%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
An index of messily shelved shenanigans. |
| Something really neat is going to go here. Just keep scrolling for now. |
| I'm sick. I'm congested and my face face hurts like hell, as if I'm suffering the aftershocks of someone punching me in the face. On top of that, I think I'm running a fever, as I've been warming up uncomfortably throughout this affair. I had to call out from work. I went yesterday and got all my germy-germs all over the place. On top of that of that I felt like to total crap. I could barely function. I felt bad for exposing people to my plague. When I got home I downed two cups of lemon ginger tea. This morning I have to force myself to get up and go to the store to get meds and food. Times like this, I really miss being a kid. I miss my mom. My mom and I live about a thousand miles apart now, but when we were close, she would come over to my house when I was sick. She'd make me food, tidy up, and give me medicine. She'd stay and watch over me. Funny how you take things like that for granted... My face feels like it's going to fall off. |
| I could not feel less like writing than I do now. But I must commit to writing in my blog at least once a week. This morning I am listening to 'twenty one pilots: Doubt'. This last few days have been better than most. I'm feeling more like myself. I feel happier, more productive, and less anxious than I normally feel. Most days I am a mass of anxiety that is ready for a meltdown. I went to eat out yesterday and was further reminded why I don't quite want any children just yet. Children are a mess to have at a restaurant. Just in case anyone didn't know that. They fight over crayons, toss food, and whine endlessly when they can't roam around and get in the waiter's way while they're serving. Now... I'm going to go finish chugging down a so-called V8 energy drink and prepare for work.  |
| I listen to ASMR to go to sleep. I listen to ASMR when I game. I listen to ASMR just because. I'm listening to it now, actually. Predictably, some of my friends think that it's weird admission. They simply can't wrap their head around being whispered into a 'tingle coma', or being lulled to sleep by the sound of someone's fingers tapping idly against a porcelain statuette. They either equate it to being a fetish, or just being weird in a way that they find to off-putting to indulge. While I do think it is weird, ASMR has never been something I've engaged in for any lusty gratifications. ASMR is a sensation that I have been able to feel since I was very young. Most people who experience it will tell you that it started somewhere along the lines of 'the soothing voice of their teacher lecturing', or 'the sound of chalk tapping against a chalkboard' (when they were still in classrooms...). For people who don't understand it, I try to relate it to touch. I ask, "Have you ever had someone brush or run their fingers through your hair?" Most will say that they have. It feels good and is, in my opinion, one of the greater simple pleasures in life. That is the closest thing to what ASMR is like. I'm not going to go into detail about what all types of ASMR there are, but my favorite kinds of videos normally consist of 'soft-spoken' voices, 'ear-massages', or people delicately regarding things. One of my favorite 'ASMRtists' is a channel named 'yaihaiying'. She is an older woman who likes to pour blooming teas, paint, flip through magazines, and share her wisdom through segments called 'blablabla'. She also has a pretty wonderful singing voice. |
| Today is the first day in a long time that I've spent several hours writing. I came home, I didn't really eat, and I just started punching out stuff on the keyboard. Time always flies when I'm writing. It's kind of unnerving. Four hours feels like one, e.t.c... and the next thing I know, I have to lie down and get ready for another work day. It takes up so much of my time. I've decided to grab my headphones and some music while I'm writing this. I've always kind of struggled a bit with writing dialogue. I don't know-- there has always been something about translating thoughts to authentic banter between characters that has always been a bit of a challenge to me. I'd like to keep working on it. I have a friend that I'll call 'Alex' who writes some pretty great dialogue. It always flows so smoothly. It sounds like exchanges between real people. My strength has always lain in descriptions. Growing up, I got my inspiration from authors that could make the pages come to life. Like literally. I always strive to be like them. I don't know if I'm the only one, but if I'm searching for the right description of something, I will literally act it out. If I want to write someone walking a certain way, I'll get up and walk to find the words I'm looking for. If someone is breathing a certain way, I'll breathe like them. If I want to imagine how someone's face feels, I'll touch my own. If I want someone to make a certain gesture, I'll do it in the way that I think they would. I'm weird. In any case... Yesterday I went out and had my first drink in a couple of weeks. My favorite: frozen margarita. God, it was delicious. Only took one to get me pleasantly wavy. I had some empanadas as well, so that was certainly fantastic. I love empanadas. And margaritas. The day did not end on a pleasant note, however. In fact, it was so unpleasant that I am still reeling from it at this very moment. I won't go into details about it on a public forum, but I will note that it made me question the fundamental core of... well, my environment, for lack of better word, and who I chose to make my company. Life is too short for toxic relationships. |
