I Like to Brag...

Let's talk about siblings. Or rather, sit tight while I brag about my siblings. Sisters first:

First, there's Thena. My big sister. There's no denying that we're close, considering that we're in the same grade and everything... She and I complete each other's sentences, think that exact same thoughts, and have both dedicated our lives to pursuing evil. Pretty freakin' cool, huh?

Then Paul, my twin. He's dumb. And he counts as a sister because he wears purple togas. [lol Thena, I'm thinking of you right now...]

Then Maddy, my "twin" sister [we're actually not the same age but we look alike and we're BFF4L yo, so that's how we roll]. She's awwwwesome. :D We're so alike sometimes, it scares me--between her and Thena, they've captured my mind. How amazing, yet so creepy...

Now Aphrie, my blondie. She's way older than me, but we're a dream team. Who else will make you dippy eggs in the morning? And who else can sympathize when an ice cube blows up in your face and attacks your nose? I'm still afraid to drink warm lemonade... Oh, and who else can do your makeup and make you look like a completely different [and WAY more beautiful] person? Like I said, she's definitely part of the dream team. I'd like to think that I do as much for her as she does for me, but I doubt it. I'm stupid that way.

Of course, we can't forget Kailey [or Tia, as I sometimes refer to her as]. She's my little sister, my baby sister, and she never forgets to tell me she loves me. I need that, you know? I need the reminders, so I don't forget. She helps make my world complete.

And last, but never least, Seph--because she was the only person to visit me in the hospital last fall after that near-fatal [non-breathing] swim practice, and because she's always there. I could never be wonderful enough to deserve her. Never.

Now some brothers:

Disko... God, I don't even know what to say, really. I respect him more than he will ever know, and even though I've hurt him more than once and annoyed the hell out of him multiple times, he still sticks around. Great brother. Great, great brother.

Pasta, my bro-in-law [Thena's man] is Italian. Enough said. He does have good taste in cars, though.

Cuaderno is... Cuaderno. No other word for it. Lots of hugs and plenty of laughs [tehehe chimpanzees!].

And my oldest brother, my only older brother, Birdie. I don't know what I'd do without him. Who else could be good enough to share my initials? Nobody, that's who. I send my love, from KB2 to KB1. :]

Last, but again never the least, my baby brother--Young Matteo. We don't get along sometimes, especially if Wicked or music is involved, but we're still siblings. Nothing changes that fact, and nothing ever will. He'll be the best uncle my future children could ask for.

I think that's everyone. Don't laugh if I forgot somebody--YOU try living with an enormous family and see how it goes down.

Hope you enjoy my bragging. :] I know it's dumb. But these people are the ones I see every day, and usually every night--I can't help bragging about them. They're not just a part of my life, they are my life. Every single day and night.

Love you guys. :] I'll post again Friday, when I get home. :D

Anne Boleyn, She Kept a Tin

...which all her hopes and dreams were in.

Tehehe. I have the song "Transylvania" by McFly stuck in my head right now [click on the McFly link to the right to go to their MySpace, scroll down in the player, and listen]. For the mildly clueless, those pretty words up yonder make up the first two lines.

My other favorite part of that song is the second half of the chorus:

Ugly is the world we're on
If I'm right, then prove me wrong
I'm stunned to find a place we belong

Talk about weird. Those three little lines summarize my perspective on life right now.

The world is indeed VERY ugly, and I'd love for somebody to prove me wrong on that. And I am stunned to find that in this ugly world, there is a kind of reality in which I and my siblings can belong.

Strangely compelling, eh?

But I AM the evil twin.

Two of my sisters have blogs now... tehehe. I'm such a good influence. :P

Check out my twin sister Maddy's blog--
http://youresimplyoutrageous.blogspot.com

Arty's OUT... be back later <3

Bodies Recovered: 0

So I already told you all how I was cleaning my bedroom. Amazingly enough, I've kept it clean since that post. I'm so proud of myself--I think I'll get a cookie.

[...]

Anyway, now that my mouth is full, I'd like to brag a bit more. A few days ago, much to the surprise of anyone who's seen my room, I CLEANED MY CLOSET.

:O

Yes, I did it. Finally. I moved a ton of crap to the basement [childhood stuff... things I barely remember] and powercleaned the shelves. I even folded all of my sweatshirts and arranged them in a neatly fashion.

OCD? A bit. But it doesn't bother me.

