Losing Your Grip

Voices swirling,
Writhing,
Weaving,
Tangle my mind,
Snarling,
Seething.
Phantom thoughts,
Entities consuming,
Flaming,
Fuming,
Claw at my sanity.

Figures dancing,
Lunging,
Leaping,
Circle my heart,
Mocking,
Morphing.
Shadow ravens,
Formless demons,
Searing,
Scratching,
Tear at my eyes.

Visions crowding,
Pressing,
Pulling,
Delude my senses,
Pounding,
Pushing.
Illusions of smoke,
Demented dreams,
Twisting,
Tugging,
Reality no more.

--

Yeah. I like writing. A lot. :)

He Doesn't Even Know

He's my entire world,
And he doesn't even know.

He doesn't know I still blush when he says my name,
Or that his laugh is my favorite sound on this earth.

He doesn't know that I only feel safe in his arms,
Nowhere else,
Or that I literally get lost looking into his eyes.

He doesn't know that I don't feel alive without him,
Without his breath on my neck
Or his lips on mine.

He doesn't know that his hands are the most beautiful,
His smile the most intoxicating,
His embrace my safest haven from the world.

He doesn't know that even when we bicker,
Even when I get worked up over the little nothings,
I never go a moment without being grateful for him.
For us.

Because he is my constant,
My best friend and soul mate,
And I will never know what I could have done so right
To deserve his presence in my life.

After all,
I have an angel by my side who is so humble,
So focused on the road before us
And looking to catch me when I stumble along the way,

That he doesn't even know he has wings.

My Truth

Recent events have made it very clear that, though I abhor this fact, I have absolutely no control over most of my life. None at all. Which, of course, sends my clawing-for-control self spiraling into panic every now and then.

I'm trying to be "okay" with this reality, which is much easier said than done. Obviously.

To the rest of the population, this may very well be old news. Common sense. Call it what you will. But see, it's never been this blatantly neon-sign-obvious for me until these past months, and to be blunt: I don't like it.

However, seeing as how one can't change the realities of life in general (aside from what little they as an individual have control of), I have come to the conclusion that I need to freakin' get it together.

So.

I have been contemplating what is absolute, in order to minimize the unsettling nature of my utter lack of control in everything else. And here's what I've come up with:

Gravity is an absolute. Laugh if you want, but sometimes something as simple as knowing you won't go floating off into the void of space anytime soon is a comfort.

I call it God, you might call it something else. But there's that ever-present and all-powerful force that doesn't morph or disappear despite the wavering of my own little presence. And knowing that something so much larger than all I can ever hope to comprehend exists is, in itself, a complete relief. Kind of puts things into perspective, you know?

My mind, body, and spirit are my own. No one else can touch them unless I allow it. My thoughts are locked safely in my head, my heart is mine to give, and my body is under my own control.

And not to bring up the dead and buried, but nothing my dad did or could have done had the potential to take any of this away from me.

I feel oddly liberated by this knowledge and, yet, somehow unnerved. It's as if the world seems much bigger and I feel smaller, more vulnerable. I have my shell, but there's still so much to figure out.

I think I need to do some serious soul-searching, soon. I feel like, despite my epiphany, I'm still missing a big part of the picture.

A big part of...me.

Eh, chalk it up to my eccentricities.

Cruel Irony

Is it just me or does life have a silly sense of humor? Like, where at every turn you feel inclined to shout to the heavens "Really? Just, really?" even though you'll look like a loony?

For instance, I usually finish my homework like a fairly responsible student. Granted, a procrastinating student who finishes the work last minute the majority of the time, but still. I deserve a little credit. And I usually find, to my complete and utter non-shock, that we've been given leniency on the deadline and I didn't have to stay up late finishing it after all. Ha.

Ba-dum-psh!

Or, what's even better, the rare times I don't complete an assignment and dare to hope that, like usual, there will be an extension on the due date, there isn't. And on these occasions, you can bet the professor is in a really unforgiving mood for no particular reason other than Lady Luck is enjoying a laugh at my expense.

Ba-dum-psh!

Another example. Who only gets sick on weekends, when the weather is nice and school isn't in session? Or, worse yet, who gets sick on the few days when you actually want (or more than likely, purely need) to go to class? Yup, me too.

Ba-dum-psh!

Become suddenly hungry (nay, starving) when the room is silent and listen in horror to the sudden roaring of your stomach. People turn to look at you as you blush and try in vain to sink further into your seat.
Ba-dum-psh!

