Funny how some things never change.
One minute ago I was listening to a song from my childhood that I have always loved and which only grows on me more as the years pass. Not because it is from my childhood, but because it is a good song and a testament on how time only makes some things better.
Ten minutes ago I was thinking to myself that cooking an egg in the microwave only works if you know what you are doing. I very much do not and my microwave is talking with my refrigerator now about banning me from the kitchen.
One hour ago I was loving on Candle; we were playing with her red ribbon, the very first toy I ever played with with her with when she was just half a year old. Now my baby is over eight years old and she is still my best friend, still the best kitty ever, still able to shock me with how much love can be had in one little creature. She makes me feel a happy awe at least once a week at how very lucky I am to have all the things I have in my life; that I have had as much as I have had for as long as I have had them.
One week ago I was churning out posts and PMs, trying to get caught up on things on here...and so far, so good. For the most part I am pretty much caught up on the bigger things- the PMs are all caught up except for the ones I have not sent out today, I am working on a huge To-Do List for Red and getting comments back out for those that left comments in my profile- so while there is still work to be done, there is not so much that I just stare at the screen for an hour thinking about how much there is to be done but how I will never be caught up to either mine nor anyone else's satisfaction and how I SHOULD be working but I am just frozen in shock at the massive amount there is to do...Funny cycle, that.
One month ago I was at work, enjoying the MP3 player that was the first big purchase thanks to The Job at a noise level that I am pretty sure could possibly be bad for my ears, thinking reallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreally hard about Red, a PM RP I have going, an RP I had/have going with Asai, a story I want to write that I first started piecing together back in eighth grade, a series of short stories that I would like to put together, a really crappy poem that I did last year, the first novel I would love to have published, a journal entry I would like to do in here, a series I would love to have made into an anime (that one being the Horsemen story), the new plot for Unreal and a haiku that I wrote once after not having slept for nearly three days and it occurred to me...I like words. A lot.
One year ago I had not yet started The Job but was still trying for it; I had tried to get hired for nearly two damn years and every time I would go in and put in an application for it I would tell myself that that was the last one. Period. I meant it. Every time. But I am an Aries, I am stubborn as hell, and when I want something bad enough I simply have to have it. I don't stop until I have it- you would think by now this would logically make me realize that I could have anything I wanted since I have yet to be proven wrong that if I strive hard enough for something, I get it (except for the whole...you know...being my RP character. xD I have yet to find the crack in reality where I can slip into being Flare...unless you count Gaia. And come to think of it, I guess one would be able to count Gaia...Huh. *Checks that one off her list* xD)- but it just has never sunk in. I never expect the good things. Doesn't matter how hard I worked for it, doesn't matter what I do, how long I want it...I never expect the good to happen and so when it does, I am always pleased beyond all expectation. So for two years I gave hell to this place to get hired and when I finally got the call for an interview...Let's just say that those on AIM I was speaking to at the time when the phone call came- and I am sure those of you that might read this will remember how I just was beside myself over that call- heard how happy I was. I called everyone whose number I had. I left messages for people that hardly know me. I told people I did not even know. I went to get take-out and I told the cashier. I texted those with cells whose numbers I had. I yelled at the sun my happy news. I told my mailbox. I danced with Candle.
Two years ago I was learning the wisdom of just being still. Sometimes all one can do is just be still, in mind and spirit, and just stand strong in the face of whatever is opposing one. I've made more positive changes in my life these past two years then I believe I managed to make in all the years prior. And the main reason was just because I learned to be still.
Three years ago I was falling in love with Gaia. Hard. It was more towards the end of three years ago but I was pretty much addicted to the site the moment I found it. One would think it would not have been such a shock to me to find a role playing site but for some reason it completely floored me. And so the Horsemen rode into Gaia.
Four years ago I was filling in blanks of the story of the Four Horsemen- Flare, Shadow Dragon, Vapor, Knightfire. The actual RP that we had created them in had long since been over but I never could let the story go. I pestered the boys to RP over AIM just for some interaction with the characters, I wrote stories, I dreamed continuations, I typed out what happened between what we RPed out at the table, I speculated with the other three about this, that, and OH! what I thought of while doing whatever, the countless AMVs I had in my head to the adventure; I could not bear to let Flare just...rest and not do anything else with her, let alone letting the other three stagnate. It ate at me to keep the story alive in some way; I could not just forget the story of these four people, they were too real and too dear to me. The story still has as much appeal to me after all these years as it did when the four of us sat about the table that Dragon and Knight carved our weapons into with their knives (a sword, a bow, a bo, and a scythe), the table that will always be known as The Marvel Table, the axis point of so much of my life. Four places around the table with a carving in each person's respective places. I could close my eyes and run my hand over the table and knew every inch of it. We did not have a round table, ours was more of a rectangle, but for over a year we gathered and we shared something that was remarkable. The table top game and system we used was dead even when we started using it but it was enough for us. We tried unsuccessfully to capture that magic with other campaigns but nothing was the Horsemen. We tried; I tried. It just was not the Horsemen. I never fell into any of our other stories as I did with the Four. Magic, you see, should be held tightly and respected when it is had. Once it is gone, it really is gone. I still wish we had not ended the story when we did for the reasons we did but now I see that there was a reason for everything happening as it did...The story mirrored reality to an uncanny degree. Or perhaps reality mirrored the story. Whose to say?
