Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Motherhood in a Nutshell

The absolutely most selfless thing you can do: become a mother.
Especially a stay at home one.

Here in the US - and other countries - people will look down on you for being lazy, for making the choice to be a stay at home mom.  If you work they'll be more sympathetic, but HA, it's so much harder to find a job because "you might get pregnant", heaven forbid you actually have kids.

People will say you're selfish.  That you've only had kids so they can take care of you later.  Let's see.  Let's go through an 'average' life (aka me pulling numbers out of my butt and using cliches and experiences I've known people to have.  This doesn't happen to everyone but it's happened to a good number of moms):
You have kid.  Baby lets you sleep, maximum, a couple of hours at a time.  If you work, you know you ain't getting enough sleep.  Even staying at home may be a struggle, what with cooking and cleaning - your spouse will expect it.  After all, you're at home.
Toddlerhood.  You can sleep the whole night through!  But your kid is everywhere.  Getting into everything.  They're getting in trouble, not to mention if you have pets you have to be watching them 24/7 because pets and kids don't mix - you never know what may go wrong.
Your kid goes to elementary school.  You clean when they're gone, but in the morning you have to make lunch, cook breakfast, get them dressed and on their way.  And if your kid doesn't like school?  Your job's ten times harder.  When they get home, you have to wipe away tears if that day was hard, encourage them to be understanding of others, and provide hugs.
Middle school.  That's hell for kids.  I don't know anyone who's actually liked middle school; it's been awful for EVERYONE.  And because your kids are going through hell, you have to go through hell to.  It's taking care of tears every day.  It's homework help.  It's frustration and calling teachers and having to sometimes literally drag your child out of bed in the morning.
High school.  Half of everyone likes it; the other half despises it.  You still have to make sure they're all ready, even if you don't have to dress them and make lunch and all that.  You still have to listen if they're upset.  Oh, yeah.  And you're going to be called the worst of names, cuss words and stuff they come up with their own.  Teenagers are extraordinarily clever at insults.  Plus "I hate you!" and your child will complain about being tired and hungry all the time and if you do anything but accept this and offer condolences your child will be pissed.
College!  You think you're free.  Ohhh, no.  Your child may be away or living at home with you, but either way you still have to take care of them.  If they're at home, you'll have to help them get ready for their classes by waking them up.  If they're away, you have to call them every day.  Sure, they may be over that teenaged angst, but expect hours of them complaining about something.  Expect "I miss you"s.  And during holidays they're going to come back and eat everything.  They were used to ten cent ramen and sometimes burnt toast; they will love the food you provide for them and compliment your cooking, constantly, but they will eat you out of house and home if given the chance to.
FINALLY they're out on their own, living life.  They still give you daily calls.  And marriage?  HA!  They'll be asking you for constant advice, the best ways to ask to get engaged, how to solve a fight.  "Mom, I need help with x" is your constant call to action.
Then grandkids.  You'll have to babysit them, and if you don't take care of them the same way your child does they'll lecture you and glare and be irritable.  Plus, they're still coming to you for advice.
Let's say you live to be 100, and around 80 you start to go a little senile.  The grandkids are growing up and getting kids of their own.  Your children may just pay to put you in a nursing home, and be upset that they have to use their own money to take care of you.  They may have you be with them and take care of you well.  That's still 20 years of care that's considerably easier than the 80 years you put into taking care of them.  Yes, it can get difficult - but even when they're supposed to be taking care of you they'll still come to you for advice, still talk to you.
And judging by my mother, even when you're dead they'll still want to talk to you.

Motherhood's selfish?  It's easy?  HA!  It's a full-time job, twelve AM to twelve AM, weekends and no vacations.  You have it for 18 years, maybe up to 25 years, of being super-difficult and then it gets easier --- but you're still working.  You grow to expect middle-of-the-night calls from drunken college students or the late-night fights with their spouse.  You don't get to quit.  Ever.  And your whole life you'll be doing this job, not to mention the possibility of other jobs if you work elsewhere.  Sure, it gets easier, but that doesn't mean it's not a lot of work.

Motherhood is hard and absolutely the most selfless thing you can do.  Quite frankly, I don't blame ANYONE for choosing to never have kids.  I do, however, get pissed off if someone's going to call motherhood 'easy'.
This?  This is the easiest motherhood gets, that right above.  Single moms?  Mothers who have children who have mental and/or physical issues?  HAHAHA GOOD LUCK.

...and I still want to be a mom.  Go figure *shrug*

Thursday, December 25, 2014



*Wacom Bamboo tablet + an additional Bamboo stylus ;D
*Fuzzy animal print animal slipper things
*Aloe-infused socks
*Owl dishes
*Owl salt and pepper shaker
*some Elf lip stuff
*2 little notebooks
*chalkboard/whiteboard eraser
*Chocolate orange, chocolate coins, caramels
*chalkboard pen & chalkboard eraser
*and the promise of some games I've been wanting

Squee =D

I also got my mom a 50$ necklace that she LOVES, and I got my dad a stylus for his phone (which was stolen -.-) and Qualcom (his job thing).



Wednesday, December 24, 2014



This from forever ago.  Still super freaking adorable.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

I'll be sharing my presents tomorrow ;D

Monday, December 15, 2014


There is a bit of magic in kindness.
Perhaps it is why I love December.
The smiles that people share.
The way someone pauses, stops.
The presents.  The selflessness.
Of one time
out of the year,
when people give.

We are not thanking,
we are not fighting,
we are doing.
We are helping and sharing and experiencing.

There is a bit of magic in kindness.
The warmth that spreads from person to person;
In every deed, at least two people
Feel the magic.
It can heal the sick.
A soul can be renewed.
A friendship can be formed.

Thank God I had the choice
And I chose to be kind.

Sociology Paper

I was in kindergarten.  I was telling my mother about a good friend of mine, a boy named Quincy that I enjoyed hanging out with.  She asked me what he looked like.  I described dark curly hair, cut close to his scalp and dark eyes.  My mom assumed he was white.  Imagine her surprise when she realized he was black.
Fifth grade is the transition period.  Before fifth grade everyone was the same to me.  Sure, I saw people’s skin colors, but I didn’t find it mattered - not nearly as much as eyes and hair and especially personality.  Now one of the first things I say about people is determine if they’re not-white.  And when they’re white I leave that aspect out.
Well, let me be clear - I do my absolute best to leave out skin color.  I will describe hair, eyes, the clothes they wore that day, their body type, everything except skin color.  I struggle and strain to push it to the back of my mind, to mimic the way I thought of the world beforehand.  To not be colorblind, but to not care because ultimately they’re people and that’s what matters.
I don’t remember what triggered the change.  I just remember one day it wasn’t important, and the next it was.  It was sudden, abrupt, probably triggered by an adult’s inconsiderate comment or something I’d read (I’ve always been an avid reader, both of books and online articles and stories).  I don’t remember the specific event.  But one day, lined up in front of the door, I looked at someone with darker skin than me - I believe he was from India, but I may be wrong.  His name started with an ‘H’ but I can’t really remember it - and thinking “he is different.”  This was a friend of mine.
It was sudden, startling, and something that let me put race on the sidelines.  I’ve struggled with recognizing race.  When I was younger - yes, in fifth grade - I thought my dad was Mexican because I’d never seen someone who was ethnically ‘white’ with as dark skin as he had; additionally, he’s COVERED in dark hair that makes it hard to pinpoint the actual color of his skin.
This, when I recognized his mother - my Gramma J - as being white.  I attribute it to how little race has played a role until sophomore year in my life.  Even in ninth grade I didn’t truly understand discrimination; it pissed me off like nothing else, but race didn’t matter to me.  Personality did.
The media, in my eyes, has always demeaned blacks.  Both subtly and not so subtly.  Mexicans, or maybe just those who spoke Spanish, as well.  But other minorities?  I find that they have smaller issues, less issues with stereotyping and the like.  It’s there, but certainly not as extreme as it could be.
A subtle way of demeaning blacks: Kanye West, in and of himself, with his inappropriate behavior and the way he treats his fans and other people.  He’s embarrassing, and his popularity - to me - speaks leaps and bounds of how blacks view themselves: as lesser, as socially deviant, as people who are not as worthy or deserving as someone else.
A not-so-subtle way of demeaning blacks: featuring a racist bigot on TV.
But  most of the modern-day racism is subtle.  It comes with comments that, to me, imply that blacks cannot defend themselves, that they are not able to look beyond the past.  And so on.  As race plays a bigger and bigger factor, I get angrier and angrier.
And further still are the things I don’t talk about.  The things that are me.  The fact that I have been discriminated against because I am white.  It is sad.  I have been told my problems don’t count and to butt out.  I have been called racist for saying “I’d rather not be called that” when people use the word ‘cracker’.  I have been told that I am unworthy of being with anyone but other whites.
Exhibit A: Someone in the halls yells “‘Sup N---a!” to their friend, and then, “Yo Cracka!” to me.  I say “Yo,” but am uncomfortable by the language and nicknames used.  “I don’t appreciate being called ‘cracker’,” I say, not wanting to approach the topic of the n-word since that’s a definite ‘racist’ comment.  He calls me racist and turns away, disgusted.
Example: I am telling someone of how I’d been excluded from a group on basis of the fact I’m white.  I tell them that this group doesn’t want anyone white in it, how it is an exclusive group based on race and even though I wanted to make friends with some of the people in it I was told to leave and go away.  “You’re too white to be here.”  The person snorts and says “That’s me every day.  You’re so self-righteous because you’re white.  That doesn’t count.  It’s not racism, it’s self-defense.”
Racism is racism, no matter the colors involved.  No matter what your skin tone is.  No matter what you look like.
The most interesting thing of all of this is that I have never felt like a majority.  I have felt like someone who is left out.  I’ve never had the distinct feeling of belonging outside of groups I host.  I feel left out of classes, conversations, partners.  Perhaps the only time I feel like I fit is at lunch, when I sit with good friends; at my recent party, when I invited several of my friend groups; when I am not alone and quiet and not appreciated or even wanted.  I have felt like a minority, but a majority?  Never.  Only like I’ve belonged, in groups that are few and far between.
Could I leave out mentions of race and ethnicity?  Possibly.  I wouldn’t miss anything.  The only thing that would be missing would be the fact that once upon a time I was blind to race, and I was blind for a long time, and race still doesn’t matter that much to me.
The worst thing, I think, is the stereotypes.  Nobody can escape them, no matter what group they identify with - mainstream, subculture, whatever ethnic groups...  I mean, heck, there’s stereotypes for everyone.  And the most horrible thing about stereotypes is that people fulfill them.  They see these stereotypes in movies and on TV, read about them in books and see them with celebrities.  Some stereotypes, like a close-knit black community, aren’t as bad as others.  But they’re there and it seems like nobody’s willing to change them.
Race has played little in my life.  I’ve always valued personality far above someone’s appearances.  But to deny that it hasn’t mattered at all is foolish.  Unfortunately, people are caught up on ethnicity.  And as long as they are, we can’t get rid of racism, both subtle and obvious.  Martin Luther King said, “I have a dream [where we are] not judged for the color of [our] skin, but for the content of [our] character.”  Character will never matter as long as race does.

