...Mentioned the camera to Mom yesterday, and apparently she didn't know about the... "screen issues" the borrowed camera now has.

This and the last post probably is an even better example of what is not good in life, because I'm damn paranoid when I don't keep myself in check. Wussy emo-ness ensues for about a half-minute or so over that sad thought.

This of course doesn't answer the money issue with the camera, or the fact that Mom seems to have forgotten me even mentioning a problem, but whatever.

~FoxCharm

First off, I've been noticing the last week or so that Mom seems a bit more pissed at me than usual, though not a whole lot. I wrote it of for a good while as her just getting irritated at me for not getting the dishes washed, or her job, or just as something else normal and getting to her.

But I think I was wrong about that...

Finally decided this morning that I should go outside to get some of that "fresh air" everyone seems to love, and decided that it would also be a good time to finally get some pictures with the digital camera Mom borrowed from Mary at work. Her boss Mary. Who belatedly decided to "leave it behind and just take her husbands on the vacation they where going to take this one on."

I turned the camera on and the screen is pretty much fucked to hell.

I also distinctly remember having an "oh shit" moment before all that, with the same camera, when I was moving stuff around in my room. I heard a tiny crunching noise from its protective case, but when I checked the screen, it looked perfectly fine. Passed it off as nothing. Turns out you apparently couldn't see how fucked up it was when the camera was off.

All I've got is fifty bucks, and a new one costs $150. I technically have a job now, but that doesn't fucking count if I'm not going to get called in, since I'm apparently a sub now. Mom doesn't exactly have much money on the side, ether.

I'd go on, but I think that's all you need to know about this story to understand that I've messed up and no one has told me. This just happens to be a beautiful highlight of how things going on aren't dandy, even though I can't usually tell you why exactly it feels that way. Goddamnit.

Love,
FoxCharm

I remember once, sitting in the car with my Mom, listening to her tell me about a call she had had with a psychic. She was telling me everything that came up, from her finding a job, to meeting a new guy, to what she should stop eating to make her body feel better, how many grandchildren she'd eventually have, everything you talk about with a psychic. That was... what, two years ago? Something like that.

The hour-long session was actually free, because Mom was falling on rough times. Technically, we where homeless two years ago, so that's to be a part of the package I guess. Wether or not any of the things the psychic brought up where true or not doesn't even matter to me, since it did a good job of getting Mom exited about something. But of all the inane stuff that was brought up, one did stick with me.

The psychic was apparently talking about me, my mom, and my brother, and had made a statement that really stuck with my mom. To put it simply, it boiled down to "You are like witches. If you can think it and believe it, you can manifest it."

It was like Mom's eyes where glowing with pride when she relayed this to me. She isn't exactly the type of person that would take that sort of stuff as an insult, because Mom loves thinking of the world and people in terms of energy and innate power, and connecting with people in ways that don't need words, or healing without bringing out the first-aid kit, or the power of ritual. Or talking to animals.

No, I'm not kidding. Shut the hell up.

But, even though you might have to turn that voice of skepticism off in your head, the idea is both amazing and terrifying, if you bother to think about it. You don't really have to take too long to figure out why. If you believe in who you are and your life in the positive, it will come, and you will be it. But, if you believe you're doomed and will fail, you will find out how far you can really fall. And I imagine that at some point the bottom will disappear, and you could just fall forever.

Not that that's so bad in my head, once I ignore what the metaphor is really talking about. It isn't the fall that kills you, as we all know.

There was also something about me and Andrew never having any money problems when we get older, which is also made of awesome. Though I have to wonder when "older" starts kicking in...

Love,
FoxCharm

My God, Google, how do you even make money on all that free swag? Yeah, I've been looking at their stuff, and God Bless the information age!!! Notebook is going to be my new plaything ~♥!

... Aaand that's all I wanted to say. Really. XD

~foxcharm ♥

*cough*fanfic*/cough* "The journey of the Chosen is interrupted by the appearance of a mysterious girl - a girl who knows the real fate of the Chosen from a video game she played years ago."

No, I swear it won't be as bad as it sounds. D:

I had almost forgotten about it, but I didn't! Huzzah!

I've forgotten about it for the last two years running, but this time I've signed up. It seems like this will be a good year for it, too, because for the last week I've been thinking about what to do with No Preset Destination and reading from limyaael's rants. It seems like its becoming the current topic of obsession, so riding the wave with some work will be good for me. Need to read more about it, and also find out more about its connection to LJ.

