So I haven't updated in a whole month.

Sorry. I really haven't forgotten about my blog. I missed it and have been craving writing on here, but it just wasn't happening with the whole craziness that was February. Seriously, February can go to hell. What an awful month.

I'll pretty much break it down.

-I kept going back to the Eye Institution in Morgantown, WV (about 45 minutes from my town) almost every week to check on my eyes for this stupid pseudotumor. I'm getting better and the swelling is almost gone, but the constant visits and tests are taking a toll.
-I almost didn't make it through the month money-wise. I was so tight on money from doctor's bills and a ridiculously high electric bill that I begged my mom for help. I hate asking for help with money, absolutely hate it, but I had no choice. My mom, however, insisted she was going to help me whether I liked it or not, and helped to pay for the remainder of the doctor's bills covered by insurance.
-Essays, essays, more essays, work, essays, essays, work, essays, work, and more essays.
-Got a bill from the hospital for $3000 from the ER. Apparently the insurance company told me they wouldn't cover the bill because my diagnosis wasn't an emergency. My symptoms were also symptoms of MS, lyme disease, and a friggin' brain tumor. Am I supposed to let that go? I'm a student and can only work part-time, so that $3000 is 1/3 of my yearly income.
-Dealt with a co-worker stealing my tips, but I had no way of proving it since those tables were all off-camera.
-Delved into a deep depression again from all the stress. I never want to see another hospital again.

But I guess in every storm there is a silver lining:
-My diploma arrived in the mail. Apparently I did graduate. I now have a Bachelor's of Science in Graphics/Fine Arts with a minor in Spanish, cum laude.
-Valentine's date with Sean in which we gorged ourselves, then went to see True Grit. Good movie, and I'm not a Western fan.
-Luckily, my mom is now a nurse, so she is pulling some strings to take care of that $3000 bill. I also talked to the optometrist who originally recommended me to the ER in the first place and he nearly crapped himself. He was seriously outraged and offered to write a letter on my behalf. Hopefully it will be taken care of.
-February is over.

I would like a break from the crap. Come on, fate, throw me a friggin' bone, here.

All right. Pity party over. Anyway, as an escape I've been writing a lot. I'm working on my rewrite now, and the comparisons between my second draft and this most recent one are astounding. Here, have another break down:

-I've turned chapter one into two chapters, chapter two into two more chapters, and increased the length of each chapter by 2-3 pages.
-The battle scene at the beginning of the book. Boy, did I have problems with that one on the first writing. I have a friend who knows a ton about ancient warfare and I got a lot of helpful advice from him about tactics, so it reads more realistically. In the first draft, the only thing I got right was that spearmen (the protagonist's tribespeople) are strong against horsemen (the attacking mercenaries. Thanks, Sid Meier's Civilization! In the new draft, I've included positional tactics such as flanking and repositioning, and what would happen once those sword and axe wielding horsemen were dismounted and fighting hand-to-hand with spearmen.
-I use a somewhat useless but fun website iwl.me, which shows what author you write like when you copy-paste your text into the field. I've gone from writing like Dan Brown (egad) and J.K. Rowling (not a bad writer, in fact, I love her books, but it's not the style I'm going for) to Neil Gaiman (SQUEAL), Ursula Le Guin (one of the best fantasy writers of all time), and Arthur C. Clarke ("I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that.")
-My increase in words so far is over 4000. I have five chapters written for the new draft. In the second draft, I would still be in the second chapter. Damn, did I move the story too fast!

Well, that's it for now. I'll try not to disappear for a month again, but I can't promise I won't be abducted by aliens or Atlanteans or anything.

Drugs are bad, mmkay?

As you know, I have this dumb problem with my head called pseudotumor cerebi. Luckily, I haven't had any headaches or migraines at all since my spinal tap, and I've been on a medication called topamax to relieve the pressure in my skull so my brain won't explode. Two weeks ago, I went to the West Virginia University Hospital's super fancy facility specifically for eye and neurology problems, where the doctor did all kinds of tests on my eyes and things seemed good.

My optic nerves are starting to return to normal and they have hardly any swelling left. My headaches have been non-existent, and my vision has actually improved. In addition, I'm no longer colorblind in my left eye. However, my normal doctor's higher-up told me to increase my dosage, from 50mg a day to 75mg a day. Oh, boy.

Let me tell you a bit about Topamax. It is a migraine/seizure medication that is also used to treat pseudotumor cerebi, and has the added bonus of weight loss (I've lost 9 pounds since starting it, can't argue with that). However, some side-effects are pretty terrible, such as kidney stones and hair loss. Oh, yeah, and violent mood swings, panic attacks, and thoughts of suicide. Guess who experienced the latter? This girl.

I've struggled with unmedicated chronic depression for most of my life, so I thought I was just going through one of my lows. Nope. Every day since I started the higher dosage I thought about killing myself in a variety of ways. In class I started to randomly have panic attacks. The entire world looked gray. Then I started thinking about orphans in Darfur and felt guilty, because who am I to feel like crap when at least I have food, water, shelter, and am not being hacked by pieces by the Janjaweed? Then it just started a vicious cycle.

I'm approaching the end of my prescription, so hopefully I'll be off of this evil demon drug from the 9th layer of Hell soon. I pray that this dumb problem with my head is gone. Why is it always my head that's screwed up? Why can't I have a left wrist disorder, or an outer ear disorder, or perhaps an armpit disorder? Ah well. C'est la vie.

In other news, I am becoming a professional student by taking up a second major in Computer Science, because I'm crazy. I don't feel like I'm smart enough for the math, but my professor insists my ACT score is good enough (26 in math on the ACT? Seems kind of low but whatever). I'm in a programming class now and I love it. I'm the only girl in the class, which is kind of funny.



Also, I have another award! Wee! I guess there were some questions to answer with it, so here they are:

If you blog anonymously, are you happy doing this? If you aren't anonymous, do you wish you started out anonymously, so that you could be anonymous now?
I feel anonymous enough so that I won't be randomly stalked, but not so anonymous that no one will feel like they're reading about a faceless computer person.

Describe an incident that shows your inner stubborn side.
I am always stubborn. For example, I irritated the shit out of the admins at my college for graduation because their older catalogs were a huge clusterfuck to the point that they gave in to my insane whims. Bwahahahaha.

