0:28
For a while, these paragraphs won't escape my mind. They want to be written so badly but I can't seem to find an appropriate story for it yet (won't stay second person all that forever... I hope), though part of it was used between Kuroki and Maya:
He takes her, hands chained against her back, and holds her naked body against the faux silk of his clothed torso. He lifted her chin and her frightened eyes saw the nothingness in his own. She can't help but wonder why she feels nothing from him, nothing but chilly composition and icy fires of lust. He smirked and whispered, "Do you love me?" Her lips parted, letting out a little air. How could he ask her that after all the trauma he put her though. "Well?" He pressed on, "Do you?"
Did she? After how hard she tried to close him off in her mind during all that has happened, is it possible that she could have twisted hatred and developed love for him? She closed her eyes and exhaled, what could she have left to lose? "Yes..." She whispered as tears ran down her face. He kissed her softly. She wanted to hate his embrace, to hate him so much, but each touch became urging and needed. At that moment, she surrendered herself and wanted nothing but him.
0:44
Friday, March 15, 2013
Friday, March 1, 2013
Long time, no me
13:25
I've been busy and not really able to gather my thoughts, though my facebook wall could probably say differently, hai?
I've thought about going on Dr. Phil about Amanda. I don't want someone hating me over something so fucking trivial as my existence. Okay, my existence is far from trivial, I'm a quiet ball of sweetness and surprise. It's the fact that my birth and people finding out about me is the apparent reason of her hatred towards me. Coming from the same person who said to 12 year old me that she "always wanted a little sister" and I felt the same way about wanting an older sister. Then three thoughts came to me...
"Do I want a relationship with my sister?"
"Is it worth the heart ache I've already endured?"
"And would it really change anything?"
Every fiber of my being wants a loving, real relationship with all my family members. I remember being a little girl and being so sad that I couldn't have what my younger siblings had with their side of the family. Why couldn't I have that? When I finally was able to start building relationships with my paternal side, I didn't feel like I really belonged. The feelings I felt seemed fake, forced, or attempted and blown. I admit, with some I feel genuine love and support, but then... I don't know. Which leads up to the answer to the three questions above.
"I don't know."
13:43
I've been busy and not really able to gather my thoughts, though my facebook wall could probably say differently, hai?
I've thought about going on Dr. Phil about Amanda. I don't want someone hating me over something so fucking trivial as my existence. Okay, my existence is far from trivial, I'm a quiet ball of sweetness and surprise. It's the fact that my birth and people finding out about me is the apparent reason of her hatred towards me. Coming from the same person who said to 12 year old me that she "always wanted a little sister" and I felt the same way about wanting an older sister. Then three thoughts came to me...
"Do I want a relationship with my sister?"
"Is it worth the heart ache I've already endured?"
"And would it really change anything?"
Every fiber of my being wants a loving, real relationship with all my family members. I remember being a little girl and being so sad that I couldn't have what my younger siblings had with their side of the family. Why couldn't I have that? When I finally was able to start building relationships with my paternal side, I didn't feel like I really belonged. The feelings I felt seemed fake, forced, or attempted and blown. I admit, with some I feel genuine love and support, but then... I don't know. Which leads up to the answer to the three questions above.
"I don't know."
13:43
Sunday, January 6, 2013
...
2:40
I wish doctors would believe me. Believe that what I'm going though is real. I shake internally. I don't know why. I don't know why it didn't show up on tests. I am so tired of it. I'm so tired of being in pain and being dismissed like I'm crazy. My head always feels foggy, like there's something on my head and I can't get it off. I don't really take vicodin anymore, unless the pain is a big enough destraction from what I'm doing or it's just that unbearable, but even then, I take half of the pill. I cannot tell you how often I was told that it was all 'in my head', like I was faking or imagining it. I'm so tired. I can't sleep. The hell is wrong with me? Why can't anyone figure out what's going on? Why do I have to deal with this everyday all by myself? Honey does all he can but it's just too much to have to deal with me like this almost daily. Being told that my endometrosis being discovered brought me great joy, finally, I knew part of my never ending internal torment. Don't even get me started on the treatments, more harm than good. Lupron would screw with more of my neurological issues and throw me over the edge. Doctors doubt so but Provera did the same within months of starting treatment. I'm at the end of my rope at this point.
