Last one of the day, barring anything crazy.

Alright, so. I've edited all of my photos from yesterday, and even though I had camera problems (I'm looking at you, foggy 70-200, you dirty old  bastard), and the orphanage felt uninspiring...which, come to think of it, is kind of a fucked up way to describe an abandoned orphanage...I did get a few shots that I don't hate.

Whether you're ready or not, here they come (who's got the rice??)!

 This is in the...uh...third building of the orphanage, I think. There used to be seven, but two of them are demolished, and honestly, I don't think they were numbered to begin with. So third building it is. But a tree has sprouted up in the doorway. Kind of wonderful, if you ask me.

 I really like monochromatic images, even if black and white completely defeats the purpose of butterflies aesthetically.

 However, this fellow is handsome as ever.

 Orchids are my very favorite flower in the world. My very, very favorite. Purple ones, in particular, but these white and purple dendrobium orchids are a very close second.

 I have no idea what these are. I'd feel silly if they were some kind of orchid. But I like them because they're purple and pointy and interesting.

 Half of that owl's face sprouted legs and just dove off.

 Just a tiny little thing! I loved him. Her. That butterfly.

 Abandoned ice skate at the orphanage. Quite sad, in context.

 Welcome home, huh? I'm going to take a hard, HARD pass on that and leave, thank you very much.

Another sad find among the rubble that's even more sad when you sit and think this is an abandoned orphanage.

I can't drag these photos and put them in sequential order, which is a bit of a bummer. But it's alright. Anyway,  here they all are! Putting them in here is so much easier than emailing them. Gmail is a bit stingy on the space allotment for attachments.

There's every possibility that I am, in fact, a magpie.

So, one of the things I do when I have nothing better TO do is browse for things online. Dresses, shoes, purses, baubles....I create lists in my head of things I want so I can go back and get them later. Of course, I generally forget about them, which works out well for my proverbial wallet. One thing I never, ever forget is jewelry. I am the mooniest-eyed magpie ever ever ever. I love jewelry, rings in particular. I only own two rings that mean anything to me, and one of them is kept in the safest of places, worn only on very, very special occasions. I have two pieces of gaudy costume-type jewelry that I wear whenever the mood strikes me, one being a chunky mint green bracelet, and the other being a ring that looks like an oval portrait frame, with a pale blue stone inside of it. It's huge. It takes up most of my finger. I like my odd taste in jewelry. I've yet to see anybody wear the same things I wear (I think some might try and make the case that that's because I have just the worst taste, and I need to tone down the ugly a bit), and I take that in stride. But I've strayed fairly far from the point.

I've been browsing today. I google things like "interesting jewelry", and I find designers that I wouldn't have otherwise heard of. A few weeks ago, such a thing happened, and I found this ring:

Oooooh, a sparkly!

I love it. I don't know what place sells this particular designer, and I haven't really done any digging to find out where, but one day, it might be important.

I hadn't actually bothered to look through his other designs, so I did today. And...in complete fairness, 98% of them are fucking awful. They're just these art deco monstrosities that I feel like people would only buy or wear as a statement piece (that statement being FUCK YOU, AESTHETICS, but that's neither here nor there). But, there were two more that I liked:

Rose gold is delicious.

What a unique piece!

I don't know where I got this obsession with sparkly things. For the most part, I just like to look and covet a little bit before moving on to the next sparkly thing. Though, looking at that sparkly thing and coveting it usually goes down like this:

I've accepted that I'm Jeremy, and that's ok. both because I love Don Bluth movies AND I loved this book (I loved the sequels, too! While I didn't care for Frisbee as a name, I did name my first rat Brisby as homage to the book and the movie), and because I'm fairly fucking sure that's really how I look when I see something sparkly. My eyes turn colors, and I stop speaking coherent English.

My pants are way too big for me. If I pull them all the way up to the top of my ribs, they look pretty alright, but they fall down and look like crap the moment I do anything. This shirt is too big, as well. I look like I'm wearing a tent. I think I might be. My plan was to have them tailored, because I wanted the jeans and the shirt, but they only came in smalls and extra larges (both of them. What a cruel coincidence), but this morning I just decided, fuck it, you'll be fine, just throw a belt on! And then I remembered I don't have belts, because I'm not adult enough for them, and I had no way of making this shirt anything but insanely billowy, but I came to work in this, anyway. Clearly I make good choices. I should have just worn a pencil skirt and a button down. Damn foolish of me.

I may update this AGAIN later this evening. I have photos to edit and post, and I'm feeling very anxious, and like writing is where it's at.

We talk in the dark as we fall asleep; we are objects in the night sky, outside of time.

So, I went to sleep kind of late last night. I didn't sleep very well, to boot. When I woke up at 7:30 this morning, I was initially annoyed. Then, I looked at my blinds, and the small spaces in between them were glowing an incredibly intense shade of pink. I batted them open and saw this:

which I obviously went on to take an incredibly shitty picture of. Some people are good at phone photos...I am not one of them. Other people are not so fucking lazy that they will get up and go outside to take a better picture...I'm not one of those people, either.

I went  out adventuring yesterday. I went to the Brighton Orphanage, which wasn't as good as I'd hoped it would be; I went to an abandoned corn packing plant that I couldn't really get into because I'll need to be dropped off so I can sneak in. There's no actual place to park my car that doesn't scream out HEY YOU GUYS, SOMEONE IS TRESPASSING. GET HER!!!!! Even parking further down the road would have been a five or so mile walk, and I wasn't interested in it THAT much. Well...I mean, that's true, but I am quite interested in getting in there. It looks amazing. After I gave up on the corn packing plant, the initial plan was to go to 16th street, but I went to the Butterfly Pavilion instead. I wanted to interject a bit of color into my day, and what better way than butterflies? It was humid and miserable in there, and my lens fogged up, but other than that, I had a lovely time. I sat on a bench nestled in a bush and watched the butterflies flutter all about the thing. It made me happy, and I'm glad I went.

I took myself to Sweet Tomatoes, because I have some sort of insane love of that place that nobody really understands. But that's ok, they don't have to. However, if you're playing the home game, I'm pretty sure it's the carbs. I love bread and muffins and bread and muffins.

I haven't really edited any of my photos yet. I'll probably do that when I get home this afternoon, but I'm at work until 4. I have to go home, go work out, and then I'll have the time to edit photos. I edited one yesterday, but it didn't really turn out the way I'd hoped.

I put the camera on burst mode and set up the bracketing function so I could attempt to HDR the picture, but it looks fucking heinous that way. I'm not so sure it doesn't look heinous this way, either, however. So there's that.

There's absolutely nothing going on at work right now, and I'm the only person here. I don't know why I didn't think to bring a book. Oh, well. That'll teach me.

I miss doing nothing with you

I was supposed to spend the evening editing photos. What I did instead was the following:

Bought sushi from Sprouts, that I later sat and ate in peace and quiet in my car...like a bulimic that hides the fact that they binge eat. I am neither bulimic nor a binge eater, but sitting in my warm car at the park and eating my bargain bin sushi (just kidding, it was delicious) seemed like a good idea at the time.