Friday, December 12, 2014


it's another day -
the same, the same.
my mind's on repeat,
playing every memory.

some day i want to be
serenaded by the one i love;
some day i want to be
unrepentant of who i am.

i'm just a kid,
i'm only so small,
eighteen doesn't mean a thing,
it just means another day of being me.

i can cross my fingers,
i can make a wish,
but these pennies add up to cents,
and miracles don't come cheap.

some day i want to be
irrevocably in love;
some day i want to be
better than just simply me.

i can dream,
i have the time.
i'll add them up,
then change my mind.

i'm just a kid,
i'm only so small,
eighteen means nothing,
just the same old games we play.

i will make my wishes,
and add up to cents,
miracles don't come cheap,
but i can hope.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Thoughts of The Ick

it's this title because I feel icky.

but it's actually kind of beautiful.

also a good example of why astronomy, philosophy, sociology, and psychology are horrible things to take at the same time even if they make beautiful things.

so I'm just going to start of by saying:

we are made of stardust.

people say they are unimportant all the time and the best I can do is throw "I LOVE YOU" and "GOD HAS A PLAN FOR YOU" but man if you're an atheist that's like the lamest thing ever.  But now I can add "YOU ARE MADE OF STARDUST" to my repertoire.

Think about it, the night sky is so beautiful.  Stars may be made of hydrogen gas colliding together into helium but they still are beautiful.  They fight this fight against gravity for their whole lives, and then at their deaths they have so many possibilities.  I love the night sky; it's so jaw-droppingly beautiful, you get these millions of twinkling lights and I feel so small but I feel so small in a good way, in the way that 'I am here among these millions of mischances, among these billions of possibilties, and I am the possibility that exists!'

It's amazing.  And even more amazing is that all it is, is hydrogen and helium.  Burning balls of gas in the night sky and they look so amazing.  I mean farts aren't amazing.  They're stinky and horrible and you can't even see them.

But stars?  They're beautiful.  They are the source of life.  If an old star didn't explode into a beautiful supernova we would not be here today.  We exist because of stars.  We are, ultimately, stars waiting to be born; the imagery of a supernova is true because once upon a time we were one, and we can be that brilliantly beautiful again.

And even shooting stars, little balls of rock, they're beautiful.  Who doesn't love meteor showers?  And I mean, everyone takes a wish on them.  People wish on stars.

That is absolutely beautiful; that is amazing.  It's a little bit of hope for an hour, a day, and that hope can fall deep enough that someone does something to make their life better, to make all of our lives better.

We are stardust.  We eat stardust.  Everything that's iron and lighter than iron, all these elements, came from stars; all the heavier ones came from the explosions of stars.

It is beautiful and jaw-dropping and amazing.  Just take a moment and think about it.

So yeah.
You, reading this, right here, ignore every misconception you, me, or anyone else has of you.  You're beautiful.  I love you, because you're a human being.  God has a plan for you.
And we are the billionth lucky chance in the world, the right two people coming together to create us in a miracle, and we are made of stardust.

Tuesday, December 9, 2014


I have people who read my blog.  I know they do.
Some of them, like me, suffer from mental diseases.  Others do not.

And being the sort of person I am, who believe all solutions can be found through open communication, I wonder - have I talked enough about it?
I've put a million metaphors to the way I feel.  But still, in what I see - people either relate and understand or it does nothing to them.

Let me try again.

It is suffocation.
You are happy.  You are fine.  And then you drown, and you are drowning for no good reason, and you are clawing at ice but the air is gone and you are so cold and you are freezing and alone.  You see people, you even see people down under the ice with you, but you cannot reach out.
Success.  Someone breaks through.  It is not just someone yelling accomplishments.  They help you in a real way.  This is medication, this is therapy, this is a good true friend and not someone just telling you to "be happy" or put your faith in God.  This is someone who, perhaps, was there once.
You help, you reach, you stretch, desperate to break through to others.  But then you fall again, and you are suffocating.
Success.  You break through the ice.  You climb up to the surface by yourself, shaking and uncertain and confused.  You can't get out of the water but you can breathe, and that breathing allows you to stay strong and steady.
When you fall back under, you reach out.  You grab someone else's hand and together you pound at the ice.  Solidified by the same thoughts and worries.
Success.  You break through, together, treading water and able to breathe and no longer suffocating.  You do not let go until the ice forces you apart and back under.

It is a constant diving circle.  And sometimes when you fall away from the ice, when you can't keep going, your only option is escape.
Some people swim back to the surface, to keep pounding at the ice.  Others can't.  It is not a matter of "they will not" it is a matter of they are unable to.

I want to be happy, to let sadness come in brief and ordinary clumps since it must come.  I want to smile and laugh and stop wearing the damned mask I place on at least once a day.  I don't wear it all the time like I used to, and I've made amazing progress.

But under that ice, along with everyone suffering, is a monster.  And at any moment it can and will grab you and pull you down.

Jesus Christ can walk with you, but even God knows you have to fight your way to brief breaths of air.  I have no doubt He pushed me up several times.

But if tomorrow I commit suicide - I won't, I'm in a good place, just bear with me here - don't judge me.  Don't say I had a broken soul or something was wrong with me.  Don't tell me I was selfish or wasn't grateful enough.

I lost the battle with a monster.  Depression is cancer.  It can go into remission, but it's always there.  Waiting.  And one day it may take me.  It might not, but at the same time it could.
So next time someone turns to you and says "I'm depressed", don't tell them to be happy, to be grateful, to rely on their beliefs.
Hug them, and try and pull them out from underneath the ice.  Support is depression's chemotherapy.  And with support, more and more people will make their way out from under the ice.

But don't be surprised if I fall back in.  I do that, sometimes.  But it's been a while since I've fallen deeper than just under the ice.

...at any rate, I feel sick still, and I've been looking at the screen too long, so I'm going back to bed.

Monday, December 8, 2014

My Reply to the Person Who Blocked Me

On one of my websites I was talking about adopting from a shelter.  Someone was looking for a new puppy and wanted a breed they could get.  Someone else came on the thread, saying:
"I recommend going through a reputable breeder. I have a shelter dog and he's going to be my first and last rescue. It's best to go through a breeder so that you know the bloodline of the puppy and can meet it's parents and research it's ancestry.
I support shelters and what they do, but rescue isn't for everyone so explore your options. "

I of course, thought "oh is he having problems?" and said to him (or her, I don't know):
"*blinks* You're having issues with your doggy? =/ Adopting older dogs can be a bit of an issue because they've already been 'trained', but most animals can be successfully rehabilitated with a lot of love and care. And my pup, which I adopted at six months, never posed much of an issue for us. Actually the issue was on our side - we didn't train her well so she never really learned xD the lack of consistency was pro'lly stressful for the poor thing.
You honest-to-goodness don't need to know anything about an animal's heritage, though it's nice to know a bit about their nature. Most shelter workers, however, have spent time with these animals and know exactly how they act and if you'll be a good fit for them. And there's often "trial periods" you can go through to see if the dog/cat is right for you and your family.
I don't know, shelter doggies can definitely be wonderful and beautiful, but sometimes you're just not the right person to rescue them. There's a dog out there for everyone, and I promise you that another shelter dog would've worked out better if you really find this an issue."