Now, in other news, just did the StrengthFinder 2.0 test my mom has been raving over, and I have to admit that it is accurate as all hell. I've been really obsessive lately with personality tests, so its another thing that just fit in perfectly when I noticed mom had a copy. Results:

Intellection
Input
Ideation
Learner
Strategic

These are my five categories, which all have their own little section of information describing them, but basically it all boils down to "I like to think a lot!11!!!LYKELOLMG!!".

No shit, Sherlock! x.o;;

But really, it all basically means (in order):

I like to think excessively
I like to collect nifty little random facts 'cuz they intrigue me
I like picking up an idea and twist it around so I can see its underlying facts
I like to learn for learnings sake alone
Once I pick a goal I can see all of the paths and obsticals in its way and prepare

If I let myself think about it, I knew most of that already. Maybe not all together in context, but still. Guess I can still use their little tips for building my strengths, though. XP

Blech, I feel to weirdly hyped on coffee. I guess I should return to reading up on rants and preparing for WriMo now...

~FoxCharm ♥

Delusion

I am outside myself.
Above myself,
I am made to observe.

I lay prone, but am up as a statue immune.
I am wounded and broken open at the seams, but am immaculate.
I am the cornered creature who cries out in agony, but I am silent, and like a sunning cat, made numb and contented.

Do you see it?
The line running down my face,
Over my lips,
Through my insides,
That cuts half from half?

Can you comprehend it?
The invisible stitching that holds the parts,
Make me solid,
Give me form,
That makes my movement ache with the rough edges shifting?

Can you understand it?
The agony of life where there is no whole.
No half to another half makes a soul.
No matter what one tries.

Can you accept it?
The empty existence that I was formed into.
Where the freedom is to fall apart.
The means to hold it back safe are a cage.

But this is not so, yet is so.
A half with another half, but not of one.
The beauty of beauties we all strive towards, with no expression.

And as I stare and watch,
I can only wonder;

Which is the real delusion?

~FoxCharm

There is a fly in my room.

It flies around for a bit, circling the bed or my head or the lamp, and then flies into a mirror and makes a tiny 'dink' sound.

I used to have sliding mirrored doors over my closet, but decided to take them off to give the feeling of more room. So now they sit adjacent to the wall where the closet is, one directly across the room from the other. They're almost the size of two normal doors each, and with the right frequency they can make like tuning forks and start an echo-like resonance.

So, fly buzzes around, finds a mirror, flies straight on into it head first (ouch), falls about half a foot, then turns right around and flies straight on into the other mirror. Rinse, wash, and repeat until its in a daze and can't fly anywhere at all.

'dink.'......'dink.'.....'dink!'....


This has been going on for days. If the damn thing wasn't retarded already, it is now.

The saddest part though, is I'm now not sure if I should be irritated or highly amused. D:

~♥

Love,
FoxCharm

(Written Days or More Earlyer)

When I think about my life, it's like I wasn't actually there for all of it. For anyone who asks, there are very few ready memories of my life before the age of seven. I know that for a fact, actually, because the very day I turned seven we moved across the bay to live in Sonoma County. There are scattered memories of a life before that, but there is no whole picture for me to draw up to explain my childhood.

There was an apricot tree in the back of the house that we'd pick fruit off of when they where ripe. Me and my brother shared a room. I remember hiding in the clothes pile after the clothes where washed, ready to be folded but just sitting there patiently when it didn't always happen. I remember we had roses. I remember us having cats named Magic and Rudy and Whiskers. I remember putting Whiskers into a drawer of the dresser and completely forgetting I put him there. I didn't plan it to hurt him (and felt horrible when my parents found him a day later), I was just a very random and unthoughtful child - and also quite forgetful, it seems.

Never brushed my hair when I was younger, and even up until I was a teenager I would let it form huge rats nests on top of my head. Not one to shower every day - still not - but would sometimes go a week or more without washing my hair. Would run around the house naked, and even when I was older I'd still sit with a towel around me for a few hours or more after a bath if I didn't have anywhere to go. I was the type to play with mud, or to paint my foot purple when home from school sick, and never brush my teeth.

And I'm still really bad about remembering to brush my teeth. Only gotten two cavities though, so I must be doing something right.

I don't remember any noteworthy friends. There where people there, I know there where, but even if there is a face or a name I can't piece it together with who they actually there. There was a kid who lived near us at the old house who we'd play with occasionally, and there's one memory of me sitting in his house with his mom talking about the large bell she'd use to call her kids in. There was a blonde haired girl in what could have been preschool or kindergarden who asked me to hit her, and I distinctly remember looking at her odd, asking her "Why?", and her just telling me to do it. Well, even back then I figured 'different strokes for different folks', you know? Even though I thought it was weird, I hit her anyway. She then started crying and complaining to the teacher, who I remember being upset with me as I tried to explain myself with "But she asked for it!!!!" Children are manipulative. Never forget that.

