I'm Planning a Great Escape...

These walls don't talk,
Even when somebody knocks,
These walls don't stand,
For anyone else but themselves,
These walls don't fall,
Even when gravity's failing us all,

Tell me, tell me a story,
Tell me not to worry, or pick up the phone,
So turning, turning a deaf ear,
So that I don't hear them throwing stone.
(fair to midland - tall tales taste like sour grapes)

I reach out with my senses, and I feel a vast nothingness. A great divide, a canyon of void.
Dancing on the edge of my perception are sparks of energy. The essence of life and all that is.

But where the two meet, the space between... eternity exists in liminality.

There are too many people. Everywhere, really, but specifically- here. I'm beginning to feel crowded and trapped.

I also feel like I'm not in control of myself. My thoughts, my emotions, my behaviors, my words- none of these things are mine. But they must be, because I am me, and I am.

Or am I?

I sometimes hear what sounds like someone saying my name, but from far away- not trying to get my attention or anything, just... saying my name.
Lately, I also seem to be hearing slamming and/or crashing noises from outside that no one else notices.
Hallucination, or keen observation?

Or something else?

I wish I could learn to love myself.

I wake up in pain. I have energy, but I'm sore and still in a mental cloud.

The cloud persists, even up to an hour after waking.

I indulge myself in herbal pain relief, which makes me feel infinitely better for about 10 minutes.

After that, I have considerably less pain, but absolutely no energy whatsoever to do anything.

Eventually, I'm afraid, I really am just going to have to "harden the fuck up."

The days are just like moments, turned to hours...

Mother used to say, "If you want, you'll find a way."
But mother never danced through fire showers.

Randy wrote "HAPPY" on my palm with a sharpie.

I'd also like to know, if it has to be this freakin' cold outside, could I at least have some goddamn novelty?

Snow? Maybe some ice? The Apocalypse?

Something?

Wish this were a dream, but no, it isn't...

It's Maw's birthday. (Grandmama's mom)

Every year, we'd decorate the tree on December 11th, to celebrate Maw's birthday. While she was alive, and particularly after she passed.
I was hoping to decorate my tree today, but illness has prevented it.

I revisited Grandmama's funeral pamphlets, the obituary, etc. I haven't actually looked at them since I put them away, shortly after she passed last year.

It's surreal.

And fucking painful.

I walk in the rain...

Still Alive

- I lost and, subsequently, regained internet. This has given me a lot of time to think.

- I told my Grandfather.

- I went to Part 1 of my "getting professional help" thing, and blew off part 2.

- I am still terrified of going outside, and I absolutely hate being around people- although I'm learning to manage it a little better.

- There are a few exceptions to the 'hate being around people' rule.

- I have discovered that there is no hell. The wages of sin is death.

- I believe in some form of consciousness or "spiritual" survival after death. I think.

- I am not looking forward to Halloween.

- I am looking forward to Christmas.

- I have absolutely no idea who I am, and I'm done pretending otherwise. Things that have always been true are becoming false, falsehoods are becoming truth, and thoughts become things??

- I don't know where I will be living this time next year. That used to be a comfort, I once found delicious freedom in being able to say exactly that. Now? I'm unnerved, and afraid. (And frustrated, sorrowful, and angry.)

- Grandmama's birthday is Sunday. I'm going to church.

- I am not afraid to tell anyone there exactly what I think of them and their thoughts and feelings, should anyone be foolish enough to approach me. I am going to be there for Grandmama, and no one else. I'll try to put off a "don't fuck with me" vibe. I'll be sure to wear jeans... and black. Lots of black.

- Since I watched the 2nd Presidential Debate, I've been engrossed in politics. I haven't watched the first, or the Vice Debate, but I've been obsessively following CNN and FOX... as well as whatever happens to cross my screen here on the intarwebs.

- Politically? I am more excited and terrified than I've ever been in my life. I'm glad I didn't register to vote, I am content to stay out of this one- but I am watching anxiously. The coming years are history in the making...

- There's a lot more I think I want to write about, but it'll have to be later.

- I'm still alive.


(- PS: You're being a bitch.)

Help Me, Help Me, Somebody Help Me...

I'm caught between telling my grandad tonight, and getting it done and over with - but having to do it alone... or waiting until tomorrow, when my Aunt has offered to face it with me.

But the more I think about it, trying to decide when and how I want it to happen... the more I realize, I don't want it to happen at all. I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to say to this man who raised me. (He's my step-grandfather, but he adopted me, so he's my "father")

I can't tell him the bare and honest and entire truth- I can't even give my husband that. I barely let myself -think- about the bare, honest, entire truth. I'm not sure I can even give him what I've given my brother, and subsequently, you anonymous people out there in the world. I don't think I can tell him any of it.

But if I don't tell him, he can never understand what's really going on with me. He can't help me the way I really, desperately need him to help me.

I don't know what to tell him. I really have no idea where to even start.

"Hey uh. I know I haven't seen you in like, a month. I've been spun out. Like, bad. Uh... what do you know about the time I spent in Florida?"

"Oh really? Well. Actually, as it turns out, it was kind of the worst experience I could possibly imagine. Then you know, with the "recent loss".... So... do you want to pay for me to get therapy? Because I'm too fucked up to function?"


Oh God, I can't do this.

Spun Out in My Room, On My Own, Here We Go...

