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.