Friday, December 28, 2012

You're Getting A Present Today. Be Grateful.

I don't feel like doing an actual post, because there's too much I can't divulge as of yet and I don't really have the time anyway. So I bring you a treat instead!

Here are some of my first poems, when I started writing decent poetry about 2 years ago.

(I, You, We) Have Reduced Life to Words

All to nothing
Nothing to something
And back again.

                                      Goes on to something
                                      Races to nothing
                                      And back again.

                   Meaning nothing
                   Encapsulating everything
                   And sometimes exposing

Nearer to the End

Isn't something I wear
Very well.
                        It chafes
                        It itches
                        It inflames.
With this in mind
I need to pull away now
Before things become even more
Out of hand.
                                    You do not deserve me.
                        Your feelings are not strong.
            You do not understand
                        Your own motivations.
So before I become
                        I will run
                        I will hide
            But I will

Optimism vs. Pessimism

He will come back.
It's nothing;
Just him trying to protect
Himself and you.
I'm dying,
Of course he's not coming back.
There's something wrong
With you and your soul
So stop being so sentimental.
Don't listen to that.
You know you're amazing,
And he does too.
Or he should.
And no one knows.
Don't listen to that.
How many times have you been hurt?
You know the truth
That he doesn't actually care.
Stop lying to her.
By everything I had hoped (feared),
Only if you do.
Here in the corner
I'm not lying
You are.
As I'm torn
That is a deliberate untruth.
Side to side
You're only making her
Feel even worse.
Until nothing is left.
You're only going to make her
Feel even worse later.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Oh, Look, I'm Back

It's past noon on Christmas Day, and I still haven't opened any presents. This is what happens when you stay up past 4 AM talking to someone who really should have better sense and tell you to shut up and go to bed because you've been awake since 6 AM the previous day.

My parents went to breakfast with aunt and uncle, you see, leaving me home alone with a bunch of presents I WANT TO OPEN SO MUCH but that I refuse to even look at so as not to tempt me further.

Okay. That's like the fourth time that's happened. My phone goes off, I go to open the message, it's either a picture message or a mass Merry Christmas text, and my phone will deduct the minute required to open it, then say, "Network is unavailable" or "System locked". What the hell? WHO KEEPS SENDING ME STUFF? I don't like mass texts. I don't like picture texts, unless they're of something awesome.


It's really difficult to update when everything that's happened to you is something YOU AREN'T ALLOWED TO TALK ABOUT, for some reason or other.

What I can talk about:

I'm going to Disney World in two weeks! Well, actually, in exactly two weeks, it will be the last day of my trip to Disney World. But STILL. I'm so excited! I've never been before, and I plan on doing everything.

You see, I'm going with my best friends Carter and Krystal. We're going to share a room at a resort hotel, and Carter has our whole itinerary planned out. He goes to Disney World like every year, so he knows all the best stuff to do. This is the biggest thing we've done as a group.

The only part that sucks is that our other best friend, Emily, won't be going.

I mean, the four of us were pretty much inseparable throughout high school. We had our fights and issues and stuff, but we always forgave each other and went back to normal very quickly. But, ever since we went to college and Emily joined a sorority, she's been getting more and more distant.

Last year, our freshman year of college, she didn't really talk to us or keep in touch. When we all got together for break, it took a lot of work on my, Krystal's, and Carter's end to make it happen. SHE used to be the one planning all of our visits and outings. And when we did get together, she didn't seem particularly happy or interested in being there.

This year, I haven't heard from her pretty much at all. I've tried texting her, sending her messages on Facebook, but... nothing. She'll give perfunctory answers to my questions, but won't start any real conversations. When we told her about Disney World, which we'd all been planning on doing since junior year of high school, she said she wouldn't be able to go, no matter what dates we picked.

It's just.

I always thought that Krystal would be the one to drift off, because she's forgetful and gets wrapped up in her stuff very easily. I thought Emily would be the one making sure we all stayed together. But it's the opposite.

For someone who rarely ever misses people (even as a kid, when my momma would ask if I missed her after I had been away at camp or whatever, I would say no), I really miss Emily. She's been there for me through a lot, and I've been there for her. I guess, really, I'm just worried about her.

