mornings. I swear, it doesn't matter how long I've been up or what I'm doing, but mornings always make me loopy. Another funny thing, fucking with the hours you're awake on a weekly basis lends itself to examining criteria you want to assign to the names to timespans... so I've come up with a fairly elegant system of dividing a 24-hour period up with consistency.
Morning = 0600-1200 (6 am to noon)
Afternoon = 1200-1800 (noon to 6 pm)
Evening = 1800-0000 (6 pm to midnight)
Night = 0000-0600 (midnight to 6 am)
In other news, a friend introduced me to Civilization 3, and holy gods but that shit is addictive o.O This friend is a person I've known since high school (he was on a different school's high school scholar's bowl team, and I competed against him a few times and friended him on facebook, but only really started talking and getting to know him recently), but he's just an amazing person ad it's one of those things where it's like "Why didn't I start talking to you sooner?", but I suppose what happens happens and we've both distilled our awesomeness to the point where we love each other for it.
And um.... yep. About time to end this post before it ends up getting even more silly. Toodle-oo!
Friday, February 8, 2013
Rant
"It's a permanent solution to a temporary problem"
"Everyone has something to live for"
"Each suicide leaves behind an average of six survivors- family and friends who mourn for their lost loved one"
I really, really hate quotes like these. DESPISE them. What they all boil down to is "we as a culture don't think you have the right to choose to die". And... I find that despicable. Every single individual on the planet should have the right to die, for whatever reason they have, without having everyone around feel the need to constantly thwart them because everyone else is too fucking selfish to let them die! Of course this doesn't mean I think people shouldn't be offered help, nor that people shouldn't seek help if they want help, but for goodness sake, can we all just take a deep breath, realize it's not all about us and we're stupid if we feel guilt about someone around us committing suicide, and add "right to die" along the general independent entitlement cultural mindset? Pretty please?
"Everyone has something to live for"
"Each suicide leaves behind an average of six survivors- family and friends who mourn for their lost loved one"
I really, really hate quotes like these. DESPISE them. What they all boil down to is "we as a culture don't think you have the right to choose to die". And... I find that despicable. Every single individual on the planet should have the right to die, for whatever reason they have, without having everyone around feel the need to constantly thwart them because everyone else is too fucking selfish to let them die! Of course this doesn't mean I think people shouldn't be offered help, nor that people shouldn't seek help if they want help, but for goodness sake, can we all just take a deep breath, realize it's not all about us and we're stupid if we feel guilt about someone around us committing suicide, and add "right to die" along the general independent entitlement cultural mindset? Pretty please?
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Apparently Journaling
So, I just got done telling a friend all about the benefits of keeping a journal- it gives you an insight into how you think (certain patterns you may notice), it gives you a chance to organize your thoughts, put things in perspective, solidify recent decisions, clarify underlying trends and patterns in your mind and life, practice writing and language skills.... and then realized "Holy hell, this hype is amazing, I think I just convinced myself to give this a whirl!" I also realized that I've been neglecting this little blog lately, and figured it's time to fix that. Yes, that's right you dear imaginaries, I shall be taking up a "write daily" thingamajg again!
The horrible part is I was honestly wanting to decrease my personal bullshit posts, but it looks like the opposite is going to happen, unless I can juice up enough creativity to keep up tons of writing. Ah well, there's a reason why I call you readers of this blog "imaginaries", so screw your non-existant opinions XD
The horrible part is I was honestly wanting to decrease my personal bullshit posts, but it looks like the opposite is going to happen, unless I can juice up enough creativity to keep up tons of writing. Ah well, there's a reason why I call you readers of this blog "imaginaries", so screw your non-existant opinions XD
Friday, February 1, 2013
Tiffany's Story- Day 5
Snow drifts down to the ground, fat and fluffy and picturesque, but Tiffany takes no joy in the sight. She simply runs, trying to outrun all the thoughts in her head, running until her legs start to quiver, not even hearing the birds singing. She makes it to school an hour early, and is able to use the locker room's showers unmolested. Since she has the time to kill, she eats breakfast: a banana, a bowl of cheerios, scrambled eggs, milk and orange juice. Whilst eating, she doodles- three jackals tear at the corpse of an old lion, tufts of his mane floating away in the wind and his blood flecked everywhere.