The best shelf to clean [and the worst] was the one in which I've housed all of my writing for nearly eleven years. Ever since I learned how to write stories, I've kept them. I am a bit of a pack rat, but I feel it's worth it.

As I threw notebook after notebook into an ever-growing pile on the floor, I read. I found my very first story, entitled "The Old Lady and the Dog," and read it. Next came all of my stories from elementary school, followed shortly by the first novel I attempted to write, still unfinished.

So many ideas I've had--so many books and stories I've tried to write. And yet, I'd never finished one up until The Hidden. If I had unlimited time on my hands and a place where no one could bug me, I would sit down and finish them all. I'd finally complete those hundreds and hundreds of stories.

I'd finish Z's adventure on her home planet. Mindy and Stan would get their happy ending. Lyndey would find her mother and escape poverty. Anna Calvin would get out of her loathesome marriage. Shari would make the best friends she'd ever had at the lake. Abby would sacrifice herself to set her sister free.

But most importantly, and at the top of my list, the seven hidden children would get to tell their story. The characters I created in The Hidden would finally get their prequel and sequel. Every night, if I'm not too tired, I try to write, to finish The Emperor and The Heiress before I die. It's a reasonable goal, don't you think?

I don't care if I ever get published--I would love to, and it would make me very happy, but it's not why I write. I don't write to be famous one day. I write because my mind creates characters who becomes so real, so tangible to me that I have to tell their stories. THEY are my priority.

So no, Jimmy Hoffa wasn't in my closet, nor any other bodies for that matter. But I found the people I've been looking for, and I don't intend to let them slip away.

Tornado! :D

Writing from Thena's house right now--we'd planned to go to our school's first varsity football game, but based on the weather right now, I don't think we're going anywhere.

Anyone else who lives in southeastern Michigan ought to be inside right now. Don't go out, guys. Stay inside.

In Macomb County, where I live, there is a severe thunderstorm warning. In the surrounding counties, appearing to make a ring around the very city where I live, there's a withstanding tornado warning and at least one has touched the ground. On the news, all three channels are focusing on the highly inclement weather.

Lol. Gotta love Michigan. This is just how it is for us. You think they'd be used to it by now, ya know?

Stupid dreams.

I am SO SICK of dreaming. I'm not kidding. Every single time I stop and close my eyes, I start to dream. Even when I'm not completely asleep yet! EVEN WHEN I'M AWAKE!

Am I just really good at sleeping? WHAT IS MY PROBLEM??

Imagination probably has something to do with it, I'd bet. I have an overreactive imagination. I create mental pictures all day long, scenes for stories and such, imagining the annoying girls from school falling down into bottomless pits...

But seriously. This is getting ridiculous. My involuntary dreams are getting more and more interactive with my everyday reality--waking me up, moving me around, mixing dangerously with intentional thoughts and ideas to form a strange world where I'm not sure what's real and what's not.

Take yesterday for example. I was tired after the Tigers game [we lost, of course--every time I go to a game, the team I'm rooting for loses] so I decided to take a rest. I flopped down on my bed and closed my eyes and

BAM! Dream!

It was REALLY annoying. But I patiently endured, knowing that if I tried to resist it I would wake up and whatever dream was floating through my subconscious would come back later to make its presence known. I watched as nameless and faceless people ran around screaming about some impending doom [nothing new] and then stared in curiosity as some huge, hairy guy began to open a safe.

Makes hardly any sense, I know. But that's how my dreams are. Loosely connected plots, strange details, barely any common sense in the decisions my dream-self makes... Anyway.

Then, between the screaming and the warnings from the faceless peasants, a deep voice said my name.

Clearly. Deeply. With a sick satisfaction to it, as if he'd been searching for me for a long time and now finally got the chance to torment me. Invisible hands pushed me away from the scene; I woke up so quickly, I fell off my bed.

I didn't know what to think, so I let my mind work itself out. First, I acknowledged that it most definitely had been just a dream--the sense of conviction in that realization was astounding. Then I listened carefully to the quiet noises of my house, noticing that in my slumber my family has gone somewhere, leaving me alone. Even the dog wasn't making any noise.

It was beyond irritating. Totally frustrating. Here I was, trying to nap, and this stupid, deep, arrogant voice goes and wakes me up. What a jerk. Being the scaredycat that I am, I checked the whole house just to make sure that there really wasn't some deranged murderer hiding behind the water heater. Nobody.