Oh well.

Wow, that was sort of depressing. Sorry.

Here, to cheer you all up:


Wednesday, December 12, 2012

I Am a Cat

Mike, a friend of mine who writes for a newspaper, and I decided a couple weeks ago that I am, for all intents and purposes, a cat in human form.

Let me elaborate.

Last night, at Dungeons and Dragons, I could not get comfortable. So, as I don't care one whit about decorum or dignity, I moved around from position to position until I felt comfortable.

I believe that I went from kneeling on the floor with my torso in the chair and my chin on the back to laying on the floor with my feet in the chair to sitting upside down in an armchair with my feet over the back and my head near the floor.

That last one nearly made it as my permanent position, but it didn't really work because I would have to get up and roll dice eventually. As a result, I got up and went back to my chair, sitting like a normal person. That didn't really ring my chimes, though. In a stroke of good luck, Daniel got up from his chair and went to the armchair that I had vacated. This left his chair open and mine for the taking!

I stuck one leg onto the chair, then slid it through the gap between the back and the seat. It was a folding chair, so this made it close up on my leg. Lo and behold, I'd found my perfect position!

Of course, everyone thought I was crazy and that the position couldn't possibly be comfortable all because it LOOKED awkward. In reality, it was fine and wonderful and I wonder why I hadn't sat like that before.

So, point number one for being a cat: I end up in strange positions that don't look comfortable, and I am perfectly content and happy.

Other reasons I am a cat: I want affection when I want it and on my terms, and no time else. This really only comes into play when I'm in a relationship of some sort. Unlike most females at or around my age, I don't have any desire to be around my current boy-toy all the time. In fact, I'd really prefer he not be around unless I ask him to come over. I don't need to talk to him (or anyone else) every day, or see him every day, or even every other day. I'm just fine with whenever I get the desire to interact with him.

When something flies past me, my first instinct is to swipe at it.

I am easily distracted by colourful, bright things that move. On the reverse of that, I am also able to sit and stare at something for hours when the mood strikes.

I am extremely picky about whom I like, and in general hate most people. Or, at the very least, have no desire to interact with them.

As most of my friends will tell you, I am a touch conceited (or self-assured, as my second momma tells me) and think that most people are beneath my notice.

Finally, I love sleeping at all hours of the day.

I'm sure there are other ways I'm catlike, but I'm too lazy and ready for a nap right now to think of them. So I think I shall drink some milk and get ready for bed instead.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

What is Love?

But before we delve into THAT intense question, take a look at a few of my newest dinosaur-themed acquisitions!

As you can see, I have a triceratops pillowpet, a velociraptor stuffie, some AWESOME erasers, and dinosaur bed sheets. They are magnificent and I will treasure them forever.

Now, onto the interesting stuff!

Today at church, there was a wedding during the service. Afterward, for Sunday School (which I help lead now), we had a discussion about love and at what age can one truly fall in love and all sorts of stuff. I had started thinking about all of that during the sermon, so I was super prepared! And now I want to share my thoughts on love.

I'm sure some of you remember my previous post about love. If not, here's a link. Basically, I just go through the three typical views on love - but what IS it? How do you know when you're in love?

Well. My personal opinion (and I know it is extremely biased because of my biological father and his lack of contact with me) is that you are in love when you know that were you to have children, you would want it to be with that person. You want to have half your DNA bound with theirs for all eternity. You want your children to be THEIRS and YOURS so that you always have that tie with them, no matter what.

Whether or not you're READY for children is a totally different story. I do think one can be in love without wanting children; I'm just saying that if you happened to, well, at least it was with this person and not someone else.

Of course, I'm a complete cynic and I'm not sure I'll ever fall in love. Part of it has to do with the fact that I don't think anyone could fall in love with ME, but the other part of it is that I'm not sure I could trust someone that much. When you love people, they hurt you. They leave, they always leave, whether through choice or death or something else. So really, I don't want to be in love.

