So this morning I woke up with the intense urge to write. To just put fingers to keys and thoughts to screen, even though, to quote Augustus Waters, "My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations." It's like there are a thousand colours, a thousand musical notes all rushing around in my skull, dancing and whispering and singing in a language that is just beyond my cusp of hearing.

It's very quiet. everybody is either asleep, or gone. It's cold, too. My house is filled with artificial heat, but I can tell that if I stepped outside, my skin would turn to gooseflesh and my breath would make clouds in their own miniature sky.

I've been thinking a lot recently. And singing a lot, and writing a lot, and talking a lot less. It seems that nothing worth talking about is being talked about, so I can't share my mind with others. So I'll write a poem, or draw a picture, or mutter to myself until the words come out right. I've found that I rather like words. It's gotten to the point where, if I close my eyes, I can see them. They look like water, or ribbons, or dust that's caught up in sunlight, or the sun beams themselves. They writhe and twirl and give suggestions as to what they could mean. Colour gives their tone. Red for confusion, a tumbling grey for nostalgia, and metaphors and hidden meanings glide by in a blue that is somehow both electric, and the deepest blue you will ever see.

It's three days until Christmas, but somehow, I don't feel very cheerful. I don't feel the breathless excitement that I used to around this time of year. It's not the same. I miss home. I miss it so much, it physically hurts. It's been almost a year since we moved out, but I still haven't finished unpacking. I can't, because that would mean that this is home. It would mean that I've given up. And I can't do that. I know that can't stop fighting, but I'm so tired. I'm so, so tired, and I feel like I just can't do this anymore. I don't keep sharp objects around me anymore. If I do, then bad thoughts come into my head, and what if one day, I just can't shake them? I almost didn't, once, but I got scared. I don't think I'll ever be brave enough, so for now, there's nothing to worry about.

Now, I think I have to unpack some boxes.

Message from a post-apocolyptic world

If you're reading this, the Mayan's were wrong.

Thank you.

Hi. I haven't posted in a long, long time, but I swear, there's a reason. Or rather several.

1. I went on a college trip with my mother and my sister for her to look at colleges in Oregon, Washington, and Canada. Ten day road trip. There was many an argument between the elder of the participants in this journey and I got a crap ton of knitting completed.

2. My first year of high school started. Holy crap in a mosh pit. I seem to be getting even less sleep than I was previously (if that's possible) and the homework NEVER FREAKING ENDS. I do have excellent teachers though and my classes are shockingly fascinating except for biology. I love the subject, but the teacher makes me want to kill someone. as my girlfriend said, "I learned more by drawing a dragon in class than I would actually listening to her.")

3. And speaking of which, I got a girlfriend! Clara has gained 62 exp points and has moved on to level 12!

4. My friend lent me Pokemon Red. 'Nuff said.

5. I blame YouTube. And Tom Milsom. I spent 13 hours yesterday listening to every single Tom Milsom song I could find on Bandcamp and drawing.

6. I am a lazy procrastinating bastard.

"Well, then. Why are you posting now? You've waited so long, why now?"
 
Someone commented on a blog post saying that they missed this blog. That it made them happy, and that caused me to realize that something that has never happened to me before is happening right now.  Someone is listening to me. someone is thinking about the same things I think about, taking my opinions into consideration. And that's scary. To think that I am communicating to people, be it many, a few, or just one is possibly the most frightening and most wonderful thing I have ever pondered. And I promise to post more often. I have a commitment now.

So, thanks, Shira. And don't worry, surviving is an instinct. Soon, you'll be able to do it without even thinking about it.

Surprise Zombies. Fan. Tas. Tic.

This past week has been rather... eventful, to say the least. I don't even remember most of it except for a disoriented blur aided by lack of sleep and an overdose of caffeine, and the often appearance of the name Elspeth Moonfeather. But let's start at the beginning.

In the past month or so, my sister and I have been discovering the wonderful new world of Star Trek: The Next Generation and in doing so, we tend to stay up until the wee hours of the morning watching the adventures of Capt. Jean Luc Piccard and talking about how incredibly awesome Brent Spiner is. This paired up with the fact that we then get up at ten in the morning to do chores and, in my case Algebra, leaves us stumbling around the house in a bit of a daze. This sets the scene for the past week.

As anyone who looked at a calendar on Wednesday will tell you, it was the Fourth of July. Which probably isn't a big deal for most people, but I happen to live in America, so, of course, everything was awash in red, white, and blue. I tend to interpret the feelings of the American independence day as such: Today is the anniversary of the day when we became a country and gave freedom to wealthy, white landowners with respectable backgrounds AND NO-ONE ELSE. Let us all celebrate with mini hot dogs and Doritos! I wore a special T-shirt that I got at FanimeCon for the occasion. It has a picture of America from Axis Powers Hetalia with a caption that says "I am a Hero!"