History. A subject classically hated by high school students across the country for sheer mind-numbing boredom and tedious memorization of dates.Mrs. Cooper made no effort to dispel this stereotype within her classroom, but spends her days giving ignorant lectures on the ways history's various victors were more virtuous than the people they defeated. Of course, she frequently peppers her lectures with questions, to ensure she has the students' attention, but Tiffany only needs to give half an ear to fend them off; the rest of her attention she spends on the textbook, which at least pretends to offer interesting information. What she doesn't notice is Justin sitting behind her, doing the exact same.
Her mind is drained of creativity for once, and she completed her assignments during classes, so she grabs a random book from a library shelf. To her disgust, it is a book on the paranormal: focusing on psychic abilities in particular. She reads it anyway, mentally disproving all the proof the book speaks of in favor of psychic abilities existing. The hour comes and goes, but as soon as the final bell rings, the librarian comes along and claims a seat across from Tiffany.
"May I talk to you, just for a couple minutes?"
Those few simple words are enough to start Tiffany's heart racing. She really does not like being noticed, at all, and would have fled the scene but for her mind tightly gripping her emotions, telling herself it would be safer to ride out whatever conversation Miss Shaw wanted to have. "Sure."
"I'm just curious as to why you attend this study hall every afternoon. You maintain a constant B average in all your classes, and the few times you're actually working on an assignment in here, it's clear that you don't need help and are only doing it in here because you ran out of class time, so..." She leaves the sentence open tentatively, letting Tiffany fill in what she felt comfortable with to answer the question rather than directly inquiring after the suspicion in her mind.
Tiffany herself calms down a little, gratefully seizing the opportunity to make the impression she felt would draw the least attention in the future. "Well, ma'am, on Tuesdays and Thursdays it's a good way to pass the time until chess practice; no sense in walking all the way home only to turn around and come back, right? And the rest of the days, well, it gives me time to work on homework or doodles without having a cat demanding attention every five minutes. Besides, my aunt and uncle like me to be predictable, so I'd best be on my way now."
Having delivered her innocent little speech, Tiffany curtsies and twirls out of the room. Little does she know that Miss Shaw can certainly see that Tiffany was putting on the cute act for reasons of deception. Unfortunately, she really doesn't have enough proof to act upon, but she resolves to keep a closer eye on Tiffany...
History. A subject classically hated by high school students across the country for sheer mind-numbing boredom and tedious memorization of dates.Mrs. Cooper made no effort to dispel this stereotype within her classroom, but spends her days giving ignorant lectures on the ways history's various victors were more virtuous than the people they defeated. Of course, she frequently peppers her lectures with questions, to ensure she has the students' attention, but Tiffany only needs to give half an ear to fend them off; the rest of her attention she spends on the textbook, which at least pretends to offer interesting information. What she doesn't notice is Justin sitting behind her, doing the exact same.
Her mind is drained of creativity for once, and she completed her assignments during classes, so she grabs a random book from a library shelf. To her disgust, it is a book on the paranormal: focusing on psychic abilities in particular. She reads it anyway, mentally disproving all the proof the book speaks of in favor of psychic abilities existing. The hour comes and goes, but as soon as the final bell rings, the librarian comes along and claims a seat across from Tiffany.
"May I talk to you, just for a couple minutes?"
Those few simple words are enough to start Tiffany's heart racing. She really does not like being noticed, at all, and would have fled the scene but for her mind tightly gripping her emotions, telling herself it would be safer to ride out whatever conversation Miss Shaw wanted to have. "Sure."
"I'm just curious as to why you attend this study hall every afternoon. You maintain a constant B average in all your classes, and the few times you're actually working on an assignment in here, it's clear that you don't need help and are only doing it in here because you ran out of class time, so..." She leaves the sentence open tentatively, letting Tiffany fill in what she felt comfortable with to answer the question rather than directly inquiring after the suspicion in her mind.
Tiffany herself calms down a little, gratefully seizing the opportunity to make the impression she felt would draw the least attention in the future. "Well, ma'am, on Tuesdays and Thursdays it's a good way to pass the time until chess practice; no sense in walking all the way home only to turn around and come back, right? And the rest of the days, well, it gives me time to work on homework or doodles without having a cat demanding attention every five minutes. Besides, my aunt and uncle like me to be predictable, so I'd best be on my way now."
Having delivered her innocent little speech, Tiffany curtsies and twirls out of the room. Little does she know that Miss Shaw can certainly see that Tiffany was putting on the cute act for reasons of deception. Unfortunately, she really doesn't have enough proof to act upon, but she resolves to keep a closer eye on Tiffany...
