Health and peace of mind
30 Jan 2011 Leave a Comment
in Personal Tags: revelations, serious, stress
I think I just had one of the most meaningful moments in my life. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to heed it, since I’m young and stubborn and I always think that my way is the right way, when it comes to my own self, but I hope that it’ll start sticking to me soon, instead of coming back to me regrettably, somewhere close to my middle-ages, when I look at my life and don’t like what I see.
My father’s father died when he was 44. He had a stroke because of his high blood pressure — he had those sorts of problems. My father, too, has been on such medication, apparently especially when my sister and I were too young to understand such things. Recently, it appears to me, things have settled down on that front; however, his cancer (read the blogpost from late 2010 for explanation) came as an ugly surprise to us all. A moment ago, he disclosed to me that he firmly believed that his cancer was, so to speak, his own doing, as was his high blood pressure — because of the mental strain he placed on himself, and the physical strain that followed. He thinks that his side of the family has a disease called perfectionism, one that has symptoms of both unreasonable expectations in oneself and the tendency of judging oneself far more harshly than others.
These are symptoms that I readily recognise in myself, and I also recognise that my own physical health has never been… perfect. At one time, I could have attributed it to my taxing sport “hobby” (read: lifestyle), and related difficulties of growing and exercising and not eating etc. Recently, especially during last year, it began to get worse and more acute at times, but since I haven’t had any “real” symptom of illness — I never get high fevers, for example; if the temperature reads 37.0, I’m rather sick — I oftentimes brush it off. Now, this is my own fault, and also the fault of my mother, The Nurse, to whom I’ve always felt the need to PROVE that I’m sick if I feel so, and hence never like making the assumption to her that I am, even if I think so, instead just complaining about aches and pains and nausea and whatnot; but it is also the fault of myself, because I have a tendency to think of it as normal, as well, and that it will pass.
But it hasn’t, and I’ve been trying to sort out all of my health problems with a doctor recently, and one of them has been confirmed to be chronic to the point where further complications are possible. I have a prescription for a certain medication for SIX FREAKING MONTHS, and to be continued after that, perhaps. Others are still under investigation, but…
I realised already immediately after my final exams that I will never again let my study or my work govern my life. It isn’t healthy, not mentally nor physically. I wrote often during the past year how I had difficulty thinking about much other than school — you can see it in the tags I’ve created for that subject. I still feel it now; I mean, obviously, this summer has been hard for me for other reasons than just that, but I still feel like I’m not even beginning to recover from last year. That’s why I’m slightly nervous about going to university in March — I’m not sure I’m ready. But then again, I should get out of that mindset and into the one that allows me to breeze through it in the same way I breezed through most of my schooling so far.
Don’t get me wrong, I have been feeling better recently, happier, and getting more enthused about certain things. In fact, in the past few days I’ve felt almost overwhelmed with how many things there are that I’ve been getting excited about: there’s Pokémon, for we have been watching the series and it’s absolutely ADORABLE, and I hence want to play the old game for the nostalgia of it and watch the first three movies, since they were positively epic; there’s Lord of the Rings, as I watched Fellowship of the Ring today for the first time in like three years (or more), and it blew me away, so I want to finish watching the other two and then maybe re-read the books and Silmarillion (it’s a good evening read, helps you fall asleep *grin* Father likens it to reading the phone book); then Supernatural and many, many more. And it’s not just that I have fleeting interest in them, it’s like full-on “OH MY GOD I WANT THIS SO BAD AND I WANT TO IMMERSE MYSELF IN IT” and that’s something I haven’t done in ages and it feels so good.
Uh. Anyway. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that the talk I had with my father was meaningful, but wasn’t anything I hadn’t already thought before. It was something I will probably carry close to my heart and remember, and maybe cling to, when times get rough again. And I’m only pulling myself out of self-inflicted rough right now, as well, but it seems to be working. I’m beginning to feel enthused and happy, even though I still get oh so very tired occasionally, and want to just curl up in my personal cocoon and not speak to anyone.
