Ojos

Ah, eyes. My favorite. Yep, that one's mine. I'm pretty sure, anyway. The glare changes it a bit...

The funniest part about that picture is that the flash made my eye look a hundred times brighter than it actually is. Though they are indeed boring brown, they're usually darker... Very close to black, really.

But they're so interesting. So deep. So much can be revealed in the eyes--secrets, lies, emotions...

I just love them. No matter the color, shape, size, whatever. I love eyes.

Is that weird? Eh, probably not. You all love them too, you just don't express it. And that, of course, can be seen in your eyes. :P

Gah. Spontaneous outbursts. I need sleep. Goodnight, world, and all who inhabit it.

I Can't Believe It's Not Butter

Actually, it's not butter. This has absolutely nothing to do with butter, not even the teensiest bit.

Of course, if it did have something to do with butter, I probably wouldn't have used that title. I go for the ridiculous, don't I?

Anyway, my good news is this: Starting Friday night--approximately three hours after my last post--my writer's block was broken.

It began slow, my recovery. I started out small and forced myself to write and write and write until it felt like I had carpal tunnel [which I probably do have, after all the hours I've put in on that silly laptop]. Next thing I knew, BAM! Like magic, there were words! Fragments! Phrases! Clauses! Even sentences!

I so badly wanted to scream in my joy, but I felt that two o'clock in the morning was not a good time for that. And I really didn't want to celebrate before I knew if I was cured, either.

So I waited all day Saturday. I hung out with friends, watched some episodes of Brothers & Sisters with Aphrie [from the season we both missed], and then scampered up to my room to click and clack on the keyboard.

Staring at the screen, I took a deep breath. This was it. This was the moment.

And I could write again.

So Saturday night was spent reveling in the glory of my newfound happiness. No longer bound by the chains of unoriginality, I could be myself again, and write.

Abby's back, folks. Abby's back. :]

How much longer can this last?

I regret to inform you that I, Abby Morgan, have just entered my FIFTH WEEK of very intense writer's block.

My symptoms are severe: inability to outline events, problems in plot, lack of decent sentence structure, and so much more... It's quite possible that this is a fatal strain.

I sit at my laptop in my bedroom and just stare at the screen. Anything I type gets deleted as soon as I reread it, because it always sucks. I'm going to go crazy if I have to destroy another fifty pages of text.

It's a writer's worst fear, isn't it? To be chock freaking full of ideas and yet unable to write them.

I have, minimally, three books to finish. Possibly four. They've all been started, they've all got at least thirty pages of a good beginning... I want them finished. I want them to be done. I can see the whole plot scrawled across the empty planes of my mind, all of the answers to my poor characters' questions scribbled in tiny print down near the bottom, and yet I can't write.

My very worst nightmare--the inability to write.

I absolutely hate this.

Eileen

If I wanted a song to express the way loss tugs at my heart, I could not find a better one than "Eileen," by The Hush Sound. It's absolutely perfect for my particular situation.

When you get the chance, listen to it. Not only is it perfect, but it's also beautiful...

Lyrics:
Dear, you left too soon, went to the next room
If you haunt me, I'll sing for you
The hinges move, connecting me and you
It's a doorway you're knocking through

We walk down a dock, and the water's cold
You want me to escort you
Oh, I'd love to go swim with you in death
My heavy heart won't let me tread

So I must stay on the shore
I am young, my blood warm
I can take you this far
Now my love, we must part

When blood and youth were warmer
We breathed summer like the sweet air
We found each other like a mirror
We were so optimistic, it was so easy to be
We were young and naive

Can you pull down the dawn?
It's been so dark since you've been gone
And we've been begging for the morning to come...

We'll be fine in the morning
It's getting late, so we must sleep
We'll see you in the morning, Eileen.



Oh, and happy Thanksgiving, everyone. :]

Abby's Back

You may have noticed [or maybe not...] that I've returned my blog name to Abby. Yes, this change is significant. Yes, it has meaning.

I decided--after much deliberation, I might add--that trying to take on Artemis's name wasn't working for me. I may resemble her characteristics at times, but I truly am Abby. It's not my real name, not even close, but it's me. I'm an Abby. It just fits.