Now completely unable to sleep, I grabbed a pile of CDs from my room and walked down the two flights of stairs to the family room to put them away. Out of nowhere, seemingly from the air itself, I heard a snicker.

A laugh, clear as day. A chuckle, if you will. A condescending snicker that made me feel all uneasy, like I was being watched.

Without warning, the dream came floating back into my memory. I could recall with frightening detail the screamed warnings, the fear I had felt, and even some of the faces in the crowd. There was a deeper meaning there, something I hadn't seen before...

Anyway, I won't trouble you with details of the rest. I called Thena, she came over, and we pulled out some old dream notebooks and tried to figure everything out. No conclusion drawn, but we sure had fun goofing around and watching the storm through my bedroom window.

Can you see what I mean? It's freaky. The people and emotions that I encounter and experience in dreams... Well, it's like they're trying to become a part of my reality. My REAL WORLD.

I'm constantly on edge, daydreaming of strange places over and over again, seeing the same people night after night. I can't stand going to sleep. I love to sleep, the act in itself [because I'm a flipping teenager and sleeping is my favorite hobby, remember?], but the dreams are getting out of hand. I just want to rest, not wander through surreality.

Gah. I'm frustrated. I need a nap. Preferably a dreamless one. Arty's out.

Cousins!

Just for fun, I decided to sit down and count how many cousins I have. You will never believe the numbers I came up with...

I have 20 first cousins. TWENTY. As in two-zero. That's a lot of chitlins.

Second cousins makes the list a bit scarier. I only counted the ones that I actually see on a semi-regular basis, cousins that I consider real family. The ones that send Christmas cards, ya know? Oh, and I didn't count the in-laws [cousins' spouses, of course].

That number stands at 34.

Weird, isn't it? And I know there's more. I rarely see both of my grandfathers' families, and if I can't remember their names I didn't count them... and then there's all of MR's family who I have yet to meet and remember...

Still, it's shocking. If I were to have a graduation party, oh, let's say tomorrow, I would have 54 cousins and their parents/grandparents frolicking about. And then you factor in their boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, and friends...

Yeah, it's a huge number. Terrifying. The thought of a graduation party is an interesting concept. Of course, not all of them would attend for the entire time, and then there's always the family drama going on that slims down the stats a bit... But then those people will be replaced by neighbors, family friends, my friends, old teachers, etc.

Thank God I have almost two years left before the havoc begins. Not that I'll enjoy my graduation--I will enjoy that IMMENSELY. I'm just picturing the enormous crowd gathering around a food table in my gazebo...

Sigh. Gotta love family. Always here, always there, always growing... Gotta love 'em.

Shplorin' and Schoolin'

I've been exploring the Blogger world today, and it makes me happy to see that there are so many people like me. Writers and dreamers who want to know things about the reality they live in. It's like a breath of fresh air--a trumpet sounding out a tune that clearly screams I AM NOT ALONE!

Like I said, it's nice. Keep commenting, guys. Keep talking to me. I'll keep talking to you. We may be trapped between adulthood and childhood, but that doesn't mean we have to be alone. We've always got each other. :]

Also today, after a delicious breakfast at Ram's Horn with Aphrie, we drove up to our high school in her old Cougar and registered for our junior year of high school. I love seeing how some kids get all excited over it--blasphemy, isn't it? Registration always sucks. Always. No doubt in my mind.

My pictures should be interesting--I finally wore red. I was waiting until this year to do so, because I look best in red and this picture will be on my ID for two years. And I did my hair differently [quit laughing... yes, I actually do my hair on occasion] and wore some makeup [shut up!] and threw on a necklace. It could be interesting.

My schedule for the first semester:
Spanish IV
AP Government/Politics U.S.
Honors English 11
AP Psychology
Physics
ACC Trigonometry/Analytical Geometry

Shoot me?

It's going to be a long semester. Oh, and they moved my locker assignment [stupidly enough]--I'm in the old senior section. It used to be only for seniors, but now it's for everyone. Including me. I don't quite know how or when I'll be able to get to my locker, but I'll live.

Picked up my yearbook from last year today--breaking news! It's terrible! There are enough spelling mistakes to wallpaper my bedroom and they absolutely murdered the swim team's page. They spelled a bunch of names wrong and under a picture of my friend Seph, in which she is quite clearly in the STARTING POSITION for backstroke, they wrote that she was getting out of the pool after her race. IDIOTS. I stopped reading after that.