| It is exceptionally warm and muggy today. As I sit on my bed, I can practically feel the air groping at my skin, along with the threat of another rainstorm. But I've decided I should take a walk today regardless of whether or not I become the unwilling participant in the wet t-shirt party. I could use a hug, some genuine conversation, and a good night's sleep. But for now I'll just try to remedy that with some time out of the house. |
| My little industrial square box of a job is protected by a wall of trees that conceals it from the highway. They really ought to do more for the outside area because, quite honestly, it's sort of depressing. There are rickety decorative cement tables that have probably been neglected since the nineties. Maybe since before I was born. They're extremely uncomfortable; oftentimes dirty. I like to go outside during my breaks and lunches, as being inside stressful environments for too long makes me feel claustrophobic. Also, I'm not terribly social at lunch. I just like to be quiet. People are excessively chatty in the break room. The last thing I want to do during my break is talk even more than I had been before. Summarily, having some sort of mild aesthetic would be nice. Anyway, two things: one day, I went to my usual seat to discover a smattering of styrofoam littering the sidewalks and grass. I didn't pay any mind to it until a tiny bird skittered past my feet. It scared the crap out of me. Little did I know that this little bird was a mother, gathering supplies for a nest she'd built out of a nearby pillar. For some reason I found it fascinating. The bird had pecked a hole into the pillar, thusly explaining why styrofoam was everywhere. The thing was obviously crudely constructed. But hey, cheap real estate for mommy and company. When I was living back halfway across the country a bird built a nest right outside my window. I woke up one day to the sound of feeble chirping. Little baby birdies, crowded in a tiny nest, crying for their mother to feed them. It was brilliant, really. The mother bird had positioned her nest in such a way that no predators would be able to get to her chicks. The nest was practically invisible. I was probably the only other living thing that knew exactly where these babies were located. The babies chirped for their mother several times a day. Sometimes I would watch them until she showed up-- sometimes I didn't. Sometimes they were feeding. Sometimes they were sleeping. I peeked through my blinds to check on them only every now and then. Startled, the chicks would duck down into their nests, trying to make themselves small... but eventually I got used to them and they got used to me. I learned that opening my blinds too abruptly would scare them and I tried not to do that. I didn't see the mother that often. I had to be fast and discreet-- I didn't want to scare the mother and prevent her from giving her babies their scheduled meals. I would watch, fascinated and simultaneously grossed out, as she fed them tiny bugs with soft wiggling bodies. They'd eagerly gobble the stuff down, chirping until she flittered off again. Nasty, fam... Anywhoozles, I got curious. I started googling stuff about birds and how the mother doesn't normally stay in the nest. She basically comes back to feed them and then goes off to do... whatever the hell birds do. Perch on powerlines and stare at dumb humans. I would hear the babies consistently around the same times of the day if I was at home. They started to feel like little roomies. I lived alone then, and I enjoyed my solitude thoroughly, but having the little babes around was like having additional pleasant company. I watched them grow up. I watched the fuzz emerge on their grayish-auburn skin. I watched them puff up into gray cotton balls, listened as their chirps got stronger and more demanding, saw as they wobbled carefully about their safety net. They became more active and more aware. Maybe even curious, I suppose. Eventually they got real feathers and looked less like globs of living dust. This went on for about half a month. And then one day the nest was quiet. I peeked out of my window to see to my nugget companions were no longer there-- the nest was completely abandoned, and I frowned, feeling a soft and disappointed 'awww...' issuing from my lips. I'm not religious but I felt blessed for being able to witness such a neat thing. Growing up, I always wanted to have a bird. In science class we had a parakeet named 'Neptune' and I was absolutely enamored with the little nugget. But as an adult, I found it rather cruel to clip birds' wings and keep them in cages for human amusement. Am I some kind of self-righteous vegan or adamant PETA supporter? Nah... it just kind of hurts me a bit when creatures that are supposed to fly and be free are confined to cages like that. I don't know, that's me. In any case I have moved twice since having my smol birdy roomies. Hopefully they're out somewhere building cool nests for their chicks or something. I don't know. Nature is pretty neat, I guess. |
