Insomnia does strange things to you.
Awake at one in the morning. I've been lying there for over two hours and it's going to be at least another hour before I fall asleep. It's not quite dark and it's not quite silent.
Even though I'm too tired to move, I'm wide awake. My eyes wide open. Staring at everything and nothing.
I do a lot of thinking. I think about chaos. I think about the people I've met and the things I've always wanted to say to them. I think about sex and how much I hate it. I think about loneliness.
I do a lot of writing. About hatred. About the end of the world. About love. All of it forgotten by the following morning. I try to hold on to it, but it's always gone.
I do a lot of remembering.
I think about the very, very small scars on my arms. I think about how much blood I was able to draw using a piece of broken glass, the lattice of scratches turning my skin into a bloody mess. That's invisible now. No scars.
I think about the terrible secret, the one I discovered at the age of twelve, the one that I know I remember but it slips away from me every time I try to see it. I think about the one time I was able to remember, when I collapsed, overwhelmed with grief, crying for the first time in months.
I think about my past girlfriends and what I've done to them. I think about Danica. I think about the people who are vulnerable to me. I blame myself for everything. Part of me still thinks I'm a monster.
I think about being hurt. I don't enjoy it but I'm still driven towards it.
I think about going downstairs. I'm hungry. Maybe something to drink will help me sleep. No. There are knives downstairs. And no one around. If I go downstairs I'm going to carve myself up.
I stare at the clock. 1:36. The past fourteen minutes have taken a very, very long time to pass.
I think about going downstairs.
If I go downstairs in this state, I'm going to kill myself.
I think about going downstairs anyway.
My lip trembles.
It spreads. My jaw. My neck. My whole head, shaking. It grows.
No.
No.
I haven't had spasms in the night for over a year.
I fold my arms over my chest. They begin to tremble. It spreads to my hands. I raise one arm and try to intensify it, isolate it. Gradually my head stops, my left arm stops. My right hand thrashes furiously, fingers clenched, muscles twisted. Then... I let it go.
It leaves me.
I relax for a second. It hovers over me, a twisting, snarling blob of darkness. Then it returns, strangling me, smothering my head. I can't breathe, I can't think. I choke out what sounds uncomfortably like a death rattle.
Then it's over.
I look toward the clock. 7:42. Before my eyes close again I smile.
I made it.
Dec 29, 2008
Dec 27, 2008
Inside and out
"So," said Styx. He and Lank stood on the edge of the forest, staring at the world stretching out before them. "Our quest begins." He stretched and steadied himself. "Where to begin?"
Lank scratched his head lazily. "Obviously they're at Grandfather's Mountain. Where else would they be? It's bad, but, you know, where else?" The pair looked to their left, where far away a menacing purple mountain loomed. Flashes of dark light burst forth from the doom fortress built into it. "Although perhaps that's not a good place to start," he finished hurriedly. "I think the Broken plains would be the best place."
"Let's go there, then." And the pair went to the Broken plains. "Now," said Styx, "surely there must be something here..."
"Wait," muttered Lank. "How did we get here so fast?..."
Styx shrugged dismissively. "This is our world. Its size is disproportionate to its surface area because it's convenient. We can do anything we want here."
"Really?" Lank began to float.
"But not that." He tumbled to the ground in a cluttered heap. "We're not gods, you know." They avoided looking back to the blue mountain. No need to drag Skeleton into this.
"The rules here make no sense," Lank grumbled.
"A lot of it's arbitrary. We are a chaotic being, after all." They nodded sadly.
A short distance away was a patch of scorched grass. The grazing bull creatures eyed them warily but casually nearby. In the center was what appeared to be an old campfire. "Someone was here," he said. He poked the remains with is foot. Suddenly it burst upward into a balloon of fire, setting the shocked identity state alight. The pair stood for a few seconds, perplexed, as he burned. Then Lank pointed. "The stream!" he yelled, moving forward, and when a stream of running water failed to appear he settled for hurling himself into one of the cracks that covered the plain.
Styx jumped after him into the hole, landing on soft dirt about a metre down. This he began packing onto the still-burning Lank, muttering "This is bad, this is bad," under his breath. Then the earth opened up beneath them and swallowed them.
Beneath the Broken Plains, Styx and Lank awoke. They were in a cavern with a low ceiling. A small, gnomelike creature huddled nearby, beneath where the fire pit had been, crying.
"Okay, I've had enough of this," said Lank. "Freeze." The creature froze in place. Lank turned to Styx. "This is pointless. We're going nowhere."