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Tiffany's Story- Day 4
The sun is bright in enough the streetlamps flicker off; Tiffany races to school, the hounds howling speeding her on as she attempts to ensure she is not late. Her morning runs save her: she is fast enough she can afford to slow down and walk the last block to school to avoid the stares of passerby.
A chemistry lab is scheduled, the first thing in the day. There is a new student in class, but another student is sick, so she need not endure a lab partner: the partner of the sick student grabs the new kid before he could even come close to her. They hunch over their project, gossiping over her- she feels their stares. Ignoring them, she makes sure to finish after a couple of the other teams are done. During the day, she finds he is in half her classes. He tries to be friendly, but she continually gives him the cold shoulder. She doesn’t understand why this new student is fascinated with her- he wears the trapping of an outcast, but she never does, and he is friendly enough he has many student socializing with him.
Tiffany doesn’t see him during study hall. With no homework assigned that day, she writes a glimpse of her dream.
“Send out the lifeboats, NOW!” The one who says that knows they are all doomed, but feels compelled to give her crew hope. The thin, hard face, hidden by shaggy blond hair, forms into an expressionless mask as she prays one last time… she prays to the gods of her homeland, rather than the god she adopted when she found a new place to build her empire on. A flash of light, burning her eyes, and then darkness for the rest of eternity…
Study hall has ended, and she goes to her chess team practice. The new student, Justin, is there; he wishes to try out for the team. Despite her efforts to be invisible, she is called to be his tester; they play, and he wins, even when she steps her game up to her full capabilities. She is not distracted by his attempts at chatter, but she does not feel the need to answer him. Their match lasts long enough that everyone else has left but the coach, and even she leaves the moment he checkmates her, leaving them to themselves. Tiffany ignores him, walking off without a word.
A chemistry lab is scheduled, the first thing in the day. There is a new student in class, but another student is sick, so she need not endure a lab partner: the partner of the sick student grabs the new kid before he could even come close to her. They hunch over their project, gossiping over her- she feels their stares. Ignoring them, she makes sure to finish after a couple of the other teams are done. During the day, she finds he is in half her classes. He tries to be friendly, but she continually gives him the cold shoulder. She doesn’t understand why this new student is fascinated with her- he wears the trapping of an outcast, but she never does, and he is friendly enough he has many student socializing with him.
Tiffany doesn’t see him during study hall. With no homework assigned that day, she writes a glimpse of her dream.
“Send out the lifeboats, NOW!” The one who says that knows they are all doomed, but feels compelled to give her crew hope. The thin, hard face, hidden by shaggy blond hair, forms into an expressionless mask as she prays one last time… she prays to the gods of her homeland, rather than the god she adopted when she found a new place to build her empire on. A flash of light, burning her eyes, and then darkness for the rest of eternity…
Study hall has ended, and she goes to her chess team practice. The new student, Justin, is there; he wishes to try out for the team. Despite her efforts to be invisible, she is called to be his tester; they play, and he wins, even when she steps her game up to her full capabilities. She is not distracted by his attempts at chatter, but she does not feel the need to answer him. Their match lasts long enough that everyone else has left but the coach, and even she leaves the moment he checkmates her, leaving them to themselves. Tiffany ignores him, walking off without a word.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Tiffany's Story- Day 3
Wednesday arrives. Before dawn, Tiffany leaves the house to go for a run. She runs through the darker areas of her town, where there are no dogs to warn others of her passing. She makes her way to school, arriving an hour early drenched in sweat. She goes to use the locker room’s showers, picking up the spare set of clothes she keeps in her locker for these kind of days. The school’s cheerleaders come in the use the showers early- 45 minutes before school, instead of half an hour. The captain hates Tiffany, and there are no coaches or friendly souls to protect her, only the toadies of Sabrina.
In art class, she organizes the paint bottles everyone tosses around before getting to work on her own project, and the teachers offers thanks as always. She puts the earphones to her music in her ears and gets to work, droning out the chatter of her classmates. This painting is almost done- it shows a blizzard on a mountain peak, a hiker struggling to reach a shelter far off in the distance. She finishes painting the figure in, then sets it aside to dry before starting work on a pencil drawing. There would be no new assignment until next week, so she starts drawing a face; a dancer with porcelain features, thin enough her cheeks are hollow but still far more beautiful than most. The teacher taps her shoulder to get her attention when the bell rings and says “Good work! If you want to turn that into a finished portrait I’ll grade it as an extra assignment. Remember, portraits aren’t just about drawing a face, they’re about showing the person's personality.” She tunes out the world again after he walks away, and spends her second period of art class drawing a frame for the piece. She starts at the sides; they are the dancer’s feet. One foot has a bandage wrapped around it, the other is left bare; both are bloody and blistered and mangled. Along the bottom there is a series of mirrors with different poses of the dancer reflected within them, and a single black rose forms the upper boundary, the thorns piercing the skin and adhering the rose to her calves, almost forming a chain. All the outlining is accomplished when the bell rings; over the next two days she will shade in the details.