their response:
"Knowing a dog's heritage is important actually. If you get any old mutt from a shelter, and aggression runs in it's lines, it can lead to a world of hurt. I know this from personal experience. I adopted my dog 7 and a half years ago when he was a puppy and he has issues out the wah-zoo and he recently attacked and injured my 6yr old niece. Shelters sugar-coat issues that their dogs have, and you can NEVER know a dog's true personality when in a shelter setting. They're more often then not scared and stressed out and not acting like they normally would.
My boy for example, he was a timid little sweetheart at the shelter and the moment i got him home, total chaos (he was trained, and is a lot more obedient and well adjusted now, but still is a danger for younger children and other dogs.)
Long story short, do your homework, ask many many MANY questions about the dog if you go through a shelter, ask to foster it or take it home for a trial run. If you go through a breeder (HIGHLY recommended if you plan to get a herding breed or a hound, and especially a husky!), ask to meet the parents and for the dog's pedigree. "

so I went with:
"Not particularly. Some breeds are certainly more aggressive than others but parentage doesn't factor into aggression. here has a buttload of info on aggression, as well as here.
I hate to say it, but YOU were doing something wrong if that's the case. It may be as something as stupid/silly as wrong scents or not being an "alpha", or being inconsistent about being the "alpha", but... it's you.
YES dogs can be aggressive, but it's so unbelievably easy to train out the aggression and avoid it.
Also: if you're allowing young children to be around ANY animal unmonitored, you're doing something wrong. You are ASKING for issues. Kids pull tails and yell and are noisy and sometimes intolerable - especially to animals.
So I do definitely agree with doing your research and going for a trial run, but at the end of the day if the dog's aggressive there's two possibilities: you're screwing up or the owner beforehand screwed up. And if you're not able to get rid of the aggressiveness... it's definitely you.
Sorry for sounding so rude/mean about it, but at the end of the day that's what it comes down to. Not only in my experience, but in the experience of my parents, my friends, other people I know of, professionals like Cesar Milan or veterinarians, people like shelter workers, etc."

they then decided to PM me with (cusswords starred out):
"I didn't want to continue to take over the New Puppy thread so I decided to PM you.
First, f*** you. You have no idea of my home life or what happened or even how my dog acts or his personality. That "be the alpha" bull*** that Caesar Milan spews is exactly that. Bull***. The man is a moron and should be banned from having contact with all animals for the rest of his miserable existence.
My niece wasn't around my dog unsupervised, my sister was in the room with my dog and my niece at the time and from what I gather, my sister ignored my warnings about making her kid leave the dog alone. I also need to add that my niece has grown up with 3 dogs, a Central Asian Shepherd mix, an American Pit Bull Terrier, and a American Bully. All considered "dangerous" breeds and therefore is extremely respectful and knows what to do and not to do when interacting with dogs.
My dog has been with me from puppy hood AND is trained to the absolute best of my abilities and has come leaps and bounds since coming home with me. His aggression stems from being in a shelter run with his brother attacking and taking command of the food bowl when they were fed (I know this as I volunteered there when he came in) and from trauma in his past. I have trained him away from aggression and he can now interact with other dogs and older (12yrs+ children without reacting negatively.
Before you start judging and spewing bull**** in the form of "facts", use your ****ing brain and THINK.

I respond:
Bull***, is it?
and this is just a couple of minutes of google, I could probably find more if I was looking.
Not to mention several other things I've read about training your dog to be better behaved. All about being in control as opposed to letting them do as they wish. I use "alpha" because "alpha"s are supposed to be in command. Dogs run as packs ergo there is a basic pack mindset - which includes plenty of attention and interaction as well as finding some sort of leader.
And Ceasar Milan's dogs, if you've ever seen them, are quite well behaved and clearly well adjusted so to want to "ban" him from contact from animals is quite moronic and ignorant of YOU.
And if your dog's come leaps and bounds then clearly the issue isn't you. But quite frankly animals always have reasons behind their actions, whether that reason is pain or territory or even "you smell wrong" doesn't mean there's not a reason.
Just because you disagree with someone else's methods doesn't mean they're stupid. If I implied that you were stupid let me stop here and apologize now. I do get very passionate about animals and if I find someone's being close-minded - which I thought you were, as I DO NOT KNOW YOU and ergo don't understand your life - I tend to get upset.
Obviously you're a very intelligent person.
And the fact that you accused me of not thinking is foolish. I've done my research and approached others about all kinds of animals, as well as the fact I've interacted with them a lot. Of all different kinds. But when I find animal behavioral issues 99% of the time it's the owner's problem, including with my own dog.
So excuse me for assuming that the pattern continued. I couldn't know everything so the fact you're getting so upset over someone's love for animals, albeit in a way that got carried away... okay I don't know where I was going with that sentence.
Anyways. Maybe you shouldn't assume people are automatically stupid if they disagree with you? =/ That kind of attitude causes wars on the scale of countries you know =/"

they say:
"Wanting Milan banned from contact with animals isn't ignorant or moronic, have you seen what that "professional" actually does to dogs? there are videos of him abusing and strangling dogs on line. "google it".
I've studied dog behavior and training for the past 6 years when my dog started to show negative behaviors so I do know for a fact that what Caesar Milan "preaches" about is BS. I didn't call it ALL bull****, but that man truly is an idiot.
There is no way to tell what set my dog off, my sister's brat said she stepped on his tail, but my sister said she was sitting, he'd met the kid several times before so it wasn't 'you smell wrong', or territory. I've man-handled him and messed with his ears and tail enough to where it doesn't bother him. I can use his tail as a handle to stop him from doing something.
I'm not getting upset over someone's love for animals, I'm getting pissed the hell off because some jackass had the nerve to judge me without knowing the truth behind the incident.

BTW, Cesar choking the dog.
watch that and tell me he still knows what he's doing. "

They banned me, but here's what I had typed up as a response:

Everyone judges everyone else.  That's a fact of life.  From what I know about animals, once again, 99% of the time it's a human's fault.  Of course I judged you.  That's normal.  However, that being said, I never assumed you were a bad person and I'm sorry if that was implied.  I simply assumed you were unawares of one facet of dealing with dogs and hoped to provide you with more information on that.  Then of course I got a bit ruder.  And once again, I apologize for that.  My intent was never to be rude.

The fact of the matter is I've seen so many happy shelter stories most of the time - most being over "half", mind you, so while I'm inclined to think it's GREATLY over half it may not be - that I tend to be harsher on other people who put down shelter dogs.  And again, I apologize.

So I'm not "some jackass" who "had the nerve" to judge you, I'm simply a human being who - like all humans do - judged another before knowing the whole story and wanted to share some knowledge I had in the hopes to make the world a better place.

...And thank you for the video.  While I'm declining from watching it in order to NOT set my day off to be a bad one, I'll definitely do more research into this in hopes to find out a happier, and better, truth."

before I finish it off, pretty much universal of agreement of researching into different breeds.  AND furthermore lots of thoughts about adopting from a shelter.  This person is in a minority, and I whole-heartedly think shelters are THE best way to a get a pup.
However, reputable breeders are also lovely (:

Anyway, I'm going to go give that person a gift if I haven't already through the site's gifting program and now that that's out there I can go move on with my life (:

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

God's Most Precious Gift


Poem 1: Dignity
they say:
they say:
human dignity
with such precision.
it cuts with a knife,
of course, crawling
over like spiders on your skin,
a confusing fuss,
a choking,
a strangling.

they write:
they write:
our dignity
with such union.
it changes, it swirls,
it adds instead of subtracts,
whispering like the wind through your heart,
beating a little bit,
a life.

I read:
I read:
universal dignity
no change between 'them' and 'us',
the different and the norm,
between what is normal and what is not,
the way somehow somewhere we went
so. damn. wrong.
carry us back,
a light,
a hope.

dignity is choice,
dignity is being able to choose,
to be proud, to start with life.
and damn it I would rather have a woman
choose to kill an unborn innocent
then be forced into a hell she doesn't want
(though damn it how can you make the decision
between two choices: life of the innocent,
sanity of the elder, how can you
possibly take a side when they both

dignity is respect,
and life,
and choice.
do not take away my dignity.
don't take away anyone's dignity.
stop before you go too far.
you've gone too far.
leave them, us, you,
leave the dignity.

Poem 2: Life
with petals, curling,
plucked by clumsy child hands,
collected into bowls of water,
before it can become heavy
crapabbles, never eaten.
beauty does die.

old soul.
wheelchair, wrinkled hands.
she struggles to read or write,
but there is pride and experience,
and she is ninety, a hundred,
remembering her children's names,
though sometimes she confuses the faces.
beauty doesn't die.

that can light up your life,
coming from a person who is,
who is not your definition,
but who is their own definition,
who is smiling, smiling,
and laughing, and funny, and loved -
and loving; you may never see it,
but I do, they do, we do.
love intertwines with life.

the mask taken from a face,
the wrinkles smoothed.
testing a smile he had forgotten,
but there it is again.
honest emotion he thought he'd forgotten,
but there it is again, he does not
have to hold back.
I dream, I dream, this could be
a possibility, the lack of judgement.
life intertwines with love.

