tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10107285644568965322024-02-20T11:09:44.984-08:00Thoughts, but Mostly DreamsOh hai.
If I followed you home, would you keep me?
Not that I'm stalking you or anything. I mean, come on. It's the internet. You could live anywhere. And there are some places I just don't want to go.
You're still here? Well then. I'd recommend starting at the beginning. Not that it will make any more sense afterward. But you never know.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-82265434135324494272011-02-03T19:27:00.000-08:002011-02-03T19:38:48.089-08:00GoalsThe house I will live in will have a dining room, even if we never use it.<br />I won't be living alone.<br />There will be a room with large windows, but probably small with not much else in it. A solarium, if you will. (The light of the large windows and the ability to bask in the sun when it's available will make up for the lack of insulation / possible heating bill increase.)<br />There will be hard wood floors.<br />Hopefully, there will be a basement. If possible, it will be accessed by a trap door and be filled with play pen balls (the hard plastic ones. And they won't be nasty because there won't be random children with their random germs playing in them).<br />I will have a room, tiled or with linoleum on the floors and at least a foot and a half up the walls. I will then get giant rolls of paper and spread them along the walls and cover the floor in several layers of paper. Then I will get water-based paint. And then there will be loud music and old clothes and rolling around and laughter.<br />I will have a large dog and it will be fluffy and it will be named Alot because of Allie Brosh.<br /><br />I will leave the country as soon as possible and for as long as possible, but for a limited time.<br /><br />Hey, me, remember when?Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-4861957369449127972011-01-31T11:40:00.001-08:002011-01-31T11:43:49.607-08:00My SubConscious is a JerkRecently, I've been having only super-realistic dreams instead of th ones you know are dreams or the ones that obviously logically aren't real, but could be, if only, you know, gravity worked differently (or whatever).<br /><br />The problem with the super realistic ones is that they affect my judgments of people. Because I remember things happening that never actually happened. Last night, for example, apparently one of my friends saw me, and, in summation, told me all his friends hated me and couldn't understand why he hung out with me. And then his mother made fun of me, to my face, because she thought I was his girlfriend instead of recognizing me as myself.<br />Mmm... yeah.<br /><br />The title stands.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-10298631490017587092011-01-27T19:57:00.000-08:002011-01-27T20:04:34.820-08:00Or notI was going to write a post about the dream I had that I mentioned twice that made me wake up in the middle of the night and whisper "happy things happy thoughts happy thoughts happy things happy thoughts good happy nice happy" to myself under my breath, of course, so I wouldn't wake up my roommates.<br /><br />However, it is past the time that I would like to be asleep, I have to be up at the normal time in the morning that only sounds early to people who sleep in every day, and I still have things I need to do before i go to bed. So.<br /><br />Last night?<br />I dreamt (which is apparently not a word... who knew?) about an ugly tiger, being busy, having the latest ex call me to tell me something important to which i responded "yes, okay, I'm kind of in the middle of something..." which he interrupted with, sadly, "can't we just... talk?" Meaning he was sad. Not that it made me sad. That's when I saw the ugly tiger. It was in my neighbor's yard. Then somebody came over and I tried to take pictures of the ugly tiger on the camera on my phone. And then I was trying to show them to somebody. At some point, I hung up on the ex.<br /><br />It's weird how much I dream about him. Like, I dream about people I actually know not very often and when I do it's in a super realistic you-could-be-awake-right-now sort of a dream. I've had a bunch of those about him, too, though. They confuse my feelings because sometimes I have a hard time differentiating between a dream and reality. Sad perhaps, but true. It makes me more careful when I talk to people, though, because if I can't remember exactly what they said in what exact situation, I have to allow the possibility that they never said it at all.<br />I've never dreamt this much about a boy before. It's weirding me out.<br />And then I wake up and tell myself "Does not matter." (I'm a little influenced by Nation, by Terry Pratchett, which you should probably go out and read right now.)<br /><br />One day, I will stop caring whether or not I dream about you.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-80002219947026660722010-12-02T12:07:00.000-08:002010-12-02T18:55:41.203-08:00Now I have the Cranberries stuck in my head.So, i haven't posted in a while, which should be obvious. Oh well.<br />This semester has been kind of crazy, but through it I managed to keep up with Psych, Big Bang Theory, and How I Met Your Mother (not to mention starting and getting through more than half of Battle Star Galactica).<br /><br />I obviously have my priorities straight.<br /><br />Most of my recent dreams have been about my now-ex boyfriend being a jerk. Which isn't totally surprising. I mean, he did break up with me. And I've never had a dream about him where he's not a jerk. He really isn't in real life, though. Well, except for breaking up with me.<br />This is not an emo blog, though. So moving on. (I haven't. Three weeks later and I still think about little else. Ug.)<br /><br />Zombies.<br />One night I had a collection of dreams all about zombies. It was pretty much a series of short stories, but in video.<br />Some of them were kind of terrifying.<br /><br />General background:<br />There are zombies. They kill people, kind of gruesomely. In this particular city/town (larger than the town I grew up in, smaller than NYC or Boston), there are small groups of people, say three to six people, who have so far successfully survived. One group of four or five people has fortified a house mainly by not leading zombies to it.<br /><br />Summaries of some of the stories, in somewhat chronological order:<br /><br />A young girl (actually a sexless child- characters are sometimes like that in my dreams, but it's easier to pick a gender) wakes up to find a zombie in her room. She hears it grumabaumble (no, that's not a typo). She's terrified, but realizes that it's lit by the candle her mother left by her bedside. She grabs the candle, bludgeons the zombie, watches it fall, and falls back asleep with the mild suspicion that it was all just a dream.<br />The girl wakes up, finds her brother with hot wax burns on his face, dead at the side of her bed. (Yes, I know, wax doesn't really burn /that/ hotly, but oh well. Maybe she got in a particularly good whack to his head when she was flailing at him).<br /><br />A group of four or five people are living in a two-story house. A grubby stranger comes to the door. They are suspicious, but take him into the house with them. He proves useful at finding things.<br /><br />A group of three people are running through the town. They are being chased, but by something faster than zombies. Probably dogs. There are a lot of pets around because the zombies are only interested in human brains. Or they can't catch the animals. Maybe some of both.<br /><br />Three women, one red haired, one short and dark (the point of view), and another are in the back yard of a nice enough house, next to a partly rotting, painted brown, wooden privacy fence. There is a zombie coming towards them, around the corner of a barn. There is a struggle. PoV feels useless because she is too afraid of the zombie to be useful in a fight. The 'another' and red have gotten the zombie pinned, but it's struggling and they are having difficulty holding it down. They tell PoV to hit it. "With what?" She's terrified. How can she kill something, even if it's not truly alive? How does she know? Red has an arm and is holding its head down by the hair. Another is pinning the legs and the other arm. PoV doesn't know what to do. Red yells at her to grab a piece of the fence and just hit it. She tries. The wooden beam is heavy. Red shifts, to bare the throat, and encourages her. PoV brings the wood up, her arms hurt. She tries to bring it down, but it seems to bounce off the thing. She has to try again. She brings it down harder. Nothing. She tries again. Harder. It seems to have an effect. Again and again and again she brings it down. (This one wins for most distressing, though not particularly gruesome).