HI. SORRY. I kinda dropped off the face of the earth, there, didn't I?
I wish I could say my life has been hectic...Well, it sort of has. Between vacationing at Cape Cod and home and getting ready for school, I've been kind of busy.
In the span of two weeks, Sorella applied, got accepted, and left for college. We're all very excited for her. She left on Friday, just in time to meet Hurricane Irene on the coast. She lost power, but last I heard didn't need to be evacuated.
Hurricane Irene was a bit of a let down. Everyone hyped it up to be so big and horrible, and yet all we got was some heavy rain and wind. I'm actually disappointed. With all the time I spent tying down lawn furniture and getting candles and food in case we lost power and prepping the house...Incredibly disappointed. No loss of power, no flooded basement, minor debris...
I have many large, old trees around my house, most of which have branches that hang right over our bedrooms. Mater and I evacuated to my Aunt's house, just incase a tree should fall and destroy the house. As you can guess, that wasn't the case.
Pater lost power some time around 11 am this morning and has yet to get it back. Otherwise, everything is uneventful.
Last Sunday, a very dear woman became my Goddess mother. It was a wonderful ceremony, full of laughter and tears and vows and I'm so incredibly lucky to have this woman in my life. I'm sure Whimsy will agree with me.
I've gotten very absorbed in Doctor Who lately (yes, Whimsy, feel proud). It's on instant watch on Netflix, so Mater and I have been watching it almost nonstop. We're currently in season 3, with 1913 England and the Doctor having amnesia and prep-school boys and evil scarecrows. I don't know the episode name or number, can't you tell? So far, it's pretty good. Amnesiac Doctor is insanely adorable, I want to cuddle him.
It's still possible for me to hit fifty-two posts by the end of the year. Wish me luck!
Wander safely,
Arc.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Unhealthy
You are my sister. You are my best friend, my partner in crime, my go-to girl for everything.
And now you’re pushing me away. You’re demanding I leave you alone, ditching me for others, after nights and nights of promises. This isn’t some “we’re growing up and growing apart” scenario. We’re twenty years old.
I know what happened, even though you haven’t told me. And it kills me to know you don’t trust me enough. I know you’re trying to handle it, or so you say; I know you’re ditching therapy whenever you can and not taking your medication. I know that you not telling me isn’t about me; it’s about you and the insanity endlessly circling your mind. But when all I have is the knowledge of you telling everyone but me what the problem is, people Iknow you don’t trust as much as me, what else am I supposed to think?
When your father abused you, you moved in with me. When my mother upset you, or other people made you feel worthless, I made everything okay. We may not share blood, but I’ve always considered you my most important person. You’ve always said that I was yours. Sometimes I wonder if that’s true.
My first tattoo was for you. It embellishes my skin in swirls of black and grey, a permanent stain of how much you meant to me, even though you insisted on getting its mate on your wrist without me. You went with a girl you hardly talk to anymore, yet were furious with me when I considered going without you. I forgave you.
You drove me from my own house, whether or not you meant to. You made me feel uncomfortable asking for time with my mother. You made me feel as if I was constantly wrong, inferior, a mistake, because I was raised with things you never had. I don’t know if I can forgive you.
You canceled an event that meant the world to me, and you knew it. Said you couldn’t handle it. But in reality, you just couldn’t stand the idea of me going without you, when I was the one that put all the work into it, when you put in nothing. I know you’ve endured so much; from your father to school to dyslexia to that night. I know you love me. But when you have a panic attack and say you can’t get over it unless I leave, I can’t forgive you.
It feels as if you hate me. As if I’m a curse, an affliction that needs to be cured. But I know I’m not the broken one. I’m not the one that manipulates their loved ones so I’m the only one in their lives. I’m not the one that flies off the handle over the smallest misinterpretation and attacks others over it for days. I’m not the one that lashes out at the only people who cared enough to take me in.
We took you in because we loved you. We wanted to help you, heal you, give you all the things you’ve been so unfairly denied. But having you in my life does me more harm than it does you good, and that’s not healthy.
You drive me to drink. Did you know that? The last two emotional blow ups have left me suckling bourbon from a bottle as if it were water, and you know I never drink. Yet here I am.