2:51
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
18:54
I am depressed. It's almost public knowledge that I am so far down the emotional lake, I'm surprised I'm not metaphorically drowned yet. I've thought about suicide often since I was 12 years old. I convinced myself that if I was gone, my town would throw this huge party, a celebration, as a good riddance. I told myself that maybe it was also saving money by offing myself - I wouldn't have to waste money on pointless doctor visits, pointless tests, and effortless treatments. The best reason I have for not having done so is because of the positive people in my life. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings because I decided to do what I did so I wouldn't be here anymore - that would bother me if I did. So you all may pat yourself's on the back. I love my bf, my pets, my family, and my FB friends. I rubbed April's back last night, I wouldn't want her to feel another great loss in her young puppy life. Losing Aiko and searching for her for over a couple of months was probably the hardest April ever had to go though. If she lost me, I can't imagine how she'd be.
19:09
I wish doctors would believe me. Believe that what I'm going though is real. I shake internally. I don't know why. I don't know why it didn't show up on tests. I am so tired of it. I'm so tired of being in pain and being dismissed like I'm crazy. My head always feels foggy, like there's something on my head and I can't get it off. I don't really take vicodin anymore, unless the pain is a big enough destraction from what I'm doing or it's just that unbearable, but even then, I take half of the pill. I cannot tell you how often I was told that it was all 'in my head', like I was faking or imagining it. I'm so tired. I can't sleep. The hell is wrong with me? Why can't anyone figure out what's going on? Why do I have to deal with this everyday all by myself? Honey does all he can but it's just too much to have to deal with me like this almost daily. Being told that my endometrosis being discovered brought me great joy, finally, I knew part of my never ending internal torment. Don't even get me started on the treatments, more harm than good. Lupron would screw with more of my neurological issues and throw me over the edge. Doctors doubt so but Provera did the same within months of starting treatment. I'm at the end of my rope at this point.
2:51
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
18:54
I am depressed. It's almost public knowledge that I am so far down the emotional lake, I'm surprised I'm not metaphorically drowned yet. I've thought about suicide often since I was 12 years old. I convinced myself that if I was gone, my town would throw this huge party, a celebration, as a good riddance. I told myself that maybe it was also saving money by offing myself - I wouldn't have to waste money on pointless doctor visits, pointless tests, and effortless treatments. The best reason I have for not having done so is because of the positive people in my life. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings because I decided to do what I did so I wouldn't be here anymore - that would bother me if I did. So you all may pat yourself's on the back. I love my bf, my pets, my family, and my FB friends. I rubbed April's back last night, I wouldn't want her to feel another great loss in her young puppy life. Losing Aiko and searching for her for over a couple of months was probably the hardest April ever had to go though. If she lost me, I can't imagine how she'd be.
19:09
Thursday, January 3, 2013
...
21:22
I am not a traditonalist. I am not anti-tradition like some people who would jump over flaming hoops to prevent themselves from being traditional. Some traditions I do want to practice or keep sacred, but most I do not because I fear it takes away from my originality. I wasn't up with much traditions or what should be, just what we could. Going the alternative path has been my life for almost all 24 years of it. I do what makes me happy rather or not it's in the 'norm' (socially acceptable) or not. I think it's fun to be untraditional, I get to do things my way because it feels right to me to do so. I was always different like that. I judged by character. So if I didn't like someone, it was probably because I thought they were distasteful. People, for some reason, love to judge me without really getting to know me. They automatically assume all these traits that I may or may not have. If not following traditions is a bad thing - pfft, more fun for me.
21:27
I am not a traditonalist. I am not anti-tradition like some people who would jump over flaming hoops to prevent themselves from being traditional. Some traditions I do want to practice or keep sacred, but most I do not because I fear it takes away from my originality. I wasn't up with much traditions or what should be, just what we could. Going the alternative path has been my life for almost all 24 years of it. I do what makes me happy rather or not it's in the 'norm' (socially acceptable) or not. I think it's fun to be untraditional, I get to do things my way because it feels right to me to do so. I was always different like that. I judged by character. So if I didn't like someone, it was probably because I thought they were distasteful. People, for some reason, love to judge me without really getting to know me. They automatically assume all these traits that I may or may not have. If not following traditions is a bad thing - pfft, more fun for me.
21:27
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
...