But, of course, I DO want to fall in love. Almost every girl plans her wedding, and I certainly did mine (although not to the extent of others. The most I know is that it's going to be outside; either at the beach or in the forest, and I for sure am not wearing shoes). And I definitely want kids, which I don't plan on having until I'm married. That plan is pretty much fool-proof, considering I refuse to have sex until then as well.

It's all very confusing, and society makes it even worse. If you don't get married and have kids or at least have a significant other, you are considered a failure. I always thought I'd be married almost right after college; now, with it only a few years away, I don't think that's going to happen. I mean, come on, I've had one real boyfriend. ONE.

Glen, the guy who runs Sunday School and with whom I am participating in Tough Mudder, met his wife and started dating her when they were 14. He told her he loved her on the second day he knew her. They got married when he was 19 and she was 21, and they've been together ever since. That sort of thing doesn't happen often, and personally if a guy told me he loved me when we'd only been together two days, I would leave him before you could say "dependency issues".

So, what does this all amount to? 

I want to fall in love, but doubt that I ever will.

And dinosaurs are awesome.

Friday, December 7, 2012

What It's Like to Have a Phobia

I thought about this last night for some reason, so I figured I'd do a blog post about it.

People are always curious when they find out that I have a real, debilitating phobia. They wonder what it's like to have a panic attack, and they all seem to think that they can "reason" me out of it, as if I haven't heard it 95 billion times before.

Something that irritates me, though, is when someone says they have a phobia when they really mean that they're just scared of something. When I mention that I have a phobia of, erm, Evil Things (go here if you don't know what I'm talking about), many say, "Oh, yeah, I'm terrified of those as well."

No, they're not. Of all the people I've talked to who have said that, not a single one actually has a phobia. Sure, they don't LIKE the Evil Things. Sure, they're a little scared of getting shots. But they don't have panic attacks, they don't have horror stories of punching nurses and curling into the fetal position under a chair.

The difference between just being scared of something (and even really scared) and having a phobia: you can still function if you're scared. You can breathe. If you can still scream at full volume, I argue that (unless you're getting murdered or something) you aren't actually suffering from the sort of fear someone with a phobia faces.

Another irksome thing is when people, because so many say they have a phobia when they don't, assume I'm just being dramatic. Nurses and doctors that do this are especially bothersome. If I tell you that I'm going to freak out, don't act surprised when I do JUST THAT. And, for the love of God, don't say afterward, "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

I KNOW it wasn't so bad. I KNOW that my reaction is irrational. I KNOW that I'm still alive, and fine, and actually better off for it. That's what makes this a PHOBIA. It doesn't matter about the logic; all that matters is the complete and utter terror I feel.

So, what IS a panic attack like? If you read the New Year's post I linked to, you get a small taste of what happens. The hyperventilating, the crying... But let me see if I can bring you into my world for a second.

It's the day before your doctor's appointment. Thinking about it makes you nauseated, because you can't remember the last time you were vaccinated, so surely the time is nigh and you're bound to get inoculated. All day, you feel sick, with nausea and sweating and chills.

The day of, you sit in the doctor's office, trying to maintain some semblance of calm. You speak tersely to the nurse, trying to get it all done with as fast as possible. When she mentions the Evil Things, a small whimper ripples through your throat, and you shudder. As soon as she leaves to go get her Supplies of Doom and Horrific Awfulness, you stand up. Unfortunately, you're now too old to have your mother come along, so it's all up to you and your bravery to stay even though every atom in your body screams for you to run.

Still standing, quivering with the urge to sprint away as fast as possible, you start to feel sweat roll down your back even though you feel far too cold to be sweating. For some reason, you can't seem to breathe, and you hear this loud, rasping noise. After a moment, you realize you're the cause of that sound, and that you're hyperventilating. The world around you is a blur; nothing seems in focus and your body is shaking much more violently and you can feel your lungs taking in oxygen BUT NOTHING IS WORKING and your nostrils are flared in an attempt to get more air BUT STILL NOTHING WORKS and you start to cry.

The tears are a strange mixture of hot and cold. They burn your eyes, but once they roll down your cheeks they feel icy, just like the rest of you. You can feel all semblance of composure slipping away and in an effort to catch it you fall to the ground in the fetal position, because it is far too late for you to run now. As you're hunched there, still unable to breathe, your sobs increasing the speed and volume of your hyperventilation, you  sort of rock back and forth and try to tell yourself that you're FINE, YOU'RE FINE, YOU WILL BE OKAY but nothing soothes you, nothing can soothe you.