It’s slow, but I’m getting there, and I have only now remembered that I’m not alone and I don’t have to carry it all alone and there is always light and help and my foundation in my love.
Don’t underestimate the support of the ones you love.
Peace and love, everyone.
Individualism in nutrition?
06 Jan 2011 1 Comment
in Thinking aloud Tags: ponderings, revelations
A few days ago, I read an article about someone trying to lose weight using Weightwatchers. She also claimed that the modern culture makes people eat too much — far more than they actually need daily. I was reminded of this again, today, when I was eating sushi for lunch — I can’t really remember the specific thought process behind it, I’m pretty sure it went along the lines of thinking about how my dentist had said that the sticky rice in sushi is bad for your teeth, but that he supposes that it’s healthier, generally, than having a hamburger, and then thinking about how many times I’ve had a conversation with mother about how certain specialist doctors (specifically the ones that take care of your stomach) would much rather you not eat anything. Not that how I got to that point is relevant.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about my eating habits and my weight recently, mainly because during the course of 2010, I somehow managed to gain some 5-6 kg of weight, without actually changing my diet or exercise habits (close to nil, at the moment; I’ve got a few health & psychological issues connected to that) at all. In fact, I think I did a lot more exercise in 2010 than I did in 2009, because 2009 was the year of NO exercise whatsoever, whereas in 2010, I started getting at least SOME. Regardless, I’m completely baffled about this weight gain — it could be explained by my increasingly annoying hormones (migraines being the most recent addition to the hatred of being a woman), or by the stress and lack of sleep of last year.
Whatever the cause, this sudden (it happened during the course of 2-3 months, honestly) gain of weight hasn’t necessarily affected me too direly, because it’s not really my weight I’m concerned about, but it has made me more aware of what and how much I eat, if only because I’m trying my best to figure out what could cause such a thing. The thing is, I’ve gotten into the habit of never quite finishing a meal at dinner. I just feel full after I’ve eaten a certain proportion of the dinner, and then I just keep on eating and trying to finish my plate off, because I don’t want to seem like I’m trying to control my weight or something by not eating enough — except the thing is, I feel like less than I eat currently would be enough. In accordance to the article I read, and referenced at the beginning of this post — I’m sometimes worried about not eating enough, but I just have to wonder; would I not be eating enough, or is the norm just that we eat meals far bigger than our bodies, without much exercise or activity in a day, would require?
I’m not saying that it’s a universal thing; some people eat and have to eat more than others. All I’m saying is that from my very active sporting days (that 13 hours of practice at crazy intensities a week), I’ve always been very aware of what my body needs. Sometimes, when I’m sick or some part of my body is giving me grief or pain, I am able to automatically begin correcting the problem, by adjusting some other parts — sometimes this gives me slight annoyance, because it makes problems that I DO have, and seek help for, seem a lot less grave than they are. Maybe, with my eating habits, it’s the same thing — when I used to exercise incredibly actively, I would be constantly hungry and craving for chocolate, for example, for nourishment. When I quit exercising like that, I stopped craving that chocolate, and I stopped being so hungry; eventually, I came to the point where I am now, when I’m satisfied with eating little (not too little, though — perfectly enough).
Dinner is a difficult time for me at home, basically because by eating as much as I do, I feel like I’m quelling the fears of my family instead of satisfying and nourishing myself. This is another reason why I feel like moving out from home would be a wonderful thing: I would be able to start taking care of my health and eating all on my own, again. I shouldn’t have to answer to anyone with my eating; I feel like people are individual, and as with illnesses and pain affecting people in different ways, maybe the need for food is similarly individual as well. Not to say that everyone doesn’t need the same nutrients; just in different quantities, I suppose.
Peace and love.