I freaked out in the grocery store. I was doing okay, a little twitchy, very nervous... but it was just me and Timah, and it was after midnight. I was heading for the soda, trying to keep my eyes on the ground- but also trying to keep my eyes on everything around me. Any number of things- the man mopping, the wet floor, the high shelves covered in food products... any of them could be a potential threat. A young man dressed alternatively in a Nirvana shirt with brooding eyes glanced at me, and I felt as if my entire soul was bare to his gaze. Every flaw and insecurity was obvious to anyone around me- my fear radiated off of me in a terrifyingly tangible way. I ducked quickly down the aisle to the Diet Coke, momentarily filled with fleeting joy at the low sales price.

I would've been okay, I think, but then my husband walked in, and I felt trapped. All the air in the entire store instantly rushed out, and I was suffocating.

I stood in the middle of that aisle, scratching my forearm over and over until the skin began to flake... staring blankly at the bright packages in front of me. I forgot how to read. The letters blurred and jumped in my vision, and I broke into a sweat. My face was flushed, my heart was pounding, and I thought I was going to have a heart attack and die, right there.

I heard his voice in my head, "Chill out!" - I felt his firm grip around my wrist, forcing me to stop clawing at my arm. I responded with panic. I ran out as quickly as I could.

I haven't quite recovered from it. I'm shaken, and confused.

Also, a friend of mine took off for St. Louis today- almost two weeks early, with little notice. He didn't say goodbye, but he did tell me he loved me when he called earlier... and you know, there's nothing quite like hearing a friend say, "Please Rina... just promise me that you'll get some professional help."

No, sir. Nothing quite like it.

So Dreamy

I cleaned the living room today for the first time in like, two weeks. I also cleaned the dining room/computer area, and vacuumed. The bathroom is next, then tackling that 2nd bedroom and getting it set up to be an actual room, not just a place we lock the cat.

I also put my hair in pigtails, applied a small amount of makeup, and painted my finger-and-toe nails. The toes and left hand are white, with a pretty glitter called 'So Dreamy' on top... and the right hand alone is black, but also done with the 'So Dreamy' on top... makes them look dark and sparkly and pretty.

A friend of mine gave me the brilliant suggestion of "keep busy/keep yourself distracted" - and I thought, "Well... duh."

So I did.

Also, I've been listening to this song nonstop for 2 days:

Watson 385

Take 1 tablet every 4 to 6 hours as needed for pain.

"Maybe It Was Memphis" by Pam Tillis - Redone for Eberron

Looking at you through the misty moonlight
Katydids sing like a symphony
Soft rain falling like a Brellish lullaby
Melody blowing through a willow tree

What was I supposed to do,
standing there looking at you?
Lonely boy, far from home...

Maybe it was Menthis.
Maybe it was Sharn summer nights
Maybe it was you,
Maybe it was me, but it sure felt right.

Read about you in an Ajuran novel
Saw you once in a Phiarlan play
Heard about you in a Cyran love song
Summer night beauty took my breath away

What was I supposed to do,
standing there looking at you?
Lonely boy, far from home...

Maybe it was Menthis.
Maybe it was Sharn summer nights
Maybe it was you, maybe it was me,
but it sure felt right.

Every night now since I've been back home
I lie awake drifting in the memory
I think about you and our walk home in the rain,
Talking that way, so softly...

Unsent Letters

I am more broken and spun out right now than I have ever been in the whole of my life. My entire existence is in shambles- from the core of who I am, to the events surrounding me in my environment. Everything is broken.

But somehow, you always manage to stand strong next to me. Even when I'm fighting desperately, trying to push you away, I feel your arms around me- supporting me, protecting me, comforting me, loving me.

I am completely worthless in every sense of the word- but for some reason, you're still here. You hate everything about this state... but you're still here. Through all of this, you apparently still find value in me, even when I can't find it myself.

You have accepted and re-defined the role of husband, even though our marriage is a sham. There were no promises of forever, no expensive ceremony, no engagement period to speak of. It was spur of the moment... we eloped on a whim- driven by our intense love for each other that had blossomed in only a few short months, and by our fear of losing one another to the shifting tides of life.

And you followed me here, leaving your home and your friends and your family... to be here, to support me and take care of me through this difficult period in my life.

Now it's fast approaching 2 years since we finally got to hug each other in that cold Connecticut airport... and you really are my husband. January, we'll have been married for 2 years... and you have done far more for me than I deserve... more than I could ever hope to repay.

I guess I'm going to have to do what my brother says. It's time to tighten up, and do what Grandmama would do- what she would advise me to do. Not for him, or for anyone else... but for you. It kills me to watch you suffer silently, because I am just incapable of offering you the same comfort you offer me. I've been so impossible... and you've been so patient.

Every day, I see my friends... miserable in their relationships, heartbroken by infidelities, trapped in the aching void of, "I just don't feel the same any more."

And every day, I ask myself, "How did I get so lucky?"

I love you, my husband, more than I think you will ever know.
But I'm going to start trying a lot harder to show you, just the same.

What I Really Meant to Say...

It appears I stayed up all night, writing journal entries/backstory for my character, Zen.

It may not be healthy, but if I'm thinking about Zen, I'm not thinking about myself.

If I'm busy creating her world, I don't have to think about the shambles of my own.

If I'm consumed with understanding how she felt, I can try to forget how I feel.

It's not all like that, though. Zen has insecurities, and failings. She's had troubles in her past, and comes with her fair share of damage... some of it projected from my past, and my life... onto her.

But it's all just so much easier to process, to understand... when it's someone else.
When I can just... be somebody else.

Is it Sunday yet?

Fuck You

(A message sent to my 'brother')

"To me you are letting her down. I dont care if this sounds mean because you need to hear it. I love you Rina but you have got to tighten up and stop letting this rule your life. Because you can be stronger than this."


