This is a letter. It can be to whomever you want it to be to, but it's probably not to you.
In other words, I'm too chicken-shit to speak my mind, so it's going here.
My dear friend,
We've lost touch. Years have gone by, and it seems like lifetimes since I've seen you last.
I missed you. I missed you like a raincloud misses rain. I gave you up and you just fell away. But funny thing about rainclouds, is that they always form again. It's like that song I learned in first grade, to the tune of some classical song attributed to a composer I've lost the name of over time.
Precipitation, Evaporation, Condensation, and the cycle begins again. (okay, so it starts with Evaporation, but we'll ignore that particular. This is about a metaphor. Or a simile. I'm not entirely sure anymore).
I'm not saying I want what we had before. That's a horrible idea, why did you even suggest it? (I'm not mad, nor am I saying you really did suggest it). It also is impossible. We're too different from who we were to be that way again.
And perhaps it's not you who I miss (though it seemed that way this evening). Perhaps it's who you were and I hate that thought. Because I like to believe that our core doesn't change, we are shaped by our experiences, yes, but the very base of our being is what calls out to others. And I'd like to think that ours call out to each other.
Not, perhaps, romantically. It was always a thought in the back of my mind, and certainly there were times I thought it could be. But we were great friends. We shared a lot between ourselves. We were two beings on the edge of the precipice of the end of the beginning of the rest of our lives.
And I let you go. I let you go to save myself, because I was too fond of you, and you let me leave you behind, because of reasons I'll probably never know.
But tonight, oh! tonight. I saw you across the room and knew it was you, even without being told (though I was informed, but mostly so I would look in the correct direction). And I was frightened. I was nervous. My knees shook and I blamed it on my shoes, but really, it was you.
And you hugged me.
Can I tell you a secret? One that isn't really a secret at all? I'm not used to physical contact. Oh, I like it, I crave it sometimes, even. But it's not something I learned to ask for, and it was never frequently freely given. It still shocks me when people touch me, just casually, on the shoulder, or arm.
And you hugged me. Not once, but at least twice (I think I'm starting to count one as more than one, but, hey, it happens). And even though today I was particularly popular as far as friendly-people who tap my shoulder or guide me with a hand on my upper back, or even my new friend at work who hugged me (three times!) go, it still surprised me.
And I think you should know that I missed the hell out of you. I missed you so much. I missed the casualness of our relationship. Of our friendship. Of our companionship. You are two-thirds my t'hyla, and I know you probably won't get that reference, but you are my friend and my brother.
And I miss you.
The Georgiana to my Darcy was there, and witnessed the hug. And she probably saw more than was actually there, just like I felt more than was probably there, but the way she described how you hugged me back, it was like you were just as eager to have me be right there as I am to be right there.
This isn't even trying to be subtle anymore. Writing any more obviously and I'd have names, dates, places, and a check-in on facebook or foursquare logged in here.
Maybe I need to go to bed. It's been a long, wonderful day.
And I'm glad I looked pretty, not just for you (though, I'll admit, it certainly helped me feel a little more confident), but because it did make me feel better, for once. I didn't feel like I had makeup caked on, I felt like I was myself.
I felt pretty, and they say that's the first step. And I'm glad you got to see it. Because I have grown, just like you have.
And while I miss you, I'm still scared. I'm still me, and I'm still probably not going to make the first move.
And I hope, I hope hope hope beyond hope, that we can be friends. That we can be as close as we were, as the different (but still the same) people we are now.
And I hope you missed me too.
Yours,
Me
**********
Aaaand, that's a lot of soul to expose. Wow. Okay, wasn't expecting all of that. But hey! Still in a good mood, don't feel like shit, and he'll probably never read this anyway! Yay! Good day all around, no?
Until next time, Dear Readers,
Me.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Pride and Prejudice and Papers
Oh, dear readers, I am quite exhausted.
Indeed, I have just finished writing a paper on the book in title. And turned it in a half hour before the day it was due. Considering I lost about two-and-a-half hours this evening to a work Christmas party, and I started writing it directly after quitting said party and arriving at home, I find it quite rewarding, and I am very happy with it.
Admittedly I stopped caring about the content about half-way through.
I know I oughtn't, but I am severely displeased with how this class has been handled this semester. I thought I could stick it out, thus missing the drop-with-refund and drop-without-failing dates. I don't care, however, as even with a D I will still graduate in the spring, and if I fail the class this semester, I can take it again next semester and hopefully it will not need to be held online. Which was a stupid decision in the first place.
But it did give me a chance to finally read the book that originated a story I knew practically by heart in the first place. It's a really good book, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I actually like it much better than I thought I would, (though that seems mildly unsurprising now that I think on it, as the books are always much better than the movie adaptations, no matter how sexy the man they get to play Mr. Darcy happens to be.)
I did learn some things from reading the book as opposed to watching the movies or television adaptations. As most girls who read the book or know the story, I fancied myself something of an Elizabeth Bennet, or at the very least, a Jane Bennet for years. Years, I say. However, upon reading the book, I find that my character, and indeed my mannerisms (excepting those that come only with fine breeding in the 1800s) to be more like those of a certain Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Which is his first name, if you didn't know. Seriously, how awesome is that? Fitzwilliam. Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam, it's not even a word. It seriously only means that it's the son of William. Which I'm assuming Mr. Darcy Sr.'s name was. Son of William. That's it. Fitzwilliam. But yes, it may not come as a surprise to some of you, especially if you are familiar with the minutiae of the book itself, but my personality is much more that of Mr. Darcy than of any of the other characters therein.
So one day I will meet a spirited young man, with fine eyes, who will challenge me and think me proud and aloof, and will hate me, and I will ask him to marry me, and he will think me ungentlemanly (womanly? I suppose that would be more fitting), and send me on my way, and I shall impart to him in a letter of all that I have been accused of and how it actually went, and then he will gradually fall in love with me, but we won't see each other for a whole year, until I run into him on my grand and sprawling property while he's taking a tour thinking I'm not going to be back for another night, and it'll be super awkward, but I'll introduce him to my sister, and he'll think she's lovely, but he'll like me more, and then awkwardness will resume, but then his younger sister will run off with an Officer in the Militia, who I am well acquainted with, and I will go after them and force them to marry and settle all of their debts, and he will fall for me even more and I will still love him of course, and then in the end, my Aunt will have a major objection to his connections, but I'll still ask him again to marry me, and he'll accept this time, and we'll live happily ever after (well, okay,we'll probably get into verbal spars because we're clever and such, and he's spirited, and I liven up when I'm comfortable, and you can't not be comfortable when you're in love. Pride and Prejudice taught me that) in my huge estate in Derbyshire.
