I want to write a story about nothing in particular, but I keep dreaming up stories about what I wish would happen to me. They are like Mary Sues, but they're not all fanfiction. Please note that I never write fanfiction, even if I do sometimes dream it up.
I did write one story about nothing in particular. I've so far called it, The Doctor's Orders. It's a modern fantasy. Well, I suppose the story about the first unicorn that I wrote isn't about me either. It's a Christian metaphor, but it's horribly innacurate. Oh well. I tried. Plus, there's still room to improve it, so maybe I won't need to destroy it.
The stories that I write about me have lots of dragons, and amazon-types, and eunuchs, and oversheltered preteens, and girls who misuse their sexualities to make up for their childhoods, and relatively stable men who have to turn them down while still taking care of them, and asshole men who like to devour and destroy dragons and girls they don't understand, and passion, and guys who are coming of age and getting over angst, and for some reason the girl has some sort of wierd, senseless, divine quality.
You see? That's why I'd rather write about nothing in particular! The stories pertaining to my nonexistent adventures follow too many conventions. Besides, they're less realistic than would be a story about nothing in particular. A Mary Sue is about what a girl wants to happen. A story about itself, however, is about what must happen due to characters and plot and cause and effect.
Oh, I've forgotten the overly-cute fairy story. That one isn't about me, either, though it's kind of annoying, and the ending sucks. I picked a fairy who couldn't solve her own problem, and then tried to make her solve it. Yuck. I think I'll go rewrite that ending to be sad, as it would be, if I hadn't forced plot over the character. And then maybe I'll write another version starting with a fairy who can solve her problem, and ending with the problem solved. Dangit.
At least I'm a good poet. You don't have to be good at fiction to be a good poet. Most of my poems are about my true experiences, and never Mary Sue fantasies. Yuck.
This is a story about what would happen if I fainted, as I have always wanted to.
I'd be going about my business as usual. Nobody would notice anything strange about me, in spite of my being ridiculously tired, or stressed, or exhausted, or fatigued, or in pain, or sick, or hungry. As usual.
I would see my gentleman friend in the hallway. We might stop and talk. Or maybe we'd be about to pass by each other.
Suddenly, my energy reserves would run out, and my legs would give way under me. He, among many others, would notice. But he has really good leadership skills, and he'd be the one to clear me some space, and call an ambulance.
He would keep standing there, protecting me in my stupor, until I wake up. It is only a faint, after all. I've heard of lots of people who pass out and then manage to wake up pretty quickly.
When I wake up, we would talk. I don't know what we'd talk about. I do know, that from a third person omniscient perspective, his concern for my well-being would be apparent. Maybe he's even emotionally stricken by my lack thereof. I don't know how it would look from a first-person perspective. I've never before considered how few wits I might have upon waking up from fainting.
Then the ambulance would come, and take me away, and he'd be left standing, concerned.
Or maybe I would wake up, seeing his face before anything else, and become guarded. You never know. I mean, why should I expect him to react that way?
Angst 1, as I wrote it, Nov. 16
I hope you will excuse me for saying I want to die. You see, youthful angst isn't my regular faire. I concede that you may be sick of it, but there is a place for everything, you know. It has been overdone and out of place, yes, but that's no reason to censor it from me. I certainly haven't overdone it, myself, and I can't underdo it if I am a real artist.
So. I want to die. I like to stay in bed and starve myself, and masturbate to abusive fantasies. Unfortunately, God keeps ruining it on me. He keeps waking me up and saying things like,
"Read your Bible."
"Brush your teeth."
And my favourite.
"Go to class."
And you should have heard Him when I angsted at Him!
"Well, if you want to die, then kill yourself."
Apparently, I don't really want to die.
Fine, then. If I don't want to die, I wish I didn't want to die, so I could get on with my life and do my homework. As it is, I have 2 assignments overdue/reject
It Comes That Naturally!
It was in my last entry that I drew the flower. I didn't even realize I was doing it. It came so naturally, you see. o.O Then today (Saturday, that is), I began feeling signs of PMS. I'm serious. It's so predictable! Especially since I don't see it coming well enough to prevent it. Now, last time I drew the flower, which is still on a window in the first floor dorm lounge, I realized that I was probably doing it because of my cycle, but I had started to draw already, and it feels fine to keep going.