The Non-Poem Portion
Dignity.  What is dignity?
The answer hit me like a bullet, a sudden sun from clouds.  The snow glittering in the dawn, free of footprints.  No more fog.
Dignity is choice.
To choose is to have dignity.  And if you take that choice away with poverty, with not allowing someone to get food, with preventing people from having work...
you have taken away dignity.
And how dare you take away dignity.  How dare you take away dignity from a child who cannot speak or an old woman who says "let the cold come" or the young woman who says "I'm scared and I'll die so let it happen sooner" or the middle aged man who says "damnit, I'm fighting this thing".
How dare you laugh and mock and judge when all people, every person, deserves dignity.

That's why I do not settle for pro-choice or pro-life because it's a choice on either side of the spectrum.  I cannot choose the baby over the mother or the mother over the baby because I refuse to take away anyone's dignity.  Let the option to steal away dignity lay on the mother's shoulders!  Let her feel guilty, but also let her live a wholesome life where her so-called friends are really her friends and do not judge her.  Dignity.

I will not take away anyone's dignity, and as long as I have a voice I will scream for everyone's dignity.  The right to choose.
Because every day there are girls stolen from home who loose every ounce of their dignity but then they regain it because there are people out there who care.
People lose dignity, and do not have dignity, but as long as there are people like me, or people like you - if you care, if you speak, if you try - dignity can be received and regained.

So I will take away nobody's dignity.  And in doing so, I retain my own.
I've made my choice.
Above all, I want to respect God's most precious gift, but I will never willingly or consciously choose to steal someone else's dignity.
And if you think it is alright to abort a child - born or unborn - because they are blind and cannot speak, because they are autistic, because you do not have the money, because you were foolish, because you are not ready, I will hang my head and cry.  I will not judge - not beyond the 'how could they make such a sad sad choice?  what goodness have we lost in this world?' - but I will mourn for the light we could have had.  And then let you keep your dignity.
Because what is God's most precious gift if it doesn't have its dignity?

Thursday, November 27, 2014


Showers are one of those amazing things in life.

I feel better now.


Though you may get HAPPY poetry xDDD

Good means Better

"How's everything going?"
they ask, smiling.
I am proud to tell them, "It's going GREAT!"
I pause, continue.
"I have good grades this year,
and tons of friends.
I love all my classes,
though sometimes the teachers frustrate me.
I love choir, I sing better now,
and philosophy has a great teacher.
Drama's okay, too many freshman,
but I don't want to go to a more advanced class
because I love it being easy.
Oh yeah - I hardly ever feel depressed anymore,
and my anxiety is almost gone."
They congratulate me,
and I feel an unusual sense of love and belonging.

"Good" means better.
It means "better than before".
My depression is handled,
and sometimes I can even feel
love from others.
But still, I realize -
it is not the same
as elementary school happiness.

Last year I lost a best friend.
This year I cannot make the connections I made
with seniors I lost contact with,
it's probably my fault,
slightly theirs (but not much).
Last year classes were hard.
This year they are easy,
so I guess that much is accurate.
Last year I ran out after someone and followed them,
making sure they were okay.
This year marks 6 years of chances for someone else to do the same,
and it hasn't happened yet.
Last year I wanted to kill myself.
This year I've only wanted to escape, and certainly less times than
I have ever thought of it before.

This year is better.
And so I call it "good".

Happy Birthday, Self.

I am needy and hopeless and lonely.
I dive into spirals and I fall too fast and too hard,
I leap and I dance into "I love you"s and best friends,
I am pressing and overwhelming and LOUD,
The sort of person who gets high on life.
Because inside I am insecure and miserable;
I feel a constant loneliness, even surrounded by friends.
If you happen to read this, and care,
Trust me, it's not you.

There's something wrong with me.
I've said it over and over again.
I keep forcing myself to hope even though it's a constant source of disappointment;
Even though I'm terrified and I know it's stupid but -
Sue me for wanting to not lose another friend,
sue me for being a selfish brat -
I know I am.

But I spend my whole life worrying about others,
Being the guarantee, the person they can talk to;
In my family it's a joke because I'm the shrink.
I am 18 years old today and I am more happy than sad.
Or at least I'll try to be, I woke up early feeling different;
And I never feel different on birthdays, but today -
Today I am a legal adult and I am stronger than anyone else I know
(except maybe my mom and a couple of other people
who've gone through hell and back).

I have had friends not talk to me for months than talk to me again,
Sometimes because they need help,
Othertimes because they just forgot.
I have been told "you don't count" as a friend,
Because I am everyone's friend and always there,
So once again I am reduced to a "nobody".

Of course that's how I see myself -
My mother cannot undo the work of my peers,
Especially when some of it still comes as a surprise to her,
Some of it to the woman I tell everything to.
And still the anger, we live together, it's going to happen -
I don't blame her, it's clearly my fault.
I am lazy and useless and untrustworthy and ---

Even when people don't say these things they feel insinuated and I add them to my collection of words to murder myself with.

I am 18 years old today.
I am scared I'll lose another friend.
And why can I not find the connection I need?
Even people who are trying,
I pull back and shove myself away -
Except for my boyfriend - who I met online - and my best friend - who I met online - and the person who betrayed me because her family made her choose and she bowed down to the force of the will.

So once again I crawl into my corner,
and am forgotten.

18 years old and feeling different
sure hasn't changed much of my life.

Saturday, November 8, 2014

Stolen Time

Bye, Lacey.


Yeah, she's really gone.

15 years.  That's how long we had.

Stolen time was three months.

Three months taken where we had her.

I love you, my precious kitty.


Monday, November 3, 2014


I'm suffocating.
Dying in this old circle, unable to escape.
Same old story as others before.
I pull, I tug, I try to release;
Like the maze, the endless run,
I am not lucky I am weak.
It covers my mouth, the way it's covered all the rest;
It glues my hands until I can't move;
I am the mask.

This horrifying mystery,
The solution is obvious,
But nobody looks there.
I scream, I scream,
It's all inside;
You can't let go,
You can't show,
We've been hiding all along.

And once upon a time,
And this miracle, indeed;
I've become so involved that it's easy to lie,
The tangle, the maze, it's me.

It's become so easy to lie,
The way I match their eyes,
My only tell the clenching of my heart,
Invisible to a human's eyes.
It's become so easy to lie,
The way I match their eyes,
Stronger than the truth, as if of the words are speak,
The only ones that are true, are false.

I wonder how deep I'll go.
So far it's little, but it's daily.
I used to be so honest;
But when you're faking happiness,
Lies become the default,
Scared to let anyone in,
Scared to leave.

I'm suffocating.
I can't get it off, though I try.
The smile is a mockery, an effigy,
This is not me!
But if you burn I'll die.
It's covering my mouth, the way it's covered all my lies,
Soaking me in the smile that I hid behind.
I can't move, can't speak, can't breathe,
I am the mask,
Trapped in my own lies.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014


downy soft, feather light,
memories of another night,
the fear that all will come again,
and the fear there are no friends.
who am I? the question constant,
to myself I always posit;
it is not straightforward, clean,
it's messy, broken, and unseen.

say it again, the same old words.
their argument never changes, of course;
always "you don't matter",
and never a good reason;
always "I am right",
and never the mind changing.

say it again, the same old words.
I've heard what you got, and I've heard worse.
I'll live my life, one day I'll fly,
you've never seen the things I've seen,
you'll never achieve as much as me.

so say your piece,
I'll listen again.
but you'll control me no longer.
it took a while, but here's what I've found:
I am greater.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Wanted vs Unwanted

These words are so similar.
For six letters they are identical.
'unwanted'.  Two additional letters.

It changes the world.  From wanted, from beautiful, from long walks on the beach and a happy family, to unwanted, to neglected and lonely and hurting.
Wanted is beautiful; unwanted is ugly.

Wanted is a baby.
Wanted is a happy child, a child who is told she is beautiful, who is told he is kind, who is told they are worthwhile.
Wanted is a friendship circle so close and tight you can't break those bonds, a friendship that will last forever, whether it's formed in elementary school or in college.
Wanted is holding hands and surprise gifts, red roses and picnics in the mountains.
Wanted is excitement, joy, a new cycle and a new start; a family.
Wanted is love.

Unwanted is a glob of tissue.
Unwanted is a sad child, a child who does not know what it's like to not have to hide bruises, one who only knows neglect.
Unwanted is an outcast, walking, looking at the friends who laugh together.
Unwanted is an arrow of sharp jealousy and isolation, looking at the couples and wishing so hard but nothing changes.  Of course.
Unwanted is fear, and terror, and screaming, and uncertainty.
Unwanted is indifference.

Think about it.
A cat, living in a home, is a wonderful creature.  Sharp claws be damned, puking to be cleaned up; there is still love.
A dog, roaming the streets, is a mangy mutt.  Bad and misbehaving, it is all wrong, it is ugly and nasty and dirty.

Wanted is beautiful.
Unwanted is ugly.

Wanted is pronouns, and humanity, and love.
Unwanted is 'it', and dirtiness, and indifference.

I want I want I want.
And what I want is beautiful, is warm, is lovely, is something to care for.  What I don't want is ugly, unpleasant, boring, useless.

Wanted is a Christmas puppy with velvet ears and a cold nose and a wagging tail.
Unwanted is chewed shoes and poop on the blankets and back to shelter.

Unwanted is death because it just so happens that no-kill shelters are short on space and today they can't take the puppy you foolishly bought.

Wanted is open arms.
Unwanted is you are a failure, you are a failure, you are a -

you are someone.  Always someone.
Wanted or unwanted.
Cat, dog, old woman or new baby.
A fetus.
Bird, fish, young toddler or old man.
You are someone.
Wanted or unwanted.