Enjoy the luxury of auto-transport to work/classes every day for God knows how long in the sunshine, and the one day you have to walk somewhere it's pouring rain. And then, when you think it can't get any more ironic, it begins to hail.
Ba-dum-psh!

Your shoe laces magically untie themselves so you trip in front of your boss.
Ba-dum-psh!

You study all night for an exam and find, when the test in placed in front of you, that you studied the wrong material.
Ba-dum-psh!

...

You spend some time blogging to clear your head and then find, to your incredulous surprise, that you're due to leave in a few minutes and have misused the time allotted to research a paper.
BA-DUM-PSH!



I am SO there right now...

Crossing the Line

Warning: incoming rant. Big time.

The last few weeks have got me thinking about some of the contradictions in life. Now, there are plenty that I could go on about for several long paragraphs, but for now I do believe I'll focus on the more prominent of the many, the one that has really gotten a hold of my attention recently.

Some people claim to be individuals, quirky and unique, but only to a point. A very small point that's not even slightly astray from the norm.

Phrases like "that outfit is out of season" or "if you do that in public I will deny that I even know you" are common among these cases, in my own experience. Clothing and accessories are carefully chosen to appear eclectic, yet only within such boundaries that the end result is replicated on ten freakin' percent of the population in their brand-name sweatshirts and fitted jeans.

Now, I'm not going to claim that I haven't happily followed a trend or two. However, I've been fortunate enough to find a balance, where I at least don't absolutely fear everything that could get me a few weird glances.

I mean, really, how dull would life be if true individuality was something to be feared? If you couldn't walk happily down the sidewalk with a yo-yo bobbing up and down at your side? If greetings like "hail, brethren" would ruin you? If wearing a shirt with an anteater on it was too odd of a fashion statement? (Yes, these are all common occurrences in my world. And what a spectacular world it is to live in!)

Truth be told, I find it very sad that some never experience this joy, this freedom from caring about what the public's reaction will be. A simple fact that is unknown to many is that, hey, the worst thing someone can do when you wear those elf ear tips to class is stare and make some rude comment. But guess what? Even those snide remarks are just made in shallow ignorance, because they too don't know the joy you do in living out your own identity despite the limitations set by society. And I guarantee that the one or two people that commend you on your eccentricity are people that either one, are enjoying the same freedom from norms, or two, might now be one step closer to experiencing that freedom for the first time.

Trends aren't bad and mainstream isn't always a horrible thing to indulge in, but if trapped in the endless cycle of "monkey see monkey do", I worry someone is missing out on one of the essential freedoms offered to us in life.

Can I hear an amen?!

...crickets chirping...

Right-oh then. Carry on.

Classes, Cookies, and Crazies

Wow, I really fail at keeping up with this. My sincerest and utmost apologies...

The good news is I'm not dead.

The bad news is my thirst for blogging may continue to go unsatisfied for the time being. SIGH.

It turns out being a student consumes a lot of time. (I know, weird right?) Luckily, I have a very thought-provoking class and another course that involves photography. And, here's the likely best part: I have a shiny new camera! Whoopee! So I expect that whatever I do manage to post, whenever that may be, will hopefully include some of my better shots. Hey, maybe one of them will even inspire a poem or something along that line.

On a rather random side note, I do believe I may be developing certain tendencies that may cause me to appear...oh, I don't know, COMPLETELY NUTS. Like, more-so than my usual "nuts". For instance, I have developed a bit of a nervous twitch since my dad died in May, so I'm always subconsciously drumming my fingers or fidgeting in some way. *Glances down at tapping foot and rolls eyes*And half the time I just don't feel up to socializing, since I've come to realize humankind is much less frustrating to just watch, rather than actually mingle with. Plus, in addition to the latter, I have the attention span of a freakin' schizophrenic monkey. I'll begin a sentence and halfway through I cannot remember what I was getting at to begin with. I fear I'm beginning to look the part of reclusive, mentally unstable girl who clutches her iPod like a starving child would the last chocolate chip cookie on earth.

Yup. I'm that girl.

Well, I'm off to listen to said chocolate-chip-cookie-iPod-of-awesomeness and attempt to write something substantial. Hopefully I can pull together some combination of words that will actually make sense, maybe draw up a poem or-- or... Meh, I lost it. Schizophrenic monkey moment...