So, there will be no angst until I've given you a day or so to mull over this entry, because I hate the idea of swamping you. No, that doesn't keep me from writing. "Last night's angst" is three entries, actually.
It Turned Out To Be A Rambling About Sex
(warning: some graphic sexual content)
I need something to plunk down on the keyboard. I didn't bring paper for my pens. I suppose I could steal some out of the recycling box. The only problem is that most of the recycling boxes here are tall and covered. I think it might be to prevent plagiarism. Well, fair enough, then. But that means I don't have any writing paper. Maybe I should go to the store and buy myself a notebook with my fragile, externally supported debit account. After all, that would be the most economical, selfless thing to do.
Stopping writing for prudence, though? Isn't that unwise in its own right? I think, if ever the rest of my life is dealt with, writing could be the last thing keeping me from obeying God diligently. Especially when I am at my most depressed, angsty, and tired.
There is one thing I want more than writing. That is a husband and a solid Christian family with too many kids, and the perfect, self-styled homeschooling curriculum. God tells me He'll find me a husband, and it turns me on. It is the holiest sexual arousal I've ever thought possible. I breathe it, drink it, bask in it. When I feel it, I don't want to masturbate, or think about my current crush or any past ones, or whine about my inactive love life, or my childhood, or my work.
I can only really, really feel it when He gives it to me, but as I think about it at other times, it is evolving into a solid security, warm and sweet. It's like a fetus. Except, of course, that I've never been pregnant before. Well, I'll see how accurate that description is soon enough.
On the day when my fertile time is ending, and my PMS begins, I have a tendency to draw a flower. I never realize what is going on with my cycle, until I begin to draw it. It comes so naturally, you see. It generally has the same style every time. The petals are elongated, and open wide. They're even pointing backwards a bit, though never to the point of rotting. The stigma is always long and huge, as are the heavy, wildly spread staemen, their ends bursting with pollen. At that moment, I have an inkling that every flower should be hypersexualize
You know, I tend to hum while I am drawing that.
Have you had a good look at your local orchid lately? To me, it looks like either a hummingbird, or a vulva, going, "Come into me. Do it NOW!" I mean, look at the way in which it opens. Not to mention the colouring. It's always got wierd, uneven spots, or blotches, as though it is a real, organic, honest-to-good
Now, all this typing has made me feel better. If only I could come up with more fiction, though.
If you didn't find this entry too boring, then I'd appreciate it if you could tell me, and then maybe I won't be so afraid to share last night's angst. I know how much angst is looked down upon in places like these, but it's not like I overemphasize angst in my writing, so I guess I ought to be more confident about exposing what little I do. Besides, I like the entries, as I read over them.
Symptoms Of Leaving High School
My period sucks. On good days, I walk to school at half my normal pace. If I go fast, the overexertion makes me throw up. Last night, I had miniature contractions. I'm guessing they're contractions, because I asked Mom what contractions feel like, and it sounded similar.
I have to be fussy with my hormones! I take evening primrose oil, and it helps enough so that I no longer throw up unless I've overexerted myself. I also have to eat like a lion. Blood, blood, blood! And if I have any calcium around that time, the iron is totally wasted.
So, yesterday, though I hadn't had enough sleep, I got up at a normal time, and had a complete enough breakfast, with green tea for energy. I had to. There was a test that morning. I knew I would be too weak to walk without dire consequences, so I took the bus to school. That entailed waiting in the rain for a late city bus, and sitting in it as it was overcrowded. The test wasn't bad, but cramps were a bit distracting.
When I got home, I was finished. I did throw up. I cried. I went to sleep.
I woke myself after a few hours and went to class that evening.
Last year, I would have used the throwing up as an excuse to take the rest of the day off.
Symptoms Of Moving To Uni
This is Frosh week. I screamed a lot for two days straight. My period started yesterday. That night, I came down with a flu with a fever. I couldn't get to sleep until 4 in the morning. I couldn't go to Frosh or class today, and plan not to go to Frosh tomorrow.
Advice on chamomile tea:
If you take it when you've just started detecting symptoms, it will help you kill them or hold them off.
If you take it when you've had the symptoms for a while, it will turn your immune system into the Hulk and your body will feel extremely sick as evidence of how hard it's fighting.