What do you see when you really look at yourself in the mirror?
Depends on my mood. Sometimes I see someone I like, who is ambitious and smart, and sometimes I see an ugly, raging lunatic.

What is your favourite summer cold drink?
It's been a while so I don't remember the exact name, but the delicious orange-pineapple smoothie from the Angry Smoothie Man in the Mountainlair on the WVU campus.

When you take time for yourself, what do you do?
Write, read, crochet, draw, paint, play games, and browse the interwebs.

Is there something that you still want to accomplish in your life?
Right now, I want to get my degree in Computer Science, and I want to finish my book and have it published.

When you attended school, were you the class clown, the class overachiever, the shy person or always ditching?
I was painfully shy, and still am, but always did well.

If you close your eyes and want to visualize a very poignant moment in your life, what would you see?
The night Sean proposed to me was so perfect that romance movies couldn't touch it. It was a clear summer night by a pond that had an island with a single tree, the moon was full and silver, and the crickets were chirping. I mean, we're not getting married for quite a few more years, but he decided that moment was too perfect to pass up, and it was.

Is it easy for you to share your true self in you blog, or are you more comfortable writing posts about other people and events?
A little bit of both. I find it hard to talk about some problems though that I would really like to get out, but I just don't know how to discuss it without sounding dumb. I like writing about outside events as well, though.

If you had the choice to sit down and read a book or talk on the phone, which would you do and why?
Read. I don't like talking on the phone other than to my mom or Sean, and reading is awesome.



Thanks, Dani-Q, for the award! Hugs!

I'm cured!

Sorry I haven't been updating often. Between these awful migraines and worrying about my new condition, things have been a bit crazy, but I think everything should be back on track soon.

Today, I finally got over my post-spinal tap headaches. If you've ever had a lumbar puncture, I'm sure you know what these are like. If not, count yourself lucky. When you have a spinal tap, they drain a little bit of spinal fluid to check for certain things... in my case, to relieve the excess pressure around my brain and to check said pressure. When they do that, the fluid leaks a little bit, causing your brain to float down, which in turn makes the membrane scrape across the bottom of your skull when you're sitting up. You're completely fine while lying flat, but when sitting up that fluid shifts down again.

Imagine the worst migraine (or headache, if you don't get migraines) you've ever had. Multiple that by ten. Then imagine Genghis Khan just lopped a two-handed axe through your skull. After that, imagine that all of Manchester United is lining up to take turns to kick you full force in the head while the Khan's axe is still embedded in your brain. That's what post-spinal tap headaches feel like.

Other than that, though, the medicine and relief from the spinal tap has done a world of good for my pseudotumor. My eyesight has improved dramatically, I have yet to get a headache (other than the spinal tap headaches), and I haven't had any anger fits or depressive slumps. Also, the medicine I was prescribed causes weight loss. Can't argue with that.

Anyway. Enough about my feeble human body. Here's some nerdy stuff.

Invicibility star. I crocheted him one dead night at work.

A boo. The picture makes him look terrible... he's not perfect, but I'm pretty happy with him.

Also, class starts next week. My official last semester. It's scary. Terrifying, in fact. Terrifying in the prospect that I have to start looking for a graphics job in a place where no graphics jobs exist. I hope I'm not doomed to wait tables forever.

You know what's not fun? 10 hour hospital visits.

I went to my eye doctor yesterday for a routine check-up and to get a new prescription for my contacts and glasses. When he was checking the back of my eyes, he found out that my optic nerves were swollen and began the process of freaking me out. Apparently, this can be a symptom of anything to a small infection to MS to a brain tumor. With my eyes still dilated and unable to see, I cried all the way home.

I was referred to the WVU Hospital ER. I saw four different doctors... two general, an optomologist, and a neurologist, and got a CT scan as well as several tests done. My eyes were dilated again (a fun process) and I learned I might have had to stay overnight. After staying for a week in a horrible hosital visit when I was 19, overnight hospital stays are one of the worst things ever.

Turns out I didn't have to stay, as I didn't have a brain tumor or MS. I had something called pseudotumor cerebi, which has many symptoms of a tumor without actually being one. It causes extra fluid to collect around the brain, in result swelling my optic nerves, blurring my vision, and giving me migraines. It can lead to blindness if untreated, but isn't terribly serious.

Of course, it wouldn't be a hospital visit without a terribly painful procedure done on me. They wanted to check the pressure in my brain as well as relieve some of the fluid, so they decided to do a spinal tap. I've lived in fear of having a spinal tap done for quite some time and figured I'd never have to get one, but what do you know, that's exactly what they wanted to do.

I was so nervous beforehand I was visibly shaking and silently crying uncontrollably, and the doctor told me she would give me some strong anti-anxieties to help me relax. Even though I had two (maybe a third during? I was too busy screaming in pain), it did nothing. They numbed the skin where they would poke me and then began putting a huge needle into my spine. I cursed the pirate ship tattooed on my back, as it was throwing her off and causing her to poke the nerve bundles.

I can't even describe the feeling, as it's just way too weird. It feels like someone reaching into your back and pulling a long needle through your spinal fluid and nerve bundles. I cried like a huge baby and held my mom's hand through the procedure. She's a nurse, but she almost passed out and had to leave because she said it's terrible seeing it done to your own kid.

Right now my back's killing me and my head hurts since the spinal tap causes your brain to float on cerebal fluid. I'm having an MRI done in two weeks to make absolute sure it's not a tumor.

So, yeah. Fun stuff.

New stuff + update.

Sorry I haven't posted very much recently. After the holidays, there's so much to do: cleaning, playing with new toys like the PS3 that Sean's parents generously bought for us, and crocheting. I've been crocheting like crazy lately, even though I just started not too long ago. There's something extremely satisfying about it... I guess because I'm making stuff you can actually use instead of just making stuff to look at.

Anyway, I spent about 3 days making this scarf, and I think it turned out pretty well:

I wish I had a better camera, because I'm so proud of this thing and the pictures make it look like crap.

Another thing I've been doing recently is working on my Etsy shop. I've been making a variety of items for it as well as adding things I've had sitting around for a while... jewelry, hemp, a painting, and crochet. Still have not sold a single thing. I'd like the get more traffic to it, but I can't afford the advertising program right now.