Ciao, people. Stay earthbound, 'cause space can't handle your level of spiffiness.

New Directions

I think that, at least for the time being, I need to start writing something other than the sporadic articles I've been doing. Other than my last post, it's pretty much been the little voice inside of my head venting whatever pops into this little ol' head of mine. Well, that's something I might very well revert back to soon, but for now I need to make a change. I have creativity up the wazoo. It's maddening.

So, a quick summary of what's about to happen here:

I'm writing a novel. A good majority of what I write for the novel turns into something else, a poem or short story. Said poems or short stories end up sitting on my desktop, gathering virtual dust.

Therefore, in an effort to conserve that valuable natural resource that is virtual dust, I will post some of the snippets.

The following is one of those forlorn dust collectors. I hope it fares better here than it has in my Documents folder. (It's rather hard not to...)

--

A Heeded Warning:

Elenea walked quietly beside her twin brother that afternoon and let her mind wander. She pondered over childhood memories, as she often did, and smiled to herself. The day was relatively calm, and thus a perfect time to daydream. Several hours had passed when the two siblings passed through the trees into a sunny clearing, where scattered trees with thin limbs cast scrawny shadows upon the tall grasses.

Suddenly, Elenea stopped. She grabbed Falcon’s arm and swooned slightly. Her bright blue eyes grew unfocused and cloudy as the color slowly drained from her delicate face. Falcon, concerned, held her upright and watched her with an anxious stare. These spells were never a good sign.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the episode stopped. Elenea’s eyes cleared and she let go of Falcon, stumbling a little as she stepped away. “

No… no, it’s not possible,” she muttered, staring off towards the west.

“What is it?” Falcon asked, startled by the look of bewilderment on his sister’s face.

She didn’t appear to hear him and took off running through the clearing towards the setting sun. Falcon sprinted after her, his heart pounding like thunder in his chest.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

--

Tis obviously just an eensy-weensy piece of what was going to be a chapter of the story, but I ended up editing it out. I like the suspense of where it leaves off, so I ended up keeping it despite its homelessness and lack of appropriate label.

Adieu, my fellow homo sapiens. Until we blog again.

Dad

She presses her knuckles into her eyes, against the pressure building in her skull. She feels the hot tears welling, the veins in her temples beginning to swell. It burns as the tears seep out and trail down her face. She bites down on her lip, hard.

She won't scream out loud, but she can hear it echoing in her head. Goosebumps prickle up her arms. She can't silence the sound, the cry of anguish, of fury and pain. It sounds almost animalistic, like a howl, and it pierces her mind as if a searing bolt of lightning.

If she could lay her hands on him one more time, if by some miracle he rose from his sleep, she would surely send him back to his grave herself. With her bare hands. She pulls her fists from her her face and pries her trembling fingers apart. She stares blindly at the bloody gouges in her palms where her nails pierced the flesh.

She doesn't feel the physical pain, the sting of her wounds. Flashes of a similar time ravage her memory, of a time when she didn't feel. It was an existence of emptiness, cold and lifeless in a shell. She had found her way back to the living, crawled through nightmares on her hands and knees to the distant light she had lost. Now, even in death, the bastard was dragging her back.

This time the scream is real. Her hands clench back into fists and she hurls herself to the floor, to her knees. She presses her knuckles to her temples, harder this time, and her aching lungs heave.

The cries give way to sobs.

The sobs give way to silence.

And in the end, her foggy gaze rests on the fresh grave. Her face is pale and wet from the tears, her hair disheveled and her eyes rimmed in a sore red.

She feels empty, like all she had been was torn from her body with each sob until there was nothing left; nothing further to poison or rip away.

She could tell people it seems unreal, but it doesn't. It feels all too real. The memories were real, before they were shattered. The man was real, before he put a gun to his own head and pulled the trigger. Her happiness was real, before it was reduced to broken shards.

That single bullet ended a whole lot more than one man's life.

The Saurus

As someone who consciously seeks inspiration frequently and subconsciously seeks inspiration every moment I'm alive (Yes, that is a little odd how I worded that...sorry!), I sometimes find myself running into dead ends. Indeed, the universe is full of things that blow your mind, that send the light bulb above your head shooting sparks in a dizzying frenzy, but sometimes I, being the distracted and slightly disorganized type, can't seem to zero in on what inspires me or hold it in my sights long enough to put it on paper.

Hence the reason I cannot seem to pull the shards of my novel together. Blast.