The world does not want you.
But I will change that.
I want you.

I want you to be the geode that you are,
That I know is inside everyone,
To burst open and scream, scream, scream!!!


This is what you made of me.

Thank God I was wanted.
Thank God I was me.
Thank God I was born to a loving family who supports and cares for me.

If you're told you are a failure, subhuman, less than others...
I still want you.

If I could take all the children without a family, all the animals on the streets or in the shelters, I would.

I won't want for money or a big house or a fancy car.
I'll want for world peace and hope and faith.
I'll want for the people who are unwanted.
Because if that's all it takes, then I'll make everyone a someone.
It's what I want.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Fixing Things

It's always me.

I always have to work to keep the friendships.  I always have to be the one to apologize.  I always have to keep it together.  I always have to be mature.

Why can't someone else have the tough job?  Why can't someone else adjust so I'm more comfortable, or deal with the fact I am loud and spontaneous and overwhelming?  I back off, but I am still excited and full of energy.

Listen.  Just listen.  I pull away when I see people freak, I try my best to tone it down.  I'm sensitive to the point of paranoia; let it never be said I miss when someone's upset.

I keep people focused on the work.  I always work hard.  I let people copy and use my ideas.  I do everything I can to help others and be a friend and support people.

Can someone else fix things for once?

200 POSTS!!!


200 posts!  This is an accomplishment! An achievement!  THE GLORIOUSNESS OF MY SECOND HUNDRED!  Glor glory hallelluuuujjjahhh!

...I am currently typing this on a friend's computer.  I think he had to go to the bathroom?  And he gave me permission to use his computer.

So where do I go?  MY BLOG.

What else am I going to do?  Look up porn.

No, I kid, I kid.  I would never.

But it's fun to joke about.

Imagination is Not Creativity

Imagination is not creativity.

This is a strange statement to make, and one that is not aligned with the way I think.  But in our definition essays, we had to figure out what is not our term.  My term was creativity.

You can imagine an object in your room is in a different location, or you can imagine that your computer is purple, but that's not creative.
You can leap frog over someone in the hallway.  It's a creative solution, but it's not imagination.
You can walk around someone in the hallway.  That's neither creative nor imaginative; it's just a common sense solution.

If you write, period, you need to be creative.  People who are bad writers are uncreative.  If you make up a story, whether realistic or fantasy, you are imaginative.  If you can write the statement "Today I went to school" on a school day or "Today I stayed home" on a weekend or "Today I went to work" when you have a job, that's all common sense.

So imaginative and creativity are not common sense.  Imagination is not creativity.

I like these definitions.  I feel more literate now.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Untitled Poem


A difficult four letter word that makes people go crazy, that's frustrating, that leaves you in a lock that you can't escape.
(that's absolutely beautiful, that brings happiness and joy, that's a peace of mind that can't be found anywhere else)

Tomorrow, maybe, will be a better day.  Fingers crossed.
"Maybe", the sweet word - don't worry.
Maybe is possibility, is potential.  It's not "no", it's anything.
"Love", I will love, I will not break.
Or if I do I will tape and glue myself together like a million times before.  The metaphors I use over and over again, as if it will make my words clearer:
as if the people I love don't already know or maybe I'm too scared to say.
I don't say.
Sometimes there's no words.
Inside, inside, until I burst, explode, into a disaster.

Tomorrow will be a better day.
No "maybe" about it.


Tuesday, October 14, 2014


Your whole life is a lie.

You made up your best friend.

Everyone is an actor.

You imagined your career.

Everyone is in on the conspiracy.

Except you.

A combination of two movies I can't get out of my head, concepts that make sleeping difficult.  Beautiful Mind tells the true story of John Nash, a genius with schizophrenia.  He imagines his roommate, who is also his best friend.  He imagines a career working for the government to stop a Russian missile, yet all of it was imaginary.  The career I can handle.  That's not nearly important as friendship.  The best friend, imagining him... That freaks me out.  He had a life, a history.  A niece he had to take care of because his sister died.  He was the "prodigal roommate", and I liked him.
He was fake all along.  It disturbs and bothers me.  I can't get it out of my head.
The Truman Show tells the story of Truman Burbank (played by Jim Carrey).  He lives in a dome called Seahaven, a fake town of actors created for him to live with.  He's the only one who doesn't know he's being watched 24/7, the only one who is real and honest and not an actor.  His life... is a lie.

So now I'm being haunted by fake lives, the possibility that everything is fake.  It won't get out of my head.  How can you know "I think therefore I am", how can you know you are not some imagined creation of someone else, someone who has a mind enough to imagine your very thoughts?
...How do you know you're truly thinking?

How do you know your life isn't some sort of coma-induced dream, that the world around you is fake?

How do you know everyone else isn't an actor? (well, they might slip, ha.)

It disturbs me.  I'm going to go throw a pillow over my head and try and stop thinking about this.

Friday, October 10, 2014

Writing/Plot Mistakes I See Far Too Often

If, like me, you wander into the realms of independant RPG's and amateur writers, or you're one of the many fanfiction goers, you've probably seen the same mistakes over and over again.  In writing and plot.  And it probably drives you insane.  You probably have your own set of pet peeves and "WOULD YOU STOP?!"  The fact of the matter is?  These mistakes are far too easily avoidable.  With a little bit of research.

First step to writing anything: research.  I know that elicited several groans, but research is honestly amazing.  And I don't care if it's in your own made-up world with flying bubbles, you still need to research things.  Maybe how gravity works in this universe; maybe how other people have played this or that plot point.  Research.  It will help you make ten times less mistakes.  I promise.

My biggest pet peeve, in that vein, is seeing the improper use of language.  Probably one of the most common I see is the use of the Japanese word "neko" to mean "human (usually girl) with cat ears and tail".  Neko actually means "cat".  It bugs the ever-living crap out of me.  Spend five seconds Googling the meaning and you'll learn that.  The term people probably mean is "bakeneko", a direct translation of "cat demon".  If you look into Japanese lore, it's easy to realize that adapting "cat demon" into what we English speakers mean takes about much work as cutting a piece of cake.  (In that same vein, "Inuyasha", a popular anime, means "dog demon", and look at his appearance.  Oh my gosh, it's what we mean by "Neko" for dogs!!!!)
Another example is placing in a foreign word in the middle of a sentence when trying to play someone from another country.  That in itself is fine - I have a character (from my baby story <3) who often uses Spanish words when she's stressed or upset.  However, sometimes these words translate to something in English we'd NEVER use.  From what I know of foreign languages (read: very little), they do say some things that may not make sense to an English speaker... but are more likely to call a friend by their name instead of saying "friend", even in a foreign language.  Unless your character regularly refers to their friend as "friend" in English, they probably aren't going to do it in whatever other language they speak.

Thirdly, you're going to want to be realistic.  This realism is so important, I can't emphasis it enough.  Even in fantasy, you want to be realistic.  You want nice, flowing dialogue, a magic system that makes sense, and relatable characters.  You can save the most terrible plots with this.

Speaking of terrible plots...
Enough with the high school drama or the vampire romance or --- gaaahhh.  Holy crap.  Stop.  Stahp.  I just.
Twilight.  TWILIGHT is the disaster that this has caused.
And stop copying Harry Potter.
It's time for new plots people!  Please!
Continuing on that vein, it's especially terrible in role play when there's another 'gifted school'.
Now, if you're writing a realistic fiction slice of life, that's fine.  Do it wherever.  If you're using fantasy and your setting happens to be a high school, that's fine too.
But when it's ALL ABOUT the magical high school and stuff that goes on there, turn away from that and try something else.  I beg of you.

Anyway, I've spent like six months off-and-on writing this, so it's not as good as it could be.  And maybe a little moody.
Enough. xD


Having clinical depression, happiness is something I think about.
A lot.

And not just in a "what is happiness" or "how can I be happier" way.  I mean a "do I deserve happiness" and "how can I be happy" and a "am I happy right now" way.

Yeah, I'm confused as to times when I'm happy or not.  You may think this is silly, but this is something that happens to me all the time.
What is happiness?  It's a feeling of contentment, of joy, a lack of sadness.  It is not, however, apathy, or ceasing to care, or giving up.
But after being sad for a long time, it's wonderful to feel absolutely nothing.

Anyway, a good friend of mine calling herself Zerra has started a blog.  My lovely Z can be found at Trick to Happiness, where she writes beautiful little ponderances.

I'll put her in the side bar.  Eventually.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014


ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
we all grow old, and we all rust,
sometimes bitter, sometimes cold,
i keep warm though i grow cold.
time that passes, each a memory born,
it is time how we weather the storms.

So my cat suddenly got better, and now we're not sure when she'll have to be put down or she'll die of old age.  Which is good.  It's a bit rough but Lacey's still around.
For those of you who are not aware of real-life circumstances, Rudy is a close family friend.  His wife, Sheila, had cancer but she's in remission.
I don't know.
What can you say?

Monday, September 15, 2014


That's really all I can say.
It's in my head.
My heart.
Hurting so goddamn hard I can't even -
It's not me.
Cancer comes like a stealthy villain and you can't escape.
It seems like once someone you know gets it, someone you love will die.
Maybe twice over.
(Good-bye, Rudy.  How's heaven?)
It's hard to be okay.  I'm not okay.
Soon, my cat will leave me.