In case you missed what happened over the past 2 years:

I was choked into unconsciousness by someone I trusted. On more than one occasion. (That alone can cause brain damage, even death.)

I was abused, regularly, with submission holds, nerve strikes, humiliation, degradation, and psychological manipulation. For nearly six months, with the only happy breaks being the ones he allowed for as part of his twisted plan to break me down, and own me completely.

I was raped, forcefully, in the less-common-and-twice-as-painful fashion (I hope you don't need more hints than that)- without lube of course (I bled for -days- afterwards)- and then forced to suffer indignities that I can't even tell you about without making myself vomit from thinking about it... just to get him to fucking stop, because I thought I was going to -die-.

I was tied up, and held a gunpoint. For hours.

I had what I thought was a LOADED GUN... BALANCING in my mouth, while being mocked, verbally torn apart, and physically manhandled and abused. All at the same goddamn time.

He pulled the fucking trigger while the gun was in my fucking mouth.

I was raped then, too, just for good measure- and mocked relentlessly for it.

Then I finally managed to pull everything together to get out of there, and then I have to come home and watch Grandmama FUCKING WASTE AWAY over the course of a year, and then DIE.

Over the course of that year... my CONFIDANT, my best friend, my MOTHER... had to be left in the dark about all the things that had happened to me, because I couldn't tell her. I had to be fucking strong- for my friends, for my family, and for her. I couldn't talk about what had happened to me, because it didn't FUCKING MATTER because Grandmama was WASTING THE FUCK AWAY.

And you know what?
FUCK YOU, I WAS FUCKING STRONG.

I was the fucking PILLAR of strength and rationality throughout last year.
-I- was comforting -you- at that fucking morbid-ass birthday party.
Don't talk to ME about strength.
I kept my cool while the rest of my family was BREAKING DOWN.
I kept it together for Grandmama, and I never gave her ANY reason to worry about me. Not ever. I only even cried where she could see me ONCE.

Now she's gone, and you cannot POSSIBLY understand - not even a LITTLE - how I feel. Losing your grandpa when you were 6 is nothing to belittle, but it isn't the same as losing a PARENT... particularly a parent as close to me as Grandmama was.

I know you've heard all this before, in various degrees of detail, but considering all the shit you're talking about 'strength' and 'keeping it together' and 'letting Grandmama down'....

If you can read all of what I just wrote, and you still feel that I am in some way letting her down, then FUCK YOU buddy, and the HORSE YOU RODE IN ON.

Take some time to learn about grief, the grief process, and how someone actually OVERCOMES it- the symptoms of someone who's grieving, what happens to their behaviors and their emotions after losing someone in their immediate family... and look up what abuse victims go through, and RAPE victims, too, while you're at it.

DON'T JUST TALK TO ME ABOUT HOW MUCH IT HURTS YOU TO WATCH ME HURT, BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT IT *MEANS* TO HURT. DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT HOW I NEED TO JUST GET OVER IT, AND BE STRONG FOR EVERYONE ELSE.

FUCK everyone else. I'm DONE being strong for them.

And FUCK you. If that's all you have to say to me, that you think I've got to just 'tighten up'- then you can go right to hell.

Ding!

So, it's almost 5am. I couldn't sleep, was out of bed at 2 or 3.. I forget when.. regardless- crying. I miss Grandmama so much, it just fucking aches.
Also, I've been really sick the past few days. I hope it clears up soon.

I have a few things I'd like to write this week, assuming my sickness doesn't keep me down all week again...
One of which is the combat scene from Sunday's game. Wow!
I'm very sad Bill's character, Shade, died.
Most people seem to either be of the mindset that playerdeath is just a part of the game/without it, what's the point in playing?- or that it shouldn't happen, no sir, not ever.
I am of this second mindset. I figure, I'm playing D&D to make a hero and play through a story and damnit, it's only fun if the hero dies when -I- want the hero to die. Also, I'm spoiled rotten.
But I'm very obviously in a group where the DM isn't afraid to PK. Even a little level 5 halfling. I'll have to really be careful of this... If Zen died... I don't know, I think it might damage my psyche a little, at this point.

One of my friends called me on being 'obsessed' with my character, actually... in a very "being serious" fashion- he even had 'serious face'.
I just laughed at him, and agreed.
Why not? It's the first obsession I've had in years that isn't inherently self-destructive. I'm going to go with it.

Also, because Shade died, we all dinged. So, yay level 6. Zen got her first level of bard. Druid levels next, then back for another bard, and EVENTUALLY.... Lyrist goodness.
Also, Zen 'popped' a dragonmark.... and so many other cool things happened to the rest of the party members.
Sunday was full of win, despite how crappy I was feeling... I really hope I can get around to writing it out. I think it's worth writing.

So, in short: Boo grief, boo sickness, boo playerdeath, yay leveling, yay game days going smoothly again, yay hopefully writing soon.

"Three times you can bite me!"

It appears that I have stopped writing, and started living on Youtube.
This is not a fair trade.
I am going to write an angry letter.




I love this song. My little sister would love this song, too.
I wanted to leave it as a comment on her Myspace page.

But I can't. The Orange Box, and subsequently, Portal and it's Credits Song, was released less than two weeks after Grandmama died. I remember listening to this for the first few months, and feeling pretty mixed up about it. On the one hand, it's amazing. On the other hand.... I had just lost my mother.

Better not leave it as a comment. I'll stick with the Gummy Song.

More Filler

Zen leveled today. ;) Wooo, level 5!