Came back home, and watched the last episode of Black Mirror. And by watched the last episode of Black Mirror, I mean I fell asleep ten minutes in and woke up two and a half hours later. Which was three hours ago. And I'm already tired again.

After waking up from my nap, I went into my room to edit photos and got sidetracked by everything else. Mostly listening to music (mostly 60s and 70s music. Ambrosia's How Much I Feel was my jam for a solid hour, much to the displeasure of my roommate) and looking through A Softer World (I love the alt-text on that one. On all of them, really). I've finally buckled down (mostly) and gotten a few more photos done. I am hoping to have them all done by tomorrow night, so I can reformat Lightroom and delete all of these silly fucking photos. I'm so excited for Brighton.

I'm listening to this song right now, and I love it so much. Listen to it...it's beautiful.

You have none but me, you murmur, and I leave you quite alone

Today has been an interesting roller coaster, to be sure.

Tomorrow is work, and then Saturday is Brighton!! Hooray! Abandoned orphanage (I've seen this horror movie, but I make it out alive, so I'm not that worried), AND abandoned corn packing plant. Yippeee!!!!!

I took this the other day while feeling fairly sorry for myself. The moment passed, and I'm better now, but the picture pretty well captures that feeling. Which sounds fucking lame, now that it's written out, but so it goes.

I'm about to take myself to sushi for dinner, and then spend the rest of the night processing more photos. I hate that part of photo gigs. It's the worst.

The trolley problem: pull the lever, it's the right thing to do

Is it time yet for me to be whisked away to Costa Rica for an indefinite amount of time by someone amazingly handsome and engaging?

Because I'm exhausted, and I want to be in Costa Rica.

I finished my final today in seventeen minutes. You read that correctly. Seventeen. And what's more, I know I aced it. I have one final left tomorrow evening, and then I'm done for the next four weeks. And just like last semester, I have no idea what I'm going to do with myself with all of this upcoming free time. I suppose I'll sleep through a good deal of it. I feel like I could sleep forever right now.

I'm doing my final presentation tomorrow night on photography. I had initially planned on urban and rural abandonment, but I couldn't get into Longmont Sugar Mill in time (thanks for responding to my emails, pricks!), and I didn't want to go to Gilman alone, since it's so very far away, and it requires a hike into it, and more than likely camping out for the night. It would have been absolutely amazing...if I had a social life to speak of, and friends nutty enough to do this sort of thing based solely on my wild whims. Photography will suit me just fine, however. Narcissism is real, my friends, and I am using all of my own photos in this ten minute long presentation. Fuck. Yes. This is a move that surprises no one.

I have a very small photo job this Sunday, and I'm pretty excited. I'm going to take family photos for a friend of mine, and she was lovely enough to offer to pay me for it. I would have done it for free. What a sucker.

She's not a sucker. She offered, despite my protestation that she didn't have to pay me.

I'm close enough to done that I don't feel bad about taking this small break to write in my blog. But I should get back to the project so I can finish it, and maybe catch an episode of Black Mirror before I pass out.

Friday? Day drinking in my panties. Because if I'm not being handsomely escorted to Costa Rica, god dammit, I'm going to make myself too drunk to care.

The gods wait to delight in you

I love Bukowski. I love him so much. I'm reading his poetry to make myself feel better (since I own everything that's been published by him, anthology wise. I don't care much for his novels). I have no real reason to feel down, but I suppose that's just the nature of the beast sometimes. 

Anyway, I found a couple that I'm reading over and over and over, and I'm going to share them.

you can die now.

you can die as

people were meant to

die;

great,

victorious,

being the music,

hearing the music, 

roaring,

roaring,

roaring.

Just wonderful. And then there's this one, which has long been a personal favorite of mine:

your life is your life

don't let it be clubbed into dank submission.

be on the watch.

there are ways out.

there is a light somewhere

it may not be much light but

it beats the darkness.

be on the watch.

the gods will offer you chances.

know them.

take them.

you can't beat death but

you can beat death in life, sometimes.

and the more often you learn to do it,

the more light there will be.

your life is your life.

know it while you have it.

you are marvelous,

the gods wait to delight

in you.

Those last three lines are solid gold. They make the entire piece shine.

Here's another, which is another poem that I've read so many times that I know it by heart:

I want to

let her know

though

that all the nights 

sleeping

beside her

even the useless 

arguments

were things

ever splendid

and the hard 

words

I ever feared to

say

can now be

said:

I love

you.

And then we come to the last of his that I'll be posting, and it isn't really so much a poem as it is an open letter (an open letter NOW. It once had a recipient, but it's no longer solely theirs). There's some debate about whether or not the very first line of this is actually Bukowski's, but for me, that's not even the sum total of what this piece is worth. He wrote the other things, to the absolute best of my digging, and that's what I care about. 

My dear, 

Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. 

For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it's much better to be killed by a lover.

Falsely yours, 

Charles Bukowski

And in the end, we are all just star dust, trying to make our way back to the stars

There's something we need to discuss.

That's a lie, we don't need to discuss anything.

However, I do have to flaunt something:

In case you're playing the home game, that's a piece of the Campo Del Cielo meteorite. My own piece of the universe rests happily on my chest, right next to my escape velocity equation. I have missed my pendant, and tried for almost a year to find something to cover up that empty spot. I had given up, and opted for a bare neck. I still wish I had my pendant, but this is almost as good. I've spent the evening reaching up and touching it, and it feels perfect.

Something from the stars found its way back to me, and I couldn't love it more if I tried.

If you'd slow down for me, I could see you're only telling lies

Weddings are a funny, funny thing.

Photographing them is equally as funny. Nothing makes you more invisible, I think. It's strange, but true. As soon as I'm finished taking a photo, I'm a ghost. I sat outside to take a break after six hours straight of snapping away (I have a pile of SD cards totaling 72 GB. I maxed them out), and a couple asked me if it would be a bother for them to sit and smoke by me. I told them it wouldn't be a bother at all. I even let them use my lighter. They giggled with each other, and whispered intimately into the other's neck, and right as the kissing started, I got up to make my exit, and they legitimately said, "OH my god, we didn't see you there, sorry!" I laughed, and went inside. A camera is an amazing shield.

Part of me doesn't understand weddings. Part of me thinks they're silly and antiquated, and absurd wastes of money. But part of me is wistful and sad that I'm not getting married. I think I'd have an exceptionally tasteful wedding. But I suppose the world may never now.

I'm exhausted. Physically and emotionally drained.

I've put on my kitty slippers

My love mug, filled to the brim (or was, before I took the picture) with my always sexy and reliable boyfriend

and additionally, I am the not-so-proud owner of the face of a girl that is one of the most exhausted girls on the planet (I love you, hyperbole!)

I'm ready to go to bed, but I'm all wound up. I need hugs, and rubs, and emotional pettings, Oh, well. So it goes. Tomorrow should be a nice, lazy day. I'm going to brunch again, where I plan on drinking mimosas and reading a book, I'll go to the gym at some point, and I don't think I'll look at these photos. Not for another few days. 