1:50
I have been reading on abducted/murdered American children on wikipedia - sorta by accident. Looking up a word I couldn't spell for my story and found the wikipedia page about it, which led to a page that lead me to another page, that lead me to the category of abducted children in the US. I always feel sad when I read the stories, but if no one reads them, how are they remembered? Same with all the Jane and John Does, nameless, forgotten, outcasted from the world because they can't be identified. Keeping that sad thing in mind, I've thought about how I would be identified:
- chipped right (my left) central incisor
- my bad over bite/under devoloped bottom jaw
(both have been in my dental records since I was 14)
- bent lower spine
- 'scars' from my healed broken tail bone
By the chance I am not in that state or have amnesia:
- left ear has 4 piercings and right has 5 piercings
- numerous scars:
I think that sums it up. I hope none of that ever happens to me because that would be very very sad.
2:19
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have been reading on abducted/murdered American children on wikipedia - sorta by accident. Looking up a word I couldn't spell for my story and found the wikipedia page about it, which led to a page that lead me to another page, that lead me to the category of abducted children in the US. I always feel sad when I read the stories, but if no one reads them, how are they remembered? Same with all the Jane and John Does, nameless, forgotten, outcasted from the world because they can't be identified. Keeping that sad thing in mind, I've thought about how I would be identified:
- chipped right (my left) central incisor
- my bad over bite/under devoloped bottom jaw
(both have been in my dental records since I was 14)
- bent lower spine
- 'scars' from my healed broken tail bone
By the chance I am not in that state or have amnesia:
- left ear has 4 piercings and right has 5 piercings
- numerous scars:
- 1 on my left fore arm, by the bend/elbow
- Y shaped scar on my right thigh
- small scar above my left eye
- my surgical scars from my laproscopy
I think that sums it up. I hope none of that ever happens to me because that would be very very sad.
2:19
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Inner darkness - reflection
18:03
Sometimes I go for walks, take a slightly longer route or trail off when I'm finished with the main point of leaving the house to begin with. I take those times to think. I think often and hard, usually lost in my train of thought. My thoughts are often 'dark'; morbid, deranged, twisted, may I go on? It's almost rare when I think of happy, sunny, 'over the rainbow' peppy. I was 11 when the thoughts first started. I thought it was normal and shrugged it off like no big deal. It was because of those thoughts, my eyes were open to the fact no one liked me. They tolerated me enough to create that illusion. I was different, I shared some hobbies and interests as the 'norms' but not enough to take me out of the 'weirdo' class.
At age 12, the harder I tried to fit in the more I was alienated. I played alone, talked to myself; I was my only real friend. What started as a test became a way of self-destruction. I wanted to know which of my friends actually had the decency to care about me like how I cared for all of them. I banged my forehead on the table, over and over, waiting, looking for their reactions. I was only stopped twice because THEY didn't want to attract any attention from the teachers that doubled as lunch room monitors. They failed. I figured there was no place for me anymore. I lost all my real friends when I moved to West Allis and here, no one gave a damn about me. I would aim lower on the table, the edge, and silently bang in the same spot over and over. I would wrap my arms around my head, as if I was resting my head on the table, to hide the banging. I guess they knew what I was doing but didn't bother stopping me. There would be times I'd use the plastic fork and scratch, hard, down my left forearm over and over. When asked what I was doing, I'd say that my arm was itchy and it felt good (it actually did u_u) - it was a lie, rather or not they believed me is still unknown. My more obvious fits of rage was seen when I'd continiously stab the foam lunch tray with my fork. I'd start off slow, get a rush, and get faster and faster. When there wasn't much of a tray left, I was out of breath, it was almost orgasmic for me.
Ages 13-15 was when sex was becoming a pretty big deal at my middle schools. Almost all the girls were talking about it, others were thinking about how romantic their first times would be or how great their last encounter was. My dark thoughts sent me to a different direction. I had more of an interest to toy with people at that point. It was a bite or be bitten world and I was tired of being my grade's rubber ball. What I couldn't seem to escape from was the fact I was still getting bitten and it was taking a toll on me. My friends, peers, and teachers thought I was stupid and a waste of time, so allowing the darkness within me take control was probably the best idea I ever had at that time. I didn't swear, I was an absolute good girl. I was 14, I had enough of people, and had no patience for pretty much everyone - not like I shown it; blowing my cover was something I didn't want to do at that time.
