Neglect, neglect, neglect.

Poor journal, I've left you high and dry. You'd think since no life or job exists for me, I'd be able to post more. Thing is - with my life the way it is, there's very little for me to post about until after or before the weekends.

Weekends are when my dad is home all day and we actively go out and do things. No matter what I act like, I actually have a lot of fun. Sometimes during the day after we haven't eaten for a while, my blood sugar absolutely plummets and it leaves me either grumpy. If we're driving past a lot of green things, I stare out the window because, hello, Florida doesn't have green like this place has.

Have I posted pictures of this freaking green? ... No?

GREEN!

It's a rare thing, folks. Not so much here but for a Florida girl? Totally.

I was just told that apples are now in season. I think it's time for me to try to go with that interest I've always had with more extensive baking. Poor Daddio may soon be bombarded by a slew of apple-related deliciousness, especially apple pie. No home made crusts, just yet - the last time was an utter disaster and the money needed to purchase those ingredients just aren't in my pocket book.

That leads into Thanksgiving. It's right around the corner! Last year I was unable to make my fragging pumpkin pie I'd been looking forward to. I had forgotten the condensed milk at home with no way to get to the market. Pie crust and home-smashed pumpkin puree gone to waste. If the summers apple pie turns out to be a success, I may attempt to do that this year as well as the pecan pie as my pies are delicious, thanks, and just put together a smaller portion of sweet potato casserole than I usually do.

I think I've lost weight since coming to Virginia. Sounds odd but things are fitting better, shirts drape nicer than before. I haven't been exercising a lot (read: at all) but maybe not living right next to two gas stations and a neighborhood Wal-Mart may have something to do with my milder eating habits. If this is the case, awesome. I don't mind losing weight/inches if it's because I'm not eating like a candy-starved piglet anymore.

I miss karate.

Hells bells, I miss writing and the ability to draw properly. Being stuck inside because I lack any social graces isn't helping. I'm tempted to invade Dad's campus and just wander, go to the bookstore or library, chill in the cafeteria and eat there, try to write. I write well in public.

Okay. Werewolf story will be finished by the 15th, it is decided. So there.

Until next time, readers!

T-Minus Three? Days

I am so over packing. So over it. I may never sound more Valley Girl in my life than when I say that, hand flipping included. It may be nullified by the fact I say it in mis-matched knee socks, a bright green tank top, and white bandanna. Vaguely trailer trash? Probably. But it makes me feel all butch and strong and Gods know what else.

The good news of the day is that almost everything that needs to be packed is. We need to get the dishes I plan on bringing all set up, rescue the pots and pans from the storage area, and Shredder's cage has to be scrubbed clean. The cage cleaning happens tomorrow and it's going to be one of the first things put into the car. Shreds will be traveling in his little feeding tank in a pretty pillow case with a brand new shoebox hide! He will be a comfortable customer, freshly fed even so he won't be overly hungry. Well 'freshly fed' means I'm feeding him tonight so he has time to digest and poop before we scurry along. I'm sure he'll be very excited to come into the hotel with us, hitting up the states in style, the lucky little reptile.

My clothes are, once and for all, packed. I have the next few days outfits ready and my necessity bag is looking alright; it will have a few more things than planned in there as my shampoo and conditioner are the squirty types and like to irritate me.

On happier and less moving related notes, breakfast/lunch was had with Mommia, sister, and the grandparents. Granddad was having a good day - he remembered he'd seen Kelsey and Mom in pictures and that there were three of us. Grandma looked like she was going to cry near the end of things. Yeaaaaaaah, I don't blame her, really. The move hasn't hit me, not yet; it's mostly this ball of stress in my life.

Oh yeah. Yesterday. I meant to post about the move but, dear lord. It was not a good day. I wrote a list of what I needed. Lists are awesome. I love them. They're beautiful and when I'm twisted up about something, I make a list in order to sort it out. Hell, it's how I decided months back I wanted to move to Virginia - Pros and Cons, of course. The list for this particular endeavor went to shit and a mini-meltdown went into effect in the late afternoon. I stood in the center of my clustercrud of a bedroom, clutching my stuffed pig and kept repeating, "I just don't know. I don't know. What do I do?"

