My body has antibodies. My mind has...
I don't want to do anything. I just want to sit here, quiet, and alone. It's nice at night. There is nothing demanded of you. The easy strokes against the senses are relaxing, and valuable in their rarity. Why sleep through my rest? I should rather enjoy it. Let me sleep through the time of assaults on my psyche.
Let me do no work that is not of my first love, for I am not composed of prestige in the eyes of others. I am me. I am a whole person. I am here, before I do what you want me to do. I am a being. My identity exists without your brownie points.
God made me before you made me what I am. I need not serve your wishes to be alive.
When I don't believe this, I have no identity. When I attempt to form my identity based on accomplishment
I am sleeping through namelessness to defend my life.
Well, today, I'm going to Disability Services at my school. I didn't want to, because the mental health system has shown itself to be unhelpful throughout the years I've used it. But I am driven to think that I should give this one a chance before turning it down.
On days when I am diminished, I can get up just in time to eat before walking to class, plod up the hill like a persevering camel, arrive slightly late, and hot from exercise, come up with some wonderful critical analysis that makes my teacher squeal at the unique talent behind it, hear a personal praise, and not feel a thing. I leave, thinking, "I was supposed to react more to that, and now she's going to think it never works on me."
Oh, but on days when I'm not diminished I dance all over the school and make a dozen new acquaintances and give my friends all the goodness inside me and hope to God that I will not ruin myself again over my next stretch of too much free time.
I am winning. I have been winning since after seminar this Friday, when I finally wanted not to do that to my teacher again. And I wanted to go see the island in the frozen pond, so I did.
Nic came to Canada this week. I saw him on Friday, the day he left. He shot a stupid movie, a sequel to his stupid Bionicle sketch on YouTube, and gave me two Zamor Spheres. :) So dumb.
Conversation With A Too Vintage Gamer
<Kiddalee> Guys, is there a Playstation 3 or something?
<Raindance> umm... yes
<Kiddalee> When did that come out?
<Amoryl> like 2 years ago
<Amoryl> where've you been?
<Kiddalee> Oh, did it really?
<Solenna> can I join the rock you live under? it sounds nice. :P
(from #lothlorien of the EsperNet IRC network) - Crossposted w/Elftown
One day, when I was about fifteen, I started my period. I'd been having regular periods for about three years already, and was no stranger to the pain, the crankiness, and the low self-esteem. It really bothered me. So, I told myself, "Well, I'm tired, and in pain, so I just want to be beautiful today, and that's it." And I was.
I put on my favourite long, baby blue polyester sundress. It put no pressure on my lower torso at all. On top of the dress, I wore my pale yellow shirt. I think I might have had a pink kerchief in my hair. I don't wear bras, heels, or makeup, and I think my period would have hurt more, if I did.
I walked around that day feeling pretty, like Maria from Westside Story, only much more mellow from the tiredness.
A lot of guys noticed me. A lot more than usual. After receiving a curious look from another, I finally asked myself, "Why can't that happen on days I want it to?" For I'm not very sexually interested during my period.
I figured it was because I wanted enough to be beautiful - not sexy - that I was.
Energy, Metabolism, Angst 2
Carli faints. Her blood sugar level was around 2 or something when she fainted at work.
I don't faint, because I can go 16 hours without food, miss a night of sleep, climb a steep trail up to school without stopping, carrying a very small load, and still have a blood sugar level of 5.3 at testing time. I guess, then, I'll have to attribute the lack of balance on the way to breakfast to a lack of sleep.
It's true. My energy isn't all low. It only gets low at certain times. Sometimes, it is too high.
One evening, I was at the Powers' house with nothing to do, and I couldn't stop moving, so I decided to go for a walk down by the lake, in the wind and the snow. So I was a little more settled when I got back for supper, if too ravenous for the food available.
One afternoon, I was at the Powers' house with no energy, so I decided to go for a walk down by the lake, in the wet snow, and saw some mallard ducks, and grabbed bits of tectonic ice ranges, and didn't get any soakers. I finally had the energy to play cards, when I got in. It was nice.
I haven't seen Carli much, since then. I really like Carli. I've liked other people better just by seeing them around Carli. I miss her.
At school, I was sleeping up to 12 hours a day. Either that, or I'd miss a night of sleep, then make it up by sleeping 15 hours the next night, and then not be able to sleep again.
I was always hungry, so used to it that I didn't always obey it, always eating more than half the guys when I did, and still losing weight. It was really bothersome when I got home, as I had nothing really to distract me from it. I checked my BMI and it's perfect (22.7). Well, that's nice. Then, one evening, I ate a can of Chef Boyardee. Why I needed one can of junk food to be the breaking point for lowering my metabolism, after rebuilding all my bad home habits, I do not know. Now, I'm not always hungry.
Maybe I should have kept the metabolism. It was rather amusing to be able to beat Dad to the midnight snacks.
I still sleep 12 hours a day. I haven't been out to play much since I got home. The forests are too safe at home. The people are too cheap.
I don't actually call this place home. I think of going back home in January. If I ever call this place home, it's because I can't always think of a new term. Sometimes I say down south or downstairs or Orangeville.
God's trying to get me to be better.
YaY! My friend Nic is on Jabber, and I helped!
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.