We've been through this before. Abigail Christine Morgan is the name that fits me best.

But why did I give up on Arty, a name that seemingly fit me just as nicely? Because the "goddess" in me is no longer a part of my present life. I can still identify with her, and I will never be able to forget how it felt to belong to a group of strong, courageous women who knew their path and weren't afraid to take it. We knew what we had to do this summer, and we did it. We completed the task. We overcame all obstacles of time, space, and reality that threatened to break us down.

Like all things, that beautiful summer had to end. Our time in the sun couldn't last forever, of course. We finished our job and went back to the real world, with school and work and extracurriculars and such.

Do I regret who I was in July? The dreamer, the one with all the hopes and wishes, the one who wasn't afraid to defy reality? No, I don't. I can't regret it. It was me.

But that reality, that world of dreams, could never be enough. I am human. I belong in this world.

So Abby I shall become yet again. Arty has been laid to rest, my memories of her existence bottled in my writing and my thoughts. Some day, when I have finished it, there will be a novel that tells the tragically heroic tale of seven girls who had the nerve to venture beyond the boundaries of their own reality. A tale that deserves to be told.

You may not understand what I'm talking about, much less that drastic change my life is undergoing. You might even think I'm mildly crazy for caring so much about my stupid pseudonym. But I'm not crazy, and I'm not stupid.

My identity means so, so much to me. I know my birth name, and I know my surname, but they aren't my identity. I strongly believe that everyone has a "true name," an idea I'll admit that I stole from all those silly fairy novels I've read. The concept was too real for me to ignore.

I may be wrong, but I'm pretty darn sure my "true name" is Abby. Yes, I know the loony fairies say you're not supposed to tell anyone your true name... But last time I checked, I wasn't a fairy, so I think I'm okay.

Seriously. Not a fairy. And no more mythical short jokes, guys. Nobody likes being called an imp, or a nymph, or an elf, or a fairy...

A Tidal Rhythm

I'm sure it's been proposed before, and I'm sure you've heard it a thousand times. I'm almost positive that there is nothing new in my epiphany--as I have so loosely classified it--and perhaps you will find that you shall leave your computer feeling no different than you did when you sat down.

I truly do not care. You ought to know that by now. I write for the sake of writing, for relieving my mind of everyday stresses, the ones that fester and wallow within my soul until I come to the conclusion that I have found either a way to live soullessly or that I never had one in the first place.

Maybe I've been living that way my whole life. Maybe not.

But my epiphany--it concerns perpetual motion. The kind that science claims cannot exist. All things have an end! Nothing can last forever!

Ah, but there's my point! Right there, in the last line. You see it? You can sense it, too? Can you taste the answer on the tip of your tongue?

Nothing lasts forever. Nothing can go on perpetually. Nothing.

So many cannot comprehend why I prefer silence over sound, calm over calamity, peace over perplexity. It is not that I am simply adverse to the clashes, booms, and quakes of life; no, I am far too able to adapt to those to hate them. And seeing as I can find no real thing wrong with my brain--having not been sufficiently addled to leave me insane--I must conclude that I am merely introverted. Intrapersonal. Intrinsic.

If we are made into something by our interactions on this earth, then I do not see why I could not become nothing. That way, having been transformed into the most sincere and least selfish form of life, I could last forever.

I am not so naive as to suggest immortality. Do not think me foolish, for I know my mortal limits all too well. But if I were to effectively be nothing...

Obviously, there are flaws. A being, composed of mind and matter, could never actually be nothing. And being the furthest kind of creature from perfection, I am more than aware that this is a goal I will never be able to achieve.

But it's a nice thought. Cease to have a hold on the material things, and enter a world that is entirely your own. Release your grasp on anything but yourself, and you become something so much more fulfilling than your average human.

All this, coming from a silly, babbling teenage girl, may seem hard to tolerate. I do not ask for your tolerance. I do not even ask for your ear. You are free to go any time you so choose.

I, however, am trapped within myself, forced to think these strange, disconnected thoughts until the day my job here is finished. Naturally, that could take a hundred years more...

