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.