I felt it was appropriate.


So we stayed up and watched Bollywood movies and Community and Holy Musical B@man! until late because that's the American, not quite Canadian, most of us are Mexican way, and because we had seen The Amazing Spider-man earlier that day, and were in a superhero kind of mood. (By the by, Spider-man, much like surprise zombies, can be describe by three syllables; Fan. Tas. Tic.) And that sums up Wednesday.


Then, on Thursday something brilliant happened. I got a book.


I don't know how many of you read Sarah Reese Brennan's work, (and if you don't, GET THEE TO A LIBRARY!) but she just released a book that she collaborated with Justine Larbalestier to make called Team Human. I am an enormous fan of SRB's, so, of course, I did what any self respecting book nerd would do; I constructed a blanket fort and stayed up until six in the morning reading, at which point I promptly collapsed onto the pages of my book.


I am a lady of the highest class.


I finished it later on Friday, and I must say, the lack of sleep? So. Totally. Worth it. My mother, my sister, and I spent the evening in a nostalgia fest in which we watched all the cartoons that we loved as kids (and adults, in Mom's case) and ate Popsicles and peaches. And that leads me to now. 3:00 on a chilly Saturday morning with a cup of tea and a blanket, feeling so tired, but with miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.

The Fault in Ourselves

Hi... I know I haven't updated in a while, but stuff's been goin' down and I've been rather busy. We moved into the new place! In fact, the last day of owning the old home was the day before yesterday. It was... Tough to say goodbye, but I try not to think about it. I saw the Avengers the other day, and I must say it was kind of epic. It had battle scenes and sexy badass women and aliens. Alex Day was right when he said that it was like they asked a ten-year-old boy what was cool and put it into a movie. Seriously. EPIC. On a severely less happy note, I think my parents are falling apart. It started a while back, and it didn't seem too bad, just a rough patch, but now... I don't know. Someone is always frustrated, or angry, or fighting. I honestly think that if my dad didn't work all day, my parents would be divorced. I just finished re- reading The Fault in our Stars by John Green for the umpteenth time, and there was a part that really only hit me for the first time: when Hazel calls upon "...a statistic I wish I didn't know: half of marriages end in the year after a child's death." it made me think, maybe the only reason why most marriages stay together is because of a child. The parents think "I have to do this for them" and so they suffer through it. I have never really believed in true love. I believe that you can love many different people for many different lengths of time, but I do not believe that there is someone you are fated to be with for the rest of your days. You can make it work with lots of people, but the person you should marry should be the one who keeps making it work. There is no such thing as true love. Only continual love. Goodbye, and for those who recognize this, Okay.

A study of currency and hibernation amongst teens.

This, as a lighter note to my earlier, incredibly depressing blog post, will be filled with good news andinformation. First, on the home front, we found a place! 4 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and a secure attic. I'm telling you, one thing I will NOT miss is the raccoons in the attic. It also happens to be 4 blocks away from my school, which means no more 3 mile bike rides at 7:25 in the morning. Yes. Sleep. Speaking of sleep, I feel that I should inform any readers that sleep is very important to teenagers. We need so much of it, and we can never get enough of it. In all honesty, in a school setting, sleep is like currency. Those who don't get enough of it are depressed and often times grouchy. Those who get too much of it are generally spoiled assholes who always want more. And sleep can always be used for bartering. You can say, "Hey, I know a place where there are no teachers patrolling, and you can lie down for a bit.." or something along those lines, and immediately, you are swarmed with bidders offering anything from tutoring sessions, to food, to actual money. It's usually food though. You then select the bighest bidder, take the compensation, whisper the location, and both are on their merry way. Now then, all this talk is making me sleepy, so... Goodnight.

Bank of America Sucks.

I am crying right now. Want to know why? Bank of America is making my family move from the house that I grew up in. This is the house where I have lived almost my entire life. I can only ever remember living here. It is home to me. And why are they taking it away? Why can't we rent, or lease? Just so they can have a few more dollars in their paycheck. This is my life that they are giving away. Twelve years of my existence, twelve years of memories, gone. If anyone who works at Bank of America ever reads this, I have a question for you; how can you live with yourself? How do you feel about robbing people, not only of their homes and money, but of their childhood, their memories? How can you justify doing this? Are a few more dollars worth taking the home from a family? These are not rhetorical. Please, I'd like to know.