Until then, I am caught in these perpetual waves of change, time, and nothingness. If only I'd brought a life jacket...

Inspirational Quote of the Week

This may become a weekly thing. Maybe. I don't know.

This one makes me think of the past summer and a good portion of the school year. It literally screams of the crazy adventures Thena and I went on [along with my other Greek girls]... So much of me was utterly consumed by the fairytale life I had the pleasure of leading for nearly a year. I can't let it go.

If you had everything you'd ever wanted, could you let it go? Even though our fun and games weren't the molded version of reality, they were still my reality, my own world. They were everything to me.

I leave this quote in memoriam of Thena, Paul, and Ryan--may you never forget what once was.

Oh, and this was a good book, too...

"Go out to continue your struggle. Go on carrying unchosen burdens, taking undeserved punishment and believing that justice can be served by the offer of our own spirit to the most unjust of tortures. But in your worst and darkest moments, remember that you have seen another kind of world. Remember that you can reach it whenever you choose to see. Remember that it will be waiting and that it's real, it's possible--it's yours."
-John Galt, Atlas Shrugged.

What Doesn't Kill Me Will Only Make Me Stronger

After another long week, a week I sort of wish could already be over [oh, no, it's only Thursday...no satisfaction for me], I find myself wondering how I made it through this one. I'm sure it's a bit of a hyperbole to say that the events of the past week could have potentially "killed" me, but they were difficult all the same.

I woke up on Monday with a headache and stumbled out of bed, only to discover that nothing nice was waiting beyond my warm bedspread. Then there was Tuesday, and the first NHS meeting that we were almost late for. Then Wednesday, with my entire body screaming after dance because I can't seem to keep my knees in their sockets.

And now it's Thursday, and I'm just beginning to wonder if I'm going to be able to stay awake for the school day tomorrow.

My one hope, the singular truth that resounds repetitively in my mind, is that I know whatever I live through can never challenge me again. No matter the tests I face, the obstacles I hurdle, or the brick walls I run into, I will never have to be afraid of those kinds of challenges ever again.

I only have to survive each week once, and from that point on, I never have to encounter that same week ever again. It's like a horrible video game--you beat the first level, wipe the sweat from your brow, recall the difficult portions of the badly animated fight sequence, and thank the gods of Playstation [or whatever it is that's popular now] that you will never have to see that enemy ever again.

Except, unlike you lucky gamers out there, I don't get a pause button. I can't hit "restart" and just magically have all of my health, power, and energy back up at the maximum levels. I also don't get three tries to succeed; it's do it now--and do it right--or don't even bother.

I'd like a refund on this game, please. Oh, you only offer exchanges? I'll take something fun, something Disney or Frogger...

3 more school days until Thanksgiving. I can do this.

"I've Lost My Mind... Oh, There It Is!"

That's definitely one of my own quotes. Funny story--About a year ago, I was intently searching for my hairbrush after I'd just set it down somewhere, so I said [out loud] that I'd "lost my mind" and proclaimed "Oh, there it is!" when I saw the brush on the stair ledge. If my mother had not questioned my sanity before, this certainly set off her curiosity...

Anyway. That's how I'm feeling... Mindless. It's one of those, well, months. There are some days that I wake up and wonder if my head is screwed on straight, or if maybe I'm still dreaming. It's so confusing. Am I really here? Did that really just happen? Am I wearing pants?

I'm going to bed. These past few weeks have seemed to last a lifetime.

How do I make it stop?

I Have Proof!

Some people don't believe in miracles. I didn't really before, but now that I've witnessed one myself, I am a believer.

You're dying to know, of course.

I PASSED MY ROAD TEST!!!

Miracle, I know. But I'm so euphoric right now... It's awesome. Here's to the future, and everything it may hold. :]

Arty is [loving her newfound glory, and] OUT.

I Can Finally Hear Myself Think!

Ahh... a sweet moment to myself. After running around like an almost-dead chicken for the past too many days, I've come to treasure these precious minutes that are for me, and only me.

Nobody here to ask questions or demand answers. No one to "request a small portion" of my time. No preset committments... Except the date with my pillow, of course, but he's pretty understanding about this kind of thing.