When silence is aggravating
02 Jan 2011 Leave a Comment
in Personal Tags: memories, ponderings, revelations
I know that in times like these, families should come together more stronger than ever, and help other family members to cope and get through difficult times… But seeing the way in which my parents (and my mother’s parents) deal with conflict has continued to make me want to move out and be my own person as strongly as ever.
To understand this, there are three fundamental things about me that come from my upbringing as a child: firstly, my strength as a person. From a very young age, my parents have instilled in me the quality that if there is someone or something I don’t want to play with, then I do not have to. I don’t have to comply to anyone else’s wishes. As a child and a teenager, this made me the dominating figure in most of my friend groups and the games we played as children — I remember that very, very often, we would play the games I came up with, completely original, wonderful things. I was a benevolent dictator, sometimes reluctantly allowing kids to vote to do things that they wanted, instead of the things I did — but a dictator nonetheless. Even as a young adult, this trait leads me to seem intimidating toward most people with the strength of my opinions and with how I refuse to take any shit; it still leads me to dominate and control some conversations, even if I do it far more subtly than I sometimes used to. I’ve gained humility with age, but I still would never do something morally distasteful (for there are other and more complex reasons I would do things for other people; but thankfully, I also like seeing people happy, so sometimes doing things for other people I would not do simply for me also allow me to do things for me in a sense) to me solely to the benefit of another person.
Secondly, my inclination to take instructions instead of using my own incentive to do things; even simple things (think of the few times I’ve announced that I’ve written a blogpost because my significant other has requested it). I’ve recently realised that my way of being a control freak stems from somewhere — my parents. In keeping the house clean and taking care of bills and travel arrangements and the like, mother is in control of the logistical side of my household, and father is more passive, laid-back, and nonetheless controlling of the more… emotional side of things. I’ve been told how I have been scolded pretty hard as a child for simple things such as cutting up newspapers instead of the magazines I was supposed to. Of course, there’s also the matter of my hobby, ice skating (synchro, for anyone who knows the sport; I may have mentioned this before, but I competed for a total of six years, two in minors and four in novices — though the last year I competed, my team was almost on the junior level [minors, novices, juniors, seniors, for the confused], for that’s how good we were), which took roughly ten years of my life. Especially in the four years I was in novices, skating took up my entire life; with middle school and practice 13 hours a week, mostly within five days in a week, I didn’t have much spare time to myself. What’s more than that, even on the minor level, you weren’t allowed to miss practices for simple reasons such as somebody’s birthday party — and in novices, it heightened in the sense that first and foremost, you were a skater and represented your team, took care of yourself; all else, even schoolwork, would come next. It was a very strictly controlled lifestyle, and there wasn’t much you could influence. You did as you were told. With between my controlling parents and this sport, I became very good with just that.
Thirdly, my independence. It could seem confusing that I have just explained why I much rather follow instructions (even if general ones) and use my ability to best perform and elaborate upon them, and then claim to be an independent human being. With independence, however, I mean that I much rather take care of problems and things that arise by myself than let someone help me or take care of them for me. It applies to those clear situations in which it is apparent what has happened and what needs to be done; such a situation, for example, is shopping for certain supplies etc. This comes, most likely, from both of my parents’ tendency to do the same: their inability to ask for help, instead preferring to do everything alone. This is a quality my parents and I — before 2010, for last year taught me much about the value of communication — have taken so far that it has impeded the communication in my family. Especially now, when it would be most crucial that my parents express whenever they need us, whenever my mother needs some sort of help with her current workload… nothing. Silence. And occasional breakdowns in which me and my sister are accused of not helping enough around the house; helping my poor, suffering mother who has to do absolutely everything, even the things she had no prior knowledge of, since father would take care of them for us.