(4 rogue / 1 sorcerer)

Under My Umbrella

As much as I generally like Rihanna, I despise the song Umbrella with a passion- unless Mandy Moore is singing it, or David Sides is playing it on the piano. I'm ridiculously obsessed with this piano cover.

My Aunt and cousin (the preppy 13 year old) invited me to go to Red Lobster with them for lunch, assuming I could pay for my own. Which I very, VERY obviously can't. I was offended that they even asked.... until my little sister stepped up and earned crazy cool points by offering to pay for me. I think she's worried about my anti-social behavior, and I can't blame her. But.. it should be nice to go out with my family today. I really do love my family.
And I'm going to go nom nom nom on tasty salad and amazing Cheddar Bay biscuits... overall, I'd call this a 'win'.

Then I'm going over to my grandad's and taking over the computer and my piano.

I can't wait until my husband and I can buy a house- I want my piano. There's just no point in dragging it into my upstairs apartment right now, sadly.

Also, I'm down to my last three or four hits. (I finally found the ever-elusive one hitter that 'looks' like a cigarette) This may not seem like such a big deal to most people, but I am a shameless addict.
I get really anxious when I get low... and by 'really anxious' I mean 'moody as hell'.

Hopefully I can get some more tonight. Otherwise... well, I don't want to think about it.
The last thing I need is a repeat of the 10 days we spent in MA. Ugh. NOT 'win'.

I Don't Believe in Filler, Baby - If I Could, I'd Sit This Out

It's already August. I can't believe that it's already August.
Where have the past 9 months gone? It's all a blur.
Because you might as well have climbed into that coffin with her, with as much as you've contributed to society since then.

It's Friday already, too. I don't know where this week went, much less where the last month went.
Time has almost entirely lost it's meaning, and surprisingly, I'm okay with that. I'm obviously fond of my current lifestyle, as it's the one I'm choosing to live. Right? The people that give me shit for it are just jealous that they can't live like I do. Who wouldn't want to be able to live like this?
Who are you trying to convince?

I'm nervous about Sunday. Last Sunday went well- better than the Sunday before, anyway- but it was brief, and still a little awkward. We cut the players down from 6 to 3. That's half the game, gone, in a poof of temper and childishness. I'm still feeling remarkably unsettled about that day. I've never fought with any of my guy friends like that before- I've only ever seen that level of bitchy cattiness from girls.

But Randy doesn't have to work on Sunday, and that means we'll be able to play at least a little!
I'm... too afraid to really get my hopes up about it, though... in case it falls apart again.
You're still fidgeting.

Being the overwhelming escapist that I am, the opportunity to "become" a different person is one I can't let pass by. Any chance I have to dive, headfirst, into another world- to lose myself in a beautiful story... I'm going to take it. And be ever-excited about doing it again.
It doesn't hurt that you're playing a character that is merely an exaggerated, idealized version of what you wish you could be. She has and does everything you only wish you could.

I've also found that it's easier for me to leave the house and talk to someone, if I imagine that I'm Zen, and not Rina. They're talking to Zen. The world is really seeing Zen.
You realize how unhealthy that is for your already seriously damaged self-image?

I remember, years ago (2003), when I lived with Josh and David... we played the Original: Zen and Eric Game. Constantly. We were poor college kids, stuck in a 2 bedroom apartment together without cable or internet. We did what any self-respecting gamers would do: we gamed. A lot. Josh was an amazing DM, with an infinite imagination, and David and I were both really into it. We played all. the. time.
It got to the point that they called me Zen, even when we weren't gaming.
I remember the first time David did it, while he was washing dishes in the kitchen and I was sitting in My Chair (MINE, bitches) in the living room. He called out to ask me, "Hey Zen, are there any dishes in there?"
I couldn't have been happier.
And the time we were in Buy For Less, and they kept calling 'Rina' to get my attention, but I didn't hear them... Josh called out, "Zen!" and I turned without thinking.
That summer was one of the happiest of my entire life.
Do you have any idea how lame that sounds? I mean... really? Do you hear yourself? Your happiest summer was the summer you spent completely ignoring the rest of the world, and YOURSELF?

On an unrelated note, I woke up at 8am with -serious- lung pains... I mean, I've taken a deep breath and felt discomfort often early in the morning.. It comes from being a smoker.
But this morning was different. It hurt bad. For about 20 minutes, I couldn't breathe without coughing, and I could barely cough/breathe without crying. That shit hurt.

I just kept laying there, analyzing the pain.
I imagined my lungs filling up with black, tarry, sludgey cancer.
I also imagined Grandmama's body, and how she must have felt, with lungs and bones full of cancer...
I wondered if my lungs were going to collapse and if that would just be the end of it.
I silently wished they would.

It finally faded, and I was able to fall back asleep, but it was really freaky. I wonder what happened?
Oh, I don't know. It was probably because you smoked twice as many cigarettes as you normally do yesterday. At least five of them were smoked in the 2 hours before bed. Why are you fucking surprised?

I'm going to spend the afternoon at my grandfather's tomorrow, if I can manage to get the computer away from my cousin, because I want to use the internet to re-acquaint myself with the piano.
That's the best idea you've had in months. But do you really think you'll stick with it?

I've been awake for almost 3 hours. It's 4:20 somewhere. Fuck this, less writing, more smoking.

Numb (I Wish)

I think this is beautiful.





Grandmama would've loved it.