Speaking of not being able to afford anything, the holidays have made me broke. I didn't buy anyone presents this year, just made some, but somehow I still ended up with no money. I've paid all the bills besides rent, and I have a grand total of $9 in my checking account besides the rent money. Sean and I gathered our change yesterday to buy a loaf of bread at the gas station so we could eat something. Ah, the joys of being a college student.

And then, jumping to being a college student, I have one more semester and I'm done. I need just one class, so I'm taking some useless classes to fill my financial aid requirements. One class I'm taking, however, is equally useless and cool. It's called Folk Art, and in this class they teach you weaving (knitting, crocheting, etc), quilting, tinsmithing and metalworking, bookbinding, dollmaking, and other cool stuff. I'm really looking forward to it, and hopefully it'll add some unique stuff to my Etsy inventory that no one will buy.

On a final note, they are adding a Gloria Jeans to the complex they're building in my town. In fact, they're adding several awesome things that we don't have: a Dairy Queen, the Gloria Jeans, an Orange Julius, and a Little Caesar's (already have that, but it's on the other side of town). I had Gloria Jeans coffee twice: once in a coffee variety pack last Christmas, and once a few days ago when Sean and I went to Morgantown and they had one there. I had a Butter Nut Rum mocha... it was awesome.

I'm thinking about applying to the Gloria Jeans, as it's five minutes away from my apartment instead of twenty-five, and I could work there in the mornings before my evening classes. Plus, free coffee. Who doesn't want that?

My fingers are bleeding.

Since it's Christmastime and I'm horrendously poor, I decided to make stuff. My last name is Webb, which is Old English for weaver, so what's better than weaving things? I picked up crochet again, and here are a few of the things I've made.

Scarf for my mom.

Scarf for my other mom (Sean's mumsy).

A headband (adding to shop inventory).


The beginnings of a bag, which I'll also attempt to sell when it's done.

I'm not great at it yet, but I guess it'll do.

On another note, yesterday I very briefly attended my work's Christmas party, only to drop off my present to my Secret Santa receivee. Besides a couple of coworkers that don't hate me, I just felt so unwelcome. I feel like that everywhere. At school, at work, in public. I feel like I don't belong anywhere anymore.

To be truthful, I don't really have any friends in real life. I mean, there's people I'll talk to, but no one I actually hang out with. People I think are friends end up being a completely different person than I thought, or they lose interest pretty quickly. Even though I was among the weird outcasts in high school, I still had an entire group of weird outcasts to hang out with, and we always had a ton of fun. They've all went their separate ways now... out of town, state, and even country.

I've been tempted to come back to WoW because I had friends there. When I had a seizure last year, I logged into WoW because I had no one else to talk to while Sean headed home to see if I was okay.

The only real friend I have in real life is Sean. Still, he can't keep me from being lonely all the time. I feel so alone. Is being an adult this lonesome?

Well, back to crocheting.

Finals = over!

So after lots of stress, getting things done last-minute, projects, papers, presentations, and wanting to jump off a bridge, I am done with finals! I've only taken 12 hours this semester, and it has been far more stressful than any other semester so far (even my 21 hour one). I think it was just the mere workload of the classes, since they were all senior level:

Art History (1450-1750): I love art history, but I found this class much harder than my Impressionist/Post-Impressionist and Modern Art class. I think it's because religious art bores me. Plus, the papers and exams were rough. I do have a newfound love for Baroque Dutch art, however.

Water Media: My watercolor class. Oh, I know, sounds like fun, painting with watercolors all day. It is fun, and I've discovered my niche, but this class was demanding. You have to paint several watercolors everyday, as well as finish an enormous final project at the end. Still fun, though.

Area Studies: This class is kind of like an independent work class that meets a few times during the semester for critiques. They absolutely hammer you and don't hold back. I came back after every critique in tears, never wanting to paint again. However, it really pushed my boundaries and I had a positive critique at the end, which was rather satisfying.

Graphics Practicum: My graphics internship. I interned under a wonderful lady that runs the student activities and organizations, where I did posters, pamphlets, t-shirt designs, website updates, cards, and more. There was always lots to do, but it helped me realize my strengths and weaknesses and improve upon them. In addition to the actual internship work, I had to write a brief essay and keep work logs every two weeks. At the end, I had to write a 5-page summary essay, do a presentation on the internship, and lots more to hand in.


Next semester will finally, definitely be my last. That makes for me being in college for five years, which kind of sucks but I guess isn't so bad when I changed my major 4 times (Political Science to Biology to Chemistry to finally Graphic Design/Fine Arts) and transferred from WVU to a smaller university in my hometown. Plus, I have a minor in Spanish, and foreign language minors tend to require several classes.

I want to just be done with academia, but now I am seriously considering undertaking grad school. Of all things, for a Master's in Art History. I know, sounds as useful as a doctorate in Underwater Basket Weaving, but I've always wanted to say I had a Master's degree. Also, the coolest professor I know is my art history teacher, who is the smartest woman in the world and knows everything ever about art. I want a Master's in Art History so I also have the ability to teach undergraduates on a university level, as well as have the opportunity to be a curator. I'm already picking up a second class (Gallery Management) so I can have a minor in art history.

Well, I'm going to go nurse this migraine.

The hellish winter season begins...

I dislike snow quite a bit. This is bad, considering it tends to snow in the mountains and I happen to live in a state completely covered by mountains. Last night, it was raining and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank god it's only rain. A few degrees colder and it would've been snow."

We get home and I watch a movie and crochet. When I look out the window again, low and behold, the demonic flakes of hell start raining upon us.

"Well, the ground probably isn't cold enough. I doubt it'll stick."

A few hours later, it starts to snow harder. I should really learn to keep my mouth shut when it comes to weather, because of course it started to stick.

My backyard as of 8:30 AM, bringing terrible tiding from the evil skies, with only more to come.

After last year's winter, I have to say I'm pretty snowed out. When I was a kid, snow was awesome. Snow meant snow days filled with making snowmen and angels and igloos and snowball fights and sledding, to come in hours afterward to hot chocolate and video games. Now that I'm an adult in college, this means nothing. 2 feet of snow? Too bad! Get to class, chump. Freezing rain and sleet and the interstate is covered? Pity, you have to go to work so you can afford your heat.