"We are going," said Styx, "where we're meant to go. Once we're finished we'll have what we came for."
"But it's meaningless!" cried Lank, aggravated. He began to pace, flinging his arms about wildly. "We're just going to blunder about endlessly, finding nothing. Because we're making this up as we go along. This is our mind." He turned to Styx. "Our world."
"But it's not just us. The others are a part of it too."
"The others are just as bound by it as we are. We won't find anything in this world. Not like this." He sighed. "Look at the fire trap. That was put there, by one of us. Because we were expecting to find it. But we didn't know what it was for, so it blew up in our faces. This gnome thing is no different, as well as anyone or anything else we may happen to meet on this quest. It's our invention. We can't tell ourselves anything we don't already know. Our efforts will be fruitless. If we never find what we're looking for - our siblings - or even the secrets of our past - what then?" He stared at Styx mournfully. "What then?"
Styx was silent for a long time. He looked up. "What do you propose we do?"
"I think you know."
He sighed. "Well, under different circumstances I'd suggest we finish our search here, gain experience, pick up new allies along the way, explore the Rocks, find the secret at the heart of the Dredge ship, discover if the Hanging Forest is real, pick up a new weapon, go to Grandfather's Mountain to rescue our brother and sisters, stop by the Peak to seek Skeleton's aid, then collectively head to the Chasm for a final confrontation against our demons. However, since we're bound by our internal systems, such a scheme would undoubtedly draw us deeper into this deceptive web of our own devising. So..." he stared blankly into space. "We've got to somehow cheat the system."
All around the cavern collapsed. What was left was blackness. Lank looked around sadly. "Our world isn't real."
"Our world is as real as it needs to be. Everything here exists in one form or another. All that changes is our perception. Just because it's unreal doesn't mean it's a lie."
"But nothing is as it seems. Inside and out, we have no way of knowing what's real and what's not. Our perceptions are skewed."
"We see what's important. Is that not good enough?"
"I don't know." He closed his eyes and sighed. "So much fear, so much uncertainty. So much pain. Is a different sense of reality worth that?" Silence. "How can we know what's important when we don't know what's real?" More silence. "Am I real?"
The pair did not say anything for a long time.
Lank scratched his head lazily. "Obviously they're at Grandfather's Mountain. Where else would they be? It's bad, but, you know, where else?" The pair looked to their left, where far away a menacing purple mountain loomed. Flashes of dark light burst forth from the doom fortress built into it. "Although perhaps that's not a good place to start," he finished hurriedly. "I think the Broken plains would be the best place."
"Let's go there, then." And the pair went to the Broken plains. "Now," said Styx, "surely there must be something here..."
"Wait," muttered Lank. "How did we get here so fast?..."
Styx shrugged dismissively. "This is our world. Its size is disproportionate to its surface area because it's convenient. We can do anything we want here."
"Really?" Lank began to float.
"But not that." He tumbled to the ground in a cluttered heap. "We're not gods, you know." They avoided looking back to the blue mountain. No need to drag Skeleton into this.
"The rules here make no sense," Lank grumbled.
"A lot of it's arbitrary. We are a chaotic being, after all." They nodded sadly.
A short distance away was a patch of scorched grass. The grazing bull creatures eyed them warily but casually nearby. In the center was what appeared to be an old campfire. "Someone was here," he said. He poked the remains with is foot. Suddenly it burst upward into a balloon of fire, setting the shocked identity state alight. The pair stood for a few seconds, perplexed, as he burned. Then Lank pointed. "The stream!" he yelled, moving forward, and when a stream of running water failed to appear he settled for hurling himself into one of the cracks that covered the plain.
Styx jumped after him into the hole, landing on soft dirt about a metre down. This he began packing onto the still-burning Lank, muttering "This is bad, this is bad," under his breath. Then the earth opened up beneath them and swallowed them.
Beneath the Broken Plains, Styx and Lank awoke. They were in a cavern with a low ceiling. A small, gnomelike creature huddled nearby, beneath where the fire pit had been, crying.
"Okay, I've had enough of this," said Lank. "Freeze." The creature froze in place. Lank turned to Styx. "This is pointless. We're going nowhere."
"We are going," said Styx, "where we're meant to go. Once we're finished we'll have what we came for."
"But it's meaningless!" cried Lank, aggravated. He began to pace, flinging his arms about wildly. "We're just going to blunder about endlessly, finding nothing. Because we're making this up as we go along. This is our mind." He turned to Styx. "Our world."
"But it's not just us. The others are a part of it too."