And in my dreams, I will always find my way back to you

So, on Wednesday, I got my Christmas tattoo from Stevie (I call her Peaches, so if that name comes up, now you know who I'm referring to) on Wednesday morning, and I love it so much.

Couldn't you just kiss the fuck out of my neck? But also, isn't my tattoo gorgeous and special? It's my favorite tattoo. Wednesday was such a glorious day. I slept in, and then woke up, took two minutes to get dressed, then went and got the best tattoo in the world. The only thing that could make it better is a little chunk of the universe sitting next to it.

I spent yesterday listening to music and cleaning my house, and, any time I came near a reflective surface, checking out my tattoo.

Today was delightful. I spent it with my very favorite people, except for the hour and a half I had to escape to take a test for class (that I completely forgot was due today. Fucking online tests! But I got an 88 on it, so there's that). Aside from that, we all had a marvelous time together. Someone bought Shock Top Honeycrisp Apple Wheat, and it was a delight to behold in my mouth. My sweet potato puffs with candied pecans (a last minute touch that I don't regret at all, thank you very much) were a hit, but nobody ate my cranberry sauce (which I thought was delightful. Fuck them). Not like they needed it....we wound up with:
Two turkeys (one fried, one baked)
Mashed potatoes
two types of stuffing
Corn
Green bean casserole
bean soup (I love love love love love love LOVE bean soup. But I didn't even eat any)
Sweet potato puffs
Cranberry sauce (both the gross jellied variety, and my scrumptious homemade variety)
Two pies
That's more than enough food for such a small amount of people.

I'm more than a bit tipsy, so it's time to go to bed. I have work in the morning.

I've had this song in my head for two days now:

I really like Gavin DeGraw, He was on an episode of Dead Like Me, which I binge-watched without shame, and I was exceptionally pleased to hear him sing. He has a wonderful voice. I think this is my favorite song of his.

I'll take my clothes off, and it will be shameless

I have (excluding this week, since I have it off) two weeks left of the semester.

For the most part, this has been a fantastic semester. Let's break it down, shall we?

Logic (or mind your Ps and Qs, literally; Bertrand Russell licks balls in hell):

This class has been mostly breezy. There are a couple of the people in class with me that have really tested my patience with their bullshit interjections, but other than that, I've enjoyed the class. I don't have to take any more philosophy classes, so I won't. Not even as electives. It's maddeningly boring. My professor is delightfully spacey, but kind. I've had three big projects for this class, and due to my amazing skills at powerpoint, I've aced them all. I got a B on my big writing assignment simply because she thinks I write well...but I still maintain that there are some people who would argue the point of bees making terrible pets. That's neither here nor there, however.

Sociology of Deviant Behavior (or nothing here is science, but let's pretend this is a legitimate field of study)

I hate this class. I hate it so much. I'm failing it. And I don't even fucking care, because this class is pointless. Is it interesting to theorize on why people do and say things? Yup. But I can do that at a coffee shop with my friends for a shitload less money. My friend Kristen once described philosophy as the history of bored, rich white men getting it wrong...that pretty much sums up my feelings on this class. Also, I don't think my professor cares for me very much. Which shouldn't deter me from enjoying the class, but it does make it hard to maintain ground when I want to speak out against some ridiculous new theory we're learning. And I speak out all the time. As you might imagine, it doesn't go well.

Psychology (or love is just neurotransmitters; anger is just neurotransmitters; the human experience is neurotransmitters; neurotransmitters)

I love my psych class. So much. The human brain is a marvel, and I have learned so, so much. My final project was immensely interesting, and I have discovered I'm enthralled by neurospychology. My professor is a bit dry, but overall, I really, really enjoy him. I just wish lecture didn't go until 10 in the evening. I am so pleased I changed my major.

Human Geography (or maps...who the fuck needs them?)

This class is hideously dull, but I fucking LOVE my professor. I've slowly collected professors that I maintain relationships with...I'd like her to be another one. She's fun and interesting and I'd really like to talk to her as a person, and not as my professor. I truly value and enjoy the friendships I have with the other two professors I still speak to fairly regularly...we go to lunch, or coffee, and it's lovely. I hope I can do that with this professor. But this class, outside of my professor, makes me want to fall asleep. And when it's not doing that, it's asking me to read about things that are just plain depressing.

In other news, I go get my Christmas present tattoo on Wednesday morning at 10 am. I'm so excited!

Thanksgiving is going to be amazing. I'm going to make my sweet potato puff pastries (they're always a hit when I invest the time) and my orange cranberry sauce. There's going to be two turkeys, lobster, a ham, and so. many. side dishes. My friends are coming, and we're going to spend the day eating, watching movies, drinking, and enjoying each other. I love my friends. I love them so much. They make me happy, even when they're annoying as hell. I wouldn't trade my people for anything in the world.

Dragon Age is fucking AWESOME.

I have a new boyfriend: Captain Morgan 1671. I think it's serious; I might be in love.

Saturday night, I went to a party at Tosh and Ryan's. Holly and I met up for drinks before we headed over there, because pre-gaming is still a thing in your thirties. She's begun seeing a new fellow, and she got angry when I told her she needs to slow her roll, because she sounds crazy. It kind of became the joke of the night, which may sound mean, but it's not. I drank way more than I should have, Ryan insisted on playing King's Cup, which I don't think anybody older than 18 plays earnestly. The game fizzled out, we drank some more, and then played Cards Against Humanity (which I won by a solid landslide). There was a very real drunk argument over Jimmy Paige and Edge of U2 fame, which I may have recorded on my phone, giggling the entire time because I thought it was so ridiculous.

The girls and I were supposed to have brunch this morning at my new secret brunch spot (that has two dollar mimosas, and I refuse to say no to that), but Tosh was way too hungover, and Holly may very well be angry at me for everything I said last night. So I enjoyed brunch without them and had a lovely time.

I went to Barnes and Noble to buy Love and Space Dust, but they don't carry it. It's a print on demand book, so I didn't even bother ordering it.

I put on my new furry ankle boots (they're adorable! and practical...ish!) and went for a small walk in the snowfall this afternoon, and it was lovely.

Other than that, I've been taking it easy. I took an impromptu nap at 8 this evening and woke up at ten, full of energy, which is why I'm up at 1:45 writing my blog and drinking a warmed, boozed up cup of cider.

I don't think I'll have time this week to blog much, though I know I'll get on on Wednesday after I get my tattoo. I'm hoping my meteorite necklace comes before the week is over, because I want to take a picture of it with my new tattoo. It will be the most perfect combination since I paired up with this delightful drink.

I loved you as Icarus loves the sun: too close, too much

I finished the rough draft of this paper. It was incredibly hard to write. Not only is that teacher an incredibly strict grader, but I disagreed with my article. Keeping objectivity is fairly difficult for me in certain arenas; mental  illness is one of them.

I'm currently coveting a few things:

This book, because it looks like it's going to be absolutely amazing,

And

THIS, because fucking obviously. Mostly that one, though.