You are my sister. You are my best friend, my partner in crime, my go-to girl for everything.
And I think it’s time you left.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
I Have a Love/Hate Relationship with Dairy
When I was little, I was sort-of lactose intolerant. By sort of, I mean that if I ingested too much dairy in a short period of time, I'd get something akin to a cold. I grew out of it by the time I hit my teens. The same thing happened to my aunt and Fratello (granted, Fratello was allergic to EVERYTHING; milk, eggs, wheat, beans, etc).
Junior year; I had a New Year's party. Just before the party, I had some oreos. But, as always, oreos just aren't as good without milk. So, being a daring individual (because I generally don't drink milk, it tastes funny), I poured myself a glass of milk. It tasted a bit funny, but Mater said it was fine, so I drank it. It turned out to be TWO. WEEKS. EXPIRED. I spent all of New Year's Eve with the porcelain god.
I don't drink milk anymore. Fucking evil cow juice.
Senior year; Sorella and I were left home alone for a weekend. Being unconventional, we decided to get smashed alone instead of with a large group of people.
[Just a note - Rum is NOT your friend. Captain Jack Sparrow is lying.]
Anyways, I drank enough to puke my brains out. Sorella, having a bit more experience with booze, was unaffected. In the middle of the puking, I got a call from my (now) ex-girlfriend. She was pretty straight edge, so I told her that I had eaten expired yogurt. We later fed Mater the same story when I wasn't feeling well when she came home.
I didn't actually eat any yogurt. But I did develop a generalized taste aversion* to yogurt.
Tonight; I had a milk shake from Friendly's. It was a damn yummy milkshake. While I was in the bookstore, it only made my stomach uncomfortable, like I ate too much. The moment I went outside to listen to the Mc'lovins play, I became so incredibly nauseous (Pater later explained that heat speeds up bodily functions). I went home and threw up my milkshake.
Clearly, dairy has something against me. I don't understand why. I really hope I don't get an aversion to milkshakes now.
Wander safely,
Arc.
*Psychology term - Generalized Taste Aversion, discovered by Dr. John Garcia, occurs when someone (or rather, an animal) associates a certain feeling or taste with a food. Because I was thinking of yogurt when I puked up my liquor, the thought of yogurt now makes me nauseous.
Junior year; I had a New Year's party. Just before the party, I had some oreos. But, as always, oreos just aren't as good without milk. So, being a daring individual (because I generally don't drink milk, it tastes funny), I poured myself a glass of milk. It tasted a bit funny, but Mater said it was fine, so I drank it. It turned out to be TWO. WEEKS. EXPIRED. I spent all of New Year's Eve with the porcelain god.
I don't drink milk anymore. Fucking evil cow juice.
Senior year; Sorella and I were left home alone for a weekend. Being unconventional, we decided to get smashed alone instead of with a large group of people.
[Just a note - Rum is NOT your friend. Captain Jack Sparrow is lying.]
Anyways, I drank enough to puke my brains out. Sorella, having a bit more experience with booze, was unaffected. In the middle of the puking, I got a call from my (now) ex-girlfriend. She was pretty straight edge, so I told her that I had eaten expired yogurt. We later fed Mater the same story when I wasn't feeling well when she came home.
I didn't actually eat any yogurt. But I did develop a generalized taste aversion* to yogurt.
Tonight; I had a milk shake from Friendly's. It was a damn yummy milkshake. While I was in the bookstore, it only made my stomach uncomfortable, like I ate too much. The moment I went outside to listen to the Mc'lovins play, I became so incredibly nauseous (Pater later explained that heat speeds up bodily functions). I went home and threw up my milkshake.
Clearly, dairy has something against me. I don't understand why. I really hope I don't get an aversion to milkshakes now.
Wander safely,
Arc.
*Psychology term - Generalized Taste Aversion, discovered by Dr. John Garcia, occurs when someone (or rather, an animal) associates a certain feeling or taste with a food. Because I was thinking of yogurt when I puked up my liquor, the thought of yogurt now makes me nauseous.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Lack of Title is Lacking
I think these last two weeks are the time of death or something.