<br /><br />PoV (different person) is running through the house the group of four or five was in before. She might be one of that group. She is being chased by a rather well put together zombie which is barely leaving any pieces behind. It could have been a mountaineer once. Or that male gym teacher who always skeeved you out a little. It is apparent that it was once is good shape. At one point she is hiding on the top bunk of a double-decker bed. She gets up the stairs, climbs onto the roof of the porch, hides. She can hear it moving around inside. Somehow, it thinks of the roof as well. It finds her. She screams, scrambles, falls off the roof. (This was probably the second most distressing)<br /><br />The group of four to five has met up with another group. They are trying to think of ways to get rid of the zombies, at least in their area. They realize that fire seems to work.<br /><br />A man (PoV) is in the backyard of a house, by a swing set near a garage. He is digging in the mulch around the building, looking for something he knows was there before. He hears something, pauses. He watches a zombie approach. He doesn't move. Maybe it won't see him. As it comes closer, he looks around for a weapon. He sees an old canister of fuel. It nears, is obviously after him now. He picks up the canister, feels it's heft: there's liquid in it. He pours the liquid over the zombie. It's water.<br /><br />"Love me to Death" (yeah, sometimes there are titles)<br />A girl is on the second story porch of a house, looking over a wooded area with a barn. She watches a zombie of a boy she knew before. It is slouching towards the barn. It pauses. She ducks and hides. It looks up at the door to the house, continues into the barn. She remembers what it was to her, when it was him. She wonders what she would do if it ever came up the stairs.<br /><br />The larger group is organizing something. The people have split up. One man, the useful one who once was scruffy, has a mega phone or a microphone. He is running around a rather densly zombie-occupied space, yelling about his luscious brains ("I rarely used them, after all! Sure to be tender!"). Zombies are gathering, surrounding him. He runs into a convinent abandoned warehouse (ah, now, that was their plan all along).<br />A boy and another person are throwing meat around, hoping it will help lead the zombies in. The bodies they have seen, after all, have more than just the brains missing. They are on a second story.<br />There are all kinds of zombies. (My favorite was the girl with spiked purple hair.) Pan over, to take in the diversity.<br />The boy from before is getting out fuel canisters. He and some others start throwing it over the collected zombies. Some of the zombies have humorous (to me) expressions. The boy lights a match, throws it onto a soaked zombie. The flame goes out. He tries again, nothing happens. He tries again, it catches, the zombie starts flailing, burning unexpectedly well. It catches others on fire, but many are catching on and moving out. The boy douses himself in kerosene, lights himself on fire, and dives in.<br />The place in on fire. The one with the microphone is dead. The boy is dead. Some others have perished. Three people look onto the burning warehouse from a roof several streets over. A job well done.<br />They go back to the house.<br /><br />I wish I could take credit for the world building of my subconscious. Some of the worlds are really pretty.<br /><br />In news of today? I tried signing up for a YouTube account. It almost let me, but now refuses to acknowledge my usename as one in existence, but also refuses to let me sign up with that name since it already exists. There is no e-mail contact for YouTube that I can find (which makes sense. I shudder to think of the many trolling e-mails they would probably receive) and I have little inclination to send them a written complain through "snail mail".<br /><br />Oh, I also have a DeviantArt account. I may link to it later, but not today. Stalk away, if you think you can find it. (I'm actually toying with the idea of starting a second one to watch groups, so I only watch individuals with the main account, and to post written work. We'll see if I ever actually do that, though.)Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-40204450325895252322010-07-07T10:55:00.001-07:002010-07-07T11:52:24.886-07:00Gruman's Court<span>My dreams don't often have titles, but this one specifically did.<br /><br />Starting scene: There's a red haired girl in a stone tower which is the bunk space for a boarding school for girls. The duke is coming for a visit with his royal army and she's <span style="font-style: italic;">so</span> not interested. So, she's hiding from all his people who will inspect the school and from the ladies in charge of it who are making sure that all the girls are attending as they should.<br />One of her friends had told her that she should really go, at least to see the duke who was reputedly a good looker, but she's not concerned with such things. She's trying to figure out a way to be hidden somewhere they will not look as a part of the inspection. Under the bed is no good, for it's high enough for trunks to go under, on top is no good for they'll surely look there. She considers </span>trying to hold herself under the top bunk, but it doesn't look like there's enough space to hide her body, and she probably wouldn't have the upper body strength.<br />Someone's at the door. She whirls to try to dash somewhere, but the door opens and the matroness sees her.<br />The woman expresses her disapproval in the girl and how she's letting down the whole school. She grabs her and pulls her down the stone spiral staircase of the tower down to where the rest of the school is gathered to welcome the duke. She finds her friend, convinces her to help her get away.<br />Somehow she manages to get through the crowd of people and away without being seen and caught. She ends up at the stables (because that's what happens in teenage magic realism books for girls), full with the horses of the duke's army. She wanders past the horses, talking to them, meeting them. She pauses at a gorgeous charger. A man comes up behind her and says something about how it's a nice horse, isn't it. She turns, surprised because she didn't hear him walk up. He speaks softly, reassures her that she doesn't have to go back to standing in a crowd under the cloudy sky. She doesn't recognize him, but that doesn't mean much. The girls aren't allowed to hang around the farm areas that help supply the school, and there are lots of stable hands and farm workers.<br />The man moves on to a conversation topic having to do with the weather, how it's such a nice day, shame, though, that it's overcast still. It's been overcast for years. There was a joke (that was less of a joke than the girls would have liked) that the sun was afraid to come out.<br />The girl swears she remembers a sunny day, years and years ago, back when her mother was around and would sing to her soft songs in the back yard. And the sunshine. The sunshine was important.<br />Having been lost in her thoughts, she's startled to realize that the man is allowing her to be: he hasn't kept talking on about nothing and hasn't asked her a question, pulling her back into their talk. She, feeling slightly guilty about ignoring the man who wasn't turning her in to those who would make her stand around for the duke, says something about how yes, it's good enough, but it'd be better still if the fighting stopped.<br />The man has no idea what she's talking about. She notices, states- more than asks- that he's not from the area. He replies how he's from a holding to the south. She realizes he must be with the duke, feeling guiltier that he hasn't turned her in yet. To offset her feelings, she offers to show him the fighting.<br />They saddle some horses and go off to the east, towards some smoke on the horizon. She motions to him to slow as they reach a not-quite-forest, not-quite-meadow area. They can hear men dieing. She motions to him to be quiet, trying to convey with her eyes how dreadfully important the quietness is. He nods his acceptance and follows her to the top of a small rise.<br />There are men dieing. They die when the shadow beasts, tall as a man standing on another's shoulders, slash through them with their claws. Hundreds of men, fighting uselessly, for shadows are all the beasts are, until they decide to use their claws to slash through another body, the blood falling off as soon as they're through the spine as they will their claws to be shadows once again.<br />The man is astonished. "How have we at the holding never heard of this?"<br />The girl gives him what might be, had she been looking at her friend instead of a stranger, disparaging. "Probably because nobody survives long enough to bring the duke news."