Five years ago I was still adjusting to this apartment. It was still "my new place" then, I did not feel quiet at home in it because I had not grown familiar to the floor, to the designs of the paint on the walls and the ceiling, could not just close my eyes and be able to tell you where the sun would hit the floor when it came in through the window. I was still in awe that I had a place of my own; this was my home. This was my Candle's home. First place we ever had, truly had, it was ours. We both walked about the rooms in wonder, exploring everything. I even tried to crawl under the kitchen sink with her just because it was so damn neat that we had our own space under our own kitchen sink.
Six years ago and the first threads of destiny were being woven together. I met Shadow Dragon and Vapor, pretty much in that order; I was working in a comic store and they already knew one another, and the two of them already knew Knight. It was just a matter of time before the four of us joined together.
Seven years ago and I was watching the clock eagerly for the dreaded stroke of midnight that would bring about the end of the world. I am telling you I have been smitten with the idea of an apocalypse since I was a child. I get it honest; it really is in my blood. Anyone else remember all the fuss about the new millennium? I am sure you all do- it went far beyond the collapse of civilization if the computers fudged up, entire religions believed the End was nigh with the coming of 2000. Being me I was outside with a watch, eyes on the sky the minute it turned to 2000 in my part of the world and I was asking anyone that would listen which midnight was the apocalypse going to begin? Because...you know...it did not turn 2000 all at the same time all over the world, it already was 2000 in some parts while it was still 1999 in mine. So what time was Armageddon? Was it late? Was I early? I stayed up for over thirty hours to be completely sure that I did not miss it. I never did hear a trumpet but I still had fun. It really is all about the journey one takes, not the destination.
Eight years ago and I was proud to say I had collected over 500 CDs. I was born with the need for books and music. My 500th CD was KoRn's Issues. "Let's Get This Party Started" is still one of their best. Since then I have became enamored with "The Untouchables" (Can I get an amen for track nine, anyone? Those of you that have been with me the longest know how important that song is to me. It defined and has continued to define a large amount of what Gaia means to me, what Flare's story has turned into, all the changes and events, blessings and lessons I have come to know since joining Gaia.) and when "See You On The Other Side" came out I got a delightful chill since the title of the album alone has a special meaning to me.
Nine years ago and I was already learning that ten hour work shifts and then school was not going to leave a lot of time for sleep. Thus I started on my quest to learning to go with a few hours when I could get it, even if that meant during History I'd grab a few winks and then at lunch break at work grab a few more; take a nap on the bus every now and again, slip into the library and hide away for a little. Nine years ago I could swing it fine. I'll let you know when I work out the secret to not sleeping, period, and still be able to do everything fine without hearing voices and seeing things/people/trees out of the corner of one's eyes that are not really there. The positive spin on all this is one thinks of the most intriguing story plots when blissed out of one's mind from lack of sleep. I think it is because a part of your brain just drops off and you start to dream while awake. Personally I think that explains the last few years of my life.
Ten years ago I came to the conclusion that without any drop of doubt that I wanted to have an experience with a ghost before I die. Some people want to sky dive or climb a mountain. I want to see a ghost, I want to go to a real haunted house and see something completely unexplainable. Before that I wanted to see a UFO but ghosts interest me so much more. I want to see one before I become one.
Eleven years ago I decided that there really was no point in sweating the big things. It is the little things one does that mean and matter the most. They add up and they are what make the big things, after all.
Twelve years ago and I decided that the main food groups were Pepsi, nemernems (yellow bag being the main choice), Cap'n Crunch, and Cheezums. I have since dropped Cheezums off the list since they changed the taste completely to what they call "Even More Cheesier!" and I call "Even Less Of What Is Good." The Cap'n and I still are good friends on a first name basis and if you see me without a Pepsi you are ordered to shoot and kill the fake.
Thirteen years ago I started to wonder where my imaginary friend had gotten off to and did she still like the same kind of food that she did when we were both younger? What did she look like now? Did she still like to hide things? Was she still allergic to Jello? I had not thought about her for years...had she forgotten me as I had forgotten her?
Fourteen years ago I had more books then any other girl I knew and had read more books then anyone else I knew personally. I thought this was something to be proud of. Now I know it is.
Fifteen years ago I decided that boys are only worth your while if you can not beat them up.