Stevie is getting me my escape velocity tattoo for Christmas, and that necklace would be the absolute perfect accompaniment to it. In a very backwards sort of way, but who's keeping track? Nobody, that's who!

I have another paper to write by Wednesday. I HAVE to submit an edited rough draft with it, and this kind of annoys me. I haven't had a single editing error in any of the papers I've submitted to him (which he's remarked on in the form of praise), but he wants the rough draft to look like it has editing pocks. I'll just put a few glaring pronoun errors in and edit them out.

I'm supposed to go practice indoor flash photography tonight, which means I have to go home and shower and blow dry my hair and put on makeup. I'm not sure I have the energy to do that, but I already said I would. With the wedding only thirteen days away, I really should slack on any opportunity to up my game.

I'm a tiny, dainty woman, and these doughnuts are my lunch

Against my better judgment, I went to the zoo yesterday. It was fucking cold, and snowy, and I only got two decent photos out of the deal. But I had a rare Saturday off, and I felt that was the best way to spend it. I did spend a solid ten minutes with my snow leopard. She came and visited me, and then went right back up to the top of her habitat and paced, then howled, and I had no idea snow leopards could sound like that. It made me sad. I would say I cried, but that goes without saying. I cry every single time I see snow leopards. I don't know why. They're my favorite animal.

Here's this big ol' handsome man. There was a lioness in the habitat right next to his that was caterwauling, and he was awfully interested. I wonder if there's some sort of wintery mating season going on? I really don't know much about lions, so your guess about when they actually mate in the wild is as good as mine. Considering I took this through insanely thick glass, I'm not altogether mad at it.

And then, there's Marty McFly:

He's wearing a feather poncho, and I want one, too. I had to warm this photo up a bit to make it true to life colors, but he was so adorable. I spent more time photographing him than I did anything else (I didn't even take a picture of my snow leopard. I never do. She's too special). I did spend a good amount of time photographing alligators, but those photos didn't turn out nearly as crisp as I had been hoping for, so I got angry and scrapped them. Two hours at the zoo in five degree weather, and I left with two photos to show for it.

I have to get back to writing my paper. I'm giving a presentation on mental illness in two days (specifically, I'm giving a presentation on abolishing the psychiatric labeling system currently in place for mental illness), and I need to fine-tune it.

Everyone in his life would mistake it as love

Yesterday was just another day.

I got a little bit tipsy last night and fell asleep watching a movie. I didn't feel sorry for myself. I did have pangs of feeling exceptionally angry, but not the way you might suppose. I felt angry at people who give me sympathy. I posted about being raped on Facebook a few days ago. My intention wasn't to get attention, or to have people engage me in conversation, but perhaps I should have expected that. When the sympathy comments flooded in, I didn't feel gratitude, I felt annoyed. And angry. Don't get me wrong, I know that these people just want to let me know that they care, and that they support me. I know they have no idea that their sympathy makes me angry. And under different circumstances, a good deal of the things people said to me would have made me exceptionally pleased. But not in this case. I just kind of wanted people to read what I had to say, and be aware, and then to move on with their day.

I didn't cry yesterday, but I'm crying now. Andes had a stroke this morning, and now he's in death pose, breathing in a very labored way, and I know he's going to be dead when I get home. He can't move. I took him out and sat with him on the floor, bawling my ass off, and that just broke the floodgates. Now it's everything. Everything that's been weighing on me lately is coming up.

I think the thing I'm most upset about is how disappointing people can be. I try and have little to no expectations of people, because I know the second I do, they're going to let me down. That's just how life goes. But every once and awhile, I think that someone is actually going to come through and do what they say they're going to. When they don't, it ruins me.

I'm supposed to go out tonight, but I don't think that's going to happen. Perhaps that's for the best. I can just hole myself up in my room and do my homework. Or drink myself into a hard sleep. I don't care. It doesn't ultimately matter.

On the positive side, it is important for me to recognize again that it;s been nine months since I was raped, and I am ok. It doesn't mess with me nearly as much anymore, and I can go weeks without having a nightmare, or thinking about it, or feeling paranoid. Getting the texts from him fucked with me a bit, but that was a couple of months ago, and I haven't heard anything since. I don't feel sorry for myself, and I don't feel like it was my fault. That's quite the accomplishment. If I can jump over the hurdle of occasional fear, I'll be happy. And that day will come, I think. A fortune cookie Dan opened once said, "The Great Wall didn't got build in one day", and as hilariously bad as that sentence is, it's become my mantra, just as it is. I constantly tell myself that the great wall didn't got build in one day, just like that, and it both makes me giggle and calms me down. I don't have to be 100% over it. But I'm working on it.

I might go out and take some photos this weekend to clear my head. Perhaps I'll go creep on people at Starbucks. I do miss that.

It's this kind of morning. I've been listening to this on repeat. Fun fact: I got a tattoo because of this song. A very literal tattoo. It's one of my favorites.

Still trying to climb a mountain for you

I played Dragon Age: Inquisition today. It looks amazing.

Now I'm going my homework, and I don't know why, but I can't get this song out of my head:

I didn't mean to think of the song, and there's a memory there, too. Which I'm just kind of suppressing, because it's distracting.

Nine months today. It's been nine months. I didn't fucking crumble. I'm doing just fine, thank you very much. I was supposed to go to a support group this morning, but I decided not to. I hate the sympathy and the knowing looks. I stayed home, and Dragon Age was far more fun.

I have to finish my homework now, though. Blast. Keep it coming, Righteous Brothers.

Canada's butter opportunity

It's almost midnight. I had an extremely long study group tonight, which I spent a thoroughly enjoyable batch of hours bossing everyone around in. Now I'm sitting on my bed in giving up on life pants, drinking rum and pepsi, eating a small bag of popcorn, and listening to Badfinger.

It's one of those evenings, I guess.

I think it's the weather change. Winter showed up with some serious intent last night, and it's been snowing like some kind of simile. I love being home for this weather; there's something wonderful about it. It's so quiet and still, and sitting inside and watching it from my bed (which is right next to the window) feels like watching the world grind to a halt, and I'm the only person that knows.

I had every intention of studying for my exam tomorrow, but I think that's a waste of the weather. I think I'm going to fix myself another drink, bundle up in my blanket, and read a book. A book that is decidedly NOT a textbook. It feels like a Gaiman kind of night.

Lust is a fine thing, so long as the heart doesn't have longings of its own

I've registered for my next semester. I'm taking all of my classes online so I can get a different job. It's not that I don't like the work environment I have now, it's just that I need to work more hours, and I need to make more money. If they'd give me the Monday-Friday full time shift at my office, I'd stay. Even with the pennies I work for. I do like it there. I like my boss, I like my co-workers (even though one of them specifically is the laziest), I love the office. But I can't fucking afford it anymore.


Today has been the kind of where I'm just like...fuck it. I don't even care anymore. I hate everything today, just dispassionately.