On the fourth of July, my (almost) 94 year old grandmother died. It's been a long time coming, but it's still really sad. I miss her tons, although I don't think it's really hit me yet that she's gone, and I'm reminded why I dislike Catholic churches. She was a hard core Catholic until the end, so she would probably be pretty happy with the service. Me, on the other hand, my idea of religion is dancing around a maypole.
As said by the post below, one of my kitties, Moustafolees, died of kidney failure.
Now, my other kitty, Riddle (yes, he was named for Tom Riddle. I got him for Christmas when I was in sixth grade), is missing. We've had to keep him outside for the last few weeks because he was peeing in the house, and now he's gone. I really hope he's not dead.
You know, I wonder if he was peeing in the house in protest to dying and Harry Potter winning. You never know. Granted, I'm pretty sure Riddle doesn't even know his name, but hey...*shrug*.
Happier notes! My Goddess Mother ceremony happens next week! One of my favorite women in the world is going to take up vows to be the Goddess Mother of Sorella and I. A Goddess Mother is pretty much the same as a God Mother, but because I follow a religion that recognizes a God and a Goddess, I would have a Goddess Mother and a God Father. However, there is no man I wish to name my God Father right now.
Mater went to Vancouver for a week and a half, and I'm proud to say that Sorella and I didn't burn down the house, need to go to the emergency room, or suffer from malnutrition, all of which were completely possible. When I stop and think about it, the least likely of those three to happen would be burning down the house. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. Sorella has a sort of love/hate relationship with the emergency room; she doesn't like it there, but she keeps needing to go back. And, as most young adults, we're lazy as all hell about food. We figure things will look more appetizing if we're more hungry, there's no need to put in effort to find food just yet.
But, otherwise, all is well in the land of Arcaine (even if this post is late. And incredibly uninteresting. Whoops).
Wander safely,
Arc.
On the fourth of July, my (almost) 94 year old grandmother died. It's been a long time coming, but it's still really sad. I miss her tons, although I don't think it's really hit me yet that she's gone, and I'm reminded why I dislike Catholic churches. She was a hard core Catholic until the end, so she would probably be pretty happy with the service. Me, on the other hand, my idea of religion is dancing around a maypole.
As said by the post below, one of my kitties, Moustafolees, died of kidney failure.
Now, my other kitty, Riddle (yes, he was named for Tom Riddle. I got him for Christmas when I was in sixth grade), is missing. We've had to keep him outside for the last few weeks because he was peeing in the house, and now he's gone. I really hope he's not dead.
You know, I wonder if he was peeing in the house in protest to dying and Harry Potter winning. You never know. Granted, I'm pretty sure Riddle doesn't even know his name, but hey...*shrug*.
Happier notes! My Goddess Mother ceremony happens next week! One of my favorite women in the world is going to take up vows to be the Goddess Mother of Sorella and I. A Goddess Mother is pretty much the same as a God Mother, but because I follow a religion that recognizes a God and a Goddess, I would have a Goddess Mother and a God Father. However, there is no man I wish to name my God Father right now.
Mater went to Vancouver for a week and a half, and I'm proud to say that Sorella and I didn't burn down the house, need to go to the emergency room, or suffer from malnutrition, all of which were completely possible. When I stop and think about it, the least likely of those three to happen would be burning down the house. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. Sorella has a sort of love/hate relationship with the emergency room; she doesn't like it there, but she keeps needing to go back. And, as most young adults, we're lazy as all hell about food. We figure things will look more appetizing if we're more hungry, there's no need to put in effort to find food just yet.
But, otherwise, all is well in the land of Arcaine (even if this post is late. And incredibly uninteresting. Whoops).
Wander safely,
Arc.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Magical Mrs. Moustafolees
Thursday was a very sad day.
When I was in fourth grade, someone dropped a box full of kittens in the parking lot where Mater worked. She managed to catch this adorable little calico kitten and brought her home, much to Pater's annoyance. This little kitten grew up to be a beautiful, rather fat, cat. We called her Moustafolees from the play Cats. I know we spelled it wrong, but that's okay; it made it more her name.
She was a great cat. She liked to hang out near us if we were on a couch or bed. Her tummy would dust the ground when she ran. She loved to be petted. If we started petting our other cat, Riddle, she'd watch us expectantly, waiting her turn. We called her Stafa-lump a lot.