Homecoming is September 22. I already bought a dress [silver, princess-y, sparkly, quite unlike anything I've had before]. A date, though, I will not have, unless by some miracle Prince Charming strolls into my English class and asks for my hand. Ha. Yeah. Aphrie and I decided to go without dates unless we were asked--going with friends is just too weird to do anymore. It's too awkward.

School starts in one week and six days. EW. Not looking forward to the daily grind. But whatever--I'll make it through high school.

In the words of Stephenie Meyer-- "Don't let anybody tell you that high school is fun. College is fun. High school is to be endured."

Arty is [calling her friends to find out who she can talk to in Gov, and] OUT. :]

Candy of the Bitter Kind

Every time I board a subway, no matter where I'm at, I immediately think of the novel Candy by Kevin Brooks. Main character Joe writes in his song "Candy":

The girl at the station
The girl with the smile
The moment's temptation
To stay for awhile
Candy, your eyes
Take me away

I think the words as soon as my feet cross the threshold between station platform and subway car, and instantly I change. My entire being changes. I think of Joe and Candy, the heroin-addicted prostitute who can't get out of her lifestyle, and the experiences they go through. I think of the way Joe takes care of her, helps her get off the drugs, and nearly ends up losing his life because of it. In an urban world of drugs, sex, and guns, you can't take chances. And he takes one too many.

I stare at the passengers outside the subway window and I wonder how many of them are living lives they hate. I wonder how many have nothing to go home to. I see the businessmen and ponder how many hate their jobs. I see small children and wonder what world they're growing up in.

A subway station, and an entire city for that matter, is a writer's heaven. An author's playground. If each person on that subway, each person rushing somewhere or another, could answer my questions and give testimony to the way urban living has affected them, I'd fill every single empty notebook in my closet. Every one.

As much as I'd hate to live in a big city, all the noise and pollution and angry cab drivers, I can't imagine anything more tempting. I can see myself on a subway every morning, scribbling away furiously in my little green notebook, committing every single person to memory. If possible, I'd ask people questions. If I couldn't figure out their real story, I'd write them one. They'd become instant-bake characters, the kind you pop in the microwave for three minutes and end up with a full novel written about. They'd be perfect.

I can see myself in a loft or apartment on the quiet side of town, typing on my laptop at four in the morning because I just can't get the people out of my head. I can see the way they'd affect me, change me, inspire me and pain me, too. I'd never forget them. I'd always see them in my head, every time I sat to write. They'd always be a part of me--their stories would become my story, too.

Can you see the temptation? The need for inspiration? I'm naught but a mere writer, a stupid little girl with a pen and paper who relies on imagination and observation to weave tales of make-believe and shocking reality. Can you see why I'd fare well?

I'd never want to be Candy, or Joe. But every time I board a subway, I want to be in their place. I want to ride their subway, see their story, see the things that they see. I want to live as my characters do, to understand.

Someday I might. Maybe not. Who knows? My life is even more unpredictable than my outlines. And that is saying something, considering that I change my mind every five seconds while writing...

Artemis

While I'm in a ranting mood, I figured I should say a little something more. I do talk a lot, don't I?

In case you haven't noticed, I go by Arty on this page. Short for Artemis. And I refer to my big sister as Thena--short for Athena.

Umm, pattern? Yeah. Greek goddesses, for the mildly clueless. :]

I chose Artemis for more than one reason, the same way my close friends chose their names.

Artemis just seemed right after I learned more of her story. Keeper of the moon, loyal twin sister to Apollo [lol we call him Paul :P], indestructible with a bow and arrow, stubborn and feisty yet mellow when necessary--on a less exaggerated [and more realistic] scale, that's me. I AM Artemis. There's no doubt it my mind that she's the goddess I would be.

And Thena is Athena. Aphrie is Aphrodite. Tia matches Hestia, Seph matches Persephone... Everything falls into place. Our characteristics, our strengths and weaknesses, all seem to coordinate with those of the goddesses we took a liking to. Thena "battles" strategically. Aphrie looks for beauty in everyone. Tia cares for family more than anyone I've ever met. Seph is very sensitive to the dead, just the way the queen of the underworld is. It all fits.

Until someone can prove me to be absolutely nothing like Artemis, I will take on her name in my writing. I will continue to look at the moon and wonder how it got there, what it all means. I will be a loyal sister. I will be stubborn and feisty when people try to mess with me. And I will hunt for reality with as much of a vengeance as Artemis had when she hunted with her bow and arrow in all the old stories. I will live up to my namesake.