But, in case anybody is curious, here are the classes I'm taking in January:

Psych 2
Abnormal psych
Philosophy of religion
Women in world history

I'm taking an insanely light load next semester, due to trying to find another job, and trying out the purely online thing. I'm glad my campus offers that. I need a bit of break from being gone every single mother fucking day of my life. But I don't want an actual break from school. This is the best way to accomplish that. I just want to lock myself in my room, hang out in my panties, and watch lectures from my computer. If all I have to do is go to campus to take a test, I'm good with that.

It's insanely windy out. I'm going to stay home and do yoga instead of running. I think I'd get blown over.

Anybody who says differently is selling something

I've been cleaning all day.

Mostly all day. Since I got home from work.

I've been in an entirely too shit mood for the last few days. I'm either ragingly upset, desperately sad, or overly hostile. I've been so busy that I haven't even noticed how overwhelmed I am. And this is taking on the character traits of an incredibly nasty downshift.

They've been fairly minimal for the last few months. Not minimal as in not there, just minimal as in a few days of being unlike myself, and then I feel better again. This is different.

I'm going to watch The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby, which is going to hurt my feelings, I'm god damn sure of it. I'm just in one of those moods.

I went and saw Interstellar last night, because obviously. I've been waiting for it for years. And it was worth every second of waiting. It was absolutely gorgeous. It also hurt my feelings, however. I cried a lot. Oh, well. I cried right into my Cherry Icee and nobody in the audience gave a fuck. I sat by myself and bawled my little heart out. So good. Go see it. It's brilliant and beautiful. Also kind of easy to call, but then again, I've always been good at that.

I'm going to make myself some popcorn and watch this movie so I can get into a good, long funk. Sounds healthy.

Equally as healthy is tomorrow morning's booze-o-rama for breakfast. Two dollar mimosas and a Mexican food brunch? Um yes please. I WILL be attending that, thank you very much, and I will not give a shit if people look at me sideways.

On a positive note, I've really started to enjoy my own company. There's something immensely lovely about taking myself out to a movie, or a meal, and bringing a book that I can read while not giving an iota of a fuck about people looking at me. Though the book only comes out if I'm eating somewhere. It's not so good to bring a book to a movie. I have poor eyesight, anyway.

Can we kiss like we do in my head

Photos were cancelled for today. It's better this way, I suppose. It gives me more time to do my paper. Also to fuck around on my blog, as I'm clearly doing right now. My house is empty and quiet, so I'm listening to Van Morrison and singing at the top of my lungs.

My morning booze-a-thon has worn off, and I think I can finally concentrate. My muscles are super sore from working out yesterday (especially my bad arm), but I'm kind of excited to go back and work out again today. I'm only doing boxing on the weekends, and I'm running three days a week. I was going to wait until the semester was over, but this really helps me clear my head.

My long hair gets taken out tomorrow. I think my hair is too fine to stay in the braids, so the braids come undone, and the extensions become loose. I must look hideously messy, though nobody tells me I do. They're just being kind. I think I look terrible. I love having long hair, but it will be nice to just have my reliable, not bizarrely loose-looking hair back.

One more month, and I'll be spending the day shooting a wedding. I'm starting to get nervous. I tried to find a second on a photographer website, and I've talked to a couple of people, but I think I'm going to be just fine on my own. I'll sling both camera bodies on my person, with a 70-200 on one and a 27-70 on the other, and I'll just keep the other lenses in a....I don't know. Do they make camera lens fanny packs? Lugging around my gear bag would look clunky and bizarre. Whereas a fanny pack would look sleek and COOL and not at all lame or unprofessional.

I'm telling myself that if I finish my paper tonight, I can spend the evening in my room, listening to music, painting, and drinking. This is an amazing motivator. So I suppose I should go finish this paper. I really want to spend my night painting. Also, if I finish my paper tonight, I can spend tomorrow after I Get out of class driving around and taking photos. I haven't done that in ages. Because the laptop decided that it wanted to be possessed again, I had to wipe the entire thing, and the laptop was out of commission for two whole days. But the good news is, I now have Lightroom 5 instead of 4, AND I have Canon's HDR processing software (it apparently comes with their cameras when you purchase them. Hooray!), so I want to go out and take more photos and see if I can hone my skills in on this whole HDR thing. It's fancy. I like it. But I want to do it well, and not be disgusting about it.

Which reminds me....

I referenced this photo the other day, but I realized after said reference that I hadn't actually posted it on here. So I may have made myself look like I'm shaped like an idiot.

But there it is, with whispers of crepuscular rays all about the thing.

Absolutely.

So, here's how my face looked this morning.

It got steadily worse throughout the day...

I couldn't move my face at all.

But everybody told me I looked scary as fuck. Not in those words, due to workplace environment, but I was a bit bummed, as that wasn't the point.

Oh, well.

I came right home and washed it off. It took ten minutes to get rid of it all, and I look scarier now than I did before:

But it feels fucking radical to have all of that shit off of my face. It took an hour. I did get quite a lot of compliments on it. It didn't look anywhere NEAR as good as the picture I saw of it on the internets, but that's ok. I didn't totally fail at it, so I think I can write this one down as a win.

Amber and I are going to watch Addams Family Values tonight. I will also be finishing my paper. Oh boy.

Climb in bed beside me, we can lock the world outside

I have to dress up for work tomorrow, so I'm going to be a broken doll. Which means waking up two hours early to do my hair and makeup. I'm both excited about this, and dreading it. I'm only going to get five hours of sleep. Damn.

I'll hopefully have some photos to put up tomorrow. Nothing fancy, just shit from work.

I wish I had more interesting things to say. I just haven't felt very interesting for the last couple of weeks.

I park my car outside your house, hoping someday you'll come home

So, here's the scoop:

I am doing homework, drinking bourbon whiskey because I drank all of my rum and whiskey is Allen's drink, and watching The Mindy Project.

Since it's midnight, I'd say the evening is an obvious success.

I'm trying to find more places to break into and photograph. I MAY have found some people to bust into the Longmont Sugar Mill with me. Maybe even Gilman. Both places come with the high probability of being arrested. I don't even mind. I have such a high desire to see these places and photograph them that the pros outweigh the con.

Tomorrow night, right after class, I'll be zooming home to play the closed Fable Legend Beta. I. Am. SO. Fucking. EXCITED. I'll only get to play for 2.5 hours, but I'll be in every beta from here on out. And that's all I can say about it. Which blows.

I have to get back to my homework, and then I get to spend Friday, Saturday, and Sunday doing homework, too. My brain is exhausted.

HOLY FUCK I AM DRUNK

Amber and I had our date night. The following things happened, and I am not responsible for my face.

We had a fucking great time. We drank too much, laughed too loud, and took our first pictures "together" in eight years. Even though I'm still pretty damn wasted, I am super pleased I had tonight to unfuckingwind. I was way, way stressed, and super sad, and I feel much better now.

Stories often outlive their authors; especially the good ones

I finished up my homework, but there was one answer in my hours of psychology homework that I just couldn't get right.

I apparently have a lot of learning to do when it comes to psychology. They have all of these fancy terms, like telepathy. Welp.