She always adored the piano... and the only two 'modern' bands she could recognize/enjoy were Linkin Park and Jimmy Eat World.
She was very sad when I gave up my lessons. Today, it's one of my secret regrets that I refuse to admit to.
(Ask me if I have any regrets. I'll swear, every time, that I don't.)

Weird musical choices though, considering her standard fare of "Golden Oldies" (50s/60s) and Classical Masterpieces (she loved Mozart, Beethoven, and especially Bach).
But she was a weird lady. Weird and awesome. I miss her so much.

Also, 'Numb' in particular has always made me think of my biological mother. Who, as of my last update (I haven't spoken with her since January), is in an actual prison now.

Hopefully she'll stay there until my sister turns 18.
I don't feel bad for turning her in. She was destroying what was left of our broken family.
But I do feel bad. Terrible, even. I stand by my decision, but that doesn't mean it was easy.
I hate her, but she's my 'mother'. I can't hate her without loving her.

Everyone is glad I did it. We're all better off without her.
I wish Grandmama could be here to enjoy how awesome our family really is.

... I wish I could be numb right now.

Random... thing.

The buttery hazelnut tasted rich on her tongue as she sat, dressed as the finest druid-bards that had come before her: well-spun, rich earthen browns and bold, hunter greens cascaded over her shapely form; elegantly crafted harp resting on her lap in her graceful, slender hands. Shining raven hair had been immaculately brushed, pampered and perfumed, a headband of fine sky-blue opals and pearls glimmered from the silken ebon depths. A matching blue-opal silver-cast torc beamed from her throat, mirroring the clear blue of the sky above as seen through the vast windowed ceiling of the Royal Hall.

The expansive room was full, landed Lords and well-dressed nobles, court dandies and fops of every flavor. What was more, it seemed nearly every Nation could be seen represented here today; including their militaries. Stone-faced, sharply dressed Generals and Commanders stood grimly by anxious field-promoted Sub-Commanders from all Nine Sovereign Nations.

Distantly she was aware of the entire widespread audience, which overflowed out of the Hall, throughout the rest of the High Palace Grounds, and beyond. The lesser nobles, the wealthy merchants, the working class, the poor; the officers, the enlisted men, the contracted laborers: all were listening on this, the most auspicious of days. It would be no small wonder if any of them had ever heard a true bard- a lyrist - sing. Many of them never would again after this day, and her heart broke for them in pity.

She continued to chew on the wild hazelnut, discreetly slipping the other three into one of the pockets within the folds of her silver-stitched robe. She inhaled deeply and closed her brilliant violet eyes, turning her face to the warm sunlight that streamed down in golden rays, bathing her in a radiant halo.

Surrendering herself to the 'poetic inspiration'- to the ancient awen - her spirit sang,

I hear your voice on the wind
And I hear you call out my name

"Listen, my child," you say to me
"I am the voice of your history
Be not afraid, come follow me
Answer my call, and I'll set you free"

I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain
I am the voice of your hunger and pain
I am the voice that always is calling you
I am the voice, I will remain

I am the voice in the fields when the summer's gone
The dance of the leaves when the autumn winds blow
Ne'er do I sleep throughout all the cold winter long
I am the force that in springtime will grow

The Otherworld unfolded before her closed eyes; revealing it's secrets one by one to her mind's true eye. The center of Love and Truth, the heartbeat of the Dragon, the feel of Life's Breath against her tingling skin- it all resonated within her, around her. Her deft hands played skillfully across the strings of her harp unbidden, enticing the music out from it's Otherworld into the material; expertly weaving the essence of Truth itself into a driving crescendo as her voice echoed, magically amplified, throughout the Grounds.

I am the voice of the past that will always be
Filled with my sorrow and blood in my fields
I am the voice of the future, bring me your peace
Bring me your peace, and my wounds, they will heal

I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain
I am the voice of your hunger and pain
I am the voice that always is calling you
I am the voice

I am the voice of the past that will always be
I am the voice of your hunger and pain
I am the voice of the future
I am the voice, I am the voice
I am the voice, I am the voice

And all who heard song were captivated and stood, transfixed, in awe. From Prince to pauper, all were silent with tears shining unheeded on every cheek. As the awen lifted, the euphoric rush of wisdom evaporated from within her grasp; leaving her breathless.

(to be continued?)

((celtic woman - the voice))

FUCKING BURN

I can't expect you to make yourselves unhappy just for the sake of my happiness.
I don't blame you at all for speaking your mind, telling us how you feel, and wanting to be happy and have fun. Obviously, you don't fucking care, and that's okay- it sucks for me, but I GET it. Far be it from me to demand that you spend an entire day of your lives, every week, doing something you're not happy about.

What I WOULD like from you is some goddamn empathy.
Is that too much to ask? I've put myself in your shoes, I've VALIDATED your emotions, your thoughts, and your desires. I've looked at the world through your eyes and told you, "I UNDERSTAND EXACTLY WHERE YOU'RE COMING FROM. I'M SORRY."

Is it too much to fucking ask for a scrap of compassion? For a shred of understanding? Can I have my feelings validated once in a while? GODDAMNIT?

Instead of acting like spoiled children storming home because you didn't get to play your way, could you have- I don't know- brought up your thoughts and concerns in a more constructive, RATIONAL way? Maybe stopped for a minute to think, or taken some time to figure out what was REALLY going on, before you jumped to conclusions and pointed fingers?

Or maybe actually listened to what I actually had to SAY about the whole thing? You're more than willing to listen to me when I'm telling you that I understand how you feel, when I'm stroking your injured pride and smoothing your ruffled feathers.