Tiffany doesn’t actually have much homework to work on during study hall, so she works ahead. She does not know which questions the teachers will deem unimportant and not assign, so she simply completes them all, careful to ensure she will only receive a B score regardless of which questions the teachers disregard. After school, Tiffany cannot bear to hear the dogs along the shortest route to her house, so she takes the long way around.
In art class, she organizes the paint bottles everyone tosses around before getting to work on her own project, and the teachers offers thanks as always. She puts the earphones to her music in her ears and gets to work, droning out the chatter of her classmates. This painting is almost done- it shows a blizzard on a mountain peak, a hiker struggling to reach a shelter far off in the distance. She finishes painting the figure in, then sets it aside to dry before starting work on a pencil drawing. There would be no new assignment until next week, so she starts drawing a face; a dancer with porcelain features, thin enough her cheeks are hollow but still far more beautiful than most. The teacher taps her shoulder to get her attention when the bell rings and says “Good work! If you want to turn that into a finished portrait I’ll grade it as an extra assignment. Remember, portraits aren’t just about drawing a face, they’re about showing the person's personality.” She tunes out the world again after he walks away, and spends her second period of art class drawing a frame for the piece. She starts at the sides; they are the dancer’s feet. One foot has a bandage wrapped around it, the other is left bare; both are bloody and blistered and mangled. Along the bottom there is a series of mirrors with different poses of the dancer reflected within them, and a single black rose forms the upper boundary, the thorns piercing the skin and adhering the rose to her calves, almost forming a chain. All the outlining is accomplished when the bell rings; over the next two days she will shade in the details.
Tiffany doesn’t actually have much homework to work on during study hall, so she works ahead. She does not know which questions the teachers will deem unimportant and not assign, so she simply completes them all, careful to ensure she will only receive a B score regardless of which questions the teachers disregard. After school, Tiffany cannot bear to hear the dogs along the shortest route to her house, so she takes the long way around.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Tiffany's Story- Day 2
Next day, the winter sky clear as a bell and ice coating the ground, she walks to school in clashing clothing- ratty denim shorts, falling apart tennis shoes, and a gorgeous new sweater. The neighbor’s dogs bark at her, birds fly away at her approach, and she has the sidewalk to herself like she normally does. This day, she chooses to take her time and stroll down her route, enjoying the solitude while she has it.
His voice dripping with sarcasm, Mr. Victorsonn says “Since you’re paying such rapt attention to class, Tiffany, why don’t you solve all the problems on the board?”
Without a word, she rises from her seat and glides to the chalkboard, studying the assortment of equations: half for her class, half for the advanced class that would be made to solve them in the morning. Tiffany gets to work, first on the problems meant for her class, and then on the problems “above her level”, not even bothering to work any of them out. She knew she shouldn’t show off, but her teacher hated her with a passion and she returned the sentiment. The thing he hated most was being shown up and the thing she hated most was having attention called to her; they both knew this, and rather than declare peace, he would attack and force her to retaliate. The bell rings and ends the day, saving him from having to make a response (and saving her classmates from a night of math homework, which they celebrated, not seeing they would just have double the workload on the morrow).
After study hall, during which she completed the homework Mr. Victorsonn would surely have assigned if he had the time, Tiffany goes to chess team practice. Despite being the only girl on the team, none of her classmates bothered trying to socialize with her; she had trained them out of such futile attempts. She is careful to keep the level of her game to the median level of everyone else, even though the coach treats her as invisible and leaves her to practice by herself. The sun sets, and it is night when she finally runs out of excuses to avoid going to her residence.
His voice dripping with sarcasm, Mr. Victorsonn says “Since you’re paying such rapt attention to class, Tiffany, why don’t you solve all the problems on the board?”