Maybe, if you're intellectually inclined, you start muttering numbers and equations because there's something about their cold remoteness that is attractive to your panicking mind. But still it DOESN'T WORK, because NOTHING WILL EVER WORK and you just know that this time, this time, you will die because your LUNGS ARE WORTHLESS and it HURTS and BY GOD this is even worse than what you remember.

This whole time feels like quite a while, but really only a few minutes have passed and the nurse has returned with the Evil Things. Your eyes, so useless just seconds ago, focus in on that so quickly you're left delirious and it stands out so clear that it's like you've never seen anything before, not really, and this is the only real thing you've ever seen in your entire life.

If you thought your panic before was impressive and terrible, you are wrong, so wrong. Seeing the Evil Thing, having it be in the same room as you, makes you wish you could scream. As it is, you make a pathetic, dying mouse sound that is more pitiful than anything else. Your chest heaves faster and faster, because apparently you still can manage to hyperventilate at a quicker rate than before, and that had felt nearly impossible even then.

Hopefully, you're lucky and this nurse knows that you've got a phobia. This isn't your first visit to the office, so she isn't surprised to find you curled up on the floor having a panic attack. She somehow gets you to stand; you're not sure how, because you don't have control of your body. You are watching her from beyond you, you are not there, all you know and feel is terror and panic and lack of oxygen. Once you're on the stupid crinkly sheet on the stupid grey bed, she forces you into the supine position. When she turns to get her Evil Thing, you manage to curl back up.

This whole time, she's talking in such a calm voice with such calm words and you don't understand a single damn thing. She takes your arm and you clench up. With gentle yet authoritative hands, she chafes your arm until it relaxes, and you start crying even harder now, not caring that you're getting snot all over your face. Before you can try to stiffen or pull away again, she rubs the alcohol on you.

If you thought you felt cold before, you are wrong, so wrong. Just one touch of that swab of Terrible Omens freezes right down to the bone. You know what this means, you remember, and you start gibbering and trying to escape again. The nurse realizes that she might need a little help, so she calls in some reinforcements. Once you're properly restrained by additional nurses, and you start whimpering alternately with the gibbering, the most awful thing imaginable happens.

It is in you. IT IS IN YOU. The sound you make is half scream, half mewl, and you bite your lip until it bleeds. Though it only lasts a second, every moment feels like an eternity. When it's gone, and the nurse bandages you, and tells you how brave you are and how easy it was, all you can feel is utter despair because once again, you have failed to keep yourself safe. Once again, you faced the worst danger in all the universe.

The nurses leave to give you a few minutes to collect yourself after handing you some tissues. You can feel yourself calming down now, can begin to breathe again, but the tears are taking a while to stop. Every time you glance at your arm and the bandage covering up the Evil Mark, you cry a little more and give weak, shaky breaths.

Eventually, you are calm once more. When the nurse returns, you give a watery smile and apologize. You feel ashamed of yourself, humiliated that you are so easily thwarted and turn into a pile of mush without any real cause. By the end of the appointment, however, you are normal and fine, so long as you don't look at your arm.

Not every panic attack happens like this. Some are easier to recover from than others; some are more violent (if I'm surprised by it, I have a tendency to lash out, usually with my fists). If I don't actually see the Evil Thing, if someone just talks about it in detail, I can usually manage to leave the room - although I'll get nauseated and start the process of hyperventilating.

If I happen to have a panic attack around you (or anyone else happens to, for that matter), the best thing to do is keep calm. What works for me is giving me a hand to hold on to, and making me breathe with you. As difficult as it is, try to keep my eyes on yours, and talk to me soothingly. Afterward, don't talk to me about how brave I was, or something; just continue holding my hand, maybe stroke my hair, and let me calm down in silence. This may not work for everyone, but it's what I've found helps me the most.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

This Post Isn't About You, Don't Worry.