Well, I've discovered (or re-discovered, if you count the previous times) how fantastic a Thesaurus truly is.

My old friend The Saurus, cracked open again today. My my, how many times I've flipped through these tattered pages, scanned each entry, a rabid hunger for fresh vocabulary eating away at my sanity until I ultimately collapse, exhausted and unable to read another word!

That was only slightly exaggerated, I assure you. Moving on...

Here are some findings that, to many eyes, might appear insignificant. But to me, to my inquisitive and over-analyzing eyes, they are beautiful.

Lavish. A fairly common word, when compared to others, but exquisite nonetheless. Just say it to yourself. Lavish. Lavish. Phonetically, it just sounds gorgeous. Lavish. Good, now say it with an accent. Lavish. Heh. Okay, I'm done with this one for now.

Guttural. The perfect word to describe the harsher sounds of languages like German, or those classic villainous side-kicks from stories that are large, masculine, and speak like gorillas. Other wondrous words with similar meaning include: husky, hoarse, raspy, croaking, gruff, and inarticulate.

Abhorrence. A foe of great magnitude in my spelling competitions in middle school. It's quite a beast of a word, which I find ironic due to its meaning. HA. I made a funny.

I like this one based on the fact that its definitions are rather random. Odd. A teeny tiny, eensy-weensy word with quite a range of meanings. Synonyms include: not divisible by two, queer, outlandish, being one of a pair OR having no mate, various, casual, spasmodic (Ooh, that's a really good one. I like this word as well.), and spare. Not even kidding, I'm reading these directly from The Saurus.

Okay, so there's a multitude more and maybe I didn't list the rarest of the rare finds in my old Saurus, but my brain still suffers from the past semester so I'm only expecting short posts from myself for a while. Chances are I'll have to post a part two of this anyway.

Thought for the day: Read some unusual words aloud and enjoy the unfamiliarity of some of the sounds on your own tongue. I've been surprised to find that quite a lot of my interior word bank consists of words I've only ever read and never heard spoken. Weird stuff...

The Undo Button

Forget the deep, thoughtful drivel I've been spewing of late. Today, I just want to make someone laugh. I think this honest (and slightly unnerving, if you ask me) post may do just that.

So, some friends of mine and I were sitting at a coffee shop the other day. We were chatting, catching up on some things, you know the drill. And it occurred to me that we needed an incredibly random concept to converse about, just to shake up a talk that was mostly comprised of school-related news. So I took a bit of a leap, socially speaking, and blurted: "Hey, if you had a giant undo button that you could use only once, what would you do?"

Even I don't know why or how my brain functions the way it does. And it's my brain.

Anyway, after a brief moment of further explaining what I mean by the rather abstract idea, I offered an example to my comrades. To summarize, it included running up to random people and assailing them with psychotic gestures and facial expressions, letting loose a barrage of irrelevant and meaningless phrases to frighten them further, and then stealing a shoe as I flee before they manage to react properly.

Now, you can imagine the incredulous looks on their faces. Man, sometimes I wonder how my friends keep up with my thought processes.

Moving on.

Being the person I am, I've been completely infatuated with my own proposed question since then. And I've been coming up with some, if you ask me, awesome ideas.

One. Jump on top of some cars as they sit at a red light and refuse to get off, even when the drivers jump out and threaten to inflict bodily harm upon me. (Side note: if/when the drivers actually move to inflict said harm, flee before damage is inflicted. Aka pain is bad.)

Two. Scale the roofs of various short-ish buildings and cause a public disturbance by dancing on said roofs.

Three. When law enforcement arrives on scene to remove me from the premises, act as crazy and unruly as possible while being restrained. (I'll only get to do this once. Better make it count.) Then escape.

Four. Find every person I've never liked and make them legitimately frightened for their own safety, without laying a finger on them.

Five. Find the undo button and use it before the real consequences set in.

Let's just hope that, for my own sake and that of the public, this wondrous button never comes into existence.

So, how about you? Yes, you. What would you do if you had an undo button?


Develop your plan. It's more entertaining than I care to admit.

Unknown Territory

U-N-C-E-R-T-A-I-N-T-Y. I have quickly become acquainted with this word and how it seems to have swallowed my life up.

I have a chosen career path that I am currently in the midst of following, and that is the path to becoming a Paramedic.

But wait! There's more.