There was this girl, someone who I knew disliked me and my gawd, I hated her, but she was dating my best friend and was always around. One day, my then best friend and I were walking home and she caught up with us and asked if she could walk home. I said, "No." She asked why not and I kept answering that I just wanted to walk home with my best friend today. He tried to insist that she walk with us and I could feel my blood boiling and said it wasn't going to happen. When asked why for the upteenth time, I screamed, "Because I fucking hate you, you're a stupid bitch!" I'm not really sure who was more stunned but I believe it was actually me. I felt awesome! I didn't regret hurting her feelings - she did a great share of that the year before. I guess I was the reason they broke up but it wasn't because of that, I guess she suspected that he had a crush on me or something like that - hell should I know?
It was after that when I let the darkness be shown. My outlets were art, I drew and wrote fantasies of what my darkness enjoyed. Writing about murder, torture, violent rape, I think I was pretty much gone at that point. Everyone was inferrior to me. They were nothing but rabid ratcoons that needed to be shot. 14 years old and hated people to that extent - sad huh? My personal style went from pathetic poor girl to Goth or dark artist as I liked to call it. mini skirts, tight tops that shown off my small devoloping chest, knee high boots, did nothing to my shoulder length brown hair. I still couldn't fight back, I was afraid of what would happen if I did, but I didn't show emotion. I went from carefree to careless. My 'I don't give a fuck' attitude did somewhat get me in trouble, but mostly with teachers since most were just as inferrior in my eyes as the dumbasses I went to class with.
The backlash of my darkness was the painful twinge of suicidal thoughts that still plagued me. I was still a nice girl, despite all that. I was into self-destruction again, not including the failed or half assed suicide attempts that my friends didn't really give a damn about, only stopping me when people would look our way, not like it surprised me. My destruction of choice was alcohol. I would try to drink the pain away with wine coolers and Mike's Hard Lemonade. Let me be the first to admit, it doesn't work. I am also a light weight and harder stuff burns like fuck going down my throat. I was never into drugs. I understand why people do it sometimes, but it wasn't for me. My thoughts were getting darker, my care for human life was pretty much dead at that point, and I wanted people to suffer. What I didn't really count on was my best friend was basically a sociopath and had me wrapped around his finger, basically since we started to become friends at age 8/9 (I was older than most of my class mates).
Most of me hated it, I had almost no will of my own, he'd beat me into silence, had full control of parts of my life. I was defenceless, scared, and willing to please him so he wouldn't hurt me again. Basically it was a sexless sadomasochist relationship from ages 13 to 16. He hated how I was blossoming. He hated that I was starting to have a will of my own, that I disobeyed him often. He tried to use my feelings for him to bind me to him to abuse, it worked for a short period of time, but when I became 15, it was useless. He tried to alienate me from our friends unless he was there to 'watch' me. The only hatred we actually agreed on was my alcohol consuption. He wanted me to be the meek and weak girl I used to be.
I was sorta aware of sadomasochism since maybe age 13, though I may have been 14 then. I only knew of the hardcore stuff, unaware of the other variations of it. That was my dark pleasure, my darkness had to remember that I still innocent in a sense of nature and heart, I had no desire to actually hurt anyone in anyway, but damn did I love thinking about it. At age 16, I was free. I was sick often from other illnesses and I went to a different school. I abandoned most of my friends. Other friends I wound up losing when I realized they were just as fake as the ones I left behind.
Now, as an adult, I love to explore where my darkness will transform me. I am allowing it to take over with a few conditions. I am a humantarian, I eventually grew to like the welfair for people, but that doesn't mean I actually give a fuck about people unless I want to. I also like some brighter colors but mostly have a 'black' attatude. It is dangerous to know what's in my mind. What people see as taboo or forbidden, I find exciting. The love of my life understands me and finds my darkness fitting to his own, thankfully he would never treat me like how my ex best friend did.
19:45
Sometimes I go for walks, take a slightly longer route or trail off when I'm finished with the main point of leaving the house to begin with. I take those times to think. I think often and hard, usually lost in my train of thought. My thoughts are often 'dark'; morbid, deranged, twisted, may I go on? It's almost rare when I think of happy, sunny, 'over the rainbow' peppy. I was 11 when the thoughts first started. I thought it was normal and shrugged it off like no big deal. It was because of those thoughts, my eyes were open to the fact no one liked me. They tolerated me enough to create that illusion. I was different, I shared some hobbies and interests as the 'norms' but not enough to take me out of the 'weirdo' class.