| Dealing with anger and frustration can be... difficult for me. I don't like to hurt people. I don't like exposing the dragon that is nestled in the pit of my stomach, ready to burn. I don't like allowing people to see how much they've gotten under my skin; how much they've affected me. My exterior and words can be cool... but on the inside, I can be in a lot of pain, and at a loss of how to express myself without feeling weak or vulnerable. I hate feeling out of control. I hang on to anger as if it is something that I treasure-- a trait that I've inherited from my father. However, when I've reached my end, which I eventually do, I definitely have the potential to go nuclear. (Quite a bit like my mother.) This is one of the reasons why writing is such an excellent outlet for me. I may not be able to express myself vocally in an elegant manner... but when I'm in a place with a pen or a keyboard, the words flow freely and eloquently, allowing me to sort and rationalize my thoughts safely. |
| I saw some clips of the royal wedding (It was forced on me for your information...). Initially I was just going to ignore it. But damn, I saw a clip, and they looked so, so in love. You think love doesn't exist! And then suddenly, you see a man look at a woman like she is the very universe that he breathes! How could they be so annoyingly adorable? Does this look like a damn Disney movie to you people? I wonder how long it'll be before I delete this online journal. I'll give it three weeks. Two. Tomorrow. In any case, today was my co-workers birthday. She didn't want a party or any special potluck thrown for her. Her desk was decorated with pink camouflage, a carton of tiny chocolate cupcakes, and a heavily signed birthday card. She requested that everyone wear a pink shirt today. I complied by wearing pastel pink. Man I love my pastels. I was afraid we'd be forced to take company pictures but, fortunately, that didn't occur. Because I'm a little bit shorter than average, I always get pushed to the front when taking pictures. I don't know why people just don't let me hide. I was looking at keyboard pianos online today, and I saw some surprisingly reasonably priced ones. I'm mildly concerned with the potential quality of the sound... but I suppose the best way to ensure it won't be abysmal would be to step into a store that sells musical instruments and test them out myself. The only problem is, I love those stores. I'll never leave. I'll spend like ten hours gaping at the guitars. |
| It is Sunday morning and I am not in church. My southern Baptist family members would be highly displeased. Digressing, it is that funny time frame between morning and afternoons. It's just mid-morning. We'll go with that, because it is far more simple. So anyways... It's Sunday morning, and I feel as if I'm slumping through a hangover. Joke's on you--I haven't had a drink in some time. (Side Note: I'm trying really hard not to cuss profusely in this blog... but my compulsive itch to drop an f-bomb is manifesting physically.) The problem lies in my inability to never, and I do mean never, obtain the heavily coveted 'good night's sleep'. I didn't actually fall asleep until about 2:30 in the morning. Or night. Depending on how far my delusions progressed due to exhaustion, it could have actually been both. I haven't slept well since I was a teenager. I have bags underneath my eyes as proof, but but my thick black frames hide them well. When I awoke this morning I felt... well, like crap, for lack of better word. This past month has been difficult, and it all hit me all at once yesterday. I've started having dreams about falling again, just to jerk awake right before I hit the concrete. Those are my favorite recurring nightmares! :D But man that is... (damn, I want to drop an f-bomb here), man that is depressing. We're not going to talk about that... I'd like to write in this blog at least once a week and see what happens. I've been having trouble writing, you see. Oh, Writer's Block, how I've missed you so. You're like a cancerous, cystic tumor. You see, I'm starting to feel... bored. I think it's time to pick up some creative endeavors. I was very creative years ago, when I didn't have things to worry about, like... you know, things. Being a single woman without any children, you'd think it be relatively easy for me to start picking up some old hobbies again. For instance-- I used to write songs on my keyboard all the time. I would sit for hours playing the ivory (plastic... ) keys. I used to make music with programs like FL Studio. I used to draw a bit. I used to paint, even if I wasn't very good at it, and it was therapeutic. I still have some of my old, crappy paintings. I showed my mom one of a vase and she said it looked like a cat. Damn I sucked... Anyway, I used to do a lot of reading and writing. I used to write songs and practice up on singing. But then I started overindulging more instantaneous forms of entertainment. Video games, excessive drama/YouTube binge-watching and the ever necrotic garbage fire that is internet culture. I've kind of fallen out of touch. And in turn, I've become very, very bored. The most bored I've ever been in my life. I'm disinterested. I'm in a perpetual state of lacking intellectual challenges, new experiences to appreciate, and movement. I feel as if I need to start somewhere, or else I'll be doomed to rot in the four gray walls in my work cubicle. I'm tired of being glued to screens. It's. Boring. In any case... that's that. I'm gonna go do things. Neat things. It'll be awesome. |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