Artemis Abigail Morgan. What a name. What a meaning. What a life I can expect to lead.

To Those Like Me

I was reading someone else's blog, a girl who has commented on mine multiple times. She is fourteen, only two years younger than myself, and based on what she writes, I feel like I am reading something I could've written two years ago. It's uncanny.

I remember struggling with reality, even then. I remember the way it felt to be a writer in a world where good writers are few and far between. I remember feeling lost, feeling alone, facing high school and friend troubles without understanding why everything had to happen to me.

Hell, I still feel all of that. Every single day.

I offer now to everyone who feels this way some words of hope, words of experience. Because I've been there. I'm still there.

My words? Keep fighting.

Keep writing. Keep dreaming. Continue to work hard every single day to prove to the world that you mean business. Never forget that reality is only what you believe it to be, that the day you stop trying is the day the world will end.

Forget about those who have hurt you--forgive and move on. They'll never be worth your time nor your tears. Tell those who would see you crushed to stand aside. Make clear your opinions, but never be afraid to change your mind and apologize if you've been wrong.

Fear only fear--no person, no creature, no object can ever hold you back, because you are strong. You are brave. You are the one that the world has been waiting for, the single stone that will tip the scale. That which you once feared is now nothing to you, for you are the one who can conquer all.

And most of all, do not regret your mistakes. Don't regret the memories you made with those friends who let you down. Don't ever be ashamed to recall the fears you once had or the bad choices you've made. Anyone who tries to use your past to defeat you cannot win if you accept that past; the sword they reach for will be dulled and useless. You'll be the victor, as you should be.

The world is not fair, not nice, and not pretty--but we should try to be all three. ;]

#15, 16, 17

15: Think before you speak. Think really hard before you say something you may or may not regret. If you already feel bad before you say it, don't let it slip. Just don't.

16: Stay feisty. Stand up for what you believe in. Be stubborn when it comes to important things. But be smart about it--tenacity only works if what you're fighting for is right.

17: Ladies, don't wish with all of your heart that someone as gentlemanly as Edward Cullen could exist. Men like that aren't real. Don't try to find one. Just read Twilight and get your gentleman fix via reading.

Have a good day.

Idk.

Nothing is easy. Life isn't fair. It's a long, hard road. The path is bound to have obstacles. Nothing good is permanent.

Yeah. I've heard them all.

But hearing the phrases doesn't make it any easier when you're faced with a choice. A choice of belief, of action. Who do I side with? Which side is right? Is neutrality my best option? Is neutrality even an option at all?

And when your choice concerns someone you love and may or may not affect their future as well as your own, there is no easy road. There is no path without obstacles. There is no fairness, no justice.

Loss is not a road I ever want to face again. Not death--death I can handle. Even temporary absence is manageable. But instant removal, loss of the permanent kind, a loss that cannot be replaced nor avoided, is a road that I refuse to travel.

I cannot let go, nor hold tight. Neither way is preferable or easy or even fair to all involved parties. I am bound to lose, no matter which way I turn.

I am close to losing, possibly forever, someone I have known since birth and do not wish to see removed from my life. Here's the crux--they're choosing to leave, ignoring the painful consequences of their actions, thinking only of what the future COULD hold for them in their journey. If I fight against this tide, this destructive current of their choice, I may lose their trust, their love. If I don't, I'll lose them completely.

I don't know what to do. I've never faced this kind of loss before. I've struggled with reality, stability, death, my own sanity... But never loss. Never permanent removal. At least death comes with closure--there will be no closure here.

There will be no happy ending to this mess. I don't have to be a psychic to see that. And I don't have to be a masochist to understand the concept of enduring pain.

So until the ending comes along, I shall endure.

Restlessness

It really sucks being a teenager. Not for the obvious reasons--not because we're treated like crap by discriminating adults and law enforcement, or because of high school drama. No, the reason it sucks to be a teenager is because we can't do anything.

Sure, we can see our friends. When we get a license, we can drive around the city. We can pace back and forth in our bedrooms, too, if we so choose. But beyond that, it just sucks.

We can't get really good jobs to pay for the things we want. Hell, in my city, kids my age can't even find jobs. There are hundreds and hundreds of stores and restaurants and yet the number of eligible positions is next to nothing. All the college kids and young adults get the good ones. We end up sweating at Taco Bell or Target until the day we graduate...