Fabulous time, that. It ended with Ashley's house and ice cream. We watched Clash of the Titans and Avatar until finally passing out. By the time I got home this morning, I had managed to create a vague plan in my face-place on how to put things together. The major turning point came when I packed up Fido, my desktop.

As of now boxes are taped shut, my book shelf is waiting to be stored away in the trunk of my car, things are sucked up. I'm only bringing my four favorite books ( 1984, The Giver, Enders Game, and Serial Killers) - the rest are stored away in the now-empty dresser. My art supplies are all stowed in my closet along with a good portion of the writing I've done in the entirety of my life. Looking at ones life in a multitude of boxes and PackMate bags is an odd, odd feeling.

My computer break is nearly over. I think I'm going to go start packing the dishes just to get it the hell out of my way. It's been about an hour sooo must be responsible. Loading the car starts tomorrow, after all. ... So not looking forward to it.

Until next time.

Food Om Nom Nom

I'm becoming worried on my eating status. I've started cutting portions and eating better which is, overall, a very good thing. I've gained weight, actually, and can manage to fit into my older jeans - the 6's. It turns out that fat is probably that new ass-muscle that I've been working out, bringing things away from my hips to make me not feel so disgusting.

But, when I'm alone. I don't eat. Most days when I'm alone, I'll eat nothing but granola bars (maybe two) and a lot of tea. That's it. When Mom is home and makes dinner, I'll have some small portions and eat some more the next day, if we have leftovers. I'll eat maybe half of normal restaurant portions, eat the rest the next day, ect. It's not a bad thing. I think. Well, the lack of eating entirely is. I've started eating about an hour and a half, maybe two, before I go to karate. I'd started getting dizzy.

This last weekend, I ate. I went out for sushi, ate lunch with my sister, had pizza with Jordan, things like that. We had food during the 4th of July (a holiday that was much better than expected, actually). That's when I'm with people. Alone, not so much. Without people asking me to eat, I just don't get hungry. It's not something that happens. I get caught up in cleaning or writing, maybe a series I was watching or timing when I can and cannot put my contacts in - Rosetta stone, maybe. Who knows, i just don't think of food.

Today, I had four cups of tea, about two cups of rice + broth, and two slices of toast with a little butter. It was delicious. I drank some water - have more waiting for karate and all that good stuff. I don't think I'm becoming anorexic? I'll eat when asked, I'll eat enough to be full. I take vitamins. Make my own food.

Maybe it's being cloistered up int he house like this. I'm thinking that when I can afford it, I'll fill up my tank, drive as far as I can get on half of it, and park somewhere soft, relaxing, and have my own personal little picnic. Maybe I'll even draw.

I just don't want to keep eating the same deep fried and sugared crap I had been. does this make sense? I'm not quite sure if any of it does.

Either way - I have a swim test for a lifeguard job coming up tomorrow. Tomorrow will be full of light and good for me foods.

Crude. I need to buy a bathing suit.

Gay Boyfriend

After my parents divorced and my mother, sister, and I moved from out house, mom got this boyfriend. I guess he was nice enough although according to stories afterwards he was this total psycho. He wasn't bad to Kelsey and I, from what I remember. He'd buy us stuff, I guess to make sure the kiddies didn't verbally attack him to Mom and get him booted from her life.

It worked when he bought me a punching bag! From what I've heard, I've had violent tendancies and mood swings since I was nine years old. Before that I, apparently, smiled, laughed, played, and otherwise interacted like any kid. That says all sorts of fucked up things about what could've changed that but that's a completely different therapy session. Either way, he bought me a punching bag and set it up for me on the porch. It was one of those heavy duty, thick and black sorts, hung from the ceiling by this hardcore chain. He said it'd be a good way to get out my frustrated energies whenever I felt I needed to.