Last winter, the snow began pretty early. It was smaller snows... 6 inches here, a light dusting there. Then, it keep snowing. And snowing. And snowing and snowing. Snowstorms turned to blizzards. Multiple blizzards raining down flakes so huge that you couldn't see a foot in front of you for all the white. Eventually, we were snowed in.

Being snowed in was pretty sweet at first. It was a state of emergency, so that meant no class. But then, after the 3 feet of snow refused to melt and a 4 inch sheet of ice covered it, we started to get worried. Because we had no food. We had a couple of packets of ramen and some canned vegetables. I hiked to my mom's house with the snow up to my thighs in order to get some deer meat so we could eat something besides chow mein.

This went on all winter. The snow never really stopped. It'd begin to melt, and we cheered. Then it snowed again and we locked ourselves back inside.

The biggest reason I hate the snow is because I hate driving in it. Have you ever driven on the interstate with a foot of snow in a blizzard going 35 so you wouldn't die only to have a tractor trailer speed by you at 80 MPH, barely missing you? It's pretty terrifying.

Last winter, Sean almost had a terrible wreck because of the weather, too. He lost control on the interstate and slammed into a snow bank. Thank god the bank was there and extremely fluffy, or he could've been seriously hurt.

The true face of evil.

So in conclusion, snow needs to go back up into the sky and stay there.

Inspirational post from a cynic.

Yesterday my friend asked me a good question. It was: "Do you really, truly think that anyone, as far as the Western world is concerned, can do anything they really want to?" I said yes, and he told me that was good, because according to everyone he knows, by the time you reach your mid-20s you've given up on those dreams of becoming a rock star that juggles chain saw guitars or an astropaleantologist. Your life is now an endless, unescapable monotony, so why start something good now?

If you think about it, if you live in a first-world country, you really can do anything you want, as long as you try hard enough. Want to become an artist, but suck at art? Study art, take art classes, and practice, practice, practice. Want to be an astrophysicist, but aren't good at math? There are plenty of books and free resources that help sharpen your abilities. Want to be a mime? Wait, why the fuck do you want to be a mime? Do you want the shit beaten out of you on a daily basis?

I'm really down on myself a lot. I believe that my art sucks, my writing sucks, and everything that I do sucks. Then again, talent in most people besides freakish brain children isn't something that they're just born with. Talent is preserverance. Talent is practice, patience, a little bit of natural inclination, and a dash of fairy dust.

Most of the time I'll look at my art or writing and feel like it's the worst thing ever. Like, worse than Hitler 2. But you know, there are people out there that are worse, and successful. You know why? Because they kept trying and didn't give in to self-doubt.

There's no need to give up on your dreams. Would J.K. Rowling still be richer than God if she said, "Well, I'm a single mother on welfare. This is fine I guess." Would the Wright brothers have invented one of the single most important machines of human history if they listened to the critics laughing at their idea of flying through the air? Would man have discovered fire if they didn't keep banging those sticks and rocks together? Probably not.

Then again, you should still listen to those critics. Some are out to bring you down, while some serve as a good reference point against your flaws. These people will help you master your art and help you improve, so those others that are bringing you down will STFU.

The world is a cold, unsympathetic place. Why let it win? Punch it in the goddamn face. Kick it hard in the throat and scream, "SHUT UP, I just did what I wanted, bitch!" while in huddles in a fetal position and cries. As you leave it to its pain, grasping its choking throat, slide your sunglasses over your eyes and turn dramatically in the sunset, flicking your still-lit cigarette into its eye.

Just do what you want to do. You're going to die someday and the sun is going to explode, and the universe will finally collapse upon itself and wipe out every remnant of everything you ever knew and ever existed. Might as well have fun with it, and do what you want. Besides, you know, become Hitler 2 or something.

Nightmares and dreams.

I haven't updated in a bit... what a busy week.

This morning I had some terrible nightmares. I can't remember them too well, all I know is three times throughout the morning I woke myself up screaming. I don't have nightmares much anymore, but when I do they're damned awful.

I do, however, remember my dream from the night before. I was in a Escheresque college with multiple levels that also had a cold-side grocery store beside its classrooms. Handy. One of the guys in my class was a guy I went to school with in high school who had long hair and would (ironically?) put it into pigtails. In the dream, he had Sailor Moon hair with very long hemp hair ties, walking around like it ain't no thang. I should also mention he was wearing a lumberjack's shirt and a blue kilt.

After class, I went to the elevator and came face-to-face with an old friend. He was wearing an ankle-length pink fur coat, an enormous admiral's hat with huge plumes and gems, and had a small chain through his nose and cheeks.

"Hey, what's going on?" he says.

"Not much. Um, nice outfit."

"I know, right?"

He then turns sideways, where an Asian Link is now standing holding a triforce. My friend grabs it out of his hands and says, "That's not for you!" and runs off into the parking garage with it. Link hangs his head and cries as he slumps down the stairs.


Speaking of nightmares, I had one a few weeks ago that bothered me. A year ago, I had a nightmare where I was helping my mom move into a new house. She asked me to take a box to the attic and I complied.

The attic was enormous, with several large rooms and winding staircases. I set the box down and went to leave, when I realized the door was gone: there was just a wall. Suddenly, horrific ghosts and Lovecraftian creatures slunked from the shadows, closing in on me. I can't really describe them, but they give me shivers just thinking about it. I forced myself to wake up before anything happened, a practice I perfected after neverending nightmares when I was a teenager.

A few weeks ago, I had another dream that I was in a house with my mom, helping her unpack. Sean was there with me.

"This house looks really familiar," I said.

"You've been here before, don't you remember?" Sean said.

My mom motions to a box on the ground. "Will you take this up to the attic for me?"

I shake my head. "No way. Don't you remember what happened to me in the attic a year ago?"

I've never had reoccuring dreams, much less a dream that continues itself after one year. Eerie.


What are some of your most memorable dreams?

I think I'm crazy.

Most people in the world aren't normal. Think about it: the human brain is an extremely complex organ, not only regulating your necessary functions to survive (such as breathing, organ use, being able to realize that petting that bear isn't a good idea), but juggling many other tasks as well. Our brain allows us to form logical theories, to dream and imagine, to feel emotion, to form abstract thoughts, and many more. It isn't surprising that most people have something a little off-kilter upstairs.