It is this lack of communication that I despise — the expectation that we should help, without any real instructions or help in HOW to do so. I confess, my life has probably been easier than most, because I have never had that many chores, and if I have, they have been all very clearly laid out for me. My parents have just usually taken care of most things by themselves. And don’t get me wrong — I do wish to help my mother, and I would really like to see that she would not be so stressed about everything all the time. But when you consider her way of controlling the household obsessively, taking care of everything as SHE wants it taken care of, how could I possibly even dream of doing anything? Should I just stand by and be there whenever she needs me? But even then, I wouldn’t know that she needed me, because she expects me to do the things, to help her around the house, without telling me. It’s the fact that she has to tell me that she doesn’t like.
Oh, the contradictions of my upbringing. I want a straight-forward family and a straight-forward household and home in which I don’t have to tread on my toes and guess about the things I’ve left undone… I want an environment in which everyone is open and honest with their wants and needs, simple and straight-forward, not one in which everything is repressed and taken care of in silence. Even before father’s illness, I often felt uneasy at home, for exactly these reasons — for the expectations my parents seem to have on me (though they deny them, whenever I try to speak up about this), and for the repression of emotions and needs in my house.
Never should one underestimate the power of healthy communication — nor take it for granted.
Peace and good, long talks, everyone.
This title was already here before I decided on it
13 Sep 2010 Leave a Comment
in Creative writing, Personal Tags: 35 days, Following the Gay Umbrella, revelations, stories, writing
Er, hi. I’m sure you know me, I’m the girl who runs this joint. … Yeah, no, I haven’t been around for a bit, but I can explain that one — you see, there were things that came up and … Ok, look, it doesn’t really even matter; I have toe-socks, and hence any argument you can present on the subject of me having to have posted in this blog instead of doing whatever it is that I have done last week (mostly very unexciting stuff anyway, like trying to not die and having vigorous moodswings) is invalid.
See? Totally compels anything you can propel at me. … Yeah, I’ve even descended to the realms of cheap humour.
Who am I kidding? I was in those realms to begin with, ha! So, hi. I’m back now. And I’m going to pretend that last week didn’t happen, blog-wise, incidentally — because I find that when I’m feeling somewhat calm (if tired; but that might be because I didn’t sleep overly much on the weekend and DID sleep well last night, ironically and incredibly annoyingly enough, since I had to get up this morning and it was ANNOYING; maybe I could try to trick some sleep into me by telling my body that I have to get up at seven on a morning when I can sleep in after all, huh) and un-stressed, I don’t exactly want to begin doing something that might bring that back upon me. I’m going to do the daily challenges probably on a day-to-day basis from here on, again, but I won’t account for any lost days. Sorry! And welcome back, by the way.
Last week was both eventful and uneventful. There were many SACs and a practice exam from English — the latter of which was actually a pleasant surprise for me. I’ve never before been able to plan and write three full essays in three hours (and I even had half an hour to spare!), and I was kind of worried about that, to be honest. I suppose that you really don’t know what you can do before you try… It’s weird how, even when you haven’t done it before, somehow your mind (or at least mine does) accommodates to the present circumstances and copes with them, if only you have enough skill to pull it off. So weeeird. I don’t know if this is common for a human being, but I’ve rather recently (meaning in the past few years or so) become increasingly aware of how many things I actually do subconsciously. My discoveries almost frighten me, because it seems as if consciously, there is precious little I can do — whereas my subconscious is probably the most brilliant thing that exists on this planet.
So this is totally an exaggeration, but so what? I like my subconscious (ha, I just totally wrote “subsconscious” — I suppose that that scone I ate today totally left an impression on my brain as it did in my stomach [and my tastebuds, my dear GOD], too), and I also like finding out things that my subconscious had already figured out far later. Does anyone else do that — like, totally have this massively awesome solution to a problem, go back to whatever it is that they were having problems with and realise that, without actually noticing it, they had already begun applying the solution to the problem? I do this in writing SO MUCH that I don’t really even pay attention to it anymore.