Or I'll move to Seattle and work in a bar and have seven cats and write romance novels, etc. That could work too.
I am so glad to be done with that paper. Not because I don't want to write anymore (obviously that isn't the case, as I just recapped the whole of Pride and Prejudice but with me starring as Mr. Darcy), but because I just want to be done with this stupid class.
I won't be taking the final test until Monday, not just so I can study, but also because ain't no WAY I'm taking it tomorrow. It's open all next week, and I'll probably get out of work early on Monday anyway (and even if I don't, who cares?) and I'll come home and change and go back out and take the test and treat myself to probably Taco Bell because, damn, their volcano menu is delicious. Seriously. It's ridiculously good. Horrible for your internal plumbing, I'm sure, and certainly not recommended if you're sensitive to spicy (it's spicy. And I'm one of those people who likes spicy. It's SPICY), but soooooooo good.
Anyway, I need to stop writing now.
Until Next Time, Dear Readers,
Me
Indeed, I have just finished writing a paper on the book in title. And turned it in a half hour before the day it was due. Considering I lost about two-and-a-half hours this evening to a work Christmas party, and I started writing it directly after quitting said party and arriving at home, I find it quite rewarding, and I am very happy with it.
Admittedly I stopped caring about the content about half-way through.
I know I oughtn't, but I am severely displeased with how this class has been handled this semester. I thought I could stick it out, thus missing the drop-with-refund and drop-without-failing dates. I don't care, however, as even with a D I will still graduate in the spring, and if I fail the class this semester, I can take it again next semester and hopefully it will not need to be held online. Which was a stupid decision in the first place.
But it did give me a chance to finally read the book that originated a story I knew practically by heart in the first place. It's a really good book, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I actually like it much better than I thought I would, (though that seems mildly unsurprising now that I think on it, as the books are always much better than the movie adaptations, no matter how sexy the man they get to play Mr. Darcy happens to be.)
I did learn some things from reading the book as opposed to watching the movies or television adaptations. As most girls who read the book or know the story, I fancied myself something of an Elizabeth Bennet, or at the very least, a Jane Bennet for years. Years, I say. However, upon reading the book, I find that my character, and indeed my mannerisms (excepting those that come only with fine breeding in the 1800s) to be more like those of a certain Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Which is his first name, if you didn't know. Seriously, how awesome is that? Fitzwilliam. Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam, it's not even a word. It seriously only means that it's the son of William. Which I'm assuming Mr. Darcy Sr.'s name was. Son of William. That's it. Fitzwilliam. But yes, it may not come as a surprise to some of you, especially if you are familiar with the minutiae of the book itself, but my personality is much more that of Mr. Darcy than of any of the other characters therein.
So one day I will meet a spirited young man, with fine eyes, who will challenge me and think me proud and aloof, and will hate me, and I will ask him to marry me, and he will think me ungentlemanly (womanly? I suppose that would be more fitting), and send me on my way, and I shall impart to him in a letter of all that I have been accused of and how it actually went, and then he will gradually fall in love with me, but we won't see each other for a whole year, until I run into him on my grand and sprawling property while he's taking a tour thinking I'm not going to be back for another night, and it'll be super awkward, but I'll introduce him to my sister, and he'll think she's lovely, but he'll like me more, and then awkwardness will resume, but then his younger sister will run off with an Officer in the Militia, who I am well acquainted with, and I will go after them and force them to marry and settle all of their debts, and he will fall for me even more and I will still love him of course, and then in the end, my Aunt will have a major objection to his connections, but I'll still ask him again to marry me, and he'll accept this time, and we'll live happily ever after (well, okay,we'll probably get into verbal spars because we're clever and such, and he's spirited, and I liven up when I'm comfortable, and you can't not be comfortable when you're in love. Pride and Prejudice taught me that) in my huge estate in Derbyshire.
Or I'll move to Seattle and work in a bar and have seven cats and write romance novels, etc. That could work too.
I am so glad to be done with that paper. Not because I don't want to write anymore (obviously that isn't the case, as I just recapped the whole of Pride and Prejudice but with me starring as Mr. Darcy), but because I just want to be done with this stupid class.
I won't be taking the final test until Monday, not just so I can study, but also because ain't no WAY I'm taking it tomorrow. It's open all next week, and I'll probably get out of work early on Monday anyway (and even if I don't, who cares?) and I'll come home and change and go back out and take the test and treat myself to probably Taco Bell because, damn, their volcano menu is delicious. Seriously. It's ridiculously good. Horrible for your internal plumbing, I'm sure, and certainly not recommended if you're sensitive to spicy (it's spicy. And I'm one of those people who likes spicy. It's SPICY), but soooooooo good.
Anyway, I need to stop writing now.
Until Next Time, Dear Readers,
Me
Monday, December 10, 2012
Review: Home Made Pore Strips
http://petitelefant.com/how-to-pore-strips/
Okay, so if you ever took a look at my youtube history, you'd know I have this crazy obsession with pore strips and pimple popping (yes, that part of youtube).
So when I found this particular how-to on Pintrest, I have to admit I was intrigued. Pore strips have never quite worked out the way I wanted them to. I'm not sure if it's just that I'm not seeing it in 100000000000000000000000000x magnification or if I just don't have that dirty of pores (I feel like I do though, so I thought they ought to work better), or if maybe, just maybe I've been doing it wrong. However, as a poor college student who doesn't drink her milk (probably why I never quite reached the 5'4" mark...) buying milk for the use of approximately 2tbs was kind of pointless and also a waste of money. And plus, what would I do with the leftover gelatin?
Well, I went grocery shopping today. Guess what I broke down and bought? Yeahhh, of my few impulse buys for the year, this was one of them.
So I tried it out. I'm horribly messy and my aunt is coming by tomorrow to help me clean my room, but in the mean time, I dug out one of my used hamburger helper microwave bowl things (you know what I'm talking about) and washed it out to use as the disposable container, since I figured she used it for a reason, probably that gelatin is a bitch to clean out of things you want to use. I also didn't have a plastic spoon, so I'm really hoping the cleaning I did on the one I used will do, otherwise I'll just be having gelatin on all of my food I eat with that particular spoon for the rest of forever. Or I'll have to break down and use the dishwasher.