<br />The man is about to reply, but catches a movement with the corner of his eye. There is a flank of shadow beasts closing in on the townsmen fighting the main group of beasts. It also happens to be cutting of the man and the girl's way back towards the school, though they don't seem to have been noticed by the beasts.<br />He tells her to go back to the school and get the duke's army to come back to aid him. He recommends speaking with the adviser instead of anybody from the school. She rides hard as she can back to the school, finds the man. She tells him about the shadow beasts, but he ignores her as he has more important things to attend to. She's upset, being ignored, knowing her new friend is about to get slaughtered like all of the other men who have fought the shadow beasts. She mentions him, gets the adviser's attention. She describes the man and has his full attention. He questions her where, exactly, the fighting is going on, suddenly horrified that the duke is going to get himself killed.<br />The army goes off to aid the duke. More people are dieing, now. People start fleeing the school, trying to get farther away. The shadow beasts have never been as close to the school as they are now. The girl is running around, trying to stay out of the way, not wanting to leave, not knowing what to do.<br /><br />Suddenly, the sun comes out.<br />The shadow beasts dissolve. The sunlight burns through them, though they seem to be only dust, but dust is more tangible than shadow. The wind catches them, the wind blowing the clouds away, and they spiral off in pieces towards the sun, the brilliant sun that had been missing for so long.<br />The duke's army is in pieces, but surviving.<br /><br />...Obviously, the girl did something since she's the main character and has yet to have a real adventure, though surely the duke, if he has survived, will bring her off with him and she'll have all sorts of things to entertain her. And no doubt the magicians that will try to figure out what exactly it is that she did. The court magicians, that is. Not that she knows.<br />And there's the overbearing doom of where the shadow beasts came from and who sent them and what happens next.<br /><span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ></span></span>Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-86622604621596427742010-06-17T07:23:00.000-07:002010-06-17T07:40:34.108-07:00It wasn't as bad as it reads.<span>The auditorium:<br /><br />I was with a group of people and we were walking along a hallway trying to find room 1014 or something. We walked past a door labeled 1012 and were like "oh, we're close." Then there was a bulge in the wall 'cause a room was kind of in the hallway and we had to walk around it and then the numbers on the other side were like 1018 and we couldn't find the room we were looking for. And then we were in it and there was someone talking and the dream continued, but I don't actually remember that part.<br /><br />The title dream: (aka, knees)<br /><br />Backstory: I fell and basically shattered my knee cap. A little. Like, it was in a bunch of pieces, but still all together. But that wasn't part of the dream.</span><span><span style="font-size: 12px;font-family:Comic Sans MS;font-size:100%;" ></span></span><span><br /><br />So I could walk on it and it hurt a little but not <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> much, but I tried not to put weight on it because I thought that would just make it worse and my knee would be destroyed.<br />My mother took me to this Asian doctor who spoke pretty good English, but he kept lasping into worse English / a combination of Chinese and English.<br /> He was really nice as he pulled out a scalpel and was explaining what he was going to do. He cut my knee open and asked my something about blood, but in French, and so I just responded "No." And he said "You had a very vehement answer there, but I think, in fact, you <span style="font-style: italic;">are </span>bleeding" and gave me a tissue thing to wipe my knee off. And then he cut it open more.<br />Then he called my mother back into the room and was like "So, see this part here? This is the broken part" and kept talking and explaining and poking at my knee with the scalpel. Then my grandfather and father were called in because apparently they were there, too, and he started explaining my knee to them. And he said how I should come back in tomorrow and he'll work on it more.<br />By the time he was done talking to them, my knee had mostly healed and I was like "Oh crap, he's going to have to cut it open again."<br /><br /><br />Well, the end. I haven't had what I'd call an epic dream recently (those which make the best stories), but the knee dream seemed pretty good.<br /></span>Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-56723084876329803512010-03-06T10:22:00.000-08:002010-03-06T10:30:49.115-08:00Delayed Much?So, I owe a post about the dream I had that totally rejects the title of the last post. That dream happened the day after that post.<br />So it's been awhile.<br />But life is busy. So I don't feel bad. And it's not like too many (read: any) people are hanging onto the edge of their seats to see what I dream about!<br />Exclamation point totally necessary.<br /><br />But that dream will come later because I still don't feel like typing it all out. I did, however, type the one I had last night out. So here's that (partly: the dream it's from involved me meeting the family of husband-to-be-and-he-even-agrees-but-we're-not-dating well, the siblings he doesn't have. And so I was hanging out with his (not his, but she was in the dream) older sister and we were watching TV and this show was on. I met his half-asian brother, too, but that guy was a jerk. Like, he seemed quiet and I was like "um why don't we just chill and read books in the same general vicinity" and that was fine and then later he was like "it's all about the money" and "let's tell people we're dating, even though I would never date you for real". ... There was also someone else who might have just been a friend who was, like, trying to take my socks off (I hate people touching my feet) and I wouldn't let husband-to-be tell him that I didn't want him to touch me because I was sure that 'friend' would just try harder to annoy/piss me off. )<br /><br />But, the show.<br />(This is a copy and paste from an im conversation, again, so just go with the lack of capitals and whatever pronoun use there might be)<br /><br />i juts had a dream and it involved this tv show called Short Stories (look, I made sure to remember the title!) and it was really awesome and it was about this uncle who was in charge of this really big house estate thing and the nephew who should be in charge figures it out and is like 'hey, i'm going to take over now' and the uncle is like 'prove that you have the right' which involves this rube goldberg machine that takes up the entirety of the 'great hall', if you will, and it was really awesome.<br />because, you know, the rube goldberg thing was made back in the day when the person who left it to nephew/nephew's father/etc died and nobody's been able to figure it out because each piece has something off with it and you need to fix each piece and there are tons of pieces.<br />and as time went by, more things fell apart. so, like, tracks are simply disconnected and stuff.<br /><br />they (nephew & co) started off by looking at a piece in the middle and it was this spiral ramp thing, probably about... 6ft? tall with a really low slope and it had a bunch of figurines on it. like a ton. and a bucket with three pies in it.<br />so they figured out that the point was to get the three (uncooked) (and yes they're really old, they figured that out too) pies into the next part of the machine (which was a block, probably suspended over part of the hall place, with a bunch of different squares with different colors and symbols/pictures on them.<br />and there was one that was made to look like a microwave oven<br />and they guessed that the point of the first was to get the pies into that part of the second<br />so they tried just running the part of the spiral part that made the pie bucket move but it, because everything is old and was made to not work unless something was changed about everything, missed and then someone said "well, they were 50+ *insert number here* year old pies. probably wouldn't have turned out that well anyway"<br /><br />and they wouldn't have, but it matted what kinds of pie they were, as they will find out later.<br />and then that episode involves them tracking down what possible kinds of pies they were. but it'll be like a week later and all the pie goop is gone so they have to guess the grandfather/whoever left the place to whoever's favorite kinds of pies or the favorite kinds of pies of peopel who were important enough that their favorite kinds of pies were involved<br />i don't really know too much about that episode though<br />it wasn't the one i saw in my dream.