Who am I kidding, it’s so fucking freaky that of course I pay attention to it all the time, probably fail and rant at my amused significant other for a while, after which he pats me on the shoulder and tells me that he knew it was going to happen all along. Seriously, this happened with one of my characters, in my novel (which I haven’t been writing for aaaages, but then again, I haven’t been doing much fun stuff for ages, either). Somewhere around chapter 20-ish, I had the abrupt realisation that he was gay (just a bit of background information: this wouldn’t be necessarily a surprising thing, considering that this is me, and I’ve been a major fan of slash [google it, I dare you], though it’s kind of dying now; however, I wasn’t necessarily PLANNING on making the guy gay, since I already have Dee, who is as omnisexual as can be). This was before my significant other had stopped reading the new chapters of my novel, and he just smiled at me and said “oh, I saw that one coming.” And it’s not a one-off thing, either: I look at some of the other things that I’ve decided to implement only later in the novel, then go back to some of the earlier chapters and realise that I was dropping hints about it along the way.
It is MASSIVELY freaky, and simultaneously incredibly awesome. That thing they say about stories writing themselves? SO TRUE.
Speaking of which, I’ve left myself a note in my phone asking for me to write a blog-post about language and sentence-structure. Since I’m feeling kind of happy and light-hearted today, I don’t think I’ll launch into a full discussion about what language means to me and how much I love it, but I might mention how much it annoys me every time my English teachers ask me to write shorter sentences. In fact, the whole premise of the English exam annoys me for the same reason. The best example to explain this is probably to use the context task (remember that essay I posted? That same task). The task is to write a piece reflecting on your ideas and viewpoints on the prompt by using “big ideas” from one of the texts we’ve studied specifically for this task in English. However, that’s not really the gist of the task — the gist of the task is to make it incredibly clear that you are a good writer and you have clear, understandable ideas; and, of course, to make it relatively easy to follow your logic. This infuriates me, because sometimes I feel like I somehow have to dumb down my ideas — or make them “more complex” deliberately, because saying stuff like “everything is real” is too simple for this task, as is grouping every nuance of a reality under one simple banner (which is something I am wont to do). Anyway, this means that I’m not allowed to express myself as I would LIKE to express myself, or to the extent that I’m able to express myself.
Along the same lines, my writing style uses a lot of long sentences and brackets (as I’m sure you’ve noticed), because that’s how I think — I think in looong thoughts, beginning at one point and then following through, sometimes making notes on the way, to the logical end of that sentence. Sometimes I let the sentence run long only because it would sound … the opposite of fluent (what the hell is that, anyway?) if I just cut it off there. I’ve always been taught that long, complex sentences are a sign of a good writer — though I do agree that if all sentences are long, the whole thing might be rather difficult to follow, and that less experienced writers (hell, I do it sometimes, too; and I’m not really _THAT_ experienced — I’m just saying as a general rule, not compared to myself) can’t always pull it off coherently.
Eh, well. What can you do?
Ok, I noticed that I’ve answered Day 21′s prompt and added that to the beginning of the previous post just to notify of the filling of that. I also decided I’m skipping Day 22, because I’ve got no very old picture of me on this computer, and I REALLY cannot be bothered booting my pc up for the sake of one blogpost (and I still want to go play Kingdom Hearts: BBS for at least an hour before I go to bed and pass out).
Day 23: Three things you want to do before you die
I suppose that this is another one of those prompts that ask you to be all epic and reveal all the grand masterplans you have for life — but like you saw in the whole prompt that I described the apartment I want to live in (day 10, I think — I’m not sure), I don’t exactly have any really cool plans for my life. And that’s really the way I like it — I don’t want to visualise this epic life for me, who really doesn’t want it. I’ve never wanted to be an astronaut, though I’ve loved looking up at the stars and studying the constellations. Well, that’s not entirely true, when you talk about it as a metaphor: I do have a lot of ambition, but I think that most of that ambition actually stems from my understanding of my own skill; I believe that there is much that I can do, and since I have the ability, I also have the partial responsibility to do as well as I can. Also, there is a certain satisfaction you get from succeeding…
But that wasn’t the prompt at all. Three things I would like to do before I die… I want to go back to our summer cottage in Finland, because that’s one place that I miss, back at the freezing country with its even colder people. Sometimes you need to surround yourself with nature, and I find the Finnish forests and lakes beautiful and well-suited for that task. Plus, I associate that place with warm summer rain, summer vacation, saunas, peace, midnight sun (oh GOD I miss that — it seems like the summers here aren’t just quite light enough)… pokémon, oddly enough. It’s just somewhere that I like and want to be.