I'm getting off topic, as I'm sure you noticed, but then again, what topic is there in my static childhood? There was no connection in the world when I was younger, or I'd have to assume that considering how badly I remember it. There was no connection to other people, no overall story that I can create from memories, nothing that seemed to hold on and move me at all when I was young. It's like trying to describe a dream, because during the whole of it there was no basis for sense, no relationship between me and reality. I was someone floating in the water; I wasn't going to drown, I wasn't afraid, but I wasn't actually getting anywhere, ether.

It's so odd, thinking of my childhood, because from what I know now, I should have felt suffering. Should have, but remember none. There is nothing bad for the first seven years of my life, no matter what facts say.

Now, after that? There is still a haze, no connection, but somehow everything got worse. Still can't remember, but the memories are thicker and bitter somehow. There was something there that I hated, but I can remember none of it at all. There is nothing more frustrating in the world than knowing nothing about a part of who you are.

~foxcharm

(Written Days or More Earlyer)

The reason I don't want to get involved anymore is because I don't want other people's input anymore.

My years in school where traumatic. Usually, I'll never quite admit to this because I think there is this sob-by quality to admitting to trauma in childhood, and a part of me doesn't quite agree with the sob quality it seems to think is there. Childhood was there in the middle of it, it was my life for a while, it made me sad, angry, and I very often felt numb, but it makes me more angry and desperate to dwell on it now. I don't need sympathy on it anymore, or that pity-like quality some people have when they comfort you. It's too soft and just plain unhelpful at this point.

But the effect is still there. I'm not depressed, sitting alone in my room or in this house and living my life in my head. Being alone can hurt at times, but I felt it was worth it when I began, and I still think that somewhere inside me. Independent study, when I started, was done out of the anger and desperation of school. There where parts I loved about school, like the amazing teachers I had and the good friends, but like an animal in a bear trap I was quite willing to chew off a once healthy leg to get out of the situation. School caused nothing but pain and heartache, and despite how much they tried to help me they never seemed to actually help at all. I was sick of the situation, and by whatever luck I had I didn't get out of it by killing myself. Thank God.

I may not have done it completely consciously, because I never quite said it as plainly as that to anyone or even rehearsed it to myself, but that is the fact of the matter. I desperately wanted to escape, and when a therapist I saw at the school suggested alternative education and independent study, I grabbed at it with a sort of angry zeal that put many a person off. When I wrote a letter later on, to get into a new Independent Study program after I had moved, the program manager (after flat-out rejecting me) told Mom I was psychotic. He was kinda right, in a way - I do go bat-shit crazy when you finally manage to get me truly angry. But you know what? Fuck him and everyone else who passed judgement on me in the school system. I think I had the right to be that upset, even if it was misdirected in that instance. Even thinking about it while I write this makes me angry, as I'm sure you've noticed.

I don't think anyone understood that, and I didn't ever bother really explaining any of it to them, ether. I was tired of their input on the matter, and I had made my choice. It was single minded, and probably not the right choice, but in the absence of knowing anything better to do it was truly my only choice. It was this one choice, or an inky black existence that I knew would destroy me. I do not wish to take it back.

Once I was in independent study, not much got better. Despite whatever Mom or anyone else thinks, I did not do much of anything. If they think I spent my time in my room working, they where misinformed. Time was spent sleeping, distracting myself with TV, internet, and daydreams, or being filled with a kind of empty feeling that I can only partially describe as the feeling of weakness and sickness you feel before death. Whatever work for the week was done through the night before it was turned in, or sitting in the room before meeting with Ms. Martin, once every week. The rest of life was stagnant, and I did not communicate with much of anyone.

I think the whole experience warped my mind. I don't mind so much in some ways, but there is so little connection with others, and a part of me needs it so very badly. There is also a fearful panic that I have with people and situations that I need to fix, but I don't mind as much as most would think. I'm probably even more horrible at getting things done than when I started, and I probably am behind everyone else in ways I cannot comprehend, but that's fine. Everything is fine and dandy because I know they could be much worse if the choice had been something else, so no, despite what this writing has made you think, I'm not depressed at the moment. I'm scarred, tired, confused, lost, and still hiding, but I'm not actually depressed anymore - there is a big difference, you know. Tired of the insinuations from some people that I am, because I feel pleasantly good for the first time in a long while.

~foxcharm