<br /><br />there was also a part where they were in this icy old place (kind of like artic pyramids? not made of ice, though, but the place they were in was cold and icy/snowy) and they had to go underground and they took some piece that they needed for some part of the machine (like one extra figurine) and then had to get out right away before the guards got them<br />and as they were getting out and putting the tablet covering the tunnel/staircase they used to go where the figurine was the guards got there.<br />they happened to be giant statues of cats or something.<br />i dunno exactly, because the tablet was put down on them and the people got away.<br />but i think the uncle was there too, so what probably happened (not a part of the dream though) was the kid figured out that he needed this figurine and where it was and how to get there and find it and the uncle tagged along to make sure he doesn't find it.<br />because when he completes the machine, the uncle loses the estate<br /><br />um... i think that was all.<br />and this wasn't even the dream i had right before waking up. this was one where i woke up at like 4am.<br />and i still remember it.<br />pretty epic, eh?<br />but yeah. a show like this could go on forever and legit like never end.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-91977849729044952052010-01-31T15:00:00.000-08:002010-03-06T10:31:35.631-08:00Probably closest thing I've had to a nightmere in agesyou were in my dream last night<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">how so?</span><br />you came for a visit<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">awww</span><br />but i was at home<br />and we were taking random musical instruments out of your car<br />and my dog wouldn't shut up<br />so i let him sit in the front yard<br />and there was a stream of school buses and dogs down half my street and around a corner<br />and my dog wandered closer to them, so i yelled at him and he went to the porch<br />and then he ran away and joined them<br />so i ran after them<br />and around the corner, they vanished.<br />it was sad.<br />and then, i was sitting in the tenant's kitchen with my parents and my dad was like "i think janet's outside calling for him"<br />way to make my dog run away.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Im sorry!</span><br />oh, and there was something about all the dogs (and the schoolbuses, i guess) going to heaven, like 'all dogs go to heaven' and my response was "no"<br />and then i woke upMe, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-1135238185425490922010-01-03T12:12:00.000-08:002010-01-03T12:24:48.020-08:00Oh, um.So it looks like it's been a month since my last post in this 'daily' posting bloggy thing.<br /><br />Could I convince you that, perhaps, it has not actually been a month? See, it's been a month for <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> but not for me, and I'm really the only one that matters. In order to be a blogger, you have to have an over-sized ego, you know.<br />Well.<br /><br />Here I am.<br /><br />I'm kind of distracted with trying not to sneeze all over my keyboard, though, which isn't even my keyboard since my own computer is in another state, along with the power connector thingy to my external, so this really isn't at all my own, <span style="font-style: italic;">so</span> this will be another disappointingly (to me, at least, probably enhearteningly) short post.<br /><br />But, with an eye to saying "I have epic dreams, aren't you jealous? Yeah, you should be.", a quote, from a dream that was probably several weeks ago, but oh well I remember it now and that's all that matters, right?<br /><br />"I feel like a ninja!"<br />"I'm only a ninja when I'm a gamer."<br />"When I'm a gamer, I never die!"<br />"Seems like a good plan, think you could make it work for me, too, right now?" (not part of the dialogue. but there was something to that effect)<br /><br />If you take A to be the first person speaking and B to be the second, then A, at the moment when there was dialogue (really! in a dream! almost never happens. to me, at least), was hanging onto a rope attatched to the mast of a medium-sized sailboat and was flying out behind it because, for some reason, this particular sail boat can sail fast enough so the movement of the air suspends a full-grown male. B is on a small life boat, surrounded by the seven soulless (which sounds capitalized when people say it, but it isn't in actuality) who are in the water after having jumped off the larger boat to follow him and, hopefully, to them, eat his soul. The seven soulless (or The Seven Soulless, as a character would say) are children, or were at some point in time before they lost their souls. They eat the souls of real live people and make them dead. They do not make them into other soulless. There have always been and will always be "The Seven." Consonance and all that, you know.<br />There's a captain and another adult on the larger sail boat, watching them and generally trying to encourage the crew to go faster to escape the soulless. But there's only so much you can do with wind, you know. Or maybe you don't. But now you do, eh?<br /><br />I swear these posts make sense to me while I write them.<br /><br />Oh well. Just read it again and eventually all the bits will fall into place if they haven't yet. It's all in text there and, unlike the poem of that awesome guy, will not disappear.<br /><br />I have not read the poem of that awesome guy, for the record. I just thing he was a literary genius to bring media into the format of his work.<br />That is, when originally published, his poem, which was something along the lines of "an ode to the dead" or something, to some loved family member I believe, though I am probably incorrect in that belief, was printed onto normal paper. With heat sensitive ink that faded rather quickly/ over time once exposed to the air. It late came out in a digital format where the CD deleted itself as the poem was displayed on the screen. (Or maybe that was just in his plans? I'm pretty sure it happened.)<br /><br />I found out about it through TVtropes.<br /><br />That's the post. We'll see when the next time I think of writing something is. Hopefully directly after another epic dream.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-60845027832901834222009-12-03T18:02:00.000-08:002009-12-03T18:03:48.020-08:00Well thenIt's been awhile. Or at least I feel like it has been. I don't even have a real reason. Alas.<br />I haven't managed to read blogs, much less write one.<br /><br />And I'm kind of tired now, so I won't write anything decent at the moment.<br />I'll probably go to bed shortly. After maybe playing Rayman.<br />Because, you know, you all care deeply about the intricacies of my life. Yeah. Right.<br /><br />Coming soon to a blog near you: a decent post.<br />Just, you know, probably not mine.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-91906409084812254812009-11-23T19:25:00.000-08:002009-11-23T19:33:11.462-08:00whups, there goes my internets<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">i knew it was coming when windows was all like "increasing the siz of your page files" and i was all like "yo, keep you dirty mitts off my page files yo" and it was all like "too late! hahaaaa! some of your programs may stop working momentarily"</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">all sorts of problems going on.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">might actually get some work done, i guess.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">maybe.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">we'll see.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">later.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">p.s. i fell asleep at 4pm and woke up at 5pm, thought it was the morning, went back to sleep, woke up at 6, was really confused as to why it was still so dark out, considered going back to sleep, remembered the work i'm supposed to have done by tomorrow, almost freaked out that i had ~ an hour to do it, thought to check my phone, did a double take, realized it was in fact still today, wondered how it could be 6 am if i remembered going to bed at 4pm the same day, </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">finally</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"> realized it was 6pm, found some people and went to dinner.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">p.p.s. it took me longer to figure that out than it took you to read. including the backtracking you probably did trying to make sense out of it.