Without a word, she rises from her seat and glides to the chalkboard, studying the assortment of equations: half for her class, half for the advanced class that would be made to solve them in the morning. Tiffany gets to work, first on the problems meant for her class, and then on the problems “above her level”, not even bothering to work any of them out. She knew she shouldn’t show off, but her teacher hated her with a passion and she returned the sentiment. The thing he hated most was being shown up and the thing she hated most was having attention called to her; they both knew this, and rather than declare peace, he would attack and force her to retaliate. The bell rings and ends the day, saving him from having to make a response (and saving her classmates from a night of math homework, which they celebrated, not seeing they would just have double the workload on the morrow).
After study hall, during which she completed the homework Mr. Victorsonn would surely have assigned if he had the time, Tiffany goes to chess team practice. Despite being the only girl on the team, none of her classmates bothered trying to socialize with her; she had trained them out of such futile attempts. She is careful to keep the level of her game to the median level of everyone else, even though the coach treats her as invisible and leaves her to practice by herself. The sun sets, and it is night when she finally runs out of excuses to avoid going to her residence.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Tiffany's Story- Day 1
A hoarse, desperate cry echoes through the cave. He is alone, trapped, continually calling even though the one who was with him abandoned him long ago. He refuses to think of suicide… His mouth is within reach of a water drip, so his death will be the long one of hunger. His heart still bleeds from the betrayal: his lover could not free him, so kept on going to secure her own freedom. At this point, he would even be grateful for an enemy or wild animal to approach… anything would be better than this slow death, lingering in pain in the dark and cold and lifeless loneliness.
“A very dramatic scene, Tiffany, but the assignment was for a full page; I’ll have to take off a letter grade for this and I want to see you after class. Now, the homework for today is questions five through fifteen from page 283. Since we finished with the presentations early, you may begin working on it.”
With a sigh, Tiffany slinks back to her seat and arranges her desk back to her liking- people had been moving things around during her presentation. At least they hadn’t started stealing things this time. Instead of working on the assignment, she stares at the blank sheet of paper she pulled out, lost in her head. The bell jolts her out of her reverie, and she snaps up her supplies and walks up to Miss Atkin’s desk.
“Before you say anything, even with the letter grade deduction I will still earn a B on this assignment according to your scale of judging creativity. Even if you decide to be bitchy and take off points where you can, the worst grade you can give me is a C. With my B average and the fact that this assignment is worth so little, it really won’t affect my grade point average, so you have no basis for keeping me. Now, Mrs. Cooper doesn’t accept late passes, so I must get going.”
With that she darts to the door, not letting her teacher get a single word into the conversation. “Wait! Oh… why do I bother?” Miss Atkins exclaims, shaking her head ruefully over her aggravating student.
Tiffany gets through the rest of her afternoon, letting the hateful words sail above her head, ignoring her peers in favor of her internal world of daydreams. Still cognizant of everything around her, she simply chooses not to respond to it. After school she attends study hall, carefully making sure each assignment she completes will earn an 85% score, delaying her return to her residence- she refused to call that place a home.
“A very dramatic scene, Tiffany, but the assignment was for a full page; I’ll have to take off a letter grade for this and I want to see you after class. Now, the homework for today is questions five through fifteen from page 283. Since we finished with the presentations early, you may begin working on it.”
With a sigh, Tiffany slinks back to her seat and arranges her desk back to her liking- people had been moving things around during her presentation. At least they hadn’t started stealing things this time. Instead of working on the assignment, she stares at the blank sheet of paper she pulled out, lost in her head. The bell jolts her out of her reverie, and she snaps up her supplies and walks up to Miss Atkin’s desk.
“Before you say anything, even with the letter grade deduction I will still earn a B on this assignment according to your scale of judging creativity. Even if you decide to be bitchy and take off points where you can, the worst grade you can give me is a C. With my B average and the fact that this assignment is worth so little, it really won’t affect my grade point average, so you have no basis for keeping me. Now, Mrs. Cooper doesn’t accept late passes, so I must get going.”
With that she darts to the door, not letting her teacher get a single word into the conversation. “Wait! Oh… why do I bother?” Miss Atkins exclaims, shaking her head ruefully over her aggravating student.
Tiffany gets through the rest of her afternoon, letting the hateful words sail above her head, ignoring her peers in favor of her internal world of daydreams. Still cognizant of everything around her, she simply chooses not to respond to it. After school she attends study hall, carefully making sure each assignment she completes will earn an 85% score, delaying her return to her residence- she refused to call that place a home.
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