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This is the last entry I'll make on this journal.

Keeping Dreamwidth, stopping the crossposting. Didn't want comments here because I didn't want to be checking two places at once, but rarely anyone comments at all so it's a moot point.

To those I follow, I'll still read if you want me to. I'll still care. I'll comment sometimes, and I'll pay attention. Thank you for letting me into your lives, however little that might count for, or however little access that might entail.

May we all find grace.

(And yes, my journal is here if you care enough to alter your schedule to check up on me from time to time. You are not obligated to by any means. But I'll smile if you do.)

Listen to Jesus, Jimmy

I clapped my hands until they felt completely raw.

I forgive MacIvor for everything Cryptogram wasn't. I also forgive him and the director for stealing my ideas. (Okay, they didn't literally, but man do I ever want to put on a show like this.)

Just saw Daniel MacIvor's Inside, and it's freaking perfect. Just. Perfect.

It said everything I'm going through in this time of my life and expressed all the things I hope for.

Or at least, that's how my physical senses are communicating it to my brain, which is all in a tizzy.

I want to write. I want to write I want to write I want to write. I want to tame myself.

I want to ditch the child in me and just get my soul into text. I want to throw away the habits and concentrate on what I WANT.

This got a bit long and a bit chaotic.Collapse )

All the mistakes I've made. Everything said that can't be unsaid.

All those I've hurt, and those who have hurt me.

All the things I could do.

Rest, now. Walk, and think, and return, and sleep.

(This entry was originally posted here, from my Dreamwidth account. LJ-cut to spare my f-list; feel free to comment there with your LJ account via OpenID!)

What Lies Underneath? SPIKES DO!

Amazing night tonight. Just freaking amazing. Loved every moment of it.

Saw most if not all of the first years performing today, I along with them. Felt great about it. Felt great about all the people who performed, got a huge high out of watching them. And the best thing about it? There is so very, very little competition among the dudes. Some greats, mostly amateurs, and Uvic's always hurting for guys. Best thing I have over them is that I am a freaking great actor. I could get into the Acting program no sweat, and that's what I'm going to do. This is the one thing I know I can