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">p.p.p.s. windows and i have a love hate relationship. i'm all happiness and sunshine to it and it tolerates me until it suddenly decides it really doesn't want to run two programs at the same time and it picks one at random to close except it can't be random because it's never the music player because, you know, that's totally the more important thing in getting work done. background music. and when it decides to stop tolerating me, i'm usually less happiness and sunshine to it. but i still don't go changing bits of it without permission. not that i would ask my computer's permission to do something. i'd probably ask my brother. because he's good with things like that.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">p.p.p.p.s. i just realized that the post scripts are longer than the post itself and i should probably be doing something important/milky productive right now.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">p.p.p.p.p.s. i meant mildly. but milky is more amusing, so i'll leave it.</span><br /></span>Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-11588638047871169032009-11-22T12:20:00.000-08:002009-11-22T12:29:16.873-08:00OopsWell, so much for blogging everyday. And Barnaby. He's kind of fallen by the wayside.<br /><br />But besides writing, everything's going swimingly. By some miracle, I still have friends (no, no recent drama. It's just always a nice thing to realize every once-in-a-while).<br />I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">still</span> in the third season of Dr. Who. I like it, really I do, I just can't find time to watch it. Which is kind of sad when you take into account all the others things I waste my time with.<br /><br />My roommates and I watched Finding Nemo last night and they baked cookie bars (which were deliciousness). I haven't seen finding nemo in so long. Then Juy had to go and point out that if you flush a fish, dead or not, it won't make it into the ocean because there are things like choppers. And so all those kids who dumped their pet fish after seeing Nemo just killed them. Thanks, Juy. No, really.<br /><br />But yeah. I like Finding Nemo.<br /><br />My brother and I are cooking Thanksgiving dinner! It's going to be so delicious.<br />The menu, to make you all jealous: salad, dinner rolls, turkey, cranberry sauce, gravy, pineapple yam, cauliflower & cheese, stuffing (of course) and for dessert, pumpkin cheesecake and vanilla cream pie.<br />It is going to be so. good.<br />I kind of can't wait 'til I'm home.<br />I miss cooking big meals. There's really no oportunity for it now.<br /><br />But there's work I should be doing, so in the hopes of starting it, Adieu.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-82595420442306890942009-11-15T20:43:00.000-08:002009-11-15T20:48:41.149-08:00snowmen in july-like-weather in november<span style="font-size:100%;">"you should go look outside your door (you'll probs have to actually go outside and look) and look around you stoop. legit. the sooner the better."<br />"</span>so like right before i got your message my roommate comes by and tells me.. dude there is snow on our porch. and i was like *insert name here*... haha how do you know where i live?"<br /><br /><br />*backstory, or as much of it as i care to give before going to bed because it's much later than when i went to bed last night.<br />he canceled on me friday night to go look at the pretty sky in the freezing cold. (it was wicked clear and really pretty and i saw a shooting star. totally missed out, he did.)<br />went to church tonight. saw him there. was in the process of convincing girl (who may or may not get a name at a later point in time) to go build snowmen with me. tonight. and though it was below freezing friday, it's mid fifties tonight. she thought i was crazy. he didn't believe me that there was snow and went home.<br /><br />obviously, you should trust me when i'm giggling like a five year old.<br /><br /><br />Edit: I just realized I didn't address the whole 'how do you know where i live?' thing, but that's probably left for a better time when i actually feel like typing.<br />my arm is kind of tired from carrying a rather large chunk of snow/ice for twenty minutes.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-88243390204201205742009-11-13T12:40:00.000-08:002009-11-13T13:03:05.954-08:00Ice, Ice, BabyI have discovered how awesome I am.<br />I am, in fact, awesome enough to have moldy ice in my fridge. (Yes, I abbreviate. Not because I think it makes me look cool, mainly just because I can't spell. Yes, my mother always told (and tells) me to sound things out. It does not help.)<br /><br />Moldy ice.<br />Let's think about that, shall we?<br />Ice is water. H2O. There is no carbon involved, which is the main substance living organisms. You know, all the aliens say "stupid carbon-based organisms." Because we are. Carbon based and probably stupid, too.<br /><br />Why have I never heard of moldy ice before? I'm going to go with: because it has never existed up until it found its niche in my freezer.<br />That's right, I'm awesome enough that new organisms (or at least mutations) take form in my general vicinity. A whole new kind of life, as far as I know, in that it doesn't involve carbon. Unless there's some extra carbon floating around in my freezer that was like "hey, ice" (carbon does not talk. that would be silly) and was all "hey, baby, how about we go back to your place and try to stream up the walls a little?" Come to think of it, that might be why the freezer compartment was dripping so much. Hot and steamy carbon-ice going ons.<br /><br />And before anyone comments, no, I did not have anything else in my freezer besides the icecube tray which is made of plastic (pink, unfortunately enough, sorry mr. carnivor if you ever read this). And while some rubber is made from rubber trees, I'm pretty sure this thing is completely artificial and shouldn't have carbon in it to precipitate (I don't know if that's the right word and I'm pretty sure it's not, but spell check says it exists and I'm too lazy to google it. I love how google is a verb now) a life form.<br /><br />Sorry if all these asides are distracting from the main argument. Let me recap for you:<br />I am awesome. So awesome that I have made life. A new species, in fact. A new life form. And then I washed the ice tray multiple times and washed it down the sink.<br /><br />So if you suddenly have mold creeping out at you from the drains, it's probably my fault because this new lifeform thing doesn't have any natural predators seeing as how it was just created. Came into being. Whatever.<br /><br />I'm sorry for the end of the world by mold. I'll work on thinking up something that will eat ice-mold. Ice-carbon children. Maybe ice is cannibalistic? Maybe if I had left it in there the ice would have devoured the offspring from the liaison? Maybe. Then again, my fridge kind of smelled. And I'm going to blame the mold. Because there's really not much in there. Well, there are like five water bottles. And I was going to say that water doesn't smell, but hey, if my ice can grow mold, what's to stop the water from growing mold, too, right? It's all H2O.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-22646712985928739742009-11-13T08:11:00.000-08:002009-11-13T08:17:58.923-08:00LibrariesThis isn't realyl a post on libraries in general like it probably should seeing as how that's the title and all. But it's not. So if you want to read about libraries, you should probably find somewhere else to go.<br />It's more about door holding. But not even that, because I have a good rant about door holding (well, like a paragraph, maybe, depends on the day) and this isn't that.<br /><br />I just walked into the library (to use the computer! to look up a book! and not play Farmville like some other people!) and some guy (so, somebody I didn't know) saw me coming and stood there and held the door as he was leaving for like thirty seconds. Which is kind of a long time to hold the door for somebody. Like, I was a good three yards away. But probably not. Because I'm terrible at judging distances (not that that matters because I'm awesome at everything else. Except spelling.). But it wasn't passive aggressive door holding (where the person is obviously annoyed that they have to hold the door for you even thought they totally <span style="font-style: italic;">don't</span> have to hold the door for you). And when I said "thank you" he said "no problem."<br /><br />I think I like him.<br /><br />But, kind of like Omegle, though I know what he looks like (okay, that part's not like Omegle), I will most likely never see him again. Unless he turns out to be involved in something I involve myself in.<br /><br />I like people who are willing to hold the door for some random person even though it will put them out all of thirty or even fifty seconds of their time and they don't look aggravated about it and actually respond if you thank them and maybe even smile.<br />I don't know if this kid smiled because I don't make eye/face-contact with strangers for longer than like half a second, tops.<br />But he sounded happy enough when he (*gasp*) responded with his 'no problem.'