So I mix it up, and I added too much milk the first time. NBD, just add more gelatin. Too much gelatin. Just a touch more milk. Perfect! Then to the microwave for 10 seconds.
And she means ten. Any longer and I might have had boiling milk-jello-mixture instead of luke-warm milk-jello-mixture. And apply directly to your face. Apply directly to your face.
Apply directly to your face. I did it. I used my fingers since I wasn't sure the spoon was actually going to spread it around.
I can't move my face right now, but it also hasn't been 15 minutes. Okay, I can move it a little bit, but not much. I'll wait a little while longer, until the urge to peel it off becomes too great for my OCD.
Until then you're going to get the live review.
It smells weird. I guess it smells like milk and unflavored gelatin. But it smells weird. Not sure if I like it. Feels gross going on, too. Like you're spreading sandy boogers on your face. Not terribly pleasant.
Feels like I've got a mask on (oh wait, haha, I do) I really want to move my face because I can't. It's terribly inconvenient.
I think a smell should be one of the first things you say about a product, no matter what the product is. It's terribly important and can change a person's life and/or perception of the product. Like this stuff, smells like icky. Not a particular icky, but just an icky. Like sour milk, or the milk jug if you didn't rinse it out before you put it in the recycling. So sour milk and plastic. But maybe not so strong? It's more like the occasional whiff of it.
It doesn't go on clear either. It's not like, opaque, but it's certainly not transparent. It dries clearer, though. And feels really heavy. I didn't even put that much on I didn't think. Maybe I did...uh oh. My whole face is going to come off...I didn't even think about that!
Well, if you see me next without a layer of skin, just call me two-face. (NOTE: FOR YOUR SAFETY, DO NOT CALL ME TWO-FACE WHEN YOU SEE ME NEXT)
I may have also put some a little too close to my eye skin. It feels weird under my eye when I blink.
Has it been 15 minutes yet? Maybe that's why none of the pore-things work out for me. I'm too impatient. All I really want is to see the results, but in order to get the results, you have to wait...
I could solve this. I could watch pore-strip videos and wait until this is all dried...that could work.
Okay the 15 minutes HAS to be up by now...I can't move my face hardly at all...I'm gonna go peel this baby off. See you in a bit.
So, half an hour later, most of my facial hair removed (including what I'm sure is about half an eyebrow betwixt the twain), and looking like a crazed burn unit patient, I realize I should probably remember next time I decide to put something sticky on my face that I'm actually part Italian Wookie, and that it's a bad idea if I haven't shaved first.
I've tried rewetting down what's still on my face, so I can attempt to get the rest off later.
Rating:
I'm sure this works really well for normal girls who are not part Wookie and/or Mountain Man. I have come to the conclusion that I don't actually have blackheads, I just have pores that get filled with dirt from time to time, but that doesn't actually come out. As I should have learned with just about everything else I've tried.
Seriously, though, Don't do this if you have more than average hair on your face where you're applying this stuff. I lost my muttonchops for this review. You're welcome.
In any case, I always say don't take anyone else's word for it unless they're a doctor with certified medical degrees. Or a nurse. Always listen to the nurse, unless you've been a pain in the ass up until that point, in which case, listen to her anyway, but know that it's probably a punishment and not actually a treatment.
Oh my GOSH this hurts so bad.
Until Next Time, Dear Readers.
Me
Okay, so if you ever took a look at my youtube history, you'd know I have this crazy obsession with pore strips and pimple popping (yes, that part of youtube).
So when I found this particular how-to on Pintrest, I have to admit I was intrigued. Pore strips have never quite worked out the way I wanted them to. I'm not sure if it's just that I'm not seeing it in 100000000000000000000000000x magnification or if I just don't have that dirty of pores (I feel like I do though, so I thought they ought to work better), or if maybe, just maybe I've been doing it wrong. However, as a poor college student who doesn't drink her milk (probably why I never quite reached the 5'4" mark...) buying milk for the use of approximately 2tbs was kind of pointless and also a waste of money. And plus, what would I do with the leftover gelatin?
Well, I went grocery shopping today. Guess what I broke down and bought? Yeahhh, of my few impulse buys for the year, this was one of them.
So I tried it out. I'm horribly messy and my aunt is coming by tomorrow to help me clean my room, but in the mean time, I dug out one of my used hamburger helper microwave bowl things (you know what I'm talking about) and washed it out to use as the disposable container, since I figured she used it for a reason, probably that gelatin is a bitch to clean out of things you want to use. I also didn't have a plastic spoon, so I'm really hoping the cleaning I did on the one I used will do, otherwise I'll just be having gelatin on all of my food I eat with that particular spoon for the rest of forever. Or I'll have to break down and use the dishwasher.
So I mix it up, and I added too much milk the first time. NBD, just add more gelatin. Too much gelatin. Just a touch more milk. Perfect! Then to the microwave for 10 seconds.
And she means ten. Any longer and I might have had boiling milk-jello-mixture instead of luke-warm milk-jello-mixture. And apply directly to your face. Apply directly to your face.
Apply directly to your face. I did it. I used my fingers since I wasn't sure the spoon was actually going to spread it around.
I can't move my face right now, but it also hasn't been 15 minutes. Okay, I can move it a little bit, but not much. I'll wait a little while longer, until the urge to peel it off becomes too great for my OCD.
Until then you're going to get the live review.
It smells weird. I guess it smells like milk and unflavored gelatin. But it smells weird. Not sure if I like it. Feels gross going on, too. Like you're spreading sandy boogers on your face. Not terribly pleasant.
Feels like I've got a mask on (oh wait, haha, I do) I really want to move my face because I can't. It's terribly inconvenient.
I think a smell should be one of the first things you say about a product, no matter what the product is. It's terribly important and can change a person's life and/or perception of the product. Like this stuff, smells like icky. Not a particular icky, but just an icky. Like sour milk, or the milk jug if you didn't rinse it out before you put it in the recycling. So sour milk and plastic. But maybe not so strong? It's more like the occasional whiff of it.
It doesn't go on clear either. It's not like, opaque, but it's certainly not transparent. It dries clearer, though. And feels really heavy. I didn't even put that much on I didn't think. Maybe I did...uh oh. My whole face is going to come off...I didn't even think about that!