"The others are just as bound by it as we are. We won't find anything in this world. Not like this." He sighed. "Look at the fire trap. That was put there, by one of us. Because we were expecting to find it. But we didn't know what it was for, so it blew up in our faces. This gnome thing is no different, as well as anyone or anything else we may happen to meet on this quest. It's our invention. We can't tell ourselves anything we don't already know. Our efforts will be fruitless. If we never find what we're looking for - our siblings - or even the secrets of our past - what then?" He stared at Styx mournfully. "What then?"
Styx was silent for a long time. He looked up. "What do you propose we do?"
"I think you know."
He sighed. "Well, under different circumstances I'd suggest we finish our search here, gain experience, pick up new allies along the way, explore the Rocks, find the secret at the heart of the Dredge ship, discover if the Hanging Forest is real, pick up a new weapon, go to Grandfather's Mountain to rescue our brother and sisters, stop by the Peak to seek Skeleton's aid, then collectively head to the Chasm for a final confrontation against our demons. However, since we're bound by our internal systems, such a scheme would undoubtedly draw us deeper into this deceptive web of our own devising. So..." he stared blankly into space. "We've got to somehow cheat the system."
All around the cavern collapsed. What was left was blackness. Lank looked around sadly. "Our world isn't real."
"Our world is as real as it needs to be. Everything here exists in one form or another. All that changes is our perception. Just because it's unreal doesn't mean it's a lie."
"But nothing is as it seems. Inside and out, we have no way of knowing what's real and what's not. Our perceptions are skewed."
"We see what's important. Is that not good enough?"
"I don't know." He closed his eyes and sighed. "So much fear, so much uncertainty. So much pain. Is a different sense of reality worth that?" Silence. "How can we know what's important when we don't know what's real?" More silence. "Am I real?"
The pair did not say anything for a long time.
Dec 23, 2008
Baraev Neu Wereld
Still not sleeping. But that's probably my fault.
There's in my mind a mountain, now. It's blue. To what we've arbitrarily decided is the north face it's hilly with forest patches, while to the south it's steep and rocky. It has a small, snow-capped spire where Skeleton and the haich live. Despite their past rivalries we haven't heard any trouble from them. I wonder if they've finally come to a peaceful settlement.
To the north are the Broken Plains, a series of rolling grassy plains with large cracks and gashes running across it. Strange creatures like bulls roam it. To the east is the Dredge, a wet and slimy swamp. There's a massive ship mostly submerged in it, the bow sticking out at a crazy angle. To the south is the Chasm. It's a bad place. Southeast are the Rocks, which are pretty much just rocks. To the west there is possibly the Hanging Forest, consisting mostly of mushrooms, but since this was reported by Prophet in one of his moods it's entirely possible this was a hallucination.
To the northwest there's a second mountain, tall and narrow. The land around it is barren, storm clouds surround it, and the sky fades to a grim purple. Dark birds circle it, its peaks are jagged, and built into the side is an unmistakable Doom Fortress. It is Grandfather's Mountain. It is also a bad place.
And so much of this brave new world remains undiscovered. We have to explore it, and quickly. Away from the peak only Styx, Wraith, Prophet and IMPACT have been found. We don't know where the others are. It's possible they're in danger, absurd as that may sound. We have to find them. Soon.
I'm so sick of spiritual healing.
Healing is for each person what they need it to be. For most it's a painkiller, allergy medication, or even a placebo. Whatever it takes to keep that person happy and functioning. For me it's like heart surgery. Being touched by God feels like having my innards cut apart and stitched back together. I know, it's all in the name of making me better, but it hurts. Words can't describe how much it hurts. And it serves as a constant reminder that I need to be fixed. Sometimes I wonder if being healed is really worth this. I think about cutting myself free and letting myself bleed.
But of course. I can't do that.
I'm not a bad person. Just a little misguided.
And I like to destroy things.
But come now, enough of this pessimistic banter! It's nearly Christmas. True, it's become a facade of commercialism in recent years and historically it should be celebrated in the middle of March, but this is still the time for peace and love and goodwill toward men. And political correctness be damned. Just over two thousand of our years ago a man was born who completely changed the face of the earth. Show me anyone else in the whole of history who was so important that their birthday is so celebrated after that long.
In honor of that, I pledge to not speak another pessimistic or depressing word for the next few days. This is a happy time. Or else. There'll be not talk of chaos, or self-harm, and absolutely none of heartbreak. Let us be joyous. Now.
If you don't hear from me till then, a Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good afternoon. Share the love.