<br /><br />But, no matter how earth-shaking this was, I should probably get to what I was coming in here to do in the first place.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-85334670870881299322009-11-12T14:59:00.001-08:002009-11-12T17:26:07.247-08:00OmegleSo, in case you haven't heard of it, Omegle is this site where you chat with strangers. You don't have a profile or anything and there is no way to contact the same Stranger twice. Unless you give out random personal information like AIM or Facebook (though why you would do that I have no idea).<br />But then again, parenthesis, I'm kind of paranoid. And the most information I've given out on Omegle is that I live in the US. Because the US is kind of a big place.<br /><br />I've had some awesome conversations on that site. It is totally possible.<br />If you try it, don't be discouraged by the "a/s/l?" or the "horny female" people. There are other people out there. Who know things like punctuation and grammar and how to spell the word 'you'.<br />I've had conversations about zombies, the end of the world, edible cell diagrams, and music. And other things, too. And not about how horny I am.<br />I was even dubbed some random name, once. So they called me that instead of "Stranger".<br />I do not tell random people on the internet my name.<br /><br />So. I don't tell random people stalkery information about myself. But every single time that they decided on guessing how old I am, if I'm male/female (the latter one people, and I don't feel sketched out by saying that because A) that's like half the world population and B) maybe I'm lieing because I'm actually some creepy 50 year old balding man who just pretends to be a girl on the internet to get fourteen year old boys to cyber with him. That's how I think, people. That's why I don't tell people about myself on the internet. Because there are people like the balding man. There are even people who aren't balding, but still don't have girlfriends or boyfriends or dolphins (<span style="font-style: italic;">do not look up how to have sex with dolphins</span>. somebody told me that. i did not take them seriously. you should take me seriously. don't. do it.) or whatever would make them happy).<br /><br />So anyway.<br />They always guess correctly. Every single time. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but they're always right? I guess it's good to know I'm everybody's ideal, I guess.<br /><br /><div class="logitem"><div class="strangermsg"><span class="msgsource">Stranger:</span> how old are you?</div></div><div class="logitem"><div class="youmsg"><span class="msgsource">You:</span> old enough to know better, young enough to get away with watching disney movies.</div></div><div class="logitem"><div class="strangermsg"><span class="msgsource">Stranger:</span> good answer<br />Stranger *proceeds to guess my age correctly*<br /><br />The hell. That should cover a good decade of years or so. Man.<br />Guess I'm transparent in my usage of the vernacular of the younguns these days.<br /></div></div>Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-43554276182326146512009-11-12T13:28:00.000-08:002009-11-12T13:40:29.070-08:00Popcorn hates me.I love popcorn. It tastes delicious. And you can throw it at people (like rocks! but edible! and less damaging).<br />But.<br />Every time I eat popcorn, I cut the top of my mouth. Now, I can eat anything sharp you'd like (well, edible stuff at least), corn chips, hard taco shells... well, that's my list I guess of sharp things I eat. But. Popcorn? Every single time I end up with a cut on the roof of my mouth. I don't even know what the popcorn is doing up there. Hand to tongue to teeth to throat, no? Apparently, no. So now I have this cut in my mouth, again. And I'm wondering if popcorn is even worth it. But I bought a lot of popcorn a couple weeks ago, so I feel like I have to use it up. Or I could give it to people. But then if I'm hungry and I don't have anything else and I've given away all my popcorn, what will I do? Be hungry, I guess. Which is lame.<br /><br />I haven't made pie in awhile.<br />Successful pie types: Strawberry, blueberry, apple, pumpkin, pineapple<br />Honorable mention: Banana.<br /><br />I don't even like banana (as a flavor, so that's totally singular) that much. I don't know why I made banana pie. But it wasn't a cream pie and it was sweet enough and everything, it just tasted really strongly of banana. Which is why it is not on the successful list. Because I don't like banana.<br /><br />The pineapple turned out surprisingly delicious, though. I've never eaten grilled pineapple, but I've heard fantastic things about it and thought 'why not'? So I googled it and look at that, people have made warm pineapple pies before. Warm pies are totally different from cream pies, by the way. I say warm pie as in what you probably think of when you think of "apple pie." Cream pies, to me, include any type of cold pie, but people look at you funny if you say 'cold pie'. And they're all like "well, pumpkin pie is good cold" and I'm all "no, that's a warm pie."<br />It's in the process, people. You don't cook a cream pie. Or cold pie. Or snazle. Whatever you want to call it.<br />I guess a merange pie fits under the cold pie title. But I don't really know because I've never made one. I tried a custard pie once, but I made the wrong type of custard. It totally matters. If you make a custard pie? Make sure you're making the right kind of custard. I didn't even know there were different kinds of custards before that. Well, I still don't really know, but I'd rather blame the custard than my own baking skills.<br /><br />Which are pretty awesome, by the way.<br /><br />And pie is a great way to meet people. If you walk around with a warm (or, you know, cold) pie in a nonthreatening manner and offer it to people (nonthreatening in that they don't think you've laced the pie with something), you're sure to make some quick friends. I don't know why you'd want to make friends with random people on the street, but, anyway, it'd probably work.<br />Unless you need a license for that. I don't know.<br />I don't sell pie on the street.<br /><br />I might eventually sell pie out of a building, but I don't know.<br /><br />I am so looking forward to Christmastime when I'll have access to my parents' kitchen, because they have a cutting board and things like wax paper. And I'm going to make croissantes. Because I miss good croissantes. I can't find any good ones here and I always compare them to the ones I've made in the past.<br />Maybe my memory is all biased, but it still ends with the fact that I don't eat croissantes anymore.<br />Or pie.<br />Because my pie is better.<br /><br />My pie brings boys to the yard, it's that good. Maybe not all of them, but enough for me.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-61867683048151809442009-11-11T04:31:00.000-08:002009-11-12T15:38:52.487-08:00Morning.I've been up an hour and a half and have yet to decided if it's good or not. It seems kind of average to me.<br /><br />I had some of those "almost normal" dreams last night, so no Barnaby tales.<br /><br />:My 11am was canceled. I don't have an 11am. That's when I go eat lunch. Except, today I'm not even going to eat lunch until afternoon, so I really don't have anything to do right at eleven. I would be mildy depressed if my lunch was canceled, though. I love food. It's usually delicious and you kind of need it to, you know, live and everything.<br />So yeah. Food's pretty fantastic.<br /><br />:I was sick and wearing a sweatshirt and someone went to hold my hand and I was all like "oh, hold on a sec" and I folded back the sleeve of my sweatshirt so the sickness wouldn't be spread to them. I don't know how that would help, but hey! Someone wanted to hold my hand. Scandalous.<br /><br />:The random stranger who I kind of accidentally made fun of about thinking the pumpkin icecream was gingerbread flavored added me as a friend on Facebook. Without me ever telling him my name. Or me knowing his. Yet I knew it was him.<br />(Dear strange boy: I am sorry I seemed disbelieving and somewhat mocking of your belief that the pumpkin icecream was gingerbread flavored. I'm sure you know what pumpkin tastes like. And gingerbread. But not really, I guess, because you told me it was the wrong flavor <span style="font-style: italic;">after</span> having some to eat first.)<br /><br /><br /><br />Yesterday I was all prepared and everything: I looked at weather.com to see the forecast for the day so I would know whether or not to wear a sweatshirt.<br />It told me the high was 65 (F). So I did not wear a sweatshirt. I failed to realize that the low was in the 40s and that it would be overcast the entire day.<br />I wore a T-shirt. It was chilly.<br /><br />Maybe some wit later? Probably not, seeing as how I kind of should get some work done. And do networking calls. And stuff.