Good:
- Singing opera as loud as I want in the shower because there is nobody around to bitch
- Rescuing the firefly that has been trapped in my window for three days and setting it free
- ASDFASDFASDFASDF ♥♥♥ /dorkdorkdork omg
- Windchimes :)

Bad:
- Guilt
- Not being able to sleep until I'm literally unable to stay awake a second longer. On a regular basis. Sometimes it's merciful and I can sleep at only about 5% ability to stay awake.
- People
- "Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." - J.D. Salinger = hxc truth



Now it's time for bed. Maybe. Time for something.

Taken directly from the WMATA website:



Metro's definition of "mechanical difficulties" and mine are two extremely different things.





Last weekend we had two suicides in as many days, and nothing about them either. I was on the red line on Sunday, and they only referred to it as a "report of someone struck by a train," and only in that wording once. From then on they referred to it as "police activity at Bethesda station."

One train on top of another and up to nine deaths I guess they figure they can't really hide from the public that well. Or maybe disaster on a large scale is more savory and immediately accessible than personal tragedy, the driving forces and fine balances behind one person's decision.

But that's a rant for another time.

So somehow I've accumulated $68 of change in a McCutcheon's jar.

How should I spend it? :)

And how is it I've forgotten how to sleep until I physically cannot stay awake anymore? :/

This is mainly for my own perverse satisfaction, but it has been a long time coming. A very, very long time coming.

Hello, flist. Allow me to introduce to you the veritable bane of my literary existence.

Sylvia Plath Hughes.



There she is, in the 1960s equivalent of a myspace picture. Look how sad she is about her life. Bawww, Sylvia, bawww.

I can’t remember when I encountered Plath and her work for the first time. However I am fairly certain that my hatred for her came to the forefront of my awareness sometime during the course of my high school career. To be fair that’s about the same time I came to dislike reading in general, but there is certainly no other writer for whom I hold such a deep aversion.

Here is why.

( i. the poet herself. )

( ii. plath's work as a reflection of the poet. )

( iii. in conclusion. )

*taken from Sylvia's own piteous question, "Is there no way out of the mind?" and the obvious answer that clearly there is, because the crazy bitch certainly appears to have found it.

You God-damned little creepy motherfuckers,

If I see you I will spray your ass with Febreze Air Effects (the lavender vanilla and comfort variety, if you want to know) until you don't fucking move. And if you do then I'll squirt berry scented hand sanitizer (a commodity very precious to me so I'll be really pissed) on you until you really don't move.

In summary? Come into my space and you're a dead son of a bitch.

Fuck you very truly,

Emily, destroyer of invertebrate worlds

ETA:

Little baby spider,

NO MERCY. NO REPRIEVE.

No love,

Emily


ETA2:

HUGEASS MOSQUITO,

YOU TOO, ASSHOLE.

FUCKIN' A,

EMILY


ETA3:

Got fr srs bsnss bug spray. ;D

I just thought I'd mention that talking to my father is like talking to a small child, probably one under the age of about two and a half. They babble, make noises they think are words, wholly believe that they are having a serious conversation with you and all you can do is smile, nod, and try not to lose your damn mind.

It kind of disappears into the margin there so you can read it better here. :)

Yeah that definitely made me lol just a little. It's always nice to hear those crazy miserable confessional poets had some fun in their time too. xD

i. I wanted to take this opportunity to clear up the fact that no matter what the Department of Homeland Security tells you, yes I am one of those conservatives and no I don't like the Obamessiah but do not call me a terrorist. Okay? Okay. This pisses me off. A lot. This is not goddamn Nazi Germany. This is the United States of America and look at the polarisation that is going on between the left and the right. I am not liking the direction the general political environment in this country is moving in. We're basically going to be the death of each other.

ii. In other news, tomorrow I go down to D.C. to get my vegan birthday cake. Yesss.

iii. Turning 20? Not so yesss. :/

iv. I uh. Apparently really do want to be a poet. Don't laugh... well, okay, maybe just a little. x)

v. I think it's bedtime.

That I am the same person I was four years ago (and she can't survive here)

or if

I am not that person. And desperately miss her. (Want to be.)

This list doesn't contain everyone who is important to me, but everyone I knew, everyone who matters to me who passed away during my lifetime. I've put the day, the name, the age, the cause of death.

I wanted to do this for them. I think that a lot of the time people are afraid to mention the dead. It's okay to do that. I think it's important, and that we should, even though it's hard sometimes.

( in memoria aeterna erit justus )

Maybe I'll put up some pictures later.

I'm pretty sure my sleeping patterns are going to be the death of me...

In other news the Phoenix Wright manga so made my evening. OMG THE RAMEN IS BIGGER THAN YO MAMA'S ASS. xD

Oh yeah and I have an unnatural love for boy bands. *bounceee*

P.S. WHEE I'M GOING TO HELL~

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Moderate
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Moderate
Level 7 (Violent)	Extreme
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test



/hyperactive teenage girl oh my goodness

Happy Valentine's, everybody. I love you all. :)

Guys. This meme is so great. Check it out.

Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays.
You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble
You start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.

( mazurka n. a polish dance resembling the polka, frequently adopted as a ballet form )

So that's that. :) My first completed fanfiction in like a year and a half! Yay!

I'm going back.

In no particular order...

1. Figure myself out.

Well, better than I have. It's long and involved but. It's not a bad thing, I don't think, to know one's self better. And it needs doing. There are some things in my life that need to find their place. There has to be a balance.

2. Meet people.

Okay, okay. People make me. So nervous. I have a negative outlook on them in general, but I think it would benefit me to meet more people. We'll see. It'll likely turn out like all other instances in my life but you know, I've got some infamously terrible luck. Maybe that'll change?

And this may change, based on outcomes, but for now here it is.

3. Be more dutiful.

To who? What a question.

4. Lose about forty pounds.

It's just a number I chose. More effective than thirty, more attainable than fifty. Still, I'm sick of being fat. I have a system that's worked pretty well in the past, so we'll see how it works now.

5. Write more poetry.

It's useless but. It's healthy sometimes, so I think I'll do more of it. Last year I ended up with 53 acceptable poems (most of them don't make it to that stage x.x), which is about one a week, so I want to do at least that many this year.

6. Play more piano.

The piano is something I've been seriously neglecting. I used to play a lot of piano and I don't want to become t3h suck at it, so I'd like to get back into that. No specific goals here, but we'll see what happens.

7. Show more love.

This is kind of a long story, but it's very important to me. I'm going to try to do this, even though most of the time I don't think people fully appreciate the love they are shown from other people. Well. Maybe it'll improve my karma, if nothing else.

8. Be less bitter.

Oh I'm going to surely try.

9. Be less judgmental.

I'm told I'm a bit judgmental, so I'll try to work on that.

10. Find balance.

Okay these last two were just to get to ten. x) Balance needs finding though.

For those of you who don't know, I love poetry. Love love love it. So long as it doesn't suck, that is. So, that being said.

Who would like to rec me some awesome poets? Because I've got three beautiful poets for you.

I would write about how amazing they are but you know, I think you should read their poems instead and find out for yourself.

( 1. Dorianne Laux )

( 2. Judith Pordon )

( 3. My girlfriend's mother )


Yeah... I've got a thing for sad poems. But I like them a lot mhm.

Now. What do you have for me? :)

These four darlings are my cousin Aimee's kids.



Random fact: Aimee is 40(!), btw. Isn't that insane? Anyway, left to right. Charlotte, 6; Max, 13; Faith, 3; and Gracie, 10.

They're positively adorable, yes, I know. :)

I am not a bum, nor am I aspiring to become one. Stop talking to me like this is an episode of Intervention. I'm not on drugs (though you'd like to change that, wouldn't you). I'm not an alcoholic. I'm not pregnant. I'm troubled. Don't come in now and try to play mommy and daddy. I parented myself, and have now outgrown any need for a parent.

I never talk to you because a) I am an intensely private person, a condition your prying only serves to aggravate, and b) you don't listen to me.

Father. So I stay up until five in the morning. I can't sleep. So that's not your normal, but this isn't your life. You get up at five in the morning. That's hardly normal to me, but I don't tell you that you need to adopt a "more conventional" lifestyle. Furthermore don't presume to tell me what I want and don't want to do. Believe it or not I really am a very private person. Don't tell me that I am that way because I "tell myself that's what I want to be." You don't know me. You have never known me. So don't throw an I Love You at me as you walk out the door. It's meaningless to me. A breath in a language I can't understand.

Mother. Just. Just step off. Sure maybe I could have used your guidance in my life at some point in the past two decades, but I certainly don't need you two interfering now. I am an adult, influenced by what I am, and at this point in the proceedings you'll only make things worse. As all outside influences tend to do. Don't tell me that just because I hear voices I must be psychotic. They keep me saner than you do. Also, pansexuality? Bisexuality? They exist. It is not a "moral abomination," nor do I think I am "so avant garde." You can hardly blame me for pursuing love as I have learned it, since I didn't learn it from you.

I am either terribly strong or terribly stupid for coming out of all that I have alive, let alone with as much of my sanity as I have. Either way, you had no part in any of my accomplishments, but you reside at least in some part in my failings. Who knows, maybe you'd have preferred that I let it have me. It may still get me. Maybe you'll be happy. I know I would be, so I can't say it matters much to me which way your feelings bend.

Sometimes I wish that I really were schizophrenic like they say I am. At least then I'd have some hope of detaching from reality enough that I would be spared the consternation and the hopelessness and the knowing.

No love, your daughter only by a couple of unfortunate cells,
Emily