I never used it much, weirdly enough. If I had it now, totally, but back as a kid I'd get all but scolded for using it. My sister and I got into this big fight once about something completely stupid and I got so mad that I saw red stars infront of my eyes. Now in case no one knows, that's a Bad Thing. It means one is going to do one of two things: pass out or beat the mother-loving crap out of someone. I didn't pass out and luckily for my sister, I had that damned punching bag.

Instead of ending the fight with a fist to my little sisters face (again, something totally dumb, I completely mistreated that poor girl during our childhood and teen years; I'm surprised she forgave me and we became friends. i wouldn't have forgiven me), I went outside to the porch and started whaling on that thing. At fourteen, I had this bag the same style as the one in my dojo the black belts use swinging back and forth, denting a bit. Fourteen was two years after I dented a metal door at school by punching it in order to get in. Strong kid, yeah.

Mom came out and started getting mad because I had been "picturing [my sisters] face" on the punching bag and how it was wrong. Unlike most bad-asses my age, I didn't keep up with the punching but got mad at her instead. The punching bag was there so I could get out my anger! So what if I saw my sisters face - which I hadn't been. I had been seeing this black bag because I was messed up but not a total psychopath. When he'd installed the bag for me, her boyfriend specifically told me he purchased it for me so I would be able to take out my anger on something that would satisfy and help me. Looking back on it, I think he was the only one in my childhood/early teens who actively knew just how messed up my head was. Everyone else assumed it was anger at the divorce (although I had been told I was a freak by not showing any emotion throughout the entire ordeal) and anger problems in general.

Instead of getting in a second fight with my mother, I stormed to my room, closed, and locked the door. She didn't know about the lock-pick at the top of the door frame and pounded for a few minutes while my sister cried in the living room. She always cried a lot, more than I would admit to being something I did to her.

To this day I don't understand why it had been bad to hit that punching bag. Maybe if I hadn't been made to feel bad about getting violent at it, I wouldn't have hidden it all to myself. Maybe someone would have seen it earlier.

There's no grudges! Who wants to know their kid or niece or friend is violent and possibly dangerous? I wouldn't want to. It's hard thing to come to terms with. I still get violent urges to this day although they are, in my belief, well justified. You mess with my friends? You're damn straight I'll get up in your face. You touch my tit while I'm at a club? I will punch you and get those bouncers in your face.

But I have karate now! Also, medication. Not so much therapy but that comes next, when I get the money.

So this is my little story for the day, Blog. I'm not sure where it came from but there it is. Now I'm going to go play housewife, clean, and dance around to Aqua, Lily Allen, and Disney.

Until next time!

Bull, Horns, Ect,.

A good portion of people think horoscopes are full of bullshit. They're generalized, they don't really work, how can the planets say something about you, personally, etc., and it's come to my attention that I don't give a flying butt on what other people think of them. For myself, I believe in horoscopes, Tarot cards, the whole she-bang. Ninety-nine percent of psychics are fraud but then again, I told a kid someone was dying when his mother had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer in the eighth grade because the cards told me. I had never seen the boy before.

Lately, my horoscopes and Tarot cards have been giving me a rather specific message: get your life together and DO something about it.

On behalf of the Tarot cards, I asked them a while back the typical single-girl question of "Give me the low down on my lack of love life, please?". Usually when I ask things about myself, they like to tell me to go figure out myself, bugger off, and stop asking questions. That particular time, they told me that I am going to be alone for quite a while, go through a time filled with darkness and pain all alone and lost even when surrounded by people, and in the end it would leave me happy with a lot of paths opening up to me. I'm pretty sure this is the time of alone and lost and darkness because, whoo, my brain is not exactly the nicest place in existence but it gives hope that the crap times will end at some point.

The horoscope's have been telling me I've stopped taking control of my life and falling complacent. Too true - being laid off and strung along by the jobs (oh yeah, both of them) threw me into a clusterfuck of 'what now'. The only physical thing in life keeping me grounded right now is karate and when my three paid months come to an end in August, I don't know if I'll be able to afford more. That'll be super fun.