But the minute I open my mouth to speak a word in my defense, to explain how the world looks from MY perspective... I COULDN'T SAY THREE WORDS WITHOUT BEING INTERRUPTED.


OH, and maybe, while you were being all open and honest and truthful (read: angry, irrational, spoiled assholes) you should've been honest about what the REAL issue was.

You'd rather be at home, playing/watching someone play the "new great game" that is going to dominate your entire lives from now on. Your next WoW fix, since you've already worn yourself out on it. Just like a fucking drug addict who just found their latest buzz.

I want the world to fucking burn.

It Just Ain't Fair (To My RL Acquaintances)

Why is it that once something starts going good for me, once I have some degree of happiness... it has to blow up in my fucking face? Always?!

Yesterday was fucking terrible... and it came out of nowhere.

And, might I add, it's apparently all my fault.
No, really.

By the very nature of enjoying this so much, just for the sheer fact that I have been clinging to this like nothing else in years- I have destroyed my own happiness, because you fucking assholes can't keep sand out of your vagina...

WHY CAN'T I JUST BE HAPPY?

I'm seriously considering deleting all of my other ("main") blogs/social networking pages (entirely- no backups) and changing all of my IM names.

And not adding ANYONE to ANY OF THEM.

I really do hate all of you for existing.

Please stop.

!!!!!!!!!!

Oh. Emm. Eff. Gee.

It's finally Sunday!
I slept from 5pm until 7am- so I'm MORE than rested for the day's activities, and hopefully, I'll be just tired enough by 10pm when we call game that I won't throw a hissy fit.
*crosses fingers*

We're kidnapping my little sister, Kimberly, to go to lunch with the... 7 of us. We're all a bunch of 20somethings, playing WoW and D&D, nerdy as hell. Mostly single, self-supporting, hard-working guys- but there's one family man, and my husband... and me snuck in just for a change of pace. Woody's mom says the only reason she lets us play at their house is because they bring a girl with them. That, and she loves the hell out of me. ;)

Kimberly just turned 13, has been playing WoW for a while, and I'm happy to say she's nerdy as hell- I've been a good influence on her.
Better than my preppy cousin, Amy, anyway.
Nothing against preppy people in general- but prep 'culture' fucking sucks. I hope she grows out of this phase... quick. I'm so tired of watching her tilt her head to the side like a fucking dog, with that fake, stupid, ditzy girl look on her face. I'm also sick of seeing her dress like she's 18 when she's barely 13.... but that will probably be an entire rant for another post.

Anyway, this should be a fun and interesting lunch. Kimberly is very sharp, and known to be quite witty- I'm looking forward to the hilarity that is bound to ensue.

I thought about dragging Kimberly with us to the game, too, but she'd get bored. She's expressed her desire to learn to play D&D to me in the past, but I just haven't gotten around to teaching her. I dunno... I started at 15, maybe I'll give her another year. Make sure she's old enough that I can teach her how to do it right, the first time. I'm sure she'd love to watch us play for a while, but we'd just wind up having to interrupt the game to take her home when she got too bored to stand it. But maybe sometime soon.

Also, I'm SO mad that our cable is still shut off. I missed the Avatar finale last night! And the intarwebs seem to be unreliable... I've seen bits and mixed up pieces of the first episode of the finale, The Phoenix King, but I'm afraid I've accomplished nothing. :\
Which totally leaves me with nothing to do for the next two hours!

Except fucking FIDGET.

Looking at the tags on the few entries I've posted so far... I either only write when I'm stoned, or I really am just stoned all the time. Huh. Neat.

Filler

I just painted my nails. (black, of course)
I actually brushed my hair and put a headband on today.
I'm also wearing a shirt that doesn't completely conceal my body shape.
I even plucked my eyebrows a little bit.

Mostly I'm just trying to find things to do to stay awake.
(and it's been a while since I bothered with even such simple standards of appearance)

My sleep schedule is all kinds of fucked- in that I don't have a goddamn schedule at all to speak of.
Which is okay, really. I don't need one. Except tomorrow... because tomorrow is Sunday, and I will finally have a solid outlet for this manic, creative energy. I'm sleep depriving myself today so I can sleep well tonight- to wake up earlyish tomorrow. Then maybe next week, I won't be so ... just spun out. I gotta try to get it all out tomorrow...

On a very happy note, this week of insane mania has reduced my appetite to almost zilch; consequently, my food intake has been cut by at least 3/4. My activity level has gone up as well, what with all the pacing and rambling and incessant fucking fidgeting. (I can't stop. Seriously. This whole week I've felt like I was doing coke- but the only stimulants I've had this week are caffeine from Diet Coke and nicotine from my tasty Camels... it's senseless!)

I don't really look it, but I feel like I might've dropped a few pounds- something a bit more significant than the usual waterweight fluctuations, anyway. I'll weigh myself when I get over to my grandad's to confirm or refute.

You know what? Fuck that. I'm just going to feel good- I don't care whether I've lost anything or not. Assholes.
(Also trying to unlearn everything society has taught me about how I should feel about myself/present myself to the world. FUCK YOU.)

Also, I'm very, VERY excited to see the GRAND FINALE of AVATAR tonight. Oh. Emm. Eff. Gee.

My husband got a haircut yesterday. It looks like this.



It was down to his mid-to-lower back... now it looks.. almost exactly like Mr. Pitt's hair there.

I think it's unbelievably sexy- so he hates it, naturally.

Sometimes I think he's one of those people that legitimately can't function without something making him angry.

"What?? Photosynthesis?! Fucking trees!! THAT PISSES ME OFF!"