I have a feeling I should lay off the chamomile from now on, unless my problem just started, or I already have a severe battle going on. Otherwise, is it really worth the pain?
Wah! I don't know my teachers' emails so I couldn't warn them that I wasn't coming to class!
And now, quiet food.
Switching Computers: Mom's XP To My Ubuntu Linux
I move to Nipissing Uni on September 2. Before we leave that morning, I'll have to have moved my files off of Mom's computer and onto mine. In order to be allowed to use my dorm's internet, I'll have to have installed a virus scanner on my computer, and used it recently. I needed to download it through Mom's computer.
Moving my files from Mom's computer to my new laptop has gone more smoothly than I expected. So has the virus check.
I had installed Ext2 IFS, which allows me to access all of my Linux partitions from my WinXP Home boot. That way, I don't need to try setting up a network connection between Mom's WinXP and my Ubuntu. However, Ext2 had another unexpected benefit.
It allows AVG to scan all of my Linux partitions for virii, from WinXP Home. Why [JKing] and I hadn't thought of that, we don't know. I had expected to have to figure out ClamAV in a rush. Of course, I may want to get a Linux virus scanner eventually, so I won't have to reboot to Windows every time I want to do a virus scan.
I'm actually planning on not using Windows much at all. In fact, I can't use Windows for much. Who knows why, but it runs most applications deathly slow (yes, by Windows standards). All I'm planning to use it for is when I have to connect to another Nipissing or Windows computer.
The dorm uses cable internet, so I won't have problems getting on with Ubuntu. If I do, I can always break something. :P (Note: My Winmodem just wouldn't turn into a Linmodem, which is why I haven't left Mom's computer already.)
This evening, when I should have been on my way to bed, I thought, I should start actually using my WritersCo blog as a blog, shouldn't I? So I guess I will start doing that.
That will entail moving my old updates to another page, which I'd rather sleep than build right now. Anyways, hooray for me!
So pretty. Like poetry.
My old announcements have been moved to Kidda's Old Announcements.
I forgot to tell you, I handed in my Short Story yesterday. So I won't have to drop Writer's Craft. I know I really won't now because the rest of the course is breezing through.
Of course, I couldn't tell you yesterday, because I slept from 4pm-5:30am last night. And I got home at 4.
It was nice.
At this time, I am the only online member.
She's giving me another chance to make up the assignment. :::phew::: And I know what to do now, and I want to do it. So there.
On a side note, I'm really enjoying my project on South African Theatre during apartheid. It captivated me and made me want to miss sleep... and I even forgot to answer a web buddy.
By the way, I have a friendate tomorrow after school. Not with the aforementioned web buddy, but a buddy nonetheless.
Based on what my teacher said, I'm probably not going to be able to make up whatever I've lost in Writer's Craft. Once I talk to the English department head, I'll decide whether to drop the course. I'll probably have to. For some reason, the school system here doesn't use "extra-credit" or "makeup" projects.
Here's my story:
I'm in a high school Writer's Craft class, in which we must all work on the teacher's assignments, at the pace of the teacher. I know that by my attitude I should be able to become proficient, but it still isn't easy.
Tomorrow, I will have to take a zero on a story that I simply didn't work on. I'm not nervous yet, and I don't plan on becoming depressed over it. It's just too bad that my final mark will probably be down to the seventies once I've completed the course. And unless I pick up yet another course next semester to raise my average, that will be stuck in the high seventies. And of course, my estimates are always generous because I'm not very good at math.
I need at least an eighty to get an entrance scholarship for Nipissing.
Maybe I should try getting nineties next semester. I only have two courses then. But I don't think that having more time, even if I use it well, will make me a nineties student. So I could take a third and get all eighties... if I don't make a mistake like this again.
For fear of being attacked, I haven't yet mentioned the reasons why I haven't been doing my homework.
Well, I still live at home, and my family can be very distracting as they are not pleasant people. Also, when I decide to have dinner with them, it's often so unhealthy that it pays my body and abilities little.
I also have seasonal affective disorder, and though I handle it better every year, it's still making me need extra sleep each night. It's threatening to depress me, but I haven't let it get there yet.
When I'm on my period, I need even more sleep. Fortunately, I'm taking evening primrose oil, and so my period is no longer so painful as to make me miss school, but I still need extra sleep.
I do admit I'm a procrastinator