There are also those whose brains are a little broken. Not completely broken such as cannibal sadist serial killers, but just off enough to be considered somewhat crazy. In fact, 26.2% of the observable population in the States has been diagnosed with a mental illness. I'm among that somewhat crazy. The old saying goes "a mad person doesn't realize he's mad," but most realize there's something wrong with them.

When I was a kid, 8 to be specific, I had childhood OCD and depression. Sometimes I would have random evil thoughts float across my mind, insidious whispers that would damn me. Since this was long before I became an agnostic, I had the fear of God in me and this made it worse. A common thought I would have was "I hate God and I love Satan." This was pretty terrifying for 8-year-old me, so constantly throughout the day, nearly every hour, sometimes every minute, I would repeat to myself, "I love Jesus and I love God. I hate the devil, and I love Jesus and I love God." Over and over and over and over.

I also would have constantly repeating thoughts through my mind. For instance, I loved to read; always have and always will. When I read a book, the book would be stuck in my head, reading itself to me over and over. Songs were the same. It wasn't the usual getting a song stuck in your head... no, it would play over and over for hours, days even.

Finally my mom took me to a child psychologist and I was diagnosed. Therapy did nothing and the pills did nothing. Finally, after a few years, I grew out of my OCD thoughts. But I wasn't safe yet, because a crazy person is usually crazy forever.

When I was 11 we moved back to West Virginia and I was thrown into a new world where no one really liked me. The depression kicked in, but this time with no OCD. Throughout my teenage years I was constantly depressed and cried myself to sleep almost every night, from 11 to 17. I don't know why I was so sad. Everything just felt so gray. I was constantly thinking of death and suicide, almost like it was an obsession. I cut myself where people couldn't see, bruised myself, and scratched myself till I drew blood.

Now that I'm an adult, I grew out of that psychosis as well, only to fall into another one. I still have depression here and there, but it's not the intense sort, more like the extremely apathetic sort. When I go on these bouts nothing in the world seems that great, and everything is empty. Luckily, these are rare anymore. I thank Sean for pulling me out of it.

Instead, my crazy has been replaced by a much less accepted type of psychosis. I honestly don't know the terms, just what I experience: auditory and visual hallucinations, bouts of extreme anger, a stubborn dislike of things most people enjoy, disagreeability, having entire conversations with myself, repeating random phrases or words that flow through my mind, a constant need to daydream and be in a fantasy world, an inability to remember dreams from reality, and paranoia. I prefer it to the OCD and depression; it makes things a little more interesting and a little less drab.

I actually don't mind it too much. I hate my anger problem, and the hallucinations really throw me off and make me worry for my overall sanity, but at least it has boosted my creativity a ton and has helped my art and writing. Though mental illness is constantly ridiculed and looked down upon by society, some of the greatest artists and writers ever known suffered from some form of it: Vincent van Gogh, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Edgar Allen Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Pablo Picasso, Jackson Pollock, Kurt Vonnegut, Leo Tolstoy, Edvard Munch, Claude Monet, Mark Rothko. And that's just the ones I know well.

Creativity and mental illness have been officially linked through studies, so being crazy isn't so bad. If you want to kill and eat women that look like your mother, that's bad. If you want to create a masterpiece of literature or art, that isn't. In fact, here's a recent piece I've done in a series I'm working on called Oneironaut, which is an artistic exploration and rendering of dreams.

Oneironaut: Drifting

After all, what is truly normal?

Tell me, my six readers: how crazy are you? Have you experienced anything that would make you question your sanity?

Things I've wanted to be.

Throughout our childhoods, we are asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Most of us respond with firefighter, police(wo)man, animal doctor, or something of the sort. I remember in the 3rd grade I had to write a story about what I wanted to be once I was ripped from the carefree years of childhood and thrown into the cold, dark world of adulthood. And they wanted me to be serious about it.

An 8-year-old, serious about their future occupation? I'm 22 years old, and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Nonetheless, I've given it thought throughout the years (less than a thought and more like a constant burning nag at the back of my mind everyday), and, throughout those years, I've wanted to be a lot of things. Here they are in chronological order.

1. Fire

That's right, I wanted to be a goddamn fire when I grew up. I was a hardcore 4-year-old. At my preschool, called La Petite, we were asked what we wanted to be when we grew up. I was too busy playing with my Ninja Turtles to pay attention. Several kids said "fireman," but all I heard was "fire."

The teacher came to me and said, "And Brittany, what do you want to be?" Being a 4-year-old who didn't give a shit, I said "fire."

"But Brittany, you don't want to be a fire. Fires are bad."

I shrugged. "Okay."

And my considerations of an adult career were born.


2. Rock star

Who hasn't wanted to be a rock star as a kid? When I was 13, I got my first guitar. I learned to play "Brain Stew" by Green Day and thought I was a rock goddess. I had dreams of stardom, my band playing an awesome concert with me at the forefront crowd-surfing and smashing guitars. Hell, I even had a "band." Less of a band and more of a girl who could sing and a girl who played bass that joined up with me to write crappy songs.

Even though I haven't touched my guitar in years, I still have daydreams of it. Who doesn't? The life of a rock star is awesome, minus the hookers and drugs.


3. Veteranarian

This was rather short-lived. I liked animals, so why not be an animal doctor? When I found out that I needed more years of school that I wanted to attend, this idea was quickly dropped. Also, my mind-meltingly intense phobia of slugs and snails guaranteed me that I was going to be put in an fear-induced coma if someone came in with a pet snail.

(For reference, I've had this phobia since I was 8. It's weird and irrational, but show me a picture of one of these bastards and I will run and cry and scream like a baby.)


4. Geneticist

In my 10th grade science class, we did a section on genetics. I enjoyed it far more than anything else we were taught, and I decided the career of a geneticist was the one for me. Just think, I could cure every genetic disease and disability known to man! I would create superpeople, even monsters! The world would be at my mercy! I would play God!

Imagine my disappointment when I found out geneticists really don't make superpeople.


5. International political advisor

In my senior year of high school, I joined the speech team. I decided to do an original oratory on the genocide in Rwanda and relate it with the ongoing genocide in Darfur. I got really into it. The horrors of the world lay ahead of me, and who was to fix it? Apparently me.