He's also hating his new job, but hopefully that will change once he gets used to doing something new (the only reason he hates it) and once he starts bringing home the big bucks on payday.

I'm waiting for him now, hoping he'll come home for 'lunch' to give me a ride over to my grandad's so I can hang out with my little sister and the Random Mess o'People that have also spontaneously appeared there.... and so I can watch Avatar tonight when it airs on Nick. I will be a very sad panda if he doesn't come home on a break. I've been waiting for this series end for months. :(

Captured Moments

The thoughts raced through Zen's head as she lay down that night; it was apparent that sleep would be elusive yet again. It had been nearly two full days since she had last rested, her mind was shattered- and yet so full of questions, images, and problems. She was worn to the bone, physically and emotionally, but it ever persisted.

"The Heir of Tarkanan 'returned'? And attacking Kincaid d'Cannith...himself?" she pondered silently, steeped in images of grey cloaks and aberrant marks, childhood memories and Kincaid's broken body.

She rolled over fitfully, adjusting her modest pillow in a vain attempt to get comfortable.
Chewing her lip, she poured over, and over again, the other scenes from her brief time in Cannith Tower.

She recalled the encounter well, the fear and irritation in his clear blue eyes... Sitting, body broken, on the edge of the infirmary bed. It was devastating to see what he had suffered, but her heart still sang with gladness to find him alive.

"Kincaid was afraid... genuinely, afraid, when he saw me.. and angry," she added sheepily to herself, "I guess I can see why... but how was I supposed to know better?"

She groaned to herself, the weight of it all steadily sinking into the pit of her stomach like a rock.

"He actually said that Merrix d'Cannith would kill me if he knew I was there. Because he was afraid of my father, Rand.. ... d'CANNITH."

No matter how she looked at it, no matter how many times the words played again and again, there were only more questions, broken images, and bad memories.

"My father was a dragonmarked heir!" she thought to herself bitterly as she shifted again.

"They call me a rat, like I'm nothing my whole life, and now all of a sudden I'm supposed to believe that I'm somebody? I just figure that out, ... and now this!"

A nauseating feeling of dread shook her body, raising panic and bile into her throat. She choked it down, tightly clenching her fists around the edge of the light blanket.

"If Merrix was afraid of my father... afraid enough to kill even his bastard, unmarked child... that does put me in a very dangerous place. Even more than Garona could have guessed... Oh gods, what's happening? I just got everything sorted out, everything was going to be perfect!"

She rolled over a third time, tossing the cover to the ground, happy for the light breeze in the humid Sharn night... it was almost summer, and the nights were getting warmer.

She swore sharply under her breath.

"And Garona... how could she have done this to me? How could she have, even not knowing who she was attacking... how could she be doing this? Murder? Attacking the Houses? It isn't like taking any other hit, it's ludicrous! I have to find some way to speak to her again, to appeal to her.. to help her. It has to be that aberrant mark she has! She wouldn't, couldn't be doing this herself... it has to be the sickness. Maybe there's a way to help her."

Zen felt pretty sick herself, so she sat up, resting her head in her hands. The fear and chaos consuming her mind had her drenched in a cold sweat.

"...and if the Heir of Tarkanan is really that big of a deal... and he, himself, attacked Kincaid... and nearly killed him..."

She swallowed forcefully, shaken by the severity of the sudden realization, "Kincaid really is kind of a 'big deal' around here..."

She hugged her knees to her chest, locking her jaw and gritting her teeth against the tears stinging her eyes, threatening to betray the inner turmoil and confusion.

"Who is Kincaid d'Cannith? And what could he possibly want from me?"

"Who was Rand d'Cannith? Why was Merrix, the head of House Cannith, possibly afraid of him? Afraid enough to outright kill his illegitimate daughter? Could that really be true?"





"Who am I?"

Nerd Girl References (Get it?)

So my husband and I play D&D. He is currently the DM, and we have just started a new campaign in Eberron. I am once again adopting a more standard fare as far as my roleplaying, too... I rolled a street rat. And not just -any- street rat...

I'm stepping into the shoes of Zen. The character I devoted the better part of a year of my life to, either my first or second favorite character, depending on the mood I'm in when asked. I've modified her backstory once before to use for my WoW character on the RP server I was fond of... but as WoW didn't stick, neither did her story. There's only really been the one Zenaria.

Until now. I'm actually very excited about the prospect of an Alternate-but-Parallel-and-Impossible-to-Reach Universe- in which the "same" Zen was born, but lives an entirely different life. It's already shaping up to be amazing.

It helps that I seem to be choosing my mates based on their creativity/ability to tell me stories. Zen will undoubtedly be the best character I am capable of creating- merely because I have had the honor of playing a game created by the two most creative genius minds I've ever encountered. Either one could easily make a career of this- and my husband hopes to.

As we are leeching the neighbor's internet, our cable has been shut off, and we're about out of movies to watch... and he doesn't start his new job until Monday. That's left us with an awful lot of time to kill- so we've been nerding it right the hell up with RP!

Yeah. That's about the only thing of interest I have to say. That is to say.... I got nothin'.

Day of Life Gift

It's the most important day of the year again.

For this day, 22 years ago, saw the birth of someone so awesome, the levels of awesomeititude are simply impossible to convey in mere words. Silly English- thinking it could possibly do justice to the extreme, brave new heights of my copious AWESOME. Stupid language should be ashamed. As if.

Regardless, I'm incredibly sleep deprived (determined to be awake for -every- hour of my beloved day of birth) and waiting for my milk chocolate brownies to cool. Then I shall undertake to frost them. But this time... with a twist.