As I pursue my current goal of achieving Paramedic-level certification in the field of Emergency Medical Services, I am currently employed at a little family-owned restaurant running the register and flipping burgers. Burgers.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't mind the job. But tell me, what does flipping burgers and earning meager tips have to do with stopping an arterial bleed, or taking charge at the scene of a cardiac arrest?

Ah, let's see, that would be absolutely nothing.

I have also recently enrolled in classes that will soon train me in the ancient arts of crafting alcoholic beverages. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I will soon be a bartender.

And does this have anything to do with my chosen occupation? Again, that correlation would be minuscule, at best.

Oh, it gets better.

I aspire to finish a novel that has been in its early stages for about four years now. The title "novelist" has a certain ring to it that I find rather appealing. So, let's add that to my list.

Ah, and my cockatiel has chosen this next one. She and I have had so much fun together that I've developed a desire to train more parrots. Maybe even see if there's a degree that specializes in avian behaviors and training. Eh, who knows.

One more that I almost forgot. I was, until about two years ago, enrolled in an art school. I was an A student in the program and then ran out of money, as well as grew rather frustrated with the level of skill required for the various mediums with assignments. (Turns out I'm more of an ink-and-paper type girl. Irony.) So, I was also an aspiring artist who might give it another go in the future. Time will tell.

Alright, let's see what we have here in picture format:

I'm working my way through Paramedic instruction by flipping burgers. I just enrolled in a course to become a bartender and hopefully pay my way through classes with fewer salary problems. In the meantime, I work on my book and pray that one day I'll be a respected novelist who actually gets paid to write. Le gasp! And maybe, in a few years, I'll have the time to build an aviary and specialize in parrot training. And mixed in there, I'll attend the rest of my art courses and become an artist.

And I won't even delve into the plan I had for about twelve or thirteen years... but to summarize, I was about 99.8 percent certain I was destined to enter a convent as a religious nun.

It's seriously official. I have no clue what my future has in store for me.

Ah well. I, as well as many of my fellow homo sapiens, have grown accustomed to that feeling you get in your gut when you're falling to only God knows where.

It's called life. And it's a rush.

In the Stillness

Have you ever reclined beneath clear skies, your skin warmed by the rays of the distant sun and cooled again by a mild breeze? Goosebumps prickle down your skin at the wonderfully contradictory sensations that manage to complement each other so beautifully. The day is calm, some would say dull, but you find such peace and serenity by merely existing in the midst of such a simple majesty.

Yes. Today is one of those days. Ironically, I haven't even been outside for any substantial amount of time, or relaxed beneath the sun and enjoyed the breeze. The closest I got to that ideal setting was pumping gas into the car and getting blown about a bit by gusts of wind.

Now, tell me how I can be feeling this serene in the midst of such a monotonous lifestyle. (Common sense would be baffled.)

And yet, here I am, happy as a clam and grateful for the life I've been given. And I've been lying in the lush green fields of tall grasses beneath a clear Irish sky in my head for hours. Go figure.

Rarely do I reach such a point of contentment that I pay attention to the joys of merely existing. My heart is pulsating in my chest. I breathe in and out, in and out, rhythmically and without fail. My eyes behold the beautiful world around me, the faces and movements of people I don't even know. I hear everything, from the low murmurings of distant voices to the rattling hum of the heater.

And I'm entranced by it all.

My message to the world today: Take time to smell the flowers. Watch the clouds go by. Smile at a stranger, and watch his or her face brighten at the gesture.

And live. Just live.

Death

Death. It's the one thing that happens to every single one of us at some point.

Yet, have you ever noticed how much it scares us?

It's not a foreign concept. There is Life and Death. It's part of a cycle, one that has been going on since the dawn of life in the beginning of time. It brings everything into balance, full circle. Every creature that has life will one day lose it. We are born into existence, then one day we die. That has always been the way of things.

What I can't wrap my head around is why death is such a terrifying mystery to us. After all these centuries.

Is it how we might die that strikes horror into our hearts?

Do we fear the timing of our demise?

Or is it maybe a reluctance to acknowledge what may become of us after death?

Maybe we don't even know... we just fear. But what will fear get you? Nothing but wasted time.

"Never take life too seriously. No one gets out alive anyway." This is brilliant, plain and simple. (Granted, I have absolutely no clue to whom I should give credit...)

Think about it. We can't avoid death, no matter how we might try. None of us can. It doesn't pick and choose. So why live in constant trepidation of what is inevitable?