There's in my mind a mountain, now. It's blue. To what we've arbitrarily decided is the north face it's hilly with forest patches, while to the south it's steep and rocky. It has a small, snow-capped spire where Skeleton and the haich live. Despite their past rivalries we haven't heard any trouble from them. I wonder if they've finally come to a peaceful settlement.
To the north are the Broken Plains, a series of rolling grassy plains with large cracks and gashes running across it. Strange creatures like bulls roam it. To the east is the Dredge, a wet and slimy swamp. There's a massive ship mostly submerged in it, the bow sticking out at a crazy angle. To the south is the Chasm. It's a bad place. Southeast are the Rocks, which are pretty much just rocks. To the west there is possibly the Hanging Forest, consisting mostly of mushrooms, but since this was reported by Prophet in one of his moods it's entirely possible this was a hallucination.
To the northwest there's a second mountain, tall and narrow. The land around it is barren, storm clouds surround it, and the sky fades to a grim purple. Dark birds circle it, its peaks are jagged, and built into the side is an unmistakable Doom Fortress. It is Grandfather's Mountain. It is also a bad place.
And so much of this brave new world remains undiscovered. We have to explore it, and quickly. Away from the peak only Styx, Wraith, Prophet and IMPACT have been found. We don't know where the others are. It's possible they're in danger, absurd as that may sound. We have to find them. Soon.
I'm so sick of spiritual healing.
Healing is for each person what they need it to be. For most it's a painkiller, allergy medication, or even a placebo. Whatever it takes to keep that person happy and functioning. For me it's like heart surgery. Being touched by God feels like having my innards cut apart and stitched back together. I know, it's all in the name of making me better, but it hurts. Words can't describe how much it hurts. And it serves as a constant reminder that I need to be fixed. Sometimes I wonder if being healed is really worth this. I think about cutting myself free and letting myself bleed.
But of course. I can't do that.
I'm not a bad person. Just a little misguided.
And I like to destroy things.
But come now, enough of this pessimistic banter! It's nearly Christmas. True, it's become a facade of commercialism in recent years and historically it should be celebrated in the middle of March, but this is still the time for peace and love and goodwill toward men. And political correctness be damned. Just over two thousand of our years ago a man was born who completely changed the face of the earth. Show me anyone else in the whole of history who was so important that their birthday is so celebrated after that long.
In honor of that, I pledge to not speak another pessimistic or depressing word for the next few days. This is a happy time. Or else. There'll be not talk of chaos, or self-harm, and absolutely none of heartbreak. Let us be joyous. Now.
If you don't hear from me till then, a Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good afternoon. Share the love.
Dec 16, 2008
So am I dead, or what?
Well, this is certainly a puzzle.
It happened on Thursday. Thursday, of all days... it never goes quite the way you expect it. I crawled back inside covered in snow, freezing even by my standards, barely able to walk. I haven't improved much since then, though I'm able to get about just fine. My head feels like it's been carpet bombed. My insides feel smashed and misshapen, with a splinter of ice running right down the middle of my body. I'm tired, as though I haven't slept for weeks. Constantly. And I'm not exactly sleeping well either. I'm careening between feeling like I'm going to pass out or burst into tears. Emotions are running wild. Not a day goes by when I haven't been triggered or slipped into a pit of depression. I can't concentrate on anything. The Rooms are in chaos; alters are switching out seemingly at random. Spiritually it feels like something prickly crawled into my soul and died. I'm broken, bleeding and falling apart on all three levels. To top it off I'm getting a fever.
And yet... somehow... I survived.
We have made what we call the Pact of the Banshee. (Because we like silly names.) Long story short, so long as we can prove that there's still hope we're allowed to live. Dum spiro, spero. While I breathe, I hope. Life goes on... for now.
Perhaps this is for the best. I believe in strength through adversary: that which does not kill you only makes you stronger. Maybe this was a gift... on the other hand, if my condition deteriorates, or if it strikes again, I almost certainly won't survive.
Curious to think about it. Death. But not right now.
Anyway. Point is the nightmare is over for now. The skies are clear again. Time to rest, to recover. And I'll be able to say, "In my darkest hour, I stood against the darkness... and I survived."