Paul! You is a wharrwilf!

I saw two amazing things tonight, within five minutes of each other.

A very large owl was perched atop my roof, and I didn't notice him until a second before he flew off. But he was huge and beautiful.

Minutes later, I saw the most spectacular meteorOID I've ever seen. IT was huge, and bright, and it looked like someone striking a match against the sky. I always go out and view the meteor showers....few things in this life give me greater pleasure. I drive out either to my spot at Garden of the Gods, or I go to Manitou Lake (which is EXCEPTIONALLY creepy late at night. IT would be creepy if I had company; going out there alone is fifty times worse). I have never seen such a brilliant flash of fiery, doomed rock. Something something something humbled something something.

Those things happened. I was there.

Since it's October, Allen and I are watching horror movies, when I have the time. Which isn't often, maybe once or twice a week. We would have watched one or two on Sunday, but I spent twelve hours (I only wish that were an exaggeration) doing homework instead. I needed to concentrate.

I'm in bed writing this. I'm about to fall asleep without a book on my face, which is a marked improvement from this afternoon.

As an aside that's not even related to anything I wrote about....

I may not care for Maroon 5 circa now. I may feel like Adam Levine looks like the kind of dude that is definitely going to give you the clap. But I will always have several soft spots for older Maroon 5 songs (Songs About Jane is still one of my favorite CDs to listen to). Not a single spot is as soft as the one I hold for this:

Go, then; There are other worlds than these.

It's been an interesting few days.

Last night was my last night of class for the week. It was kind of an emotional lecture. We did this exercise on privilege, and it hit a lot of nerves. Not in a bad way, but in the good, eye-opening kind of way.

I have a project that's due on Monday on fallacies. I've started the research bits of the project, and I'm positive I'll be able to finish the project in a spectacular fashion by Monday morning at 8:30. I'm essentially teaching everybody about fallacies (well, a fallacy in particular. But it has a huge amount of sub-fallacies, so there's that). I'm quite good at speaking in front of others. I'm not concerned.

I AM concerned about my Human Geography test. I'm hoping to finish my project by tomorrow night so I can buckle down with those chapters (all fucking five of them) and ace this thing. I got a 65 on the first test. I could have taken it again, but I opted not to. I earned the grade, and I generally do try and stick with what I deserve. I DID get a 60/60 on my paper, which obviously pleased me. That textbook is so god damn boring. I love listening to my professor lecture, but that's probably because she doesn't really lecture from the book. Which, in case you were curious, helps me not at all when trying to do my tests.

I also got a 55 on my last quiz in sociology. But, in fairness, I didn't read a solid twelve pages out of the chapter, because it focused only on rape, and I just didn't want to. I wrote her a little note on the top of my quiz about it. I didn't expect leniency, I just wanted to her to understand why I've gone from 90s and 95s to a 55.

I stopped blogging this morning so I could go to work. As soon as I got home from work, I turned right around to meet up with my very favorite past professor, Miss Kitty. We had a delightful time, and sat and chatted and caught up for two hours. I love her so much. She's kind of the mother I wish my mom could have been to me. I would never tell her that, nor would I tell my mother. But it's true just the same.

Allen and I watched a comedy documentary last night called Mortified Nation. It's possibly the best representation I've seen on how alike and connected every single one of us are to each other. It was an absolute joy to watch, and I'd like to watch it again.

I received a response from TESSA today about volunteering for them. They've finished their orientations for the year, BUT she did read the essays I submitted (my question answers became essays. I had a lot to say), and she'd like for me to come in and do an interview, and become a bit more acquainted with the facility and what they do. She told me that the schedule for orientation comes out at the end of the month. I haven't responded yet, but I would like all of these things. I was quite pleased.

Stevie bought me the most gorgeous scarf. I've been wearing it constantly. Today is no exception. I'm about to run a few errands, and I'm wearing my favorite black leather jacket, my absolutely delicious scarf, my bird tee, and my skinnies with the holes in them. With heeled booties. I must say, I look wonderfully fucking foxy. Fuck yeah, Target! You know you want this.

....It should be noted I'm dressing up for nobody other than myself. This is absolutely fine for me, but uh...well, there we are.

As soon as I get home, it's best friend date night with Amber. We can't decide if we're watching My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding or Labyrinth. I have to remember to buy more booze. Fridays are my new favorite night. They're the best.

The minor fall, the major lift

Today was an exceptionally hard class day.

We talked about the reasons that rapes go unreported (as rape is one of the index crimes that is high on the scale of not being reported upon), and I sort of clenched my body into itself and remained silent, and I cried just the slightest bit. I had discussed this with my professor the second week of class, letting her know that I  may not be present during our class session pertaining to rape (we have an entire chapter on it, and since this class is very discussion heavy, I told her I may not be able to handle it). She's loosely aware of my situation. At the end of the discussion today, she gave me a thumbs up and a smiled and mouthed, "you did great".

When we came back in from break, we watched a documentary about domestic violence, and women who had suffered domestic violence until they killed their husbands. The documentary itself was heartbreaking, but to divide the movie in half, there was a sound clip cut in, played against a black screen. The sound clip is of a frantic little boy, I'm guessing he was no older than five, but I could be off by a year either way telling the cops to send help because his mommy and daddy were having an argument. As the dispatcher is telling him someone is on the way, he starts sobbing, and he tells the dispatcher his daddy just punched his sister to the ground. As the call progresses, the little boy starts crying harder and harder, until he finally screams and says his daddy just stabbed his mommy in the neck, and the dispatcher is telling him to stay on the phone, and you can hear the phone drop, the dispatcher says hello one more time, and then the line goes dead. It was, by far, the most horrifying thing I've heard in a long, long time. I didn't cry while I watched the documentary, but the second I got into my car after class, I lost it.

I am not what anybody would call maternal. I've had two children; my daughter is eleven and she lives with her father. I gave up custody of her when she was six. I haven't seen her since she was one and a half, and I haven't spoken to her since she was five. This brief description of my relationship with Rhyann does not do any kind of service to explaining the events that took place and why they happened the way that they did. But that's the situation in a nutshell. I also have a seven year old son. My relationship with Gabriel was....and still is....rocky. My involvement with my son has gotten better over the last two years, because for some crazy reason, that little kid loves me. I want to deserve it. I don't understand why he does, but he does. I'm not cruel to him, I don't ignore him, I just...I'm not a stereotyped ideal of a mother. I work, sometimes two or three jobs at a time. I got to school full time. I have studying to do. Sometimes, SOMETIMES, I have a very small social life that starts up right after he goes to bed, so I'm not around for all the jumping out of bed to get water, and sometimes, I'm out studying with my study group until one or two in the morning, so I'm not always around for the nightmares, either. Trying to better myself and create myself and find myself doesn't leave much room for me to be maternal. And to top it all off, I never wanted kids to begin with. I don't particularly like children. Don't get me wrong, I love my son. I love my daughter, as far removed from me as she is. Gabriel has gotten exceptionally interesting in the last two years, and I've gotten to the point where I LOVE spending time with him. I will, when I can afford to slack off, take him for adventures. We have discussions about science, and astronomy, and as frustrating as it is, I'm teaching him the things I know about the world and its components. I've started teaching him how to use my camera. I'll go out and take pictures of him. Derek and I take him out with us sometimes.My kid is razor sharp (I have the tests to prove it!This isn't just mom bragging. My kid is damn near genius level smart), he's funny, and he's a little asshole in exactly the same way that I'm a large asshole. The only difference is I'm thirty, and he's seven. He's snarky and sarcastic, and a whole heap of trouble. But he's also the sweetest fucking kid ever. Somehow, someway, I managed to help raise a little boy that can make fun of the world while being incredibly empathetic to it at the same time.