I am in no way attempting to write all this with a tone of desolation and hopelessness. Quite the contrary, actually.

The message is: Live life to its fullest. Die a happy person one day. Whether that day is coming sooner rather than later or won't arrive for another hundred years, it's out of our control.

We cannot alter the past, but we can determine out present. And, in doing so, we can better our future.

Carpe diem, my friends.

Returning From the Reality I Have For So Long Avoided

I apologize for my sudden absence these past weeks. My dad's health took a bit of a turn for the worst and life in general has been a wee bit inhibitory when it comes to time spent writing.

Anyway, enough with excuses. I'm back! And happy to be back too.

I recently realized how very therapeutic this blog is for me. Even if no one else on this planet reads my word drivel and erratic rantings, it is unimaginably helpful when it comes to my happiness. Plus, if even one person reads this and is, even if for one mere moment, entertained or inspired, then I have made a difference (however small it may be) for someone I might not even know. So why not?

For today's message, I give you some of the most interesting dialogue I have ever heard.

"Me? I'm dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you have to watch out for. You never can predict if they're going to do something incredibly... stupid."

Do you know what this is from? Here's a hint: it's a movie. And a freaking good one at that.


Yes, ladies and gentlemen, these are the words of a pirate, savvy? Captain Jack Sparrow's messages of wisdom have consistently kept me smiling. It is my sincere hope they do the same for you.

...

Please note: I own neither the mentioned quote nor the image displayed above. They are posted here for informal discussion purposes. No infringement on copyrights is intended.

A Look From Behind My Eyes

I have this odd and slightly annoying habit of watching the masses of people I don't personally know as they go about their business. Yes, I sit there alone at a table and gaze out at the swirling chaos of humanity, my music blaring in my headphones and what I'm sure is a rather distant expression in my eyes. And yes, I am aware that this is a weird habit. Moving on.

Though this may sound a little strange to some, it's surprisingly enjoyable. Seriously, give it a try some time. Just sit in your local coffee shop, college campus, or place of your choosing; good, step one is complete. Now let your mind aimlessly wander as you observe the faces so foreign to you that make their way in and out of your line of sight. You never know; that quiet older gentleman playing chess over there might just inspire you. So take note of these beings that coexist in your little corner of the world, and let them move you to create.

I was watching the comings and goings of my fellow college students on campus today. [Technically, I was studying for a big test; however, when one's brain becomes incapable of basic human thought, you know it's time to halt any and all attempts to do anything but sit still and breathe.] So anyway, as I sat back for a few minutes to regain any semblance of sanity I have left, I found myself taking mental note of the vast assortment of people who walk by me each day that I hardly notice.

There's the kid who hardly looks a day over sixteen reclining in a corner with massive headphones clamped on his cranium, partially hidden behind his large laptop that's displaying what are probably his own original graphic designs on the screen.

Just as I'm probably thinking he looks like he hasn't seen sunlight since his early childhood, a girl walks by whose lime-green spiked hair catches my eye. As I glance at her, she sits at a large table with several of her slightly boisterous colleagues, all adorned with various piercings and outfits I never knew existed. And this chain continues.

And, in case you're wondering, I did indeed forget my original goal of studying. Problem numero uno with this creative stimulus.

Now, I'm afraid I must finally seek solace in the sanctity of my dreams. At least until that blasted alarm goes off. Eh, I digress...

Adieu! Parting is such sweet sorrow.

And the Words Keep Flowing...

I realized yesterday how very much I love my creative writing class. We were given an assignment, of course, and upon initial examination it didn't appear a though it would be of any significance or unadulterated enjoyment. Boy, was I wrong.

I wrote feverishly for a day and probably looked more than a little disturbed as I crouched over my laptop, typing as quickly and excitedly as my fingers could manage. All because of a simple assignment. Wow.

Yet, as trivial as it may seem, I did savor every second of that project. Don't ask me why, even I have no clue. But the story just wove itself out of the twisted mesh of suppressed creativity that entangles my mind. And methinks it actually turned out fairly well.

That essay, which was supposed to involve a real person I'm familiar with in a scene I create, ended up being much longer than intended, but I think that's for the best. Here's the first few lines, just to give you an idea of what I'm talking about:

...