<br />Yeah, I'm cool.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-14182433205244031152009-11-10T04:01:00.001-08:002009-11-12T15:38:52.488-08:00It's early.But not as early as Blogger is intent on telling me it is.<br /><br />Dream sequence.<br /><br />"It's a wondrous place where you don't need things like pants."<br /><br />"But velociraptors need to eat, too." "So do zombies. That doesn't mean I'm going to go around feeding them myself."<br /><br />Where in the museum did he go? Everywhere. He needs ideas. Not just any idea, the right idea. The perfect idea. The one that you can never find when you look for it, but not the kind that jumps out at you when you turn around. This was no haunted house ghoul idea. It was the ideal idea. But any idea can give way to this perfect idea. You have to look for it, but you will never find it by looking. It's always somewhere else.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-3089238773998989162009-11-09T11:34:00.000-08:002009-11-12T15:37:10.365-08:00Needs a NameWe can't go around with our Main Character going unnamed! How will we distinguish him from all the other characters? Saying "Main Character" over and over is so annoying. And long. So he must be dubbed something. It has to have a good ring to it. No main character here named "John Smith." We just can't have that! He's going to save the world! Or at least his favorite girl. But that's in the future. At the moment, he only needs a name, not a plan. Something heroic, strong, and brave. A full name (and not barbarian. We aren't going to have Oolog here. Or Nak. Or Vladimir. Any character with a name beginning with "V" is bound to end up evil, or least easily swayed. So no Vlad. Maybe something easy to remember? So he is obviously Main Character. Not 'a', not 'the', just "Main Character." There can be no other, after all.<br /> There's a concensus. He must have a name. But what name? It should have a meaning, but who has baby-naming books on hand? Certainly not Author. What if he were to be abbriviated? M. C. But that's already an abbriviation of an accepted phrase, so we can't use that. Well then, something that can be shortened to the same thing? Michael, who resembles God. Not religion! Can't have that in a popular novel. Unless it's made up, of course. But no, no Son of God here. Meyer. Farmer. That's a good one. Starting from humble beginnings our hero rises to shine! It also means 'bright one,' so it works well for that. Meyer it is! And what of his last name? Well, he's a hero. There are the Enemies trying to hunt him down and hurt or maim or kill him. He cannot be too easily found. So his last name shall be "C." Until the mysterious stranger who knows all about his past (and humble beginnings) shows up to reveal his knowledge and offer The Clue That Brings It All Together.<br /> Meyer C., the farmer who saves the world. Well, when he saves the world nobody will know that he was a farmer. Unless his skill at throwing haybales becomes the undoing in the Enemies' plans, and then it will all come out. And the lass will not love him for he was only a farmer! But she, ah, she was just a milkmaid, captured by the Enemies for her innate natural beauty, so she can truly understand him. And his skill of throwing haybales.<br /><br /><br /><br />I've officially joined Nanowrimo. Check it out if you're so inclined, but you're nine days behind. Then again, so am I. Let's see how this works out, hm?Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-41048326950179276942009-11-08T20:59:00.001-08:002009-11-08T21:02:30.354-08:00Oh HaiSo, my friend wants me to write 50k words as a part of the November Writer's Challenge or whatever it's official title is. Since I write better in rants, I was planning to use this blog to maybe get to 50k. However, she has since informed me that it's supposed to be a novel and therefore on the same subject. Or at least related.<br />So.<br />Possibly, this blog will see the birth of a novel.<br />This also means that novel-related posts will be longer. Hopefully around 1000 words each. Sorry about that. I was kind of hoping for short posts. But I guess what with the kind of long intro and the kind of epic third post I've already ruined that.<br />But.<br />1k word posts. I'd need 2 and a bit 1k word posts a day to hit this 50k goal. I don't think that's going to happen. But I will try to write every day.<br />And I will try to write about the novel every day. Try.<br /><br />It's on the interweb, so it must be true!Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-54814032554453426152009-11-08T20:25:00.000-08:002009-11-12T15:38:52.488-08:00Double Post!Not that this isn't my fourth (wow I have a lot of time on my hands) post today. But, it's like within minutes of that last one.<br /><br />I kind of want to make it up to you. Not that there are any of you. Well, somebody has to be reading this. If a blog's words are never read, do they exist?<br />I don't really have any thought epic enough to make up for even the length of that last post, though.<br />So, um.<br />Here's one of my dreams from last night. That counts as a thought, right?<br /><br />"Barnaby Bombs told me how you stole his television." (This would imply a darkness in our main character- and how could we love him now?) But fear not, dear reader. For record shows there has never been a Barnaby Bombs living in London. But record can lie. Take Barnaby, sitting in the basement in his favorite blue leisure suit. They used to belong to Big Ben. They even had a little badge on his left breast that said "Ask Me the Time!" He loved those robes. Wore them all the time. He was wearing them the day they took him away. He was sitting in his basement and he was wearing his blue robes and they came to take him and he was watching television and they came for him and he was waiting for the right idea and they took him away. (So record lies and the man probably is as well. Even if our dearly beloved main character did steal, he probably did it for some orphans or widows or street urchins. For that is what a main character does.)<br /><br />What, your dreams don't come with more words than pictures? Or a narrator? Or readers? Huh. Weird.<br />Well, actually, mine don't usually come with readers. But it's a fifty/fifty chance of words or pictures.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-52296597193466208702009-11-08T19:54:00.001-08:002009-11-08T20:24:39.200-08:00Dear JohnYou have no idea how happy I am that you are refusing to talk to me. Like, really. I'm happy you found yourself a date, surprised, but it means you won't ask me (I was only able to come up with one excuse). Really. I sincerely never want to talk to you again. I'm kind of contemplating deleting our mutual friends on facebook so you don't stalk me through them (*cough* again), but I approve of them on their own merit. Though my appraisal of one has been diminished somewhatbecause of the last facebook interaction, but I kind of blame you for that. Oh, facebook. No, really, I don't want to stalk you. I'm fine not knowing what you're doing. You can stay blocked. And yeah, there's a reason I blocked you on im, too. I don't actually care if I talk to you. I mean, yeah, I think it's nice if ex's can talk to each other and be civil to each other.<br />But I really don't appreciate that you insinuate that I'm in love with you. Because, really? No. And it was annoying that you hinted that you loved me after I broke up with you. Because come. On. If things are over, they should stay over. And if my reason for getting back together was to be 'to make you stop bothering me about it,' it's really probably not meant to be. Not that I know what's meant to be and everything. But. If something ends, it's ususally for a reason.<br />So. You wanted a list. Not that you'll ever see this. But if you do, maybe you'll realize that it's for you.<br />Aren't 'dear john' letters great?<br />1) You're passive aggressive. Like saying "maybe you'll think of somebody" to end the conversation about how you didn't even want to go to the formal dinner but your mum wants you to go and so you have to find a date. Hi, I don't want to go. And I don't really care if you go.<br />2) Your "subtle" comments on how you found a date. I don't care. Remember how I've been telling you to find another girl for, what, eight months now? I don't actually know, because I'm not keeping track.<br />3) The way you tried to get me to say I missed you/wanted it to really work out/lets do something when I'm home on break.<br />4) The fact that you continued to talk to me after I tried three times to be like "yo. movie watching. FULL SCREEN."<br />5) The fact that you had a mutual friend im me to tell me you think I'm a bitch now (especially because it's since I blocked you so I could freaking watch my movie. Yes, I could have just ignored you. But I'm really bad at ignoring people.) Seriously? I'm pretty sure you still have (or at least had at that point) my phone number. Call someone in person.