When I went into my first year of college I was a political science major. I would travel the world in a quest to save humanity from itself, learning every language known to man, venturing to the jungles of Africa to the harsh deserts of Mongolia to the dramatic peaks of Argentina. I even took French so I would be able to travel throughout the majority of the African continent (the only word I remember to this day is fenetre.) I continued to take my Spanish courses (I actually successfully minored in this, and pretty good en el idioma de los españoles), and even began studying other languages on my own such as Swahili, Arabic, Irish Gaelic (more for shits and giggles than anything), Japanese, and Chinese.

It was during my first week in college that I met Sean in my political science class. At the end of the year, deeply in love (and still am!) I decided I didn't want to be constantly traveling around the world since I would never see him. Politicians were all demons in disguise anyway.


6. Chemist

I came back home from West Virginia University and decided to attend the smaller school of my hometown, since the hugeness of WVU left me with a soul-crushing chronic depression. I don't make friends easily, and actually don't even really have any friends I hang out with now. I heard the chemistry classes at my new college were great, and I was good at chemistry in high school. How cool would it be to be playing with dangerous, explosive chemicals all day?

Unfortunately, the math requirements were beyond what I could handle. I'm not great at math. Well, not so much bad at it as I absolutely despise it. The only math classes I've ever liked were Geometry and Trig, but algebra sucks. Calculus sucked harder.

A chemist is still something I'd love to be, but I sadly don't have the capacity for the math of it. Dreams crushed.


7. Graphic designer

This is my current major. It's all right I guess. I love design, and it was a good excuse to get to take art classes without being a studio art major. I've been doing websites since I was 12 (first website was a Pokemon fan site, a masterpiece of the Internet), so this was of great interest for me.

It just sucks that my college is terrible at website design classes. They taught us how to use Dreamweaver and how to attach a CSS file, but that's about it. Nothing on actually CSS, PHP, or anything useful that you need to know for website design. So, more or less, I'm doomed.


8. Tattoo artist

My junior year of college, I became a tattoo apprentice at a nearby shop. It was pretty cool despite the fact that I wasn't getting paid. I even got to do a few tattoo fills and piercings. I have some great stories from the place, and this is still something I'd love to do. I've got six tattoos (one half-sleeve) and 11 current piercings, so these things have always been of interest to me.

After I realized that I really didn't want to be associated with that shop, I left. I ended up selling my tattoo machine and inks, and haven't done anything with it since.


9. Machinist

A current interest. Machinists make precision tools, and trade jobs are something that is rewarding and pays well. The only thing that may bar me from this is the fact that I have a uterus. Maybe someday women in trade jobs won't be such a strange thing.


10. Carpenter

My favorite class I've ever taken was Theatre Tech. I built lots of stuff from wood, including a set of a freaking castle. It was awesome, and I was strangely good at it. I still even have my final project from the class sitting in my living room, a table I made from scratch. I'm good at hand tools and power tools, I'm good at measurement, and I'm good at precision. Also, carpenters make decent wages. Another current interest.


11. Writer

A writer is the end-all be-all job for me. I've always wanted to do this, and I still do. My first book was written at the age of 4, self-illustrated and telling a gripping if confusing personal story. I wrote throughout my childhood, teenage years (shameful fanfiction aside), and continue to write. My ultimate dream is to be a writer. It just sucks that I'm not great at it.

In high school, I took a Creative Writing class and did great at it. On the ACT, I got a 35/36 on my English score and a 12/12 on writing. Why is it then, that writing fiction is such a hard thing to do?

Maybe someday I'll be good enough. I ain't giving up on this one yet. Maybe someday...


And just so you won't give up on your dreams, here's my favorite inspirational video for when I'm feeling like a failure.



So, class, what do you want to be when you grow up?

Brittany and Sean: Master pasteriers

A few weeks ago Sean and I bought a Halloween house kit. I made one last year and while it was no where near as pretty as it was on the box, it was decent. It's more or less a chocolate cookie house that comes with icing mix, grape bats, gumdrops, green balls, and a confectionary ghost. Look at the box art: these guys must've worked on it for 10 hours to make it so perfect and cute!

Today we decided to build the house. We carefully mixed the icing and began topping off the roof. However, the icing was too thin and it ran, much to our dismay. I tried to make a door, Sean placing the green balls around it, but it melted and ran down the side. We were sad.

Finally, Sean said "fuck it" and started pouring icing randomly all over it. The house was bleeding orange and purple. Joining him, I took a handful of bats and threw them on the house, the grape candies fusing into the evil haunted mashion.

It turned out that destroying the house was way more fun than perfectly building it, which is nervewracking and you start to notice your hands are awfully shaky when you're trying to perfectly align little green candies on the sharp roof. Here are the fruits of our labor.

This is the front of the house. Notice the melted door that still remains from when we began. Dead bats that have flown into the house are now fused with it, becoming one. A ghost in the left window pukes sweet orange bile as the house itself bleeds from the souls of its lost victims.

More dead bats have become entrapped in the house's gooey web of deceit, slowly being digested by the evil leviathan. A row of gumdrop tombstones line the yard, a warning to any adventurers or teenagers with a great dane to stay away.




The back is splattered with ectoplasm. Obviously, many great ghost wars have been fought here. Sadly, it is an endless battle, an eternal hell in which they may never leave. They wish to see their wives once again, leaving the horrors of war behind... too bad they don't realize they're already dead. A pair of gumdrop boobs is also here.

A rumble is heard from the misty distance, far from the eyes of the undead denizens that call this place their waking nightmare. In the distance, a towering goliath approaches, cookie trees crumbling in its wake, stirring flocks of Peep crows to scatter into the churning black sky. A great growl rips from its maw, lined with sharp teeth.

The ghosts cry out in dread as the creature lowers its head, and, with a great wail, sinks its jaws into the deathly prison of their home.

The gheists try to flee, but they're trapped in their eternal torment. Teeth gnash at them, and they stab at the monster in vain with their licorice spears and Pocky swords, but to no avail. The monster eats his fill and, as quickly as he came, vanishes into the black forests of the night.