Every sign I'm getting says I have to DO something, CHANGE something. I have to find something to jump at and do it. Problem is that whatever's out there, I totally don't see it. The plan has been to move in with Dad but he doesn't have his own place in Virginia yet and I have about two hundred and fifty dollars in the bank period, with an insurance payment coming out in two weeks and another car payment coming up. Can't move anywhere, there are no job opportunities in this freaking place anywhere. What, exactly, am I supposed to do?

The more I write this the more I realize this is the talk of someone whose worst choices came from within and not from an outside source. So many people don't have choices on what drastic things change in their life, either from being thrown out of their homes, fired without notice, or, hell, shot in the back of the head when things get nasty. My problems have all stemmed from mental illnesses and if not for the support of those around me, I wouldn't be here anymore. There's no background, to me, on what to do or how to say it.

Maybe I'll edit a story of mine, throw it out there to see if anyone in interested. Kelly is ten times more talented than myself but seeing someone I know (and adore dearly, major hearts for Kelly) get published and go out there again is inspiration. Maybe I'll go to Virginia and chill out with Dad in his hotel, find a job there doing something. Maybe Vancouver, although I can't get any jobs out there just yet.

Maybe in learning Japanese, I'll meet a nice person from Japan and be whisked away to Tokyo or a small town or something. Who knows.

Nothing will get done unless I DO something, right? Right. Until next time!

Not Counting At This Moment!

The weight loss bit has been going badly but! I've gone to every class I can and most of my nasty eating habits are being weaned away. This is one journey for myself I'm refusing to give up.

My lack of updates isn't an indicator at lack of interest. Let us consider it a sign of me being Super Crazy Busy instead: life has thrown at me a job, lack of job, lack of money, karate, too much karate, not enough sleep, not enough time. No time for updating this blog, especially since I don't want to update with a single line of 'life is nuts, will post later'. Not my style! Heh.

Sensei told me that Shihan (her husband) said I impressed him a lot and that I caught on quickly. She said I was from a Tae Kwon Do background but that was for ten months over ten years ago so I seriously don't count it. My balance is horrible, my pushups are just barely the bending of elbows, my kick isn't straight, my punch is too high, I kick with my toes or heel instead of the balls of my foot.

Oh, well. I will be doing my little exercise DVD on the days I don't have class. Despite my gigantic sweet tooth, my happy butt with conquer! And write! And draw! I've been drawing more, perhaps a thing that's led to less updates. It's been keeping me busy and no less happier for it.

Work is keeping me on for an extra two weeks. Two weeks less of unemployment, two weeks more to find a summer job, and two more weeks of honest to god paychecks. Thank goodness for that as the car payments aren't getting cheaper and the car insurance is going to be coming out soon. Guh! My brain is going to explode with the stress. Knock on wood, though. Knock on wood.

Stories have been running through my face. Let's hope they get down on paper. Until next time!

Writing In Capitol Letters

One more time, blog! Another day, another ten million words. Or a thousand, whichever would be best to describe the way things are going. My mind has lately been plagued by Writing.

Capitol letters indeed! Why the capitol letters, one may ask, as it is very much -not- proper grammar. Has Erin lost her mind? Is she going to start spouting off things in incorrect English, more swear words than she already does? Horror! The Apocalypse! All of these horrid things, etc, etc!

It's capitalized as a title of what's going on through my messed up little brain. For years, the act of putting words to paper or screen while somehow forming a coherent and intelligent story has been the main focus of my life. Most of those words came out to utter crap, a story in the barest sense of the phrase with trite and unrealistic characters akin to glittering vampires and blood mixed with chocolate. Sometimes I knew immediately these things should never see the light of day and the characters should be burnt at the stake of Writing in a tribute and sacrifice to whatever gods actually pay attention to the inane blathering of some fifteen year old girl.

I'm twenty-three. My first story was a coloring book I did in the second grade with the help of a boy in class. It exploded from there. According to my parents I always had an overactive imagination and a glare that could tell even the most oblivious person that I wanted them to eff off and decompose somewhere dank and hot.