At the start of this week, she got lazier than usual. She started laying around the house in unusual places and didn't really acknowledge our presence, when she'd normally look up and demand love and affection. Thursday morning, Mater took her to the vet.
Moustafolees' kidneys were failing. Mater was given the choice of a very expensive surgery that only had a 50% chance of helping her, bringing her home and letting her die slowly on her own, or putting her to sleep.
So Thursday morning, Moustafolees left us. It sounds cruel, but we put her body out with the trash. We didn't do it because we didn't care. We loved her dearly. But our trash gets burned, and we thought it'd be a nice thing to turn her body into energy, so she could always be with us.
Blessed be, Moustafolees. We'll miss you so much. I hope your Summerlands are everything you could ever want.
Wander safely,
Arc.
When I was in fourth grade, someone dropped a box full of kittens in the parking lot where Mater worked. She managed to catch this adorable little calico kitten and brought her home, much to Pater's annoyance. This little kitten grew up to be a beautiful, rather fat, cat. We called her Moustafolees from the play Cats. I know we spelled it wrong, but that's okay; it made it more her name.
She was a great cat. She liked to hang out near us if we were on a couch or bed. Her tummy would dust the ground when she ran. She loved to be petted. If we started petting our other cat, Riddle, she'd watch us expectantly, waiting her turn. We called her Stafa-lump a lot.
At the start of this week, she got lazier than usual. She started laying around the house in unusual places and didn't really acknowledge our presence, when she'd normally look up and demand love and affection. Thursday morning, Mater took her to the vet.
Moustafolees' kidneys were failing. Mater was given the choice of a very expensive surgery that only had a 50% chance of helping her, bringing her home and letting her die slowly on her own, or putting her to sleep.
So Thursday morning, Moustafolees left us. It sounds cruel, but we put her body out with the trash. We didn't do it because we didn't care. We loved her dearly. But our trash gets burned, and we thought it'd be a nice thing to turn her body into energy, so she could always be with us.
Blessed be, Moustafolees. We'll miss you so much. I hope your Summerlands are everything you could ever want.
And we all say
Oh, well, I never! Was there ever
A cat so clever as
Magical Mrs. Moustafolees!
Wander safely,
Arc.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Eating My Soul
Because really, I don't spend enough time on the internet already. Between facebook, web comics, The Arcana Files, fanfiction, and music, I've decided I need a Tumblr, too. A little late to jump on the bandwagon, I know, but really, that thing was bookin'.
I swear, if anyone ever figures out how to use the internet as a way to brainwash the human race into becoming a mindless hoard, we're all screwed. At least, my generation and on.
...Well, that's sort of already happened. But that's besides the point.
If any of you are interested and not yet sick of me, you can find my Tumblr here. It's the same username as tAF, but, in a spark of inspiration (and lack of originality), I titled it "Come On, Skinny Love...", a popular song by Bon Iver. Although, I'm very tempted to rename it "Eating My Soul" instead. It has an interesting ring to it.
In an attempt to make this sorry excuse of a post a little less sorry, I leave you with a piece of my writing I rediscovered while cleaning my room.
Wander safely,
Arc.
PS. - Cleaning out my room, I found my ex-girlfriend's...
I swear, if anyone ever figures out how to use the internet as a way to brainwash the human race into becoming a mindless hoard, we're all screwed. At least, my generation and on.
...Well, that's sort of already happened. But that's besides the point.
If any of you are interested and not yet sick of me, you can find my Tumblr here. It's the same username as tAF, but, in a spark of inspiration (and lack of originality), I titled it "Come On, Skinny Love...", a popular song by Bon Iver. Although, I'm very tempted to rename it "Eating My Soul" instead. It has an interesting ring to it.
In an attempt to make this sorry excuse of a post a little less sorry, I leave you with a piece of my writing I rediscovered while cleaning my room.
And she doesn't want to be
The wind beneath his wings
Or the reason he sings
The fire in his eyes
Or the reason he dies
She just wants to see
All he can be
In the depth of his soul
Like a dark empty bowl
And she wants to be a part of everything
And to hear that silence ring
Out into time and space
Reflected in every beautiful face
That fills the room with light
The one that keeps her awake every night
And she just
Wants him
To love her.