At age 12, the harder I tried to fit in the more I was alienated. I played alone, talked to myself; I was my only real friend. What started as a test became a way of self-destruction. I wanted to know which of my friends actually had the decency to care about me like how I cared for all of them. I banged my forehead on the table, over and over, waiting, looking for their reactions. I was only stopped twice because THEY didn't want to attract any attention from the teachers that doubled as lunch room monitors. They failed. I figured there was no place for me anymore. I lost all my real friends when I moved to West Allis and here, no one gave a damn about me. I would aim lower on the table, the edge, and silently bang in the same spot over and over. I would wrap my arms around my head, as if I was resting my head on the table, to hide the banging. I guess they knew what I was doing but didn't bother stopping me. There would be times I'd use the plastic fork and scratch, hard, down my left forearm over and over. When asked what I was doing, I'd say that my arm was itchy and it felt good (it actually did u_u) - it was a lie, rather or not they believed me is still unknown. My more obvious fits of rage was seen when I'd continiously stab the foam lunch tray with my fork. I'd start off slow, get a rush, and get faster and faster. When there wasn't much of a tray left, I was out of breath, it was almost orgasmic for me.
Ages 13-15 was when sex was becoming a pretty big deal at my middle schools. Almost all the girls were talking about it, others were thinking about how romantic their first times would be or how great their last encounter was. My dark thoughts sent me to a different direction. I had more of an interest to toy with people at that point. It was a bite or be bitten world and I was tired of being my grade's rubber ball. What I couldn't seem to escape from was the fact I was still getting bitten and it was taking a toll on me. My friends, peers, and teachers thought I was stupid and a waste of time, so allowing the darkness within me take control was probably the best idea I ever had at that time. I didn't swear, I was an absolute good girl. I was 14, I had enough of people, and had no patience for pretty much everyone - not like I shown it; blowing my cover was something I didn't want to do at that time.
There was this girl, someone who I knew disliked me and my gawd, I hated her, but she was dating my best friend and was always around. One day, my then best friend and I were walking home and she caught up with us and asked if she could walk home. I said, "No." She asked why not and I kept answering that I just wanted to walk home with my best friend today. He tried to insist that she walk with us and I could feel my blood boiling and said it wasn't going to happen. When asked why for the upteenth time, I screamed, "Because I fucking hate you, you're a stupid bitch!" I'm not really sure who was more stunned but I believe it was actually me. I felt awesome! I didn't regret hurting her feelings - she did a great share of that the year before. I guess I was the reason they broke up but it wasn't because of that, I guess she suspected that he had a crush on me or something like that - hell should I know?
It was after that when I let the darkness be shown. My outlets were art, I drew and wrote fantasies of what my darkness enjoyed. Writing about murder, torture, violent rape, I think I was pretty much gone at that point. Everyone was inferrior to me. They were nothing but rabid ratcoons that needed to be shot. 14 years old and hated people to that extent - sad huh? My personal style went from pathetic poor girl to Goth or dark artist as I liked to call it. mini skirts, tight tops that shown off my small devoloping chest, knee high boots, did nothing to my shoulder length brown hair. I still couldn't fight back, I was afraid of what would happen if I did, but I didn't show emotion. I went from carefree to careless. My 'I don't give a fuck' attitude did somewhat get me in trouble, but mostly with teachers since most were just as inferrior in my eyes as the dumbasses I went to class with.
The backlash of my darkness was the painful twinge of suicidal thoughts that still plagued me. I was still a nice girl, despite all that. I was into self-destruction again, not including the failed or half assed suicide attempts that my friends didn't really give a damn about, only stopping me when people would look our way, not like it surprised me. My destruction of choice was alcohol. I would try to drink the pain away with wine coolers and Mike's Hard Lemonade. Let me be the first to admit, it doesn't work. I am also a light weight and harder stuff burns like fuck going down my throat. I was never into drugs. I understand why people do it sometimes, but it wasn't for me. My thoughts were getting darker, my care for human life was pretty much dead at that point, and I wanted people to suffer. What I didn't really count on was my best friend was basically a sociopath and had me wrapped around his finger, basically since we started to become friends at age 8/9 (I was older than most of my class mates).