Well, if you see me next without a layer of skin, just call me two-face. (NOTE: FOR YOUR SAFETY, DO NOT CALL ME TWO-FACE WHEN YOU SEE ME NEXT)
I may have also put some a little too close to my eye skin. It feels weird under my eye when I blink.
Has it been 15 minutes yet? Maybe that's why none of the pore-things work out for me. I'm too impatient. All I really want is to see the results, but in order to get the results, you have to wait...
I could solve this. I could watch pore-strip videos and wait until this is all dried...that could work.
Okay the 15 minutes HAS to be up by now...I can't move my face hardly at all...I'm gonna go peel this baby off. See you in a bit.
So, half an hour later, most of my facial hair removed (including what I'm sure is about half an eyebrow betwixt the twain), and looking like a crazed burn unit patient, I realize I should probably remember next time I decide to put something sticky on my face that I'm actually part Italian Wookie, and that it's a bad idea if I haven't shaved first.
I've tried rewetting down what's still on my face, so I can attempt to get the rest off later.
Rating:
I'm sure this works really well for normal girls who are not part Wookie and/or Mountain Man. I have come to the conclusion that I don't actually have blackheads, I just have pores that get filled with dirt from time to time, but that doesn't actually come out. As I should have learned with just about everything else I've tried.
Seriously, though, Don't do this if you have more than average hair on your face where you're applying this stuff. I lost my muttonchops for this review. You're welcome.
In any case, I always say don't take anyone else's word for it unless they're a doctor with certified medical degrees. Or a nurse. Always listen to the nurse, unless you've been a pain in the ass up until that point, in which case, listen to her anyway, but know that it's probably a punishment and not actually a treatment.
Oh my GOSH this hurts so bad.
Until Next Time, Dear Readers.
Me
Saturday, December 8, 2012
A New Freckle
I found a freckle on my hand this morning at work. It's new, I've never seen it before today, and considering it's in a very visible spot on my left hand, you'd think I'd have noticed it. I'm also assuming it's a freckle. I have no proof that it is, however I do know that it's not a bug -- it didn't move at all today -- and it's not a scab -- I tried picking it off, it's stayed. It also hasn't faded, so it's probably not ink.
So I guess we really don't know the backs of our hands all that well.
I've been really angry and upset recently, over pretty much nothing. I'm thinking it's those damn communists coming into the funhouse, but it might just be shark week. Either way, I've not been terribly friendly, and I'd like to send out an apology to those who have been on the blunt end of it.
That being said, some of the things I've been upset about have had some firm basis in reality. A lot of it has to do with some misinterpretation about my last post.
A lot of the time, when I update in a rage or in a seriously bad mood, it just means that I bottled it up a little too long. Usually it doesn't get like that. That's why a lot of the time you'll get three really angry posts several months apart. Or something like that.
It's the end of the semester, and I'm stressed about a lot of things I can't change at this point in time. Since I cannot change these things, I don't see the point in complaining about them, hence the bottling factor. When the last nail hits the straw on the camel's coffin, you guys get a rage-post. Once it's out, I'm done with it. It's gone. I don't like thinking about it anymore because I. Do. Not. Like. To. Be. Angry.
I doubt anyone likes being angry. So why bring up the angry feelings in someone else? I know misery loves company but when you're talking to me, my guilt complex will take care of that when you start telling me about your problems, because in comparison, mine = not that big of a deal. So I'll feel bad that I feel bad about little things when you have bigger things to feel bad about but you really don't need to bring up the bad things I feel about myself. I do that well enough on my own, thank you very much.
No help needed.
I know a lot of it is unintentional or at the very worst, well-intentioned. I get that. I'm a pretty smart girl, actually. Assume I know what's going on before you assume I don't. I know there's a stereotype against blondes, but really now, this is the internet. Can't I pretend that I'm not blonde when you guys can't see me?
That's the whole reason I stay on the internet. I can literally be anyone I want. I can be myself so I can be the intelligent, literate, coherent, hilarious, mildly socially awkward-but-still-adorable person I pretend I am when I'm by myself. I don't like being around people because I can't be that person when I'm with others. There's something in my brain that just flick off, like a switch, and I lose all ability to hold an intelligent conversation. Probably because in real life you don't get second takes or a delete button.
But I'm really okay. I really am. I don't bullshit on here. I really don't. I get angry and upset and I write what I feel in the moment, but on the whole, I'm okay. I've come to terms with lots of things about myself that most people would try to disagree with, but you don't know me. You don't know my life. You don't know the shit I've been through (what little of it there is. I'm trying to make a joke based off of a particular internet meme. Am I succeeding? No, probably not. EPIC FAIL). I know me. The only person who knows me better than me is God.
I also get annoyed when people encroach on what I deem is my personal space, even if it is over the internet. I've had bad experiences with people stealing my shit online (like, creative shit, poems and whatnot). So if you've taken something I've done, style wise, and you know who you are (and I know who you are too) if you have, please stop. Just...just stop. I know it's edgy and cool looking or sounding or whatever, but it's fuckin' mine. I haven't had much that's just mine in my life, please don't take things I came up with by myself. If you're unsure, ASK. just fuckin' ASK. Or AXE if you're from far enough south. Whatever. Don't kill me, though, bro.
*****CHANGE OF SUBJECT BECAUSE I'M MILDLY ADD TONIGHT*******
I'm mostly convinced the world will end on the 21st (I'm assuming Mayan time, because, well, duh. They wouldn't write a calendar for anywhere else, would they? They don't know the stars anywhere else). And it's gotten to the point that I'm more scared of the world not ending.
Now, this isn't to say I'm scared because of changes in my life or whatever coming up. I've actually got more things under control than I ever have in my entire life. It's been really empowering.
But I'm scared that the world won't end on the 21st (or the equivalent thereof. A certain R.E.M. song comes to mind). I'm scared that it will stay the same and we'll all just stay at this point of social, financial, and societal stagnation (yes, social and societal are different, in my world. Social means our interactions, societal means where we're going with our society as a whole).
There are a few hopes for me in the inevitable non-end of the world (because if I believe something's going to happen, something will stop it from happening. Probably The Doctor, but we'll never know). One contains my plans for the future, which I will continue to keep a secret from those not directly involved. So no, if you're reading this right now, you probably will not know until plans are finalized, so if the world ends, you don't even really need to care.