Melana slowly drifted back from her deep slumber. A cool breeze caressed her skin and blew curly wisps of her long brown hair across her face. With a wistful smile and a content sigh, she opened her eyes and beheld the golden horizon of yet another beautiful morning. She turned and dangled her legs off the high oak limb, her fingers gingerly tracing the grooves and lines of the rough bark. Her smile broadened as she inhaled the crisp, moist scent of the dew-covered grasses below.

...

This is based on my friend (whose name I changed in the essay for the purpose of anonymity) who, as she says, has "a thing for sensing energies." That's cool, I respect that, and it was what inspired this story.

Fare thee well, readers. I look forward to our next exchange. And, again, feel free to comment as you wish. Huzzah!

Response to a Random Question

For those of you who have no idea what this post is and are probably thinking along the lines of "What in the world is this maniac up to today?", there is actually some reasoning behind the topic. I originally asked for one of those enticing questions on my blog's profile and quickly found that it required a rather lengthy answer. Well, surprise; there's only so much room for a response on the profile. So, despite the fact that logic would compel one to either shorten the answer or choose a different question altogether, I chose to instead post my extensive and thorough reply here, where a post that consists of more than 400 characters is permitted, maybe even preferred.

And the randomly selected question is... *drum roll please*

"You're trapped in a well with a goat and a slinky. Describe how you will escape."

(Heh heh.)

The solution is simple, my dear young Padawan.

First, I construct a space age satellite using the versatile slinky, a few strands of goat hair, and one of my shoes. Then, fueling the satellite with some of the goat's nutritious, life-giving milk, I make contact with my colleagues on the planet Quipal. Once contact is established, my allies hastily board their space craft (which is shaped like a massive two-headed turtle) and journey to the well's coordinates, obtained by tracking a microchip that was embedded in my left shoulder the day I was born in anticipation of this very situation. Upon their arrival, the extraterrestrials will attempt to extricate myself and the goat, whose name is Glitter, but fail due to a nearby tapioca pudding spill from a motor vehicle accident involving a rampaging rhinoceros and a tanker truck carrying cargo destined for a pudding and licorice dispensary.

(What is that, you say? You've never heard that the inhabitants of Quipal are weakened by tapioca, which greedily absorbs their life energy and renders them ineffective as rescuers? Disgraceful! Everyone know that.)

Now, where was I? I was momentarily distracted by the blatant display of ignorance... Ah, yes, now I recall. Ahem.

Upon the arrival of the Quipalians' closest allies, a league of ultra intelligent tuna that thrive on dry land and have an insatiable desire to devour tapioca pudding near wells, the dreaded spill is contained and thus the extraterrestrials' power restored. Finally, following the ceremonial giving of ninja figurines to the tuna in thanksgiving for eliminating the terrible threat, my dear old friends once again attempt to rescue both myself and Glitter, my hoofed comrade. This time, the extrication is successful.

Truly, strong in that well the Force is.

From the Featherless Mama Bird

Behold, my precious feather child! Yes, I'm one of those people, who happily spend the majority of their funds purchasing every unnecessary doodad and shiny object that their little one can possibly use. My bank account has been drained, thanks to the little bird you're looking at. Yet, I admit it, I couldn't be happier. She is my baby, after all.

Tee-tee is a white face cockatiel, who enjoys admiring her own startling beauty in various assortments of mirrors, receiving kisses and cuddles from her slave of a mother, and whistling various giggles and squeaky dog toy noises. Granted, the imitations are rather poor and she doesn't often sound like the various objects and people she mimics... but the hilariously pathetic attempts only make the show more entertaining. She is most definitely one of the most pampered creatures of all time... and let me tell you. She savors every second of it.

Why I decided to dedicate this post to my baby, I couldn't tell you. But nonetheless, you do have to admit that she is beyond adorable, no?

Venturing Forth

Greetings, my fellow writers. It is my greatest pleasure to announce that this is, indeed, my first post on my first blog. Ah, what an experience!

For those reading this who are no doubt thinking along the lines of "Who is this strange creature who calls herself 'Rahwyn'? And what kind of literary drivel can I expect from her?" Well, my dear readers, of all the labels you might apply to my blog in the near future, I sincerely hope "humorous" and "fascinatingly odd" are included.

Though I'm absolutely dying to exhaust my writing efforts in explaining every detail about myself and what I hope to accomplish, I do believe I'm going to keep this post short and sweet. I look forward to posting more (and preferably, more interesting) material in the near future. Please feel free to post comments, criticism, or the like.

Huzzah!