Most of me hated it, I had almost no will of my own, he'd beat me into silence, had full control of parts of my life. I was defenceless, scared, and willing to please him so he wouldn't hurt me again. Basically it was a sexless sadomasochist relationship from ages 13 to 16. He hated how I was blossoming. He hated that I was starting to have a will of my own, that I disobeyed him often. He tried to use my feelings for him to bind me to him to abuse, it worked for a short period of time, but when I became 15, it was useless. He tried to alienate me from our friends unless he was there to 'watch' me. The only hatred we actually agreed on was my alcohol consuption. He wanted me to be the meek and weak girl I used to be.
I was sorta aware of sadomasochism since maybe age 13, though I may have been 14 then. I only knew of the hardcore stuff, unaware of the other variations of it. That was my dark pleasure, my darkness had to remember that I still innocent in a sense of nature and heart, I had no desire to actually hurt anyone in anyway, but damn did I love thinking about it. At age 16, I was free. I was sick often from other illnesses and I went to a different school. I abandoned most of my friends. Other friends I wound up losing when I realized they were just as fake as the ones I left behind.
Now, as an adult, I love to explore where my darkness will transform me. I am allowing it to take over with a few conditions. I am a humantarian, I eventually grew to like the welfair for people, but that doesn't mean I actually give a fuck about people unless I want to. I also like some brighter colors but mostly have a 'black' attatude. It is dangerous to know what's in my mind. What people see as taboo or forbidden, I find exciting. The love of my life understands me and finds my darkness fitting to his own, thankfully he would never treat me like how my ex best friend did.
19:45
Friday, December 28, 2012
Assume the worst so it's not a surprise when it comes
14:49
Got dressed and pretty much ready to go meet Colette and Jen. My positive anxiety turned negative within the last 10 minutes. Was I bailed on again? No incoming texts. What am I to think? It's not like I had anything else planned for today but it's just the point that getting my hopes up again may have lead to more disappointment. Low expectations of everything and I still get hurt - the fuck? I really should learn to have no expectation - period. No expectations = no heart ache. It's pretty simple for me to go from hyped up to plummeting in self pity in a matter of seconds.
14:54
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
17:07
My gosh I had the greatest time with Colette and Jen! It has been 8 years since I've actually hung out with another girl, let alone two, that were actually nice and not out to get me... okay in that sense, I haven't hung out with nice unbackstabbing people EVER (until today). My hyper talk (a quirk of social anxiety that isn't always documented) was on the whole time, which embarassed me because I couldn't get it to stop. All good things were said - so I didn't scare them away with arsenic talk (I was careful not to go that dark on a first meet THIS time *nods*). Colette surprised me with both Saige books. I am so happy, I don't own any GOTY books, though I've loved to own Lindsey's and Lanie's if I can find them. I made sure to look nice, I didn't wear my bangs, I wasn't up for clipping them in - ja, I got lazy. What sucked is that my tremors were kicking up and I tried hard to keep it at bay.
17:19
Got dressed and pretty much ready to go meet Colette and Jen. My positive anxiety turned negative within the last 10 minutes. Was I bailed on again? No incoming texts. What am I to think? It's not like I had anything else planned for today but it's just the point that getting my hopes up again may have lead to more disappointment. Low expectations of everything and I still get hurt - the fuck? I really should learn to have no expectation - period. No expectations = no heart ache. It's pretty simple for me to go from hyped up to plummeting in self pity in a matter of seconds.
14:54
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
17:07
My gosh I had the greatest time with Colette and Jen! It has been 8 years since I've actually hung out with another girl, let alone two, that were actually nice and not out to get me... okay in that sense, I haven't hung out with nice unbackstabbing people EVER (until today). My hyper talk (a quirk of social anxiety that isn't always documented) was on the whole time, which embarassed me because I couldn't get it to stop. All good things were said - so I didn't scare them away with arsenic talk (I was careful not to go that dark on a first meet THIS time *nods*). Colette surprised me with both Saige books. I am so happy, I don't own any GOTY books, though I've loved to own Lindsey's and Lanie's if I can find them. I made sure to look nice, I didn't wear my bangs, I wasn't up for clipping them in - ja, I got lazy. What sucked is that my tremors were kicking up and I tried hard to keep it at bay.
17:19
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