The second is the ASMR community on youtube. They convince me that there are genuinely nice, caring, gentle people out in the world (small though their numbers might be).
(If you don't know what ASMR is, that's okay, because you probably don't have it anyway. You can google it. I'm not doing that for you. You're already on some sort of electronic device. Hell, you can Bing that shit. You have the internet at your fingertips, don't make me do the work for you, lazy 1st world people)
I'm sure there's more, but those were the two I'm most focused on right now.
But seriously guys, if the world doesn't end on Dec. 21, 2012 I'm assuming CST, because I'm too lazy to check which time zone the Mayans might have been in. I'm writing, I can afford to be a lazy 1st world person, I'll be shocked as hell. And I do mean as we know it, just fyi. But that could be a whole hell of a difference.
Until next time (unless the world ends and I don't update before then)
Me
So I guess we really don't know the backs of our hands all that well.
I've been really angry and upset recently, over pretty much nothing. I'm thinking it's those damn communists coming into the funhouse, but it might just be shark week. Either way, I've not been terribly friendly, and I'd like to send out an apology to those who have been on the blunt end of it.
That being said, some of the things I've been upset about have had some firm basis in reality. A lot of it has to do with some misinterpretation about my last post.
A lot of the time, when I update in a rage or in a seriously bad mood, it just means that I bottled it up a little too long. Usually it doesn't get like that. That's why a lot of the time you'll get three really angry posts several months apart. Or something like that.
It's the end of the semester, and I'm stressed about a lot of things I can't change at this point in time. Since I cannot change these things, I don't see the point in complaining about them, hence the bottling factor. When the last nail hits the straw on the camel's coffin, you guys get a rage-post. Once it's out, I'm done with it. It's gone. I don't like thinking about it anymore because I. Do. Not. Like. To. Be. Angry.
I doubt anyone likes being angry. So why bring up the angry feelings in someone else? I know misery loves company but when you're talking to me, my guilt complex will take care of that when you start telling me about your problems, because in comparison, mine = not that big of a deal. So I'll feel bad that I feel bad about little things when you have bigger things to feel bad about but you really don't need to bring up the bad things I feel about myself. I do that well enough on my own, thank you very much.
No help needed.
I know a lot of it is unintentional or at the very worst, well-intentioned. I get that. I'm a pretty smart girl, actually. Assume I know what's going on before you assume I don't. I know there's a stereotype against blondes, but really now, this is the internet. Can't I pretend that I'm not blonde when you guys can't see me?
That's the whole reason I stay on the internet. I can literally be anyone I want. I can be myself so I can be the intelligent, literate, coherent, hilarious, mildly socially awkward-but-still-adorable person I pretend I am when I'm by myself. I don't like being around people because I can't be that person when I'm with others. There's something in my brain that just flick off, like a switch, and I lose all ability to hold an intelligent conversation. Probably because in real life you don't get second takes or a delete button.
But I'm really okay. I really am. I don't bullshit on here. I really don't. I get angry and upset and I write what I feel in the moment, but on the whole, I'm okay. I've come to terms with lots of things about myself that most people would try to disagree with, but you don't know me. You don't know my life. You don't know the shit I've been through (what little of it there is. I'm trying to make a joke based off of a particular internet meme. Am I succeeding? No, probably not. EPIC FAIL). I know me. The only person who knows me better than me is God.
I also get annoyed when people encroach on what I deem is my personal space, even if it is over the internet. I've had bad experiences with people stealing my shit online (like, creative shit, poems and whatnot). So if you've taken something I've done, style wise, and you know who you are (and I know who you are too) if you have, please stop. Just...just stop. I know it's edgy and cool looking or sounding or whatever, but it's fuckin' mine. I haven't had much that's just mine in my life, please don't take things I came up with by myself. If you're unsure, ASK. just fuckin' ASK. Or AXE if you're from far enough south. Whatever. Don't kill me, though, bro.
*****CHANGE OF SUBJECT BECAUSE I'M MILDLY ADD TONIGHT*******
I'm mostly convinced the world will end on the 21st (I'm assuming Mayan time, because, well, duh. They wouldn't write a calendar for anywhere else, would they? They don't know the stars anywhere else). And it's gotten to the point that I'm more scared of the world not ending.
Now, this isn't to say I'm scared because of changes in my life or whatever coming up. I've actually got more things under control than I ever have in my entire life. It's been really empowering.
But I'm scared that the world won't end on the 21st (or the equivalent thereof. A certain R.E.M. song comes to mind). I'm scared that it will stay the same and we'll all just stay at this point of social, financial, and societal stagnation (yes, social and societal are different, in my world. Social means our interactions, societal means where we're going with our society as a whole).
There are a few hopes for me in the inevitable non-end of the world (because if I believe something's going to happen, something will stop it from happening. Probably The Doctor, but we'll never know). One contains my plans for the future, which I will continue to keep a secret from those not directly involved. So no, if you're reading this right now, you probably will not know until plans are finalized, so if the world ends, you don't even really need to care.
The second is the ASMR community on youtube. They convince me that there are genuinely nice, caring, gentle people out in the world (small though their numbers might be).
(If you don't know what ASMR is, that's okay, because you probably don't have it anyway. You can google it. I'm not doing that for you. You're already on some sort of electronic device. Hell, you can Bing that shit. You have the internet at your fingertips, don't make me do the work for you, lazy 1st world people)
I'm sure there's more, but those were the two I'm most focused on right now.
But seriously guys, if the world doesn't end on Dec. 21, 2012 I'm assuming CST, because I'm too lazy to check which time zone the Mayans might have been in. I'm writing, I can afford to be a lazy 1st world person, I'll be shocked as hell. And I do mean as we know it, just fyi. But that could be a whole hell of a difference.
Until next time (unless the world ends and I don't update before then)
Me
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Antisocial with a dash of Awkward...
Do you know that feeling where you just need to cry? It's not like you really have anything good to cry about, but you have that feeling in the back of your throat anyway, and you can feel it coming on, and you can stop it, but it's still there, waiting to strike?
Been feeling like that all day.
It's only gotten worse as the day has progressed. So far no tears, but I don't imagine that will last much longer.
This may come as a shock to some of you (I don't know, if you've read everything I've ever written, probably not), but I'm not very good at the whole "people" thing. I can fake it like nobody's business, for a while. But after that...I just...can't anymore.
I don't know how to control it so that I can when I need to, either.