When I heard that little boy crying on the phone, I thought of my son. I thought of the terror the poor little boy witnessed, and I felt afraid for the things my son may see, or hear, and I wanted to make sure that he never had to feel that fear for me. Or because of me.

I haven't ever been blind to the terrible things that go on in the world. I know that people have the capacity to act upon the wild, animalistic, cruel desires they harbor, and sometimes, they carry them out. About six years ago, I decided I wanted to stop just knowing about them. Knowledge is nothing unless you do something with it. I began participating in my community. I volunteer with quite a few organizations, and I'm attempting to get into more to branch out my volunteer work. Domestic violence is one I've stayed away from. Not intentionally, it just hasn't been on my radar. I don't think this is the sort of thing I can sit idly by with anymore.

That little boy may not have made it through that night alive. His mother may not have, either. But no little child should ever have to be afraid for his mother, or his father, or his siblings. Nobody should live in fear of anybody. All too often, sufferers of domestic violence suffer silently and alone. I can't fucking swallow that idea. I want to help. The most interesting thing about college for me hasn't been what I've learned, it's been what I want to do with that knowledge. Every week, there's something else I want to devote time to doing.

The world needs to change. It needs to change so, so much. When I discussed all of this with Allen tonight, sobbing to him about how this made me feel, and how I can't in good conscience sit idly by, he told me that the saddest thing is, no matter what you do, you can't even begin to make a dent in things like this. But I call shens. I CAN make a dent, and I will. Even if that dent is one person, it's something. It's better than standing with a group of my friends and saying things need to change. I can affect that change. I will affect that change.

I recognize that I don't have a lot of time for things. Even in the grand scheme of my life, I don't have enough time. I can't touch on everything that matters to me, but I can sure as fuck give it a try. How I'll attempt to go about helping in this regard eludes me. But I'll start by seeing what's in this area, and what time I can afford to devote to it.

I don't miss the old me one bit. I have changed and grown and evolved so much, sometimes I don't recognize myself. Sometimes I wonder if this is why I'm single, which may seem a strange thing to wonder in the face of such things, but I can't help it. Perhaps my torch carrying gets old, and is too much to handle. Who knows?

I want to change the world. I want to change it for the better. I'm glad I started when I did, but I wish I had started sooner.

The reigning champeen!

I did it. I duckfaced. I'm not proud of what I've become.

I miss the long hair already. I'll have it back in two weeks, but for now, I miss it. My hair feels so thin and boring and short, and I hate it. I hate it so much.

I went out and took some photos today with Derek. The light was awfully beautiful, but we were on the wrong side of the mountain for it.

I have a photo shoot scheduled for the 18th, and I have the wedding next month. I'm hoping something comes in between the dates. I couldn't really spare the time, but I'd find a way to make it work.

I've thought about switching my major....AGAIN....to photography. Because why the fuck not? But then I realized I can market myself as a photographer and still get an actual degree, and learn photography tricks as I go along. I've already gotten so much better. When I was in Glenwood last weekend, sitting in my hotel room and drinking and enjoying a lovely evening in a hotel room that smelled like a colon, I went through my old photos from when I first started shooting again, all the way up to now. I've gotten SO much better. I am not as good as I'd like to be, but I believe I've far exceeded the hopes I had for this point in my hobby. I'm excited to see where I'll be two years from now.

I went through and added up how much it would cost if I got every single lens I want, and the new camera I want. For a paltry 16K, I could have the exact set up I want (minus things like reflectors and flashes and other not terribly necessary accessories). I'm seriously considering hooking, just to get the things I want.

I wish I had discovered I was good at a less expensive thing. Like drug addiction. Or identity theft.

Clay pigeons are fuckers

When my bunny Bunny died, I was absolutely wrecked. I cried for days. I had only had her for a little over a week, but I had grown fiercely attached to her. While she was predominantly mine, I saw her as belonging to both me AND Dan. She was Ours, and that meant everything to me. Dan and I didn't really have anything together. We pretty much lived separate lives in his world, if that makes any sense. So when he got me Bunny, I didn't just love her as a pet, I loved her as a symbol. She died just a few days before Dan went off to Afghanistan, and I had been counting on having her to make Dan being gone easier. Her death didn't go smoothly for me.

I suppose that's as good an introduction to this as any, really. I get very attached to my pets. Mostly because I believe my pets love me, and I love them. Love doesn't come easily for me, and I'm not very good at it with people. I always fuck it up somehow, by virtue of being myself. I'm a bit of a fuck up. And you know, my pets don't care. I have a cat named Galouli, and I've had her for almost ten years. I love her dearly. She greets me with purrs and meows and rubs when I come home, and she sleeps with me at night, generally right on my stomach where it's the most uncomfortable. But my guts don't care, and neither do I. I love her company, and she loves mine. Allen has a cat named Spectre, and Spectre has become more my cat in the last couple of years than his. He's still her person of preference, but she sleeps with me now. Right at my head, curled up under my chin or somewhere that is also deeply uncomfortable. I love my kitties. I spoil them as often as I can, and I talk to them because I'm single and crazy, and my god, do I love stereotypes.

I also had six rats.

I started out with Brisby. I bought him a month or two into Dan's deployment, and I loved him HARD. Brisby and I seriously did everything together. I would open his cage, and he would come up to my shoulder, curl up in my hoodie, and hang out with me as I cleaned the house, or watched TV, or sometimes, when I took walks. He would run across my shoulders, chitter in my ear, run back into my hoodie, and I loved him. I spoiled him rotten, too. I gave him fruits and veggies and popcorn as treats, and we were great pals. When he looked lonely, I got him Andes. And Andes was just as good a pal, but not nearly as favored as Brizz. After Andes came Charlie and Figaro, and then Spike and Templeton. My rats have a huge house, with three stories, and all kinds of goodies. I spoil them just as hard as I spoil my cats.

A few months ago, I went to let my boys out for the afternoon, and Brizz didn't run up onto my shoulder. He stayed in his corner. I knew something was wrong, so I picked him up, closed the cage, and sat with my big fat Brizz. He was normally incredibly active, but this time, he just laid with me. I knew he was going to die, and I was a mess. I wept for hours while I cuddled and loved on my rat. Eventually, I put him in a box with one of my shirts, put the box next to me, and I sang to my rat until he died. I cried and cried and cried, and I cried off and on for about a week.