Good-bye, Lacey.  I love you, my sweetheart, my old cat.  You made it fifteen and a half years.  If you made it to April, you would be sixteen.  If you were a human that means you'd be old enough to drive.
(You'd still be alive)
I'm sorry you're hurting.


Sunday, September 14, 2014


So yesterday, as I was ambling around the internet, I stumbled upon something.  About autism.  This piqued my curiosity, as I have a current friend with Asperger's and an old friend from elementary school with autism.
I fell in love with a blog I had managed to link-wander through: Diary of a Mom.  I want to be a mother, so this showed me a unique set of challenges I hopefully won't have to face, but might.
It opened up the floodgates, it inspired curiosity, and - most importantly - it made me smile.  It made me see the similarities.

Through this blog, I discovered an autistic 'meltdown' (oh goodness, I hope I'm using these words respectively and in a correct way).  And it struck me, when reading it over, how much it's like... me.

I'm not autistic.  I am academically advanced (albeit chronically lazy).  But I have anxiety and depression, and meltdowns... I do that too.

There are too many people.  There are too many issues.  It is never lights and colors and sounds, it is people and thoughts and the concrete things, not the way my brain processes it.  I break.  I crack.  I burst into tears, I flee, I do everything I can.  I - shut - down.

Words are my everything.  I find it exceedingly hard to communicate without them, whether written or spoken.
A girl in my class has autism and she struggles to speak.  She's in my acting class, and I think she enjoys it.  I don't know.  I can't tell.  I'm scared.
I am scared to approach her, because the only way I know how to communicate is with words and hugs and holding hands.
Autism is not always friendly to that.

Another boy, in my psychology class, is talkative.  He recites lines from movies, but he also talks to us openly.  I talk back.  I can talk, and words are how I communicate - quotes are how I dance around issues, how I begin to express my opinion.

This girl is different.  She is "Tummy T" (omitting all but the first letter of her name for reasons), a name alliteration she made up in our acting class.  She can mimic things other people do easily, but she needs to be guided.
In the same way, in some games she is not fully included.  We are not sure if we should tag her when practicing the name games, we are not sure if she should ever be in the center of the circle.
The awkwardness permeates, and yet: "I love T.  She's great."  Someone said that.  Someone found the light to communicate with her.

I can't, and it breaks my heart.

But then I turn to myself.
I like blogs and stories like this, when I can understand more.  When a new world is unlocked and opened for me, when I am no longer trapped in my own filter and lens.
The similarities of people are terrifying and exhilarating.  Everyone shuns that which is different.  We all put up masks and play pretend.  Normalcy is a farce that keeps people separate and broken.  What if we broke the chain?
What if we allowed ourselves to be ourselves, stopped judging, stopped being so overly sensitive, and just -- be?  No more colors, no more constraints, only beautiful souls with all the potential in the world.

I have anxiety and depression.  I get meltdowns.
(I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes.  It can go away.  I pigged out yesterday.  I'm a failure.)
I am one of those kids labelled "gifted and talented", G&T, rising from a second grade reading class to a girl everyone says "stop reading and pay attention!" to.
(I am lazy.  I can't do anything right.  I need to be working on homework but I'm - still - procrastinating.)
I am in an in-between state, of adult and child.  The teenager years.  I am in an in-between state of intelligence and laziness, of this and that.
(I am stupid and ugly and ugh.  There is nothing good about me.  Why do I keep trying when it's so pointless?)

Similarities for everyone.
Minds don't work the same.
Everyone has their challenges and their own hells.
Who are we to be?

Tuesday, September 9, 2014


i wish
people would listen
and  hear me
instead of hearing
what they think is the truth.

even with friends
it happens.

i am alone.
everyone feels this way sometimes.

i'm not the only one.

why can't i
take a moment
to breathe
and regret
and not let go?

just a moment
where's it's about me
and my wants
my needs
my problems
instead of everyone else.

i do that
for other people.
but apparently
i'm not worth the effort

Monday, September 8, 2014

Hates Gonna Hate

...I may or may not be listening to Taylor Swift's new debut single "Shake it Off" right now *COUGH*

seriously though, people love ignorance.  Hatred is so much ignorance like for reals.  You hate because of a lack of knowledge.  That's racism and religious persecution and stuff.
Knowledge is power.  Knowledge is also related to not hating.  It's seriously obnoxious when people are hateful.

Poem time.

Paint me a pretty little picture with all the pieces missing,
You're wrong, dead wrong, when you think you know me,
You say these things and all I hear is some made-up story,
About how you think you know me when you don't.
You sing your songs and tell your tales and never let go,
You shackle all your anger and your pain and drag it around all day,
And of course you think I do the same.
I am so done with this BS, the fact letting go is a killer,
Listen to the songs that everybody's singing,
For once in your life let it apply.

My life is no easy breezy Covergirl commercial,
It's no movie with a problem easily solved,
I've spent hours trying to escape,
I don't know where to go.
A train ticket costs my soul, which I plan to keep,
A little vacation's going to cost my heart,
I'm really rather tired of the judgement and the trap,
Since when did society get so bad?

Money money money makes the world go round.
Everyone thinks they know everything,
Nobody's willing to admit they're wrong.
You're wrong, dead wrong, when you think you know me,
All you're saying is this made-up story.
You shackle all your mistakes and then you repeat,
I refuse to do the same.

I am so done with this BS, the fact hate is a hero.
Listen to the words that are whispered so soft,
There's some good everywhere if you know how to look,
Nobody looks, keep all your rage,
I'm done with the grudges and I'm done with the pain.
You shackle all the people who've done you wrong to your wrist,
I refuse to do the same.

Money money money makes the world go round,
It's a fact I can't escape.
I am so done with this BS, the fact hate's bigger than love,
Listen listen listen instead of all the yelling you've been doing.
You're wrong, dead wrong, when you think you know me,
I'm so much stronger than you'd expect.
I was raised on happy endings,
This is one thing I won't screw up and regret.
You hate things that are different and people who make mistakes,
I refuse to do the same.

...Bits and pieces of that are posted directly at people.  Like, I picture your face (or avatar) in my head for this one part.
Mostly about hating and ignoring the good and absolutely nothing to do with BS stories about me.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

A Happy, Completely Not-Bitter ,Very Much True Poem for Your Reading Pleasure

I see far too much good
To believe that everything is bad
To believe human nature is dark
When I see the child's dying wish to save another soul
Or the man who would pull another out of the sea,
I shake my head and wonder
How do we think so negatively?

Bitterness is not in my nature,
Because, time and time again,
I realize how blessed my life is,
And how beautiful the world is,
And I'm glad for all my friends.

I have learned that the ones
Who give good its very name
Are the quiet ones
Who do not seek fame.

So do not listen to the yells,
Do not watch the same old news.
Look closer, softer, on tip-toe.
See the city from a skyscraper,
And the mountain from within.
Be quiet, and you will realize
That good always wins.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

The Long-Awaited, Drool-Worthy, I'm-Going-To-Murder-Something... SIMS 4

I saw the trailers.  The graphics, the convenience... oh, it was glorious!

And then I found this:

What is that long list, you ask?
Features Sims 4 doesn't have.  Features that are necessary, nay, ESSENTIAL to the Sims franchise.  Sure, I can live without pools and basements... but toddlers!  I want toddlers!  And how dare they remove the aliens... It was bad enough that they psyched us out in Sims 3 with such nonsense!  And, they removed Story Progression?  The thing people ADORED in Sims 3?  The thing people WANTED, SO BADLY, in sims 3?

And then make some things... Sims-1 esque?  I don't know of a game that still uses predefined colors when it has a focus on creation other than Furcadia, and that game's very old.  And what about SCHOOLS?!  Childrens and teens need SCHOOL!



I am angry.  If I could do something horrible (...and not go to jail...) I would.  This is unacceptable.

I get it.  I really do.  Games take ages to make, and they're a lot of work.

But Sims 3 was amazing.  Why is Sims 4 so much... less so?

I thought I needed it.  Yeah, I'm never getting it.

Screw you, EA.  You're a monster.

"You Can Do Better"

Nobody gets how hard it hits when you're just not perfect.  Only perfect is good enough.  You're told it over and over again, maybe not outright, but it's there.

So whenever I don't get 100% on a test, whenever I don't have an A in a class, whenever I do not do good enough, and only perfection is good enough, it hurts.

So I go home, to try and hold the pieces together another day, another night, another time of not being what others see me as.

A little tape there, a little glue here, all to delay the inevitable avalanche when I finally break and give up, aching from all my people-pleasing.

"You can do better."  I've heard those words a million times, how I clearly am not doing good enough because I can do better.  How a B is not an A, and I can get an A.  Not just an A, but an A+, and only an A+, my very best, is good enough!

Maybe it's not my very best.  Maybe a B is the best I can do.

I am lazy, worthless, stupid, a waste of space.  I can do better but I'm not, so I must be doing something wrong.  I must be lazy because I choose to write instead of do homework.  I must be stupid because x and y does not equal z and I've done the calculations over and over again and can't get it right.  I must be worthless because at my conception, all that happened was some cell division and DNA shifting and I am not doing good enough.  I am wasting oxygen better given to people who've won Nobel prizes, people who have accomplished things.