The ghosts gather around their bleeding, melting, oozing mess of a home. Though they hate it for its role as their warden, their eyes fill with ghostly tears. Their haunting wails ring out over the marshmallow hills: the place for which they have fought, suffered, and died for eternally hangs in crumbling ruins, cracks of cookies falling from the rafters through to the yardside below. They are still trapped. They will continue to battle endlessly, forever... but for what?

So yeah, it was fun. And messy. And ugly. But delicious.

Scavenger hunt!

Well isn't this fun, a scavenger hunt. I've been tagged by Morgan, go check her out!

1. Your Favorite YouTube Video

If you haven't seen the first one, watch it here.

2. A photo that will make everyone say 'awww':

Who doesn't love adorable, fuzzy fox kits?

3. A funny T-shirt:

Wisdom from Billy Shakes.

4. Something geeky:

A classic.

5. A link or image to your favorite movie:

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

6. A link to the newest blog you've discovered:

Aquí.

7. An item on your wish list:

Well, there's no real tangible item that I really really want. Maybe this awesome jacket, or clothes from here. The thing I want most is to get published and have my story be moderately successful.

I'm supposed to tag more people, but I don't know a lot of bloggers on here yet so I will with time. If you have an interesting blog let me know and I'll follow ya!

Writer's block...

So I'm up to Chapter 8 on my novel and for the most part it's going well. It's one of those stories that seem to write themselves, or the characters direct the action. However, I'm at the end of this chapter and they seem to have stopped helping. I stared at the blinking cursor for a full five minutes, fingers on the keyboard, and nothing coming out. I guess I should've chosen a simpler concept and plot for my first novel, but I'm 95 pages in and it's too late to quit now. Even my dreams won't help me at this point.

At the risk of sounding like Stephenie Meyer, this story came to me in a dream (or rather, a series of dreams) when I was in high school. It was about a girl who lived on a desert island that had the rare ability to control and coax the natural elements. I kept the idea in my head, but never really did much with it because that girl in the desert was all I had. A few years later, I had a dream about an enormous black citadel, reaching past the clouds, its windows glittering like fireflies. I added that citadel to the story and kind of went from there, even taking that for my title (Citadel of Fireflies).

I've been writing Citadel of Fireflies since August, though I made up the characters and the first basic idea of plot back in late winter 2010. I'm painfully slow at writing this, I'm afraid. Beginning the journey was easy, and I know how it ends (for the most part)... I even know most of the middle, but it's the struggle of filling in those gaps that are the challenge. It's a fun challenge, but immensely difficult. Fantasy is difficult to write because you have to balance several characters while still making them complex and likeable, the world that you've created with the cultures and people of different lands, how magic works in that world, creatures you've created, the gods the people worship, and more. At the same time, you've got several small side plots that tie into the main plot, characters that may change or affect those plots, and rough patches until they reach their goal.

It's the hardest thing I've ever done and I love it. I've rewritten what I have so far twice and it's still awful, but knowing I'll get there someday keeps me writing.

It's a shame writer's block had to strike.

If anyone's curious, my story centers on a girl named Kishna living with a desert tribe. She is a shaman apprentice, studying under a mentor believed to be the last known practicing shaman. For her last test, she is to go on a spirit journey, where she has a vision of her village being ransacked and its people either killed or taken as slaves for King Falden - a dying king who is building a citadel that will reach to the heavens and drain power from the gods for himself. She manages to save her village, but she and some others are still captured. Somewhat later, she discovers that the only way to destroy the citadel and close the portal between their world and the heavens is to gather the six mortal avatars of Nadala, the goddess of purity, sent by her to combat the evil in the world. Once gathered, these avatars, called Virtues, are able to call upon their godly powers and put an end to that evil.

The tl;dr version: A chick tries to destroy a thing. And there's magic.

Hopefully the end of Chapter 8 and the beginning of Chapter 9 will come to me soon, as I'd rather like to continue. Until then, here's the usual question for the end of my blog posts: What keeps you reading a story? Do you want to know if the characters succeed, or what will happen to them? Are you interested in the setting and are curious as to what will happen to it? Or do you read it because you have to?

Federal holidays for genocide and slave trade.

So yesterday it was Columbus Day, celebrating the accidental sailing into the Caribbean islands by some Italian dude paid by some Spanish dudes, which began a regime of genocide and slave trade. Pretty upstanding guy, that Christopher.

For a while, there has been a small minority, mostly Native Americans and black Americans with some observant white Americans, asking to replace Columbus Day with Native American Day or a remembrance day for the suffering of minorities caused by Columbus's deeds. They've been unheard and we go about our business, saying a quiet "Fuck yeah Columbus" and cursing that the bank is closed.

Native Americans are an often ignored minority in the United States. Many people laugh about their casinos on their reservations, their alcoholism, and their desperation to cling to their culture. Most stay on reservations to keep a shred of their culture alive, but unfortunately these are pieces of land that the government gave to them that are infertile, far from jobs, and no where near cultural holy sites. Many start casinos to give their families a chance, and, if your culture stood in ruins around you and you couldn't find a job to feed your family, I'm sure you'd hit the bottle too.

So today, instead of celebrating the jerk that is Columbus, let's celebrate Native Americans, with some pictures and interesting facts.

• The United States Constitution is based enormously off of the laws of the Iroquois Nation, which included the Onondaga, Mohawk, Cayuga, Oneida, and Seneca tribes (and later the Tuscarora). Without the Iroquios Nation, there would be no US Constitution with such a strong basis.
• The medicine that tribes across the United States and Canada used was far more advanced and effective than their European breathrens, and some of these same remedies are used in modern medicine to this day.
• Sequoia, the Cherokee man who created the Cherokee alphabet, is the one who sequoya trees are named after.
• Many tribes did not have a written language, and relied solely on the excellent memory of their storytellers to hear tales of their mythology.
• Native Americans did not have horses until European contact. This is because horses are not native to the Americans, and the ones the tribes had were escaped horses from Spanish, French, and English explorers.

I know very little Cherokee back when I became interesting in learning the language, so here's a ridiculously simple conversation in Tsalagi (the Cherokee language) itself! Yay!

Osiyo, dto hi tsu?
Osda, ni hi na?
Osadadv.
Howa!

Translation:
Yo, what up G.
Notta thang homes. How you doin'?
Chillin.
Aight!