Wander safely,
Arc.
PS. - Cleaning out my room, I found my ex-girlfriend's...
- Assorted drawings
- Guitar tabs
- Philosophy homework
- Name tag from Youth Sunday
- Playbill from the last play she was in
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Summer, Summer, Summer, Summer!
It's here!
The title is actually a part of a song from Charlotte's Web (a musical version I was in at a church near my house). It was HORRIBLE. We had broadway-grade music for a cast that was mostly minors. Our director kept flipping out because the adults kept missing their notes and the tempo....The song, or at least what I remember, went like this;
The only song more evil on toast than this was the County Fair Song and it's reprises. Every piece didn't work alone at all, but together it sounded good. I had to start this one.
Although, really, this wasn't what I intended to write about today.
I love summer. Not so much the heat, but, as "Summer" put it, the shorts and getting nothing done. Pater and I planted the garden last week, so soon we'll have all sorts of veggies coming in; tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, squash, eggplant...Happy Arc is happy. And redundant.
The sad thing about summer, however, is job hunting. I don't mind the idea of having a job. I actually quite welcome it. But no one is hiring! It's so upsetting. I want to be busy(-ish)! And have monies! I will do manual labor for it!
Even WORSE, I had an interview at Borders. Not that Borders is evil. Quite the opposite. I love bookstores. I live in the one near my house. The problem is that, two weeks after a pretty good interview, I still haven't heard anything :(
I called a week after, and was told the hiring manager was in training. This could mean I'm shit out of luck, or that he was getting trained for something else. They took my info and said they'd get back to me.
They don't.
I call a second time and they tell me it's the weekend and they don't look this stuff up on the weekend; they're too busy. Again, they take my info and say they'll get back to me.
They don't.
I call a THIRD time and they tell me the hiring manager is on VACATION and won't be back until the end of the week. They take my info...You get the idea. And it's getting old.
Any of you lovelies want to hire me? I'll be good, I promise. I'll do (just about) anything for minimum wage!
Tell me about YOUR summer plans and loves :)
Wander safely,
Arc.
The title is actually a part of a song from Charlotte's Web (a musical version I was in at a church near my house). It was HORRIBLE. We had broadway-grade music for a cast that was mostly minors. Our director kept flipping out because the adults kept missing their notes and the tempo....The song, or at least what I remember, went like this;
"Summer, summer, summer, summer, summer's coming in!
Time for wearing shorts, and sports and getting nothing done!
Summer's meant for fun!"
The only song more evil on toast than this was the County Fair Song and it's reprises. Every piece didn't work alone at all, but together it sounded good. I had to start this one.
"A wonderful day for a fair.
A wonderful day for a fair,
A wonderful day for a fair,
Here are your slops!
[Insert spoken lines I don't remember]
And Mr. Zuckerman's thinking of taking you
In the old pickup truck today and exhibit you there,
Down at the county fair!"
Although, really, this wasn't what I intended to write about today.
I love summer. Not so much the heat, but, as "Summer" put it, the shorts and getting nothing done. Pater and I planted the garden last week, so soon we'll have all sorts of veggies coming in; tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, squash, eggplant...Happy Arc is happy. And redundant.
The sad thing about summer, however, is job hunting. I don't mind the idea of having a job. I actually quite welcome it. But no one is hiring! It's so upsetting. I want to be busy(-ish)! And have monies! I will do manual labor for it!
Even WORSE, I had an interview at Borders. Not that Borders is evil. Quite the opposite. I love bookstores. I live in the one near my house. The problem is that, two weeks after a pretty good interview, I still haven't heard anything :(
I called a week after, and was told the hiring manager was in training. This could mean I'm shit out of luck, or that he was getting trained for something else. They took my info and said they'd get back to me.
They don't.
I call a second time and they tell me it's the weekend and they don't look this stuff up on the weekend; they're too busy. Again, they take my info and say they'll get back to me.
They don't.
I call a THIRD time and they tell me the hiring manager is on VACATION and won't be back until the end of the week. They take my info...You get the idea. And it's getting old.
Any of you lovelies want to hire me? I'll be good, I promise. I'll do (just about) anything for minimum wage!
Tell me about YOUR summer plans and loves :)
Wander safely,
Arc.
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