As SOMEBODY is a little bothered by the fact that I talk about him so much, I figured I would change up the theme for today. (Yes, I'm looking at you. Be ashamed. You should be flattered that I find discussing you more interesting than work, or school.)

I'm kind of getting irritated with the school counsellors. They haven't returned my emails, and I really don't have any time to drive up to the campus before or after work. Considering the offices are only open WHILE I'M AT WORK. How irritating.

I just want to get my major switched so that I can know what classes to take for next semester, as I was supposed to sign up for them A MONTH AGO.

Tidewater Community College creates so much rage in me, you guys. You don't even know. I JUST WANT TO WRITE AND EDIT, YOU GUYS. WHY IS THIS SO HARD?

In other news, I nailed down the major plots for a 12 book series I've been letting percolate for a while now. Work gets so boring that if I happen to forget a book, I get some scrap paper and either doodle or write. Those two poems I wrote, were written on the front of an envelope and three sticky notes.

(Yes, they were about you, now get over it. My poems are extreme exaggerations of any emotions I'm feeling, so it's not that serious. Writing helps me move on from things, and you know what? Krystal is raging at you right now. She just said, "I want to beat him in the head with a bat made of metal with spikes on it." Her rage is gratuitous, yes, but hilarious as well.)

YOU KNOW WHAT? Screw this. I will blog about what I want to blog about, and people will get over it.

I wish Daniel would just TALK to me HIMSELF about all of this instead of going to mutual friends. I wish that he didn't think I'm some dandelion of a girl that can't handle whatever he's going to say that might "hurt [my] feelings."

I also wish that certain friends (and there are more than one) didn't act like they know everything and I'm simply overreacting. If OTHER PEOPLE didn't postulate the theory that he liked me, and not when I've brought it up or anything, it probably wouldn't matter so much. But they have, and so I'm stuck here confused and bewildered.

It's midnight. I'm going to bed now.

UPDATE: In case y'all couldn't tell, I'm a little frustrated. It made my sarcastic side come out. But my points are still valid, at least to me.

You remember how I said I wasn't going to fret over this? Looks like it's harder said than done when other people bring it up after I've already vented on here. CONSOLE ME, ANNA KARENINA, WITH YOUR AWESOME LANGUAGE AND FOREIGN IDEAS. And if Anna Karenina can't, I guess I'll be moving on to a new book.

Saturday, December 1, 2012

I Wrote Two Poems Today!

You guys are getting so spoiled this week, with so many posts! I expect lots of Christmas presents in return.

But here are my poems. If you're quick, you might notice a... parallelism with a previous poem in one of them. Of course, now that I've pointed it out, your noticing is less impressive and I frown at you.

Winter Morning

Our breath, in fiery
Plumes exhaled,
Dancing through the morning,
Daring to touch while we
Refuse to partake.
To be those plumes,
To be mist, so
Unafraid to caress, then
Part, no worse for wear.
The flames of sunrise,
Heating and illuminating,
Strike our cheeks and
Stain them a red
Beyond our humiliation
At our cowardice.

Take your forgiveness,
I'll keep my nonsense
Articulated through quotes
Just brushing the understanding
With tickling feathers.

Such Callous Decimation

The marble, scattered across the floor,
.....................................Shards sleeping with dust,
.....................Remembers the statue she once was -
.........Cold, immobile,
Broken and alone, the only
..............Company her own ruined fragments,

When suddenly,
.............................................................................The faux sculptor appears
............................................................................To play in the wreckage.
How dare he -
Her demolition came at his hands.
........................It is hers now,
..............................................Hers alone.
.................He destroyed her,
.................His clumsy strokes
.............................................Cracking into her soul,
.................Creating fault lines
...................................That turned her
.................................................................From statue to dust.
She feels his fingers
..................................For pieces large enough to admire
...................................................And accidentally rub out of existence.

What's left of her
...................................Wishes to shy away -
But her perfidious scraps
....................................................Strain to reach him
......................................................................To turn him into
....................................................................................................A sculptor worthy of
It will not happen.
..............She ought to return
..............To her marble throne.

No matter how small

.....................................No matter how broken

...............................................It is better

..........................................................................................Than his pretension.