You think I'm exaggerating? You think I just have loads and loads of time on my hands, to sit around and do nothing [or blog, one of the two]?

Here's my schedule... for today and tomorrow only:


Wednesday, November 7, 2007-
Sleep
Wake up earlier than usual [or sleep through your six alarms, either way works]
Key Club meeting 7 am
School, starting at 7:20
--Intense Spanish debate prep and homework, 7:20-8:18
--AP Gov test prep, 8:24-9:20
--Mind-boggling Honors English lecture and assignments, 9:26--10:22
--Lunch [except I barely get to eat, because I'm trying to do my impossible Spanish], 10:28-10:59
--AP Psych lecture [seizure-inducing lights on! lights off! kind of day], 11:05-12:07
--Physics discussion, lecture, and lab homework [nearly slept through this one... hey, not my fault the cold lab tables are comfy], 12:13-1:09
--"Filibustering," Greek alphabet recitation, and pretending-to-work-on-homework session in AC Trig, 1:15-2:11
Taco chips [I splurged] and waiting around the Commons, 2:11-2:30
Senior home with Key Club, 2:30-4
At my dad's for dinner and homework, 4:30-7:30
Dance, 7:30-8:15
Back home to shower
Blogging [hey, look at that!]
Reading Eclipse... again.
Sleep.
Thursday, November 8, 2007-
Wake up early again [probably sleep through my alarms, though]
Spanish Club, 7 am
Repeat school day... Minor change--Freshmen Mentoring during second hour [I get to miss a Gov test!]
Possible Interact Club meeting after school until 4ish [please be a figment of my imagination...]
Hardcore studying for AP Psych and my belated AP Gov test
Other homework mixed in
Shower
More studying
Grey's Anatomy at 9? I doubt I'll have time...
Some more studying
Sleep.


I call this time of year my "rinse and repeat" cycle. I get up, run myself ragged, rinse away the muddled dirt of the day, and repeat it all over again.

Now can you understand why I'm so excited to get five minutes to myself?

Yet Another Poem

I was feeling lost, and as my confusion turned to inspiration, I suddenly began to write.

I call this one "I'm Here," and I wrote it just now. Hope it's good enough.



Dear You,
What happened to you, best friend?
You used to be so strong,
And I used to hear you laugh a lot more than you do now.
These aren't lyrics to a song,
They're the words I've always wanted to say:
I miss you, and I won't ask for much
Just a chance to bring you back.
Because I loved you, best friend,
As much as I do now,
And I will always be here,
Morning or night, rain or shine,
Whenever you need to come back home...
-Love, Me.

It's Just... Unnatural.

I'm not perfect, and I'll be the first to admit it. I may have my strengths, but my weaknesses outnumber them greatly--VERY greatly.

However, I find it not only intellectually stimulating but also interesting to attempt something I am terrible at. I love a challenge, and I love beating a challenge even more.

So Aphrie and I decided to cook dinner today. We were both in a "cooking mood," and we found my untouched cookbooks in the cupboard. We cleared the plan with my mother [because I'm a good teenage daughter] and then ran to Kroger to pick up the ingredients I didn't have on hand [which happened to be almost all of them...]. An hour later, we had homemade manicotti on the table. And it was awesome.

Aphrie's good in the kitchen, and I'm not. But I really do try. Cooking is definitely not a natural habit for me; I can't accurately decipher the meaning behind how food tastes [WHY DO THESE COOKIES TASTE LIKE PASTE??], or properly estimate how much of something to add. In fact, I'm so terrible at making food that I have to read and reread the instructions on things like toaster waffles and Campbell's soup if I want to avoid disaster.

Like I said, it's unnatural. Yet I do realize that one day I will actually have to fend for myself, and that will involve cooking. I may even have to cook for OTHER PEOPLE [God bless their souls] and I don't feel like having a murder on my plate [ahaha food puns].

For now, I'll stick to easy things, like rice, or brownies from a box--which, ironically enough, I have found a way to mess up. Let's just pray we don't have another Monkey Bread '04 experience [why is the hallway filled with smoke?].

Have a good one, campers.