A second thing I’d like to do before I die.. I suppose that I’d really like to publish a book. I just love it when people read what I write and tell me what they think about what I write, even if they don’t necessarily think too highly of it. I love to share what I’ve made, just so that I can see people reflect it, and… Hell, I just really like it when they come to me and tell that they’ve read what I’ve wrote. I’m not exactly certain what it is about that that I really like, but meh.
Oh, the third thing is probably far simplest — I want to own a cat. In the coming years, this space might become occupied by “I want a child”, but as of yet, I’m not quite ready to think that sorts of thoughts. I’d be fine with a kitty-cat. Do want. Stupid allergic sister & mother.
(I’m skipping 24, because it’s another photo-prompt, and I already know I’d just make up some excuse not to do it)
Day 25: Your favourite part of yourselfDay 26: A picture/description of one of your scarsHoly mother of pineapple but that became a lengthy post. I’m sorry. I suppose I had a lot more stuff to say than I thought, when I finally got the ball rolling.
I’m sure you all missed me terribly, and won’t mind, hee.
Love and orange-flavoured lollipops to everyone~
I’d sacrifice sleep for a bit of self-discovery any day (except tomorrow)
10 Aug 2010 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: decisions, late at night, ponderings, revelations
Again, it’s so late that now would be classified as a tuesday, even though I still consider it a monday night (the date doesn’t change until I tell it to, damnit!). Yes, I still have to get up at roughly 7.30 in the morning “tomorrow”, in order to haul my ass back into high school for a French test thingomajig that I’m not sure of how to do, because my teacher sucks. However, I found this pressing need to just type something in my blog in the middle of the fucking night, so here I am, typing something in my blog in the middle of the night.
What is this incredible discovery that I’ve made that couldn’t wait ’till the end of school tomorrow, when I would’ve had even less time than I have now (because of various assignments I was either too lazy or too tired to start on the extended weekend, and that have now piled to this sort of let-us-kill-her pace of work)? Well, to be perfectly honest, it’s not as much a discovery as it is a sort of wake-up call and a vivid memory of the fact that I really don’t give a damn about what people think about what I think and stuff. So I don’t have a structured blog with a structured categorising system (well, to be perfectly honest, this one I kind of try to enforce on my own, seeing as I’m a biiiit of an OCD character when it comes to categorising [seriously, I colour-code my planner]; but even I’ve confessed to myself long ago that whatever goes on inside my head simply cannot be placed into boxes, or seldom can); so I don’t have a clear statement of intention or some sort of a theme. So I don’t travel the world; so I don’t currently even work on any of my writing projects, ’cause I’m too busy dealing with schoolwork, or too lazy and dealing with something far more entertaining in the means of leisure.
That doesn’t mean that whatever goes through my head and whatever goes on in my life isn’t interesting, right?
These are the sorts of things that I sometimes wonder… when did I forget them? I used to know that it didn’t really matter what people thought about you, if you didn’t go out of your way to annoy them or didn’t refuse to accept the fact that you might sometimes be wrong. At some point — and I’m not quite sure where — it transformed into an insecurity of myself. If someone else has a point of view that is different to mine, but carries any validity whatsoever, that must hence be the correct point of view, and I am not allowed to state mine. Similarly, if I think that there may be some person out in that wide world who has a better grasp of, well, “reality” than I do, then I should do better to not humiliate myself and just be quiet instead. That’s the unspoken (well, hinted-at, I’d say) principle that has been dominating this very blog for some time already, and which is the main hindrance and censor to anything I really want to blog about.