At thirteen I wrote a sixty page story about Amazon warriors and a guy with a plot I can't even remember. Fifteen came Ten of Light, a story that introduced a few of my favorite characters to date; this includes but is not limited to do Jacquiline Bardot. She was called Jackiline Barduo at that time and tended towards cross-dressing to fit in at her school due to a larger and more masculine stature. She's had the same personality although the back-story, motivation, appearance and overall story have changed drastically (thank god).

That story was also the last story I wrote that I allowed someone I knew face-to-face to read. When fronted with the only critique I remembered of "They swear a lot", I stopped handing off my pages of chicken scratch. Posting online came about, along with the story "Normal" about a gay 'coming of age' tale that (typically, for me) included swearing, violence, and a small curvy woman and large man combo, along with a bad attempt at historical fiction revolving around one of Jesus' sisters.

Normal, Water Age, Priests Tale, 2081 - all of them came from the smallest ideas and every single one of those stupid stories has infested my brain. They have all had altered plot lines, different side characters and underlying tones.

Text-based role-playing unfortunately hindered my writing for several years. It wasn't until National Novel Writing Month '06 that I actually got back into plotting, writing, trying to develop characters that weren't some distorted version of myself (Hello, Ian, Adali, and Jacqui!). Melosa and Atia flew into my brain, my very first lesbian couple I'd ever written. Their story bombed but Hanami and Ha'Neul came into play. I still intend to finish their story at some point.

Creative Writing kicked me into gear. After a horrible CW teacher back in High School, University had been held to high expectations. My teacher was one of the best I've ever come across before and since. She pushed for students to edit and supported my ruthless and cut throat method of editing, with gashes and insults and demanding changes be made lest I hurl high lighters at them for comma errors and boring paragraphs.

Like all good things, Creative Writing I and II came to an end with each semester. For a long time after, I couldn't even pick up a pen. What was the motivation? I couldn't post these things online for critique, not if I wanted them published at some point in time. The former students of my class, the ones who made a competition of who could receive the least amount of bad reviews from me, were busy and didn't have time to get to everyone. I missed it.

What does all this blathering have to do with anything? It has nothing to do with writing, nothing to do with this blog post, at least, i think so. It's the prologue to what's about to go down, the backdrop and back story to my future career.

In just the last few months, the bug has come back. My brain kicked back into gear and began to thrust stories, words back into my consciousness. The itch in my fingers returned, forcing me to take hold of my pen, write without planning except vague ideas of what would happen. Writing on the computer is rough for me. The words fly so quickly from brain to fingers that I don't have a chance to think about what it is I'm actually writing.

Maybe it's the B12 vitamins I started to take with my typical BPD meds in the morning or the idea of I WILL change my life, which things are finally moving in the order of where I want to be. Virginia is not the place I ever imagined moving to, especially not so close to the big cities, but more and more the idea appeals to me: it's beautiful up there.

Plans are coming together. With that, so are my stories. It seems stress is the key factor to getting writers block for me. Who would've guessed. (Why yes, yes that is sarcasm. Thank you so much for noticing) I've even finished a short story! - Although I have no friggin' idea where the first three pages went to. Currently trying to dig those things up.

Karate starts tomorrow. I have a sinking feeling I will be up all tomorrow night writing; adrenaline rushes and working out always makes me utterly filled with inspiration. I'm starting this weighing 151 lbs, having putting 19 since I 'finished' loosing it, and a size 8/10. My goal is 130, to be in shape, to be able to fit into the clinging purple top and the skinny dark blue jeans I bought as my goal outfit.

This entire process will be filled with writing, work, hopefully some school to get that damned AA. Writing is directly affected by my daily ongoing to life. I -will- write at least a thousand words to day, I will, and I'll win this year’s NaNoWriMo again.

I will I will I will!

Writing is once again going to be a major force in my life. With the pen to paper, the fingers to the keys, the imagination to the over drive. I may never be published, never be polished or witty or interesting enough to be out there, but the writing will be done.

Read on, fellow bloggers! Never let your fear of inadequacy get you down! Go and do what it is your passion falls to, be what you want to be! Believe! Write!

Go and be awesome! I say it is so! Write, write, write!

Till next time!