I'm using vanilla frosting.

For some strange reason, this combination has never before occurred to me- but right now, it's all I can think about.

And MC Chris. Damnit. I blame my "friends" for this.

"Nerd girl I don't deserve you, I don't get the references you refer to..."

Lifetimes

Late this evening, I went on a holy quest to find the ever elusive one-hitter-that-looks-like-a-cigarette that every stoner has stashed away -somewhere- among their belongings. Mine, last I saw, was in a box in the closet of my spare room.

While rummaging through the box I thought I had seen it in, I stumbled across an envelope that was addressed to my old apt in Louisville, written in my grandmother's handwriting. Curious, I opened it and was shocked to discover the last letter my ex-fiancee ever wrote me: 8 months after he had been arrested, out of nowhere, for 8 counts of armed robbery- and was still sitting in jail, awaiting his fate. USPS had stamped the envelope with November 2004.

Even though my brother was over, I snuck into my bedroom to spark a bowl and read over the letter... and wow. Just wow. I forgot how educated he was... how articulate and well-spoken. It's kind of a lame analogy, because I don't have his way with words, but he always reminded me of a ribbon dancer... a really good one, ya know? But his ribbons were -words-. His IQ was well above "genius", and he had frighteningly perfect school records to show for it.

But as I continued to read onto the back of the first page, and into the second... he talked briefly about memories of us, made references to events in our lives that I had completely forgotten. I read and re-read what he had written, searching desperately for the memories attached to the names, to the places, to the dates... and one by one, I finally grasped single images and fleeting voices, ghosts of distant memories stored in the closet of the spare room of my mind...

I pulled them out, dusted them off, and immersed myself in them once again. I revisited those times, and those places.

And now I'm just in shock, at how only 4 years have passed in my life... and yet those events of just 4 short years ago feel like they happened to an entirely different person.

Those memories -aren't- mine. They're foreign... familiar, but alien. I remember the feelings, I can feel them now. I remember the smells, the sounds, the sights. It has to be real.

But they're not mine.

... and I never found my one-hitter, either.

Broken.

All of my pipes are broken. My first pipe ever, given to me by my biological mother when I was 16, was a 2" or so long just-a-little-more-than-a-one-hitter that had been fashioned to look like a little seashell. As a water sign (Cancer), a lover of all things aquatic, and at the time, very, VERY Pagan- I thought it incredibly appropriate. It broke a few years later while I was cleaning it, but just the stem- it was still technically smoke-able (and I used it many times after!!) until a few months ago, I got a toothpick very solidly STUCK, broken off in it. I could probably get it out if I fiddled with it for a while, but... more work than it's worth, I'm afraid. My next pipe, at least of the ones currently in my posession, (this isn't just pipe-list-story-time) is a beautiful blue glass pipe named Tenshi that my lovely husband bought for me when we first moved from the Northeast to South Central USA. Unfortunately, the whole bottom of the bowl broke through again, while I was cleaning her one day. Apparently I either suck at cleaning pipes (which is possible), or I need to quit buying/receiving lower-end quality pieces! (Probable)

My most recent pipe came by way of one of my best friends, my adopted brother. (I have a lot of "like my brother" friends, but he's my only REAL brother) His dad used to be a hippie, and long-story-short (long story maybe for another time), a group of my friends stumbled across his pipe, while my brother's family was living out of state. It's been passed around a few times among us- as my brother doesn't smoke- but he recently demanded that I have it, so.. I got it. Unfortunately, it's so old, there's a seal that leaks air/smoke - BAD. It's the pipe I've been using, without any problems, for at least six months now. But just a few days ago, I noticed a leak. Doesn't that suck?

I'm stuck with aluminum pipes. How ghetto and lame am I?

The story just gets better from there.

My husband invited two of our friends over this evening, to talk about mutual interests and hang out and do the whole 'being friends' thing. I was still in bed at like, 4:30 this afternoon. ... I had gone to bed at around 3am. That is 13.5 hours of sleep. I honestly could have kept sleeping. He woke me up though, telling me that they were on their way over and that I should well... get up. I stalled, pushing it off as long as I could, and then I even stalled in the bathroom long after they had arrived... but I knew I had to face them, if for no other reason than -everything I wanted- was in the living room/dining room/kitchen. I braced myself, and I really tried.



But just seeing them, having to look them in the eye, to try to have a conversation with them... it unnerved me, and terrified me, and made me feel like I was suffocating. If anyone, including my husband, even came near me while I sat on the other side of the room, desperately trying to immerse myself in the computer and my music and pretend that they weren't there, I would become tense, and short... to the point of hostility! And these are my friends! They're not just his friends, or just our friends... they're MY friends! I've spent hours upon HOURS really talking/getting to know one of them, and I've hung out extensively with the other... I like them, and I trust them, and they're my friends.

But I grabbed my diet soda, my sack, my ghetto aluminum pipe, my laptop and cord... and retreated to my bedroom.
I stacked the pillows (two body pillows, four fluffy regular pillows) to make a comfy sitting spot.
I plugged in the multi-colored Christmas lights that go around the room.
I plugged in the laptop and got settled in.
I wished for a blacklight, because my pretty posters don't look as pretty as they could with just darkness and little Christmas lights.
I turned on random music via my iTunes.

And I got high, and tried to do all I could to just calm the raging panic wracking my system.

Also, I really wish I had a TV in here with some video games. Something nice and old school, comfortable and familiar- like Sonic 3 for Sega Genesis, or Starfox 64 for Nintendo 64.