We can't go anywhere beyond the local limits. I live in the northeastern corner of my city, which consequently means that there are two other cities all within walking distance, the three sections meeting at one particular intersection. But beyond those three towns, I'm trapped. Can't go anywhere. Can't even venture that far within those three cities because then we're "too far." Even when I do get my own license and I stop relying on Aphrie and Disko to drive me around, I won't be going far. I'm just stuck.

We can't make our own decisions. Sure, we'd like to think we do--but we don't. The only decisions we get credit for are the ones that turn out to be mistakes. Adults take credit for the rest of them. I know we're just so unwise and inexperienced that the idea of us thinking for ourselves is mind-blowing, but I think we could handle it. Most likely.

We don't get to choose the way we spend our time. School, tedious and ridiculous, consumes most of our day. Our afternoons are necessary extra-curriculars that we need to get into college. Evenings and nights are homework, not to mention trying to stay in touch with our own families. Weekends are projects and more extra-curriculars and housework if our parents ask. Breaks are homework and family celebrations [loved but plentiful] and the occasional sleeping-in days. Even SUMMER has been taken over by schoolwork--this year, I had to read three books and a play, write three essays, and do seven chapters of Spanish vocabulary.

DO I LOOK LIKE A HOMEWORK MACHINE?

Sorry. Lost control there. Anyway, our time isn't ours. It doesn't belong to us. Unwillingly, we've sold our souls to EVERYONE ELSE, and they're going to make sure we don't forget it.

Of course I want to get good grades and do extra-curriculars--I want to go to college and get a good job. Of course I want to help around the house and talk to my family--they're my family, for Pete's sake. And of course I want to do all the things that are expected of kids my age; I want a job. I want a car. I want my license. I want to make enough money to pay for college.

But do I look like some sort of preternatural creature with the ability to do everything at once?

Adults have to realize that teenagers are TRYING. We are TRYING to do everything you ask. Teachers and administrators, we're TRYING. Parents and relatives, we're TRYING. Employers and co-workers, we're TRYING as hard as we can.

If fact, we're trying harder than we can. That's why we're always tired. That's why we treasure the precious days when we get to sleep until noon. We're running ourselves ragged, and for once, it's not our fault.

Don't give me any lecture about "preparing for the real world." This is the real world. This is OUR world. It couldn't be more real than it already is. And we know that it's going to suck. We know that the future doesn't look bright and sunshiney. But we're doing our best, okay?

Let us experiment with jobs. Let us adventure just a little bit farther than your comfort level allows. Let us make our own choices. Let us control our own time, our days and minutes and years. Let us grow up. Let us be.

We can do it, I promise you. We can prioritize. You've shown us the possible paths, you've given us your opinions on all of them--let us choose one. We're not stupid--some teenagers are, and if you have a brain, you can pick them out. But let those of us with brains make our own choices. Please.

It's my life. My world. My dreams, my hopes, my fears, my independence, my reality. Let me make of it what I will.

Everything is Satisfactual

Zipadeedooda, zipadeeday... Lol. Now I'll have that stupid song stuck in my head for the next three weeks. Pleasant.

But everything for me is satisfactual right now. My family and I are running along smoothly, preparing for school to start [SHOOT ME] and doing everyday family-esque things.

We got a new dog at my dad's place--she's absolutely awesome. A rescued Greyhound, black with a white chest. Named Reo. She's the bees knees and uber-adorable. :] :]

At home, we've successfully killed two fish. I hate fish, dead or alive, so this makes me very, very happy inside. Three cheers for fishicide. :D

My writing is going well, too. Of course I have writer's block [why even bother asking?] but I can deal with it. It's never forced me to quit writing before... It just makes it harder to do.

My sisters Thena, Tia, Seph, Aphrie, and MaddyMuse are doing well right now too. There's always a bit of drama to count on, but in our world, nothing can stop us. Especially because we're named for Greek goddesses. Tehehe. Goddesses. Makes me giggle. :P

Brothers Disko, Birdie, Cuaderno, and Pasta seem to be having a good time as well. But they're not named for goddesses. Thank god. No pun intended.

My dreams have been relatively calm, minor exceptions including the here-and-there epic battle and swordfighting duels. Last night I dreamt I was eating chicken-flavored cardboard and watching American Idol outside at a campfire while practicing shape-shifting into a goat. It's okay though. I like having vivid dreams. Makes waking up so much more interesting...