But, hey, that’s a load of bullshit, isn’t it? Simply the fact that there may be someone else out there who knows more than I do about something, or simply the fact that they have a more elegant way of expressing their opinion doesn’t mean that I’m not allowed to an opinion. Ignorance, or being young, and being vulnerable, and being optimistic — they’re not really crimes, are they? I don’t think that I should be expected to account for every point of view when going through an opinion, and hence I shouldn’t think that anyone else expects that of me, either. And if they do, well, that’s not really my problem, is it? Is it?
And that’s the other thing: expectations. Along with my schoolwork (which I do have in abundance) and the general, you know, living my life, and all of the other little obligations that belong in the life of a moderately busy teenager, I expect myself to somehow tailor a blog to some sort of undefined reader group that will be very interested in what ever I’m writing about. I expect that certain people expect things from me, and anyone who knows me knows that I’m a sucker for expectations. I hate letting people down. I hate feeling like I could’ve done something better, like I’ve disappointed someone. As a writer, I’ve always had the nagging doubt that I won’t be able to take criticism very well, which is a serious worry, because I do desire to progress with my… craft. It’s just the feeling that, clichéd as it is, eats you from the inside, and consumes you to a point where you can’t get rid of it until you’ve talked to someone (in my case, a very special someone who should, by now, be used to listening to the, well, sometimes odd and seldom wonderful things that pour out of my sometimes-bruised heart) about it, and proved why you were right instead of the critic (regardless of the subject of criticism — could be something as simple as clothing, I swear); or then tried to “set things right.”
At this point in time, I’m sick and tired of my own expectations and the paranoia that I have to try extra hard to make people like me, or that I’m not good enough, or that my things aren’t going bad enough to justify for all the complaining I do. I’m an individual, damn it, and even though thousands, or millions, of people will have dealt with similar sorts of things before, that doesn’t mean that I don’t need to. I’m unique, but I’m not, at the same time — and knowing both of these is a sort of tragedy of opposites and paradoxes that makes formulating or presenting an opinion so damned difficult.
But, like I said, I’m not going to do this shit no more — things used to be differently, and I used to be able to accept that I’m an individual and there are some things that I just have to do, stupid or no, however subconscious this acceptance was. I want to go back to that. I’ve been helped along with this process a hell of a lot by my wonderful significant other, in more ways than I can count — and one of those ways, I remember, was to remark at some point about how my blog had turned… self-conscious about potential readers. This was a very recent hint, but there was another one before that, and another one before that, and another before that — pleads to write things in my blog, and when I’d refuse with an “I don’t even know what to write about,” exasperated comments about how I used to be able to write about ANYTHING, from NaNoWriMo to Devil May Cry to jogging.
I am going to try to go back to that.
And as this process goes along, I will most likely take the time to delete all the categories I have these posts in, and instead implement some sort of haphazard, improvised tags with every post. I’m also going to either delete or hide many of the older posts on this page — most of them are useless crap about why I’m not writing, anyway; fulfilling an obligation instead of writing from the desire to write. I’m going to update the information page, and I’m going to see if I can fiddle with its location a little. What I think I’m also going to do is change the layout and colour scheme of this blog — I don’t like the false dreaminess and mysteriousness this shady blue gives. If you know anything about me, you know that if something describes me, it’s bright colours and psychedelic patterns — because that’s what my mind essentially is, this constant burst of fireworks.
One thing’s not going to change, though: if you’ve been watching this blog at all, or if you have the interest of beginning to do so, always expect long posts with lots of reasoning and detail and explanation. I like my own “voice;” and I do write from the desire to write — I don’t necessarily write for you. If you’re ok with that, stick along for a while, while remodel and shift things for a while — have some tea, or cookies, or something.
The guarantee I can give is that you’re not going to be bored. :3