As you can see I'm quite fluent, and the translation is highly accurate.

A Hopi girl and her adorable squash-blossom hairstyle reserved for maidens.

A man in traditional Cherokee clothing. No, not all of them wore feathers and buckskin pants.

Thought to be Crazy Horse, or Tashunka Witco. He was pretty cool.

A Pacific Northwestern carving of a Kwakwaka'wakw, Pugwis, an undersea spirit.

In conclusion, remember those who were slaughtered because some stuffy guy in a silly hat couldn't find his way to Indonesia, and celebrate them instead of him. My fiance is Cherokee, so I celebrated in the most fun way possible.

The customer is always right?

You know what's fun? Idiotic customers. I come across a lot of them working midnights as a waitress. Dumb customers also seem to be the cheapest. I have a couple that stand out in my mind, and I thought I'd share.


1) A woman orders a turtle sundae for her kid. You know, hot fudge, caramel, peanuts, and ice cream, with whipped cream and a cherry on top. Pretty run-of-the-mill turtle sundae. I bring the sundae to the kid and he looks excited.

When I check on them, the woman holds up the sundae, freaking out. "Honey, he can't eat his ice cream because there's all these peanuts and chocolate and yellowish brown stuff!"

"Yeah, that's what a turtle sundae is."

"Well, can you bring him a turtle sundae that's just ice cream and a little bit of chocolate at the bottom?"

I force a grin. "Right away."

I plop the un-turtled turtle sundae in front of the kid. "Now that's more like it!" I hold in the urge to smash his face on it. Thirty dollar check, 50 cent tip.


2) A table of five drunks come in. Now, I get a ton of drunks working midnights in a restaurant right across the street from one of the trashiest bars in north-central West Virginia. But these guys are beyond drunk, to the point where they've probably reached the sublimity of nirvana from having more whiskey in their veins than blood. They're loud, obnoxious... you know, the ones who you really don't want to be the DD for because you don't want to be mistaken for their caretaker.

The young guy catches the edge of my Starry Night sleeve and asks to see it. I lift my shirt sleeve and he blinks at it, then touches it. I guess he figured it was textured like that actual painting.

"Yeah, well check this!" He lifts his shirt sleeve to reveal a (albeit well-done) tattoo of a topless angel with enourmous bajongas.

I force a grin. It's an art form. "Nice."

The old guy at the table stands up with his coffee and says he's going to go outside for a second to smoke. I tell him that's fine.

"You know, I'd like to get to know you on a one-on-one basis." Mind you, he's as old as my grandfather.

"I'll pass."

I put in their order and take it out to them some time later. The guy with the angel tattoo is standing by the edge of the booth as I place his T-bone on the table. He picks it up with his hands, takes a bite, and slams in on the tabletop. Completely throws the fucker like a Olympian discus competitor.

I try to talk the manager of kicking them out, because they're disturbing other tables, but it doesn't happen. They leave the biggest mess I've ever seen. I've had people with babies that they give cookies and spaghetti to grind up and dump on the floor, and they were cleaner than the drunks. Oh, and a sixty dollar check with no tip. They were all trashed and drove away, possibly into a school or an elderly jogger.


3) A woman comes in with her two school-aged kids at 2 AM. She has no idea what different types of espresso drinks are, which is fine. Not everyone knows the difference. So I explain them to her, but she can't grasp the concept.

"Now, this... espresso... does it have caffeine?"

After standing there for literally ten minutes explaining drinks to her, she decides on a Pumpkin Chai Latte. She then screams at her kids to hurry up and choose a drink, she ain't got all night.

I bring their drinks and take their order. She once again screams at her kids to hurry up and pick something. One of them can't read that well yet, he must've be five. Again, she has me standing there for ten minutes while she decides.

(Side note: If you're at a restaurant and if the server asks if you're ready, don't say yes and then look through trying to decide. The server can come back. "Ready" means you're prepared to say your order.)

She looks at the omelettes, getting frustrated. "Why do you have to have these omelettes with all this stuff in it? All I want is an omelette with egg!" As calmly as I can, without turning around and bashing my head into the buffet glass, explain that omelettes are made of egg. That's the yellow stuff holding the other stuff.

She also orders a salad, with three huge cups of ranch. She's having ranch soup at this point. Forty dollar check, no tip.


Those are my best that I remember. Here are some from when I worked midnight buffet. For those of you that don't work with or live near me, the midnight buffet has a hot side of breakfast food like egg, home fries, bacon, etc, and a cold side with fruit. Drunks love that shit.

1) Had a bunch of rednecks arguing over what the prunes were. One insisted it was a cold bowl filled with mushrooms.

2) Sean's customer on the bar came up to him and asked where the syrup was. He pointed to the wells at the end of the bar. "Oh, I thought that was sweet tea!" Yes, we keep an enormous pitcher of hot, sticky sweet tea with a ladle at the end of a buffet.

3) I had just taken a container of bacon out. One whole box of bacon will fill a container. As I went in and came back out to fill something else, an enormously fat guy, at least 350-400 pounds, waved at me.

"When are you going to bring more bacon out?" I look over at the just-filled container. It was all gone. He was the only one in the restaurant at the time who had the buffet.

4) A customer is asking me what stuff is. Understandable, for some of it. He gets to the pancakes and asks what they are. When I explain, he looks bewildered.


And finally, dumb customers that were not my own:

1) My friend Kurtis was running some coffee out to a table. The guy looks at the coffee pot and stops him.

"What is that?" He explains that it's coffee. "Oh, I thought that was black water."


2) Sean gets a To-Go order. The lady says, "What's that pasta dish you have with chicken and... that green stuff?"

"Chicken Broccoli Alfredo?"

"That's the one. I want that." Sean tells her she gets a side with it. "No, I just want the regular Chicken Broccoli Alfredo." He says yes, you get the alfredo, but it comes with a side. "No, no, I just want the regular size Chicken Broccoli Alfredo."


3) I forget who this was, but Sean was telling me about it. The server checks on his/her customer, who has the midnight buffet. "This is some good cheese soup you have!" He was eating straight cheese sauce.


And finally, the dumb question everyone gets constantly:
"What time does your midnight buffet start?"
I don't know. 7 AM maybe.