Sixteen years ago and I realized that there would be a book or a story that would define the different chapters and experiences in my life. For every change, event, lesson, experience, growth, struggle, and time there has been a story or a book that defines that time for me. That is as true now as it was then.
Seventeen years ago I came to the conclusion that I was indeed going to become a crazy cat lady as soon as I could. I wanted a house full of kitty cats and wanted to be a grandmother to baby cats, not baby humans. I love cats. Each year even more then the last year.
Eighteen years ago and my mother introduced me to anime, allbeit without meaning to, by getting me an anime version of The Little Mermaid that made even Disney's version look second-rate. It is not enough to say it was lovely- it was stunning- and it set me on the track to become the fan of anime that I am today. Every little detail of the art had my attention; to this day I consider anime an "emotional" art because really good series invoke something emotional in me that is hard to put into words and has little to do with the main feeling that a series gives me. It seems like the very art itself has a story to tell besides the story it is telling, if that makes any sense. When I watched Witch Hunter Robin for the first time I had the emotional attachment to the story and the characters but there was a subtle longing in the way the series was drawn, something that spoke to me besides the story-line. Poetry in motion, is I guess what I mean. Seeing a really lovely drawn series is like watching poetry.
Nineteen years ago and I had a teacher that did not believe I had read Stephen King's The Stand all by myself. It took until she asked me questions about it and grilled me over a few days to convince her I was not just carrying the massive thing about me as a weapon; I did not understand all the things in the story, I never claimed that but I did try to understand fully what little I could get. It got me a lot of odd looks and some rather uncomfortable looks from my mother when I would ask her what a certain passage meant, what were these people doing, what did this word really mean and such things like that, but I did read it from cover to cover. I did not have the comprehension to understand what was going on through most of it but I got the basic idea right off the bat. It was the very basic idea of it that made me start on the story and kept me with it for the entire time it took for me to read it. It was my mother's book, she had bought the hard copy of it and I will never forget the feeling in me as I looked at the cover of it for the first time. I can not remember what exactly happened to that particular copy but to this day I have never seen that version of the cover again. My mother seemed to think I was not serious about wanting to read it when I asked her; I truly think to this day she thought I wanted to use it as a lap desk (if you have seen the hardcover version of this book you will know why) or she just let me because it amused her to see me lugging it about and sitting with it for hours open in my lap. I did read it. It opened my mind up in a way that nothing else at that age did; I purposefully waited for over ten years to read it again and when I did it was not just like visiting a well-loved friend but like going home to find new meaning in everything that was familiar but strange in a very good way. It was amazing the insights that I got from it because of what a difference ten years did to me, how it was only ten years and I completely understood everything for the first time. I finally got why no one believed that I had really read it and finally it made sense why my mother got that strangled look on her face when I asked what it meant that these people were doing certain things. Children really do say the darndest things. Especially at the darndest times.
Twenty years ago and I realized for the first real time that I was in this world for a reason. I chose to stay here when I had a chance to move on because I realized I had a purpose. It was the first time I realized that life is really fleeting and none of us are immortal, we are not meant to last forever. It was the first time I saw my grandfather cry and I knew he was crying over me. I remember staring at his back and hearing him pray to his God to not take his only granddaughter and I realized I was important; that I did not want him to cry. So I decided to stick about for a few more years, see what was so major about the world that he would weep for me to have a chance to see it. I am glad I did.
Twenty-one years ago and I was ok with singing out loud to whatever song I loved at the time, making up for what I lacked in skill with a whole lotta enthusiasm. I also liked to make up my own lyrics to said songs when I could not understand the actual words being sung. It took years before I knew that "Life In The Fast Lane" was not "Wipe In The Vaseline". It made since when I was a kid. It still does make since, but in a whole new way.
Twenty-two years ago and I had a little gray shirt that read "Here Comes Trouble" in cute little letters that did not lie. I cried when I finally grew out of that shirt; I had some really good times with it and when I grew too big for it I was crushed. It was the only way I had of warning people.
Twenty-three years ago and Pepsi was already established as what I would bleed when poked.
Twenty-four years ago I said my first word and my first phrase. My first word was "kitty". My mother and grandfather to this day swear that they have no idea where I learned it from, but my mother said that I saw a cat outside our place, pointed it out to her and very plainly said, "Kitty". I personally think she was a little miffed that it was not "Mommy" or "Momma", but I am proud of my early accomplishment and was apparently proud even then because my mother, grandfather, and baby book all say that the first words I learned to string together was "I good."
Twenty-five years later and I am still breathing.
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Rick Grimes 2020. Because this isn't a democracy anymore.
Things don't get better because you want them to.
All things serve the Beam.
Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.
Always up for a Walking Dead RP. PM me for my plots or toss me yours; nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Buying art of my OC.
Things don't get better because you want them to.
All things serve the Beam.
Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.
Always up for a Walking Dead RP. PM me for my plots or toss me yours; nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Buying art of my OC.