I don't make friends. I make very close acquaintances. If you've been led to believe I thought of us as closer than "yeah, we've hung out a bunch, and we seem to know each other really well, but there's still lots about her I don't know," I apologize. It's just...not possible, I think.
There are very few people in the world who I am close enough to that I consider them my friends. A good 3/4 of them are my immediate family. That fourth one, I'm not even entirely sure about some days.
And most of it is on my part. Ok, so other people consider me their friend, that's fine. They probably are not working under the same criteria as I am (or they are, but they aren't as demanding...I'm a little high maintenance when it comes to interpersonal relationships, ranging anywhere from distant acquaintance "I met her at a party once I think" to family "She's my sister/daughter/granddaughter/niece/etc, of course I love her!")
I'm ridiculously insecure. I'm not even entirely sure where it comes from. It's something I've had as long as I can remember, since I was really young. Not just about my physical appearance. I never wanted to look like I wanted too much, or that I was really needy, or clingy, or anything like that. I never asked for things I wanted. I stopped cuddling with my family because I think someone somewhere along the line complained about me being heavy once, and I thought maybe it meant they didn't want to cuddle with me anymore. So I just stopped. If I ever had a crush on a guy, you couldn't tell because I made sure not to show it. It was fleeting glances at him while he wasn't looking that never lasted longer than a couple of seconds, maybe. I would go out of my way not to touch him or sit next to him -- which I later learned is the EXACT OPPOSITE of what most people do when they like someone. I tried my best to not let them know. Okay, so my walks to the water fountain to get a drink while he was in that general area increased, but it wasn't like I spoke to him or anything.
And I was somehow surprised that none of the guys I liked ever liked me back.
I haven't felt that way about anyone in a very long time. I tried, trust me. I tried really hard...but I just...I don't know. I guess it disappeared
(Great, NOW I start crying...)
And I'm so fucking terrified of making people upset. I can't even blame it on something happening in my past. You know the worst thing that happened when I made my parents mad when I was little? They got mad. They yelled. I was put into time out. Probably they threatened to take away my toys. Maybe they did. Other than that, nothing happened. There was very little consequence for making people unhappy when I was a child.
I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M LIKE THIS.
But I am. I am. And it's so frustrating, because whenever I stick my neck out for myself, I scrunch it back up with apologies and fear. Because I don't want other people mad at me for having an opinion.
I don't want to disappoint them when my opinion is different than theirs. Why does it even FUCKING matter?
I don't know!!!
And it would all be so much easier if I could just ignore the rest of the world and they could go back to ignoring me. But I have to work. I have to finish school so I can work some more so I can have money to be able to hide from the world, and there's less free time and more stress and I'm not handling it at all.
And I don't want to grow up, but I don't want to be a kid again. And it's so fucking hard, and I don't have the balls to tell anyone what I want, because what if they think badly of me? Maybe they'll think I'm greedy. Maybe they'll think I'm avoiding them. Maybe maybe maybe
DAMN IT
I'm so sick of this. I'm sick of everything. I don't want to be like this. I DON'T WANT TO CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK OF ME.
AND I CAN'T NOT CARE.
It's this stupid vicious cycle that I can't escape from. I care because I want people to like me, but the only way people like me is when I'm something I'm not, which I've learned how to be very well, but it's not fun to keep up with, so I end up not wanting to hang out with people and they still try and hang out with me, and then I get annoyed, which just pushes them farther away, and then I worry that they don't like me.
And I'm so tired of it. I'm just so tired.
Of everything.
And whenever people do want to hang out with me, it's only ever because they want something, which has totally bashed my already insignificant self-esteem down to a pulp. Everyone only wants something for themselves. It's a fact of life. I'm guilty of it, but it's not the only reason I hang out with people. And I'm never going to believe that people want to hang out with me for me ever, because it's always to serve another purpose. It'll get me to do something for them later (even though I probably would have done it anyway). It'll make me like them more. It'll do something to benefit them more than it benefits me. And I'll just go along with it, la-dee-dah, because that's who I am. I can't...I can't change that, no matter how much it ends up hurting me in the end...
Always...it always has been, it always will be. And when I've served my purpose, well, I guess that's that. They just go about their merry little lives, thinking "gee, that was fun, I'll have to contact her again when I need/want/have-to-have something done again." And I'll sit over here going "Well, that's one more task I've had to do for someone else. Maybe if I keep it up, karma will eventually come back around to me and I'll get something nice in return for once." Because "good company" is only a good reward for a very short amount of time.
****
Sorry...I'm a little upset today. Obviously, or else the whole crying-feeling-intro wouldn't have been necessary.
I'm not apologizing for anything I've said. It's all true from my point of view today. It could be different tomorrow, or in a month, or this time next year. You probably see it differently.
I'm just...done...I'm done. I don't even...
*sigh*
Been feeling like that all day.
It's only gotten worse as the day has progressed. So far no tears, but I don't imagine that will last much longer.
This may come as a shock to some of you (I don't know, if you've read everything I've ever written, probably not), but I'm not very good at the whole "people" thing. I can fake it like nobody's business, for a while. But after that...I just...can't anymore.
I don't know how to control it so that I can when I need to, either.
I don't make friends. I make very close acquaintances. If you've been led to believe I thought of us as closer than "yeah, we've hung out a bunch, and we seem to know each other really well, but there's still lots about her I don't know," I apologize. It's just...not possible, I think.
There are very few people in the world who I am close enough to that I consider them my friends. A good 3/4 of them are my immediate family. That fourth one, I'm not even entirely sure about some days.
And most of it is on my part. Ok, so other people consider me their friend, that's fine. They probably are not working under the same criteria as I am (or they are, but they aren't as demanding...I'm a little high maintenance when it comes to interpersonal relationships, ranging anywhere from distant acquaintance "I met her at a party once I think" to family "She's my sister/daughter/granddaughter/niece/etc, of course I love her!")
I'm ridiculously insecure. I'm not even entirely sure where it comes from. It's something I've had as long as I can remember, since I was really young. Not just about my physical appearance. I never wanted to look like I wanted too much, or that I was really needy, or clingy, or anything like that. I never asked for things I wanted. I stopped cuddling with my family because I think someone somewhere along the line complained about me being heavy once, and I thought maybe it meant they didn't want to cuddle with me anymore. So I just stopped. If I ever had a crush on a guy, you couldn't tell because I made sure not to show it. It was fleeting glances at him while he wasn't looking that never lasted longer than a couple of seconds, maybe. I would go out of my way not to touch him or sit next to him -- which I later learned is the EXACT OPPOSITE of what most people do when they like someone. I tried my best to not let them know. Okay, so my walks to the water fountain to get a drink while he was in that general area increased, but it wasn't like I spoke to him or anything.