Stephenie Meyer's Eclipse is my new favorite book. Read it if you don't mind having an intoxicating addiction to paper and ink. Lol.

Well, I'm off to my last day of Driver's Ed, Segment II. Maybe someday I'll get my license. Someday...

Arty is [giddy, and] OUT. :]

Climate Control

I've said before that I'm more than capable of feeling the emotions of those around me, to a point where their deepest feelings can even disguise my own. Here is a quote, from Stephenie Meyer's Eclipse [third book in Twilight's series]:

"You've experienced the way I can manipulate the emotions around myself, Bella, but I wonder if you realize how the feelings in a room affect me. I live every day in a climate of emotion."

Spoken by Jasper Hale, one of the "good" vampires [I shall sigh now and wish they were real for brief second], this quote literally explains my life. Literally. Every day, in and out, I am required to feel the emotions of the people around me.

Jasper has the same gift, only he can change others' emotions more accurately than I can [he actually changes them physically, re-balancing chemicals and such, not just by talking them through the problem]. He is condemned to spend the rest of eternity feeling everyone else's pain.

Like me.

Just like Jasper, I live in a climate of emotion. I dwell in thoughts and feelings that are entirely NOT my own. It's like my own little atmosphere, a dome of emotion that only I can enter and manipulate. Sometimes it's great. Sometimes it just really sucks.

There are times I'd like nothing more than to trade away my gift. Times when others' pain overshadows my own happiness and makes me pretty irritated. And then there are those precious moments when their happiness mixes with mine and I just about grin myself to death. I like my gift then, but those times are rare. So few people these days are purely happy...

I ask you--no, I beg you--to be thankful for what you don't have. Be glad that the emotions you feel are entirely your own, belonging to no one but yourself. Rejoice in the fact that your mind is never invaded by emotions over which you have no ownership.

Celebrate that your mind is only yours and will always be yours, without constant, unwanted emotional interruptions from those around you. And if you are presented with the option, choose to stay out of those people's heads. You'll be glad you did.

Because some of us never had a choice. And we're still coming to terms with the invasion. Slowly.

#14

Ahh, lessons. So many I've learned. So many I wish I could recount here, wish I could spread around the world...

Anyway. Lesson #14:

Never let your friend's girlfriend stop you from calling him. Never let someone you care about evaporate into the air, someone you consider a brother... Never let anyone stop you from being their friend. Never abandon them.

And if you've already done so, pray to whatever god you believe in that they will one day allow you to reenter their life. Pray that they'll forgive you for the abandonment. Pray they care about you enough to let you come back.

Because it really, truly sucks to miss somebody. Total suckfest. Fear of some girl's jealous wrath should never stop you from picking up the phone to say hello.

Damn you to the seventh circle of Hades, fear. Damn you. :]

After the Storm

BREAKING NEWS:
I'm cleaning my bedroom.

Yes, I know. Amazing. Miraculous. Shut up. If I find Jimmy Hoffa in the wreckage, I'll let you know. Oh, and Chernobyl? Yeah, that's nothing compared to this disaster.

So anyway, I was cleaning today, and I came across my old diary. Not the nicest thing to find in my room, of course, considering my tumultuous past, but I read it anyway.

Bad idea.

There was a lot of memory trapped within the bindings of that little purple book. I have a highly selective memory, you see, and everything bad gets erased. So it was no picnic to stroll down a road splattered with the gore of my previous battles.

Lots of hurt. That's always fun.

But the thing was--I didn't react the way I usually do. I didn't just close the book and think for an hour. I wrote back.

I updated my little book, something I haven't done in two years. I added another three pages. I wrote until my hand hurt, writing quickly and effortlessly, trying my hardest to convey my emotions in words.

I wrote about everything. Everything that ran through my head. My dreams. My discoveries. My struggle to face reality. My struggle to find out what reality is in the first place. My internal conflict between what is right and what I thought was right. My inability to fend for myself in a world where self-defense is everything.

Every bit of pain or struggle I've felt in the past two years has been written down, to be remembered and read again. To be remembered.

I am not a coward. I can face my fears, my troubles, my memories. I can face my pain. I was once weak, once inexperienced, once a wuss. I was once dependent on the world around me to heal my wounds.

No more. I heal myself. I fix me. Arty fixes Arty. I will heal. I will be fixed. And I will be a coward no more.

Will you?