It happened on Thursday. Thursday, of all days... it never goes quite the way you expect it. I crawled back inside covered in snow, freezing even by my standards, barely able to walk. I haven't improved much since then, though I'm able to get about just fine. My head feels like it's been carpet bombed. My insides feel smashed and misshapen, with a splinter of ice running right down the middle of my body. I'm tired, as though I haven't slept for weeks. Constantly. And I'm not exactly sleeping well either. I'm careening between feeling like I'm going to pass out or burst into tears. Emotions are running wild. Not a day goes by when I haven't been triggered or slipped into a pit of depression. I can't concentrate on anything. The Rooms are in chaos; alters are switching out seemingly at random. Spiritually it feels like something prickly crawled into my soul and died. I'm broken, bleeding and falling apart on all three levels. To top it off I'm getting a fever.
And yet... somehow... I survived.
We have made what we call the Pact of the Banshee. (Because we like silly names.) Long story short, so long as we can prove that there's still hope we're allowed to live. Dum spiro, spero. While I breathe, I hope. Life goes on... for now.
Perhaps this is for the best. I believe in strength through adversary: that which does not kill you only makes you stronger. Maybe this was a gift... on the other hand, if my condition deteriorates, or if it strikes again, I almost certainly won't survive.
Curious to think about it. Death. But not right now.
Anyway. Point is the nightmare is over for now. The skies are clear again. Time to rest, to recover. And I'll be able to say, "In my darkest hour, I stood against the darkness... and I survived."
Dec 8, 2008
Just a couple of days
Soon. Very, very soon. Almost certainly this week. Before Friday, no doubt. It's going to happen.
I've gone over every possible scenario in my head. Will it be light or darkness? A battle, a message, an offering? Will I arrive at the appointed place and find nothing, the ultimate betrayal? I don't know. This was officially predicted ten months ago, and signs pointing to it have appeared for even longer. You'd think I'd be ready. Hells no I'm not. There's so much more I have to do... messages. Gifts. Final words. If anything should happen to me, people are going to want to know why.
And yet I can't. I'm a bundle of guilt and anxiety - I never feel this bad about anything - and I can't even bring myself to talk to anyone. I have to let someone know... just in case this is the end.
I guess for now all I can do is speak my mind here. Such as it is. Presumably at some point this will be read.
Speaking of which, Jane... strange that you, my unexpected commenter, should be a matter of such interest. It's rare that anyone takes interest in a character such as myself, so forgive me if I seem suspiciously intrigued by someone entering my (albeit public) domain. You are a welcome distraction. I thank you.
...I haven't slept in a good long time and it's really starting to show.
Anyway. The December event will happen soon. This I know for certain. I need to prepare. And prepare fast. If I'm going down in fire and flames then dammit I want people to know why.
I wonder if this is gibberish. Can't be bothered to check.
I've gone over every possible scenario in my head. Will it be light or darkness? A battle, a message, an offering? Will I arrive at the appointed place and find nothing, the ultimate betrayal? I don't know. This was officially predicted ten months ago, and signs pointing to it have appeared for even longer. You'd think I'd be ready. Hells no I'm not. There's so much more I have to do... messages. Gifts. Final words. If anything should happen to me, people are going to want to know why.
And yet I can't. I'm a bundle of guilt and anxiety - I never feel this bad about anything - and I can't even bring myself to talk to anyone. I have to let someone know... just in case this is the end.
I guess for now all I can do is speak my mind here. Such as it is. Presumably at some point this will be read.
Speaking of which, Jane... strange that you, my unexpected commenter, should be a matter of such interest. It's rare that anyone takes interest in a character such as myself, so forgive me if I seem suspiciously intrigued by someone entering my (albeit public) domain. You are a welcome distraction. I thank you.
...I haven't slept in a good long time and it's really starting to show.
Anyway. The December event will happen soon. This I know for certain. I need to prepare. And prepare fast. If I'm going down in fire and flames then dammit I want people to know why.
I wonder if this is gibberish. Can't be bothered to check.
Dec 4, 2008
The usual banter
You know what bothers me? Well,
Got a haircut. Worrying about it.
Very tired. VERY tired.
- God is not in the sky. Well, technically He is, but I don't think it's right to define a being that exists in every point in the Universe at the same time as being simply "up".
- On that note, if God says to love everyone, does that mean we should also love Satan and all his demon friends? Do we make an exception for ultimate evils or not? I'm not sure.
- I'm worried about how I smell again. I don't really have a good sense of smell, so I can't tell if I'm just fine or repulsive. How do I smell? I don't know.
- On that note, I don't know what I look like. I mean, I can see myself in mirrors and pictures, but facial recognition just doesn't kick in. I never recognize myself. I wish someone would just tell me what I look like.