And I was somehow surprised that none of the guys I liked ever liked me back.
I haven't felt that way about anyone in a very long time. I tried, trust me. I tried really hard...but I just...I don't know. I guess it disappeared
(Great, NOW I start crying...)
And I'm so fucking terrified of making people upset. I can't even blame it on something happening in my past. You know the worst thing that happened when I made my parents mad when I was little? They got mad. They yelled. I was put into time out. Probably they threatened to take away my toys. Maybe they did. Other than that, nothing happened. There was very little consequence for making people unhappy when I was a child.
I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M LIKE THIS.
But I am. I am. And it's so frustrating, because whenever I stick my neck out for myself, I scrunch it back up with apologies and fear. Because I don't want other people mad at me for having an opinion.
I don't want to disappoint them when my opinion is different than theirs. Why does it even FUCKING matter?
I don't know!!!
And it would all be so much easier if I could just ignore the rest of the world and they could go back to ignoring me. But I have to work. I have to finish school so I can work some more so I can have money to be able to hide from the world, and there's less free time and more stress and I'm not handling it at all.
And I don't want to grow up, but I don't want to be a kid again. And it's so fucking hard, and I don't have the balls to tell anyone what I want, because what if they think badly of me? Maybe they'll think I'm greedy. Maybe they'll think I'm avoiding them. Maybe maybe maybe
DAMN IT
I'm so sick of this. I'm sick of everything. I don't want to be like this. I DON'T WANT TO CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK OF ME.
AND I CAN'T NOT CARE.
It's this stupid vicious cycle that I can't escape from. I care because I want people to like me, but the only way people like me is when I'm something I'm not, which I've learned how to be very well, but it's not fun to keep up with, so I end up not wanting to hang out with people and they still try and hang out with me, and then I get annoyed, which just pushes them farther away, and then I worry that they don't like me.
And I'm so tired of it. I'm just so tired.
Of everything.
And whenever people do want to hang out with me, it's only ever because they want something, which has totally bashed my already insignificant self-esteem down to a pulp. Everyone only wants something for themselves. It's a fact of life. I'm guilty of it, but it's not the only reason I hang out with people. And I'm never going to believe that people want to hang out with me for me ever, because it's always to serve another purpose. It'll get me to do something for them later (even though I probably would have done it anyway). It'll make me like them more. It'll do something to benefit them more than it benefits me. And I'll just go along with it, la-dee-dah, because that's who I am. I can't...I can't change that, no matter how much it ends up hurting me in the end...
Always...it always has been, it always will be. And when I've served my purpose, well, I guess that's that. They just go about their merry little lives, thinking "gee, that was fun, I'll have to contact her again when I need/want/have-to-have something done again." And I'll sit over here going "Well, that's one more task I've had to do for someone else. Maybe if I keep it up, karma will eventually come back around to me and I'll get something nice in return for once." Because "good company" is only a good reward for a very short amount of time.
****
Sorry...I'm a little upset today. Obviously, or else the whole crying-feeling-intro wouldn't have been necessary.
I'm not apologizing for anything I've said. It's all true from my point of view today. It could be different tomorrow, or in a month, or this time next year. You probably see it differently.
I'm just...done...I'm done. I don't even...
*sigh*
Saturday, November 24, 2012
So Much for Radio Silence
It's been a long week.
I'm starting to notice a theme with Thanksgiving...I think I've figured out why the Europeans don't celebrate...
(Shh, I know it's because the Americans went through their teenager stage and thought Mother England and Father France were stupidheads, and decided to defect/rebel. That's not important right now. Why am I even talking about this? I should stop!)
Regardless, this is not what I came back to talk about.
I'm reaching a stage in my life where change is imminent. All goes according to plan, I'm graduating after spring semester.
I'll be getting a third job to fill in the time gap and so I can finally quit the one job that has started to suck even worse and then I'll get another third job, so I can earn some mulah because I have plans.
Or rather, I will, shortly here. If I stick to my guns and I don't chicken out.
I've been trying to plan it this evening, whenever the mood strikes me to research stuff, in between funny videos of cats on youtube, and my lingering over anger at certain events that have been successfully handled, but I'm still kind of pissed off. And other shit, too, because I can't ever just have a few things going on, I have to have a full on crisis ALWAYS.
Okay, I'm exaggerating. But that's how it FEELS and I'm a whiney girl and that's what I'm going to do. Were I 21 or better at extortion, I'd have some wine to go with it, but as it is, I'm wimping out and waiting until my birthday.
Also, I have work in the morning, and you all probably won't read this until I'm at work already (mostly because I'm thinking of scheduling this to come out tomorrow morning rather than tonight).
However, that is beside the point.
What I'm really trying to get at is that I'm making big plans that I hope to enact in hopefully a year or so...well okay, just over a year, because it'll be more like a year from when my lease ends, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
I don't even know why I'm really writing about this, since I really don't have anything concrete, I don't really want to let people know what it is I'm planning on doing until I have things set up already, and honestly, I don't even know if I'm going to go through with it at this point.
I. DO. NOT. WANT. ENCOURAGEMENT.
If I can't do this by myself without my own encouragement, what's the goddamn point?
I'm growing up. I'm growing a fucking backbone. I'm becoming who I want to be and I'm going to start not caring what people think about that.
I say that tonight, and by tomorrow afternoon I'll be a puddle of "oh god why me why wont anyone liiiiiiiiiiiiiike me" that I usually end up being after work.
And I've decided...I've decided I'm not ready for a number of certain things, just yet. When it's time for me to own a pet and have a boyfriend, I'll be financially stable, I'll like myself more than 40% of the time, and I will have my shit straight.
And maybe, just maybe, I'll be a little more worldly. Maybe I'll be stronger. Maybe I'll be smarter. Maybe I'll be self-assured and confident.
But at this point, I'm not ready to take care of anyone else but myself. I don't have the funds to care for a pet, and keep it safe and happy and well-loved. And I don't have enough love for myself to give to another person at this point in time.