After that, I bonded with Andes. He became my new buddy, and while he didn't replace my Brizz, he certainly buddied up with me. His favorite thing to do was bother the cats, and then come lay under my chin after he got worn out from all of the bothering.

I lost Figaro next. Figaro died while I was busy in a hospital with a broken arm. Allen didn't notice.

My other boys have been perfectly healthy, until two weeks ago. I noticed that Andes was becoming sluggish, and not nearly as interested in being a hilariously small cat bully.

Rats don't live very long, maybe three years. Five, if you're really lucky and buy from a solid breeder. But that's a stretch, no matter how well you take care of them.

Andes is my handsome old boy, and he's been deteriorating over the last two days.

I didn't have any pictures of me and Brizz when he was healthy and happy. I have a picture of him in my arms the day he died, and I keep it on my phone. I still miss him a great deal, so I look at it from time to time. It's the same with Andes. I have one picture of him on my shoulder, hiding in my hair.

I spent most of the night with Andes after I got out of class. I took a picture of us on the couch. Don't mind my face, it's puffy and red because I've been crying all night with my favorite boy.

He's been quietly letting me love on him all night, and I've been crying into his fur and snuggling him as gently as I can. I don't think he's going to be alive in the morning, and it breaks my heart that I can't stay up with him all night and be with him when he dies, if my hunch is correct.

I'm sure this seems silly. He's just a rat, after all.

But he's mine, and I love him, and he's never been just a rat to me. He's my furry little guy, and he's been a source of great comfort for me. It's almost time for my tawny old man to die, and I am going to miss him immeasurably.

Like I said, my love for people doesn't come often or easily, and when it comes, it stays forever. The only difference with my love of my animals is how instantaneous it is. The second I have an animal and it's my critter, I love it. And I love it forever.

I still miss Bunny. I still miss Brisby. And I am devastated over the looming loss of Andes. I'm having a drink and crying while I write this. I set Andes up a comfortable box nest in his house. Charlie and Bullet have been sitting by it since I put it in the house. Cal me crazy, but I think animals are just as compassionate and aware as people are. Andes is their family, and they're going to be as sad as I am when he goes.

Well. There it is.

I'm going to go drunkenly cry on my couch, and hopefully I get some sleep tonight.

Hey! You! Yeah! Get fucked!

Something really, really sad happened to me today.

I can't talk about it in depth, because that will probably make it worse, but it's fucking killing me.

I haven't felt this horrible, this sorry for myself, and this sad in a year and a half, and I don't know how to deal with being me right now.

I wish I could write about it here, but this is all I can do.

People are terrible. They are awful, and selfish, and incomprehensibly cruel. I don't understand why this is, or where it comes from, or how people justify the way behave. I suppose I'll never understand that.

I'm many, many, MANY things. Some of them are intensely negative. However, there are boundaries that even I won't cross. This has been a year of having lines tested for me, and I want to be angry, but I'm not. I'm just....crushed. I don't know how else to describe it.

I want people to think about what they do, and how they treat people, and what their actions do to those around them. Specifically what they do to the people directly involved. If you think there's the slightest chance that the way you behave toward someone could hurt them, don't mother fucking do it.

Don't treat people like they're dispensable, even if you've told them they're not. People aren't stupid. They can tell the difference between you meaning what you say, and you being full of shit.

Don't single people out because you're insecure and ridiculous. The person you're ultimately hurting isn't who you think it is, and while the person you want to hurt gets hurt, too, the collateral damage is far worse than your spite can take note of.

I could keep going, I really could. I don't need to. It would just be nice if I could be treated like a fucking person, and like I matter, and like my addition to a certain life is as huge and meaningful as it is. Being disregarded is the god damn worst.

I still count. Knowing that I don't get a say so in not counting makes me want to fucking weep. Which I have spent a good deal of the afternoon doing. I'm going to go to class, take my quiz, and come back home, because I can't god damn function. I plan on coming home, going for a run, and losing myself in homework.

By the way, fuck you. You're fucking ugly, and full of shit, and I can only fucking hope that the way you treat me comes back to you, you worthless asshole. You've done nothing at all with yourself, despite the things you've done that you think make you better than everybody. You're no different, you're not special, and you are lower, more cruel, and less deserving of the insane amounts of good this world has to offer than anybody I've ever met in my entire life. I very literally hope you fucking die in a fire. Since I know the difference between literally and figuratively, I suggest you start playing with matches in a room full of something highly flammable, and preferably toxic.

Super Sad True Love Story

So, I may have changed an entry. The girl at the computer was replaced with:

The girl at her computer was too small a file, and when my computer wiped itself out last semester, that file went with it. This left me unable to resize it.

I don't mind. Entering isn't about winning (clearly, because I looked at last year's entries, and I'm not even in the same category as the winners), it was about doing it.

Now I can go make dinner. I've been fucking with my entries for over an hour.

Packing my belongings, and it's off into the evening.

A brief entry...

Well, brief-ish. I tend to have plans on staying small, and then I just talk a whole fucking lot. Probably because I have a lot of friends.

Anyway, Derek told me about Son'y photography contest, and I decided...fuck it. I'll enter. I don't think I stand a chance of winning (I've viewed some of the entries, and holy shit....they're stunning), but I'm going to enter, anyway. With these three photos:

These are three of my very favorite photos.

This one gets an honorable mention, and I may enter this in the place of one of the others:

I love this photo, too. But I'm not sure if I like it more than the murder truck. Allen thinks the murder truck is the safer bet, and I think he may be right.

These extensions are driving me absolutely bonkers. As much as I love Melissa, I don't think she did a very good job putting these in, so I'm going to have to text her about it tonight.

I'm actually going to COOK tonight, which is an amazing accomplishment. I haven''t cooked anything other than pancakes in an extremely long time. I'm making chicken stuffed with cheese and broccoli, mashed red potatoes (from scratch, thank you very much. None of that boxed shit today!), and corn on the cob. Plus, I bought a gorgeous loaf of french bread. Mostly because I am currently having a relationship with carbs. Instead of being a crazy cat lady as a single woman, I'm a relatively sane bread lady. And I'm alright with this.

Taste the sweetness of apples grown in Washington state

So, four hours of driving through absolutely awful rain proved a very few photos worth of fruitful.

I'm greatly disappointed. It was kind of a waste of a weekend.

Balls.

I'm killing every second 'til it saves my soul

It's disappointingly overcast out in Glenwood today. The drive up yesterday was gorgeous, and I only stopped once in Vail to get some pictures. It was supposed to be nice today, but uh...weather doesn't care.

The colors were beautiful in Lightroom, and it was fun to change them from orange to yellow (as demonstrated). I may or may not have sat in my hotel room with a bottle of rum all night, playing music and watching movies. It was kind of awesome. I just came back from downstairs, where breakfast was mostly a disappointment, HOWEVER, I did get to make myself a waffle! And I do love waffles.

I'm off to Rifle for now, and then to Crystal, where hopefully the ugly ass weather works for me instead of against me. We'll see. I'm not terribly hopeful at this point.