<br />6) No, I don't really care about our friendship. I honestly don't think we ever had one to begin with. And yes, it's nice if ex's can be friends. But. Tried that. See number 3.<br />7) The way I want to talk to you. That's probably not your fault, but I'm adding it onto this list anyway, because it's related. See, I'm full of myself. I accept that. But it means that when somebody says they'll love me forever, I expect it to be true. Even after we've broken up. It has worked in three other cases (because I really am that awesome). But then again, I was friends with them before dating them. But anyway back to number seven. So. You never said you loved me (near the end there I was kind of expecting it and rather dreading it, so thanks at least for that). But the emo-y status' (stati?) after? Love lost and all that? Pretty sure it wasn't.<br />Wait. Back to number seven. I expect people to want to talk to me. At least the people I want to talk to. And I usually want to talk to everybody. But I don't want to start conversations. So yeah, I'm one of those people who puts thing as the im status that is a good conversation starter. It works for me. And every single time you've been on (as far as I know. I didn't really always scroll down to see if you were on), you commented. Makes me more full of myself. But. I always feel like talking more to the people who talk to me. So therefore I wanted to talk to you. Maybe this isn't logical seeing as how I've kind of disliked you since August for being a w.b. and everything. But whatever. Works in my world. Usually.<br />8) You called me a bitch. Normally, I dislike swears. I try to avoid them, because I see them as pointless and think that there are always other, better words. But I kind of get the feeling that you were trying to piss me off by calling me a bitch. Which just annoys me. Like, the word doesn't bother me. I usually just look at people until they attempt to find a different word in their vocabulary or just, you know, do without. But this is a different case. First off, you can't really glare at people over im, especially when they do it through other people. Second, you wanted a reaction so of course, I try to do none. I hate it when people try to piss me off. It's fine when they're doing it jokingly. But to be serious about it? I don't get the point. So it's annoying. But sorry, I'm not ticked about it. Or maybe I am. I haven't been honestly angry in several months, so maybe this is what it's like now?<br />Whatevs.<br />Peace.<br /><br />(His im through the other girl? "<span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#00ff00;">tell her to stop being a bitch, and if she doesnt want to talk to me tell me already cause i will stop cause im tired of dealing with her and this nonsense</span>"<br />Dude.<br />I'm the one who precipitated this whole breakup thing. I gave up on you in August and blocked you on im and Facebook. <span style="font-style: italic;">you made a new account to im me</span> (September) asking me why and can't we talk and I was like "sure. fine. whatever." I believe part of that conversation went something like "I just want to feel like I can say 'hi'." ... So. If what I'm doing qualifies me as a bitch, I'm fine being one. I actually don't care what you think about me. Back in August you told me to 'have a nice life'. I decided that the best life I could have didn't involve you. Then you wanted to talk to me anyway.<br />So here goes *sarcastically deep breath* "I <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span></span>don't want to talk to you. Seriously."<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Sorry anybody reading this, seeing as you're probably not the Dear John the letter is for.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">You probably don't care.<br />But I really just wanted to write this out. And, you know, post it somewhere he might eventually run across it. Not that he reads blogs because, you know, he doesn't think he's a nerd like me.<br />(#9. Calling me things I don't call myself. It's fine to agree with me when I insult myself. But making up new ones? Not cool)<br /><br /><br />I hope the rest of my posts are witty enough to make up for this one. I feel like this one isn't very funny or amusing or anything. Unless you can relate?<br /></span>Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-26534254450438956252009-11-08T08:10:00.000-08:002009-11-08T08:22:06.124-08:00Is it a bad thing if... (1)Is it a bad thing that I can't smell pot?<br /><br />Not clay. I can smell clay. I kind of like the smell of clay, at least I remember that I do. I haven't had the opportunity to play with clay in a while.<br /><br />No. Several people came out of a neighbor's room. A couple people from around me commented on the terrible smell, how much it stank, etc.<br />And I couldn't smell anything. At all. Not even I smelled it and it didn't smell bad, I just couldn't smell it.<br /><br />I've never smoked anything. I've done nothing that should have destroyed my capacity to smell. But I can't smell pot.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Other:<br />So, one of the reasons I'm blogging is <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/">Allie</a>. She doesn't know it yet, but we'll be practically best friends at some point, maybe.<br />She's awesome. I love her blog, her responses to comments, her sexy lion. I'd add to her two proposals of the week, but I think I'll just wait for the <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2009/11/sometimes-i-am-overwhelmed-by-how_05.html">marriage license</a>.<br /><br /><br />Look at me and my links! I impress myself, sometimes, when I make technology work the way I want it to.<br />I mean, I can usually make it do <span style="font-style: italic;">some</span>thing. Just not, you know, necessarily what I <span style="font-style: italic;">want</span> it to do.Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1010728564456896532.post-4366953368585157922009-11-08T05:23:00.000-08:002009-11-08T08:26:02.466-08:00IntroductionWell hello there. This is going to be a place where the posts will be short, but hopefully frequent and recent. (I never noticed how well those two words go together before.)<br />Some of them will not make sense.<br />Many of them, probably. If you dislike this, then I'd recommend finding some travel blog or cooking blog or humor blog (<a href="http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/">cakewrecks</a> and <a href="http://craftastrophe.net/">craftastrophe</a> are two of my favorites, but more on that later perhaps?). Those usually make sense. And are kind of hilarious.<br /><br />I probably won't type proper English all the time. I tend to leave out capitals. Feel free to be a grammar nazi, but it won't get you very far.<br />(Have you ever noticed that when you put a backslash "/" between words it means "and/or"? Which in turn means "and and/or or"? And etcetera ad infinita until you realize that you should probably have something better to do with your life besides finding infinite loops that are really more infinite linear progressions.)<br /><br /><br /><br />Thought of the moment: I love the view from my window. Actually, pretty much any window. Except for the ones that have terrible placement and show you a brick or stone wall. If it's a grassy wall, I guess it's acceptable. But really: I love views. Of roofs, of houses, of mountains, of trees, of brick buildings, of the sky. Give me a good sky (which is any sky, really) and I'll be happy for the day. As long as I remember that, I'm happy. Because there's always a sky above me and it's always some shade of some amazing color, any time of day.<br />Sure, you can throw some religion in there and say the Creator created everything and is perfect so everything is perfect so of course that makes perfect logical sense.<br />But really, you don't need religion to appreciate something amazing.<br />Just accept that it's pretty. It doesn't really matter why. Revel in what your senses tell you. Enjoy everything around you. Might as well.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Update</span><br />(oh look! bold! how... bold.)<br />This says I posted it shortly after 5am. This is not true. I'm asleep at 5am. Everyday practically. Without fail, except for those occasional days when I'm awake. The internet lies to you. I'd have made that a gerund, but spellcheck told me it didn't exist as a word.<br />Why would the internet ever lie to you? It's like you can't trust <span style="font-style: italic;">any</span>one anymore. Come on, internet. I expected more of you. Aren't you stalking me? Shouldn't you get your facts straight?Me, Myself, and Ihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04491968084804855644noreply@blogger.com0