Because I think I've finally figured it out. After hours on Pinterest, looking at inspirational, and mostly stupidly silly and irreverent quotes, I've figured out the secret to life. You have to love who you are, love what you do, and most of all not be afraid to be yourself in order to love someone else.
And I'm still carrying around a lot of baggage I just shouldn't even have. It's everyone else's. It's not even MINE. And I'm the one carrying it. Why do I continue to carry it, you may ask? I have no fucking clue. So I'm going to take it to lost and found, I'm going to drop it off, I'm going to turn around and I'm NOT. FUCKING. LOOKING. BACK.
I imagine this will end the embargo on my radio silence. But I mean, when was I ever good at posting regularly?
*sigh* And I don't think I'm going to sleep through tonight either.
Until next time, dear Readers,
Me.
I'm starting to notice a theme with Thanksgiving...I think I've figured out why the Europeans don't celebrate...
(Shh, I know it's because the Americans went through their teenager stage and thought Mother England and Father France were stupidheads, and decided to defect/rebel. That's not important right now. Why am I even talking about this? I should stop!)
Regardless, this is not what I came back to talk about.
I'm reaching a stage in my life where change is imminent. All goes according to plan, I'm graduating after spring semester.
I'll be getting a third job to fill in the time gap and so I can finally quit the one job that has started to suck even worse and then I'll get another third job, so I can earn some mulah because I have plans.
Or rather, I will, shortly here. If I stick to my guns and I don't chicken out.
I've been trying to plan it this evening, whenever the mood strikes me to research stuff, in between funny videos of cats on youtube, and my lingering over anger at certain events that have been successfully handled, but I'm still kind of pissed off. And other shit, too, because I can't ever just have a few things going on, I have to have a full on crisis ALWAYS.
Okay, I'm exaggerating. But that's how it FEELS and I'm a whiney girl and that's what I'm going to do. Were I 21 or better at extortion, I'd have some wine to go with it, but as it is, I'm wimping out and waiting until my birthday.
Also, I have work in the morning, and you all probably won't read this until I'm at work already (mostly because I'm thinking of scheduling this to come out tomorrow morning rather than tonight).
However, that is beside the point.
What I'm really trying to get at is that I'm making big plans that I hope to enact in hopefully a year or so...well okay, just over a year, because it'll be more like a year from when my lease ends, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
I don't even know why I'm really writing about this, since I really don't have anything concrete, I don't really want to let people know what it is I'm planning on doing until I have things set up already, and honestly, I don't even know if I'm going to go through with it at this point.
I. DO. NOT. WANT. ENCOURAGEMENT.
If I can't do this by myself without my own encouragement, what's the goddamn point?
I'm growing up. I'm growing a fucking backbone. I'm becoming who I want to be and I'm going to start not caring what people think about that.
I say that tonight, and by tomorrow afternoon I'll be a puddle of "oh god why me why wont anyone liiiiiiiiiiiiiike me" that I usually end up being after work.
And I've decided...I've decided I'm not ready for a number of certain things, just yet. When it's time for me to own a pet and have a boyfriend, I'll be financially stable, I'll like myself more than 40% of the time, and I will have my shit straight.
And maybe, just maybe, I'll be a little more worldly. Maybe I'll be stronger. Maybe I'll be smarter. Maybe I'll be self-assured and confident.
But at this point, I'm not ready to take care of anyone else but myself. I don't have the funds to care for a pet, and keep it safe and happy and well-loved. And I don't have enough love for myself to give to another person at this point in time.
Because I think I've finally figured it out. After hours on Pinterest, looking at inspirational, and mostly stupidly silly and irreverent quotes, I've figured out the secret to life. You have to love who you are, love what you do, and most of all not be afraid to be yourself in order to love someone else.
And I'm still carrying around a lot of baggage I just shouldn't even have. It's everyone else's. It's not even MINE. And I'm the one carrying it. Why do I continue to carry it, you may ask? I have no fucking clue. So I'm going to take it to lost and found, I'm going to drop it off, I'm going to turn around and I'm NOT. FUCKING. LOOKING. BACK.
I imagine this will end the embargo on my radio silence. But I mean, when was I ever good at posting regularly?
*sigh* And I don't think I'm going to sleep through tonight either.
Until next time, dear Readers,
Me.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Spelling and Grammar
I promise I'm not going to go over there, they're, and their any more. Seriously, if people haven't learnt by now, they're not going to. Same with your and you're.
don't make an inappropriate comment, don't make an inappropriate comment, don't make an inappropriate comment...
No, what I have an issue with is something small, simple, and easily overlooked by most. Probably why most people don't notice or care when it gets misspelled.
It's the difference between breath and breathe.
Just one extra "e" on the end makes a WORLD of difference. The difference between taking a breath and being able to breathe.
Do you catch my drift?
(okay, this is coming from the girl who can't say "draught" as "draft." and constantly wants to say it as drought, but with an ah instead of a oh sound. I also say it geo-graphy, photo-graphy and bio-graphy. Make fun of me all you want but at least I can breathe with one breath, as opposed to being able to breath with one breathe, which makes no gorram sense whatsoever)
And lightning and lightening. I know in some areas lightning, the phenomenon of electricity creating sparks and light in the sky is SAID with the extra syllable (like athelete, when really, there's just no extra e in between), but one is lightning and one is the lightening of the sky in the case of lightning.
And athelete just isn't a word whatsoever. Athlete! Athlete! Think Mathlete without the M! (Mathlete isn't a word either, but for whatever reason, Mathletes are not called mathaletes or matheletes, probably because they are not athletes who say it athelete to sound smarter, when it just makes them sound dumb.)
Ugh, and saying "author" like "Arthur." It's another one of those area things (lightening, I'm looking at you), but one is the name of the person who wrote the book and one is just a name. Add the "u", it won't kill you, and it will help me realize you're not talking about Arthurian legend, and/or Mr. Weasley, and instead you're talking about Sir Thomas Mallory or J.K. Rowling.
But I was here to talk about breath and breathe, and it ended up being faster than I intended...
Sorry, I've had a whole day off, and spent it saving some of my favorite fan fictions to text documents so I can read them when the internet is off or down or I just don't have it, and I noticed the breath/breathe thing, and I remembered I dislike it. And then other things occurred to me while I was writing. It's tough living my life.
Okay, back to radio silence.
Until next time, dear readers
Me
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