- On that note, I wish someone would just describe myself to me. And I don't mean in a general way, I mean specifically. I'm sick of self-examination, I want a full psychological analysis. I want someone to be able to tell me why I think the way I do, why I do things, why I twitch, why I get tired, and so on. I want someone to know me better than I know myself, and tell me what they see. Is that weird?
- I have no idea what to get people for Christmas. I'm not good with gifts. I feel obligated to outdo myself and then guilty when I don't. Sometimes I wish I could just disappear in a corner somewhere and have everyone forget about me until the new year.
Got a haircut. Worrying about it.
Very tired. VERY tired.
Dec 1, 2008
And so the end nears
First day of December. How do I feel?
It's strange. There's a chill on the air, a kind of apprehension buried beneath smoke. Now is the time to get things done. I might not get another chance.
We're wearing a cross. The little gold necklace. Skeleton's orders. It makes sense; if the worst should happen a holy symbol may be no end of help. Still though... when I put it on I feel tired, dizzy, prone to headaches. I swear the thing burns slightly where it touches me. I can't eat when it's pressed against my skin, it nauseates me. I think it's going to continue to hurt me so long as I believe that it will. It's better than the alternative. However, that borders on Things Too Terrible To Contemplate (TTTTC) so it's best to leave that alone.
I've decided I'm going to do push-ups. Lots of them. True, I'm not really built for that kind of thing judging by the shape of my arms and neck, but... I don't really know. Just one of those things.
Work to do. Lit and Anthro. School is really wearing me down.
Did I mention summer camp? I'm signed up for four weeks of camp in the summer. Or so. Much of it is a canoe trip out into the wilderness. Just paddling out with food and tents and going around rivers for a week or two. Fun or hell? That's yet to be decided.
Oh, and I read Twilight. In a single night, if you're interested, which is why I've been so tired all of today. And I refuse to comment. I know everyone else in pretty much the entire world has something to say about the series or the movie or whatever, so I'm defying conformity by saying nothing. You do not get to hear my opinion. As far as you know I have no opinion. The fact that I read it all at once can be attributed to boredom, or not having any reasonable idea of when is a good time to go to bed, and not to the fact that I couldn't put it down. Maybe I was enjoying it and maybe I wasn't. I lowered myself to mentioning The Dark Knight, but this cultural phenomenon has left me untouched! I am the only blogger in the world who has read the book and not voiced an opinion! Revel in my power! Hahahahahahahaha!
(Of course, Danica will beat it out of me within minutes of reading this, but let me enjoy it while I can...)
I have work that I should be doing. That I really, really need to do. What am I still doing here? Stop blogging and start working right this inst
It's strange. There's a chill on the air, a kind of apprehension buried beneath smoke. Now is the time to get things done. I might not get another chance.
We're wearing a cross. The little gold necklace. Skeleton's orders. It makes sense; if the worst should happen a holy symbol may be no end of help. Still though... when I put it on I feel tired, dizzy, prone to headaches. I swear the thing burns slightly where it touches me. I can't eat when it's pressed against my skin, it nauseates me. I think it's going to continue to hurt me so long as I believe that it will. It's better than the alternative. However, that borders on Things Too Terrible To Contemplate (TTTTC) so it's best to leave that alone.
I've decided I'm going to do push-ups. Lots of them. True, I'm not really built for that kind of thing judging by the shape of my arms and neck, but... I don't really know. Just one of those things.
Work to do. Lit and Anthro. School is really wearing me down.
Did I mention summer camp? I'm signed up for four weeks of camp in the summer. Or so. Much of it is a canoe trip out into the wilderness. Just paddling out with food and tents and going around rivers for a week or two. Fun or hell? That's yet to be decided.
Oh, and I read Twilight. In a single night, if you're interested, which is why I've been so tired all of today. And I refuse to comment. I know everyone else in pretty much the entire world has something to say about the series or the movie or whatever, so I'm defying conformity by saying nothing. You do not get to hear my opinion. As far as you know I have no opinion. The fact that I read it all at once can be attributed to boredom, or not having any reasonable idea of when is a good time to go to bed, and not to the fact that I couldn't put it down. Maybe I was enjoying it and maybe I wasn't. I lowered myself to mentioning The Dark Knight, but this cultural phenomenon has left me untouched! I am the only blogger in the world who has read the book and not voiced an opinion! Revel in my power! Hahahahahahahaha!
(Of course, Danica will beat it out of me within minutes of reading this, but let me enjoy it while I can...)
I have work that I should be doing. That I really, really need to do. What am I still doing here? Stop blogging and start working right this inst
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