I can do better.  I shoot for the stars, land on the moon, and all I hear is "you can do better, you can do better, you can do better!"  Because the moon isn't good enough, millions of miles from Earth, I have to reach the lightyears, I have to go so far and then it's just farther, spiraling out of control like my dreams that most people would see as nightmares.  Dreams where it's just me, alone, but finally with that silence I can find peace.

I play music loud, louder, bursting it so that maybe I can burst, trying to drown out all the noise of "you can do better".  That's not good enough, because you can do better.

No, I can't.

Maybe this is all I am.  Me.  I always try and be a better person, always try to improve, but maybe this is as close to perfect as I can get.  Maybe my best isn't an A but a C.  Maybe I need to breathe, take a deep breath, run as fast as I can and let go of all this nonsense of 'not perfect'.

"You can do better" isn't comforting or encouraging or whatever you think it may be.  It is a murderous, back-breaking phrase that will destroy me and whoever else you use it on.

We don't need to hear "you can do better" for the millionth time.  We need to hear, "You've done good enough", "You've succeeded", "You've done a good job".  Not "you can do better", because that's just "it's not good enough, try again" in another turn of phrase.  It's another way to break and to control.

We need to hear "You've done well."  We need to hear "You've done it."  Not that we can do a better job in this mysterious "next time" you keep going on about.  But that, as we are, we're good enough.  We don't need perfection.  We just need to be us.

Monday, July 21, 2014


I will not be describing this because it does not need to be described.  All you need to know is that there is cussing (including lots of the use of the f-word), sexually explicit language and pictures, and please use caution.  If you are uncomfortable (and not ridiculously curious like yours truly) with any of those described do not read below.  Thank you.

And some articles provide comments.  Comments are terrible and mean.  And occasionally informative.  Read those comments at your own risk.  (Hey, I'm on a warning roll!  Might as well warn everyone about everything terrible!)

http://illinoisfamily.org/110files/uploads/2013/05/Its-Perfectly-Normal.pdf (this is advertised for "kids and teens".  It contains images of both naked girls and boys along with sexually explicit text and is just... SO inappropriate.  Its saving grace: "no means no".  Thank you.)
http://illinoisfamily.org/education/glen-ellyn-middle-school-embroiled-in-book-controversy/ (And I wanted to read "The Perks of Being a Wallflower".  Haha...  Seriously, the PARENTAL CONSENT FORMS aren't censorship.  Teachers refusing to allow kids to read books is censorship.  The GOVERNMENT blocking books is censorship.)

Monday, June 23, 2014

A Happy Poem!

How many people can brighten your day?
I have tons, they're my friends,
And some days they're the only reason I'm okay.

How many people can always make you laugh
When you're feeling down?
A little bit of sunshine can be enough.

I always find myself with a smile,
When I can make them laugh.
I've found a bit of peace and happiness.

So when you're feeling down look around,
You'll never know what you find.
They kinda came from nowhere and they're kinda perfect all the time.

Monday, June 16, 2014

Hero Good

Call me a hero, call me good,
what I've done, I'm not proud --
But somehow in the end it's right,
These are all the things I've found.

Call me your friend, call me your helper,
things I've seen, I look for shelter --
But somehow I've found my way,
And here I am, a keeper.

Call me a villain, call me a horror,
much more fitting to my core --
Because, you know, it wasn't for good,
That let clipped wings sore.

Call me your enemy, call me your nightmare,
it's never been, ever at all, fair --
But here I am, with lessons learned,
Some good out of my hatred there.

Friday, June 13, 2014


I've been rescued.
Carried out of the pit I've been in.
I've been through hell and back,
And lived.

I've been rescued.
I cried every night, sometimes I still do.
But I'm still loved by Him.

I've been rescued.
Walked out of the hell I've lived.
It hurts sometimes still,
But I'll live.

I've been rescued.
It hurts some days but I'm fine.
You can be rescued too.

I've been rescued.
You can be rescued too.
This life is chance one.
Next life?  Chance two.

I've been rescued.
You can be rescued too.
My God forgives.

I've been rescued.
It hurts some days but I'm fine.
I was rescued by Him,
Never going to die again.

I've been rescued.
Never going to die again.
I've found myself, and I've found Him.


It's my privilege
To actually tell you the truth.

See they've been lying this whole time
Filling you up with guilt and doubt
Trying to control you.

I'm not privileged
Because I am white.

I don't exactly see any scholarships for being white,
But I see 'em for being Hispanic and Black and...
You know, do you?

It's my privilege
To tell you you're not privileged.

Yeah, you're a man, you're strong.
But you get the bullying too.
Pussy, short for pusillanimous.

I'm not privileged
Because I am -- does the term even matter?

It sure as hell ain't fair that they acknowledge I am real
And refuse to acknowledge you,
But that doesn't mean I have a "privilege".

It's my privilege
To tell you rights and privileges are too easily confused.

My right is to be what I am.
Yours is to be what I am, too -
In your own way.

I'm not privileged
Because I am straight.

It sure as hell ain't fair you can't marry who you love,
But it's a right, not a privilege, to do as such;
I'm not privileged, you just don't have a right.

It's my privilege
To cry cuz life sucks.

"Turn off the internet" and whites and straights are free.
Haha, bullcrap - potential friends have turned away.
Race controls everyone far too much these days.

You are not privileged
Cuz you're underweight.

You're still subjected to beauty standards without realism,
To mocking your face, your skin, your everything;
We all have that the same.

It's my privilege
To tell you life's shit.

It's a universal truth, it sucks equally.
Just cuz it's different doesn't mean anyone has it worse.
It hurts cuz it hurts, the end.

It hurts because it hurts.
No privilege involved.

The end.


the worst advice
i've ever gotten
is to forget.
is to write you.
is to not reach out.

the best advice
i've ever gotten
is to be true to you.

"words are just words,
don't let them hurt,
push past, on by,
sticks and stones,
all that shit."

words are powerful
they can kill
even if you don't mean
for them to hurt.

intention matters.
but it matters
what you say,

the worst advice
i've ever gotten
is to doubt,
maybe that one
i gave to myself.

the best advice
i've ever gotten
came from a stranger
who told me to believe.

"words are just words,
they don't hurt,
if they're meant to,
maybe they sting,
but if they don't,
they do nothing."

words are powerful
they can save a life
especially if you don't mean
for them to hurt.

i believe in little things
the advice, and all the dreams.

what do i do when i'm pushed down again,
i fight, sort of, and pretend.

i'll be fine.
that's my advice.
be fine.
that's my advice.

don't fight to be perfect
just fight to survive.
find what makes you happy
and let go.

be fine.
that's my advice.
you'll be fine.
that's my advice.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014


I have discovered love doesn't exist.

It's a matter of tolerating someone, or wanting someone.  It's lust or tolerance.

Love is an illusion.

Because you know, I always believed love was wanting someone else to be happy above yourself, willing to die for a person, caring without consequence.

But when my own parents can't do that, then how does it exist?

It's also kind of hard being the adult all the time.  Always apologizing.  Always trying to make up.  Always.  Always.  I never get a break.  Nobody else ever reaches out to me.

I'm always fighting to repair things that it wasn't only me who damaged.  It was both of us.  And sometimes maybe I wasn't the one who damaged it.  Sometimes I'm repairing it, trying to help out other people.

I just... it's tiring.

I hate summer.

Sunday, April 6, 2014


have you had someone die?
someone you love a lot,
care about.

then you probably felt that way,
the way you do when you curl up
and cry and don't want to move.

the sort of misery that you keep pressing forward,
sad and solemn and closing eyes at every problem,
and if you see something happy and smile you're mad.

i feel that way
a lot.
not because many people have died,
but because i have become many people.

when i read
or i write
i am transformed.
i am no longer fat white girl, at computer or book,
trying to escape reality.

i am katniss everdeen, harry potter,
firestar, a pern dragonrider,
or one of my numerous characters.

and inevitably, someone dies.
so i cry again, feel the misery
as if it was my grandparents or dog again.

i become many things,
so i understand a lot more
than fat white girl, at computer or book, trying to escape reality
usually does; because when i read, or write,
i become, and there are no limits.

i have traveled universes and worlds,
and couldn't list the people i've seen die.
not in my life, no, but in the lives of the people i've lived as,
those lives i've seen so much death,
sometimes it haunts my dreams.
i awake, tearful, only to fall back asleep,
realizing i let my imagination get carried away agin.

you must understand
that because i become, being selfish is difficult
and i always think of how the other person reacts.
so when i say 'i need to be okay and i know how
and you're not going to like it'
a little piece of me dies inside.

i understand,
because i am fat white girl, at computer or book,
and i've escaped reality,
and done and been so much more than you could ever dream,
and i am tired
of feeling
like i am worthless.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

"Wellness Paper"

I needed to a freaking wellness paper for my foods and nutrition class.  It's late.  But I finished it.  So here it is, cuz some parts of it are amusing.

I am a whole eclectic mess of tidbits and quirks. Writing about me is on the bottom of the list of the things I want to do along with math and tests. Aka, something I don’t want to do at all.
This first paper was a mix of relief and blinding horror for me – no research (which is great) but it has to be me, me, me. “Uh-oh,” I thought, staring at the page.
Of course, if it was about my health, I have a fairly good idea about that. I am overweight by approximately 70 pounds or so and have asthma. I am not sporty by any stretch of the imagination. I do love my veggies but I just don’t eat them. I don’t smoke and I have mediocre grades. I have self-esteem issues (if you didn’t get that) and suffer from anxiety and depression.
I know that much about myself. That’s easy. I can do that – I can ramble on and make it extend for two pages. What I can’t do, however, is write about my positives.

Writing about what’s good about me, or what I’m good at, is like staring a brick wall in the face. And being smacked by it. Repeatedly. It’s a massive Writer’s Block, capital letters intentional, that I can’t get over.
“Mom,” I said, “I need help.” So she said to open up songs. I opened up eight (my favorite number) and pulled them up. “The Broken Ones” by Dia Frampton is a recent discovery of mine. “I can’t help it, I love the broken ones, the ones who need the most patching up, the ones who’ve, never been loved, never been loved, never been loved. And oh, maybe I see a part of me in them, the missing piece, always trying to fit in,” the song goes. Not very positive, according to my mother (it so is, but I dutifully move on anyway).
Next up is Natasha Bedingfield’s “Unwritten”. “Today is, where your book begins!” Positive, but nothing really about a feature of a person (specifically me).
One would have more luck with her song “Freckles”, third on my list. “A face without freckles is like the sky without the stars, why waste a second not loving who you are?” Which is positive and about features but – there it is again, the fact there’s nothing that’s “me”.
The fourth song is another one by Natasha Bedingfield, this one called “Happy”. It beings with “Landlord’s knocking on my door, cussing me out” and has a chorus of “Got my dreams, got my life, got my love, got my friends, got the sunshine above, why am I making this so hard on myself, when there’s so many beautiful reasons to be happy?”
Something clicks in this song, something about me – my optimism.
I am a boundless optimist. I believe the best of people, and that things will work out. I may expect people to be jerks, but I hope they’re kind. I have so many reasons to be happy. I try my best to be happy. I believe things will get better. I fall short plenty of times, but –
Ultimately, I believe things will improve.
Now, I could go on to how I’m a good writer, but since I have four songs left and am an overachiever, I’m going to locate another positive first.
Plumb’s song “God-Shaped Hole” is a lovely song. “Every point of view has another angle, every angle has its merit – but it all comes down to the ‘That’s the way I see it’,” it starts out with. It gives me warm fuzzies, every time – about how there IS a God and He loves us.
But that’s not really a positive about me. The next song is “Mine” by Taylor Swift. My dad loves it almost as much as I do. “You made a rebel out of a reckless man’s careful daughter,” he remembers most clearly about it. I am not a rebel, nor do I have a reckless man for a father. And I’m not… ‘careful’. So this maybe isn’t as fitting as I’d like it to be (sigh).
The song “Team” by Lorde is next on the line-up. I don’t know why I like this song so much, perhaps the part about “We live in cities you’ll never see on screen” or the nonsense about “Even the comatose, they don’t dance and tell.” Either way, I’m fond of it… and it also doesn’t have anything that, well, ‘clicks’. The final song is by Imagine Dragons – “It’s Time”. I love the song “Demons”, too, but there’s no way I’m finding positives about me in that song. So “I don’t ever want to let you down, I don’t ever want to leave this town” brings me to another click, another realized positive.
I am loyal and determined. In every group of friends I’m the peacemaker, I’m the strong shoulder and the rock. I don’t give up on people. I just don’t, even when it might be better for me. I don’t let people down – I disappoint only when my own incapabilities force me to, and even then I’m as disappointed as whoever lent me their faith.
I am proud of this part of me, proud of this loyalty, this peace-making part of me, and so I don’t want to change who I am. “Now don’t you understand? I’m never changing who I am.”
The final positive about me doesn't come with musical accompaniment. It could come with some poetry. Or maybe a short story. Or maybe this essay is good enough to display my passion, my love, and the one talent I cling to with all desperation. I am a writer, first and foremost. I do poetry, I write deep thoughts and fantasy stories and explore all aspects of life with my words. And yeah, if I do say so myself, I’m pretty good at it, too.

“Challenge areas” is a very misleading title. My challenge areas are math and being less lazy. Check and check. The things I want to improve are many (and not math). It’d be nice to start with writing (see? that’s why that last paragraph was a good lead-in!). I’m talented as it is, but there’s always room for improvement. I want to tell a story as well as J.K. Rowling and form such perfectly crafted sentences as John Irving and wonderful imagery as Robert Frost and use such eloquent language as Emily Dickenson and write the sheer amount of Stephan King. And that takes practice and writing obsessively. So, uh, thanks for the practice, I guess.
Next thing I want to improve? It doesn't leap to my mind as easily. I mean, I suppose I want to be less lazy, but that’s not at the front of my list (sorry, Mom). My self-esteem, perhaps, fits here. I want to be more confident in myself. Once Upon a Time, in elementary school, I was confident and believed in myself. The horror story known as “sixth grade” (you’ll hear this a lot!) ruined that for me. As I mentioned before, writing about my positives, my strengths, is a brick wall of Writer’s Block (capitals intentional). To be able to believe in myself as much as my mother or my friends believe in me? I’d love that – I miss it. Creating a goal that’s specific, measurable, attainable, results-oriented, and time-bound is not so easy when it comes to self-esteem. But it’s possible.
This goal, to be specific, will be about changing my thought processes. Though I demurely bow my head and smile and say “thank you” whenever I’m given a compliment, inside I start berating myself. I get warm fuzzies, too, of course, but nevertheless… Each time I am given a compliment, I will focus on the warm fuzzies and just appreciate that someone saw something positive inside of me. And when I say something negative about myself, I will accept the outpouring of love instead of calling myself an attention whore. It will be hard, but possible.
I’ll measure this by when it becomes more natural to accept compliments and love from people. When it isn’t “self-hate” but “lack of confidence”, and a compliment is warm and loving and not cause for me to be cruel to myself. Obviously, the “baby steps” focus makes it attainable; it’s definitely focused on the results – being more self-confident – and as for time… Well, sadly, being more confident doesn’t have a time limit. It’s just a matter of patience.
I said writing was a strength. I said I wanted to improve it. Go figure, I’m going to outline a brief plan on how I want to improve. Is writing an obsession? Yes, yes it is.
First off, what do I want to do? Well, I have a story I’ve been planning, changing, creating, since before I could write. The goal is to work on that. On this draft, I have two chapters so far. Now, at the moment, I want to manage chapters three and four.
My goal will be to write an hour a day. Just sit down, without distractions (okay, with minimal distractions – no way I can’t stop chatting with my friends online), and write. Some days I’ll write a lot. Other days I’ll write a little.
This is a reasonable time to ask of myself. I can make this time for myself, easy. It won’t take much out of my day, and will only require I sit down at a blank screen and focus on the story I love the most. It’s definitely attainable.
It took me about a month (with distractions and not writing every day) to write chapter one, and two months to write chapter two (under the same conditions). Averaging it out, I’d give myself a generous month and a half for each, and a three month total to achieve the goal.
(Here I come, Unicorn Valley – I will publish you before I graduate!)
Now, as for my third goal… I said I was approximately seventy pounds overweight, give or take. I need to get my weight down. The next appointment with my pediatrician is in September. This is March, so that’s about sixth months away. A pound a week is a reasonable goal; so that’s four pounds per month, times six, would be twenty four pounds.
I want to lose twenty-four pounds by September of this year. Each day, I will eat at least one fruit (meaning an orange or an apple) and one serving of veggies. Hopefully I can up my intake of healthy foods as time goes on. Three times a week, I will exercise – I could dance, or walk, or various other things. Finally, almost every day, I hope to do yoga. Yoga relaxes me and strengthens my muscles.
I will see results slowly, but they will come. And hey, if I stay focused, I may even surpass my goal!
Okay, I can’t finish it off here. One last goal, then: I want to be a vegetarian. A pesci-vegetarian, actually, which means I eat fish and chicken. Being raised on meat, it’s not an easy thing to give up almost all of it. My goal for this one will to achieve full pescetarianism by September, along with losing those twenty-four pounds I want to get rid of.
To start off, just avoid meat. No burgers or steaks. Chicken on occasion, and fish whenever I can get it (my mom doesn’t like fish, so that translates to ‘I rarely get to eat fish’). Of course, increase my intake of veggies. “Vegetarian” has it in the name. I need vegetables. And it might be a good idea to aim for those two to three servings of fruit as well.
Being a carbo-loader, I need to lower that tendency towards carbohydrates. Less carbs. When I want a snack, grab a piece of fruit. I need to get into that habit.
So there you have it – not just three, but four goals!

From positives, to improvement, to goals I can and want to achieve – this essay wasn’t so bad. Okay, it was terrible. I’m sorry, but this was not fun to write. At least I somehow hurdled over that brick wall. Wait. I somehow hurdled over that brick wall, the one that was smacking me in the face. Hey, that’s gold-star worthy! That’s worthy of not counting this late!
I wrote this whole thing to music, by the way. I guess that’s how I hurdled over that brick wall. There’s many challenges to face in life. This essay was just one of them. I just now set out four more challenges for me to face. But you know, I can do them.
I am a whole eclectic mess of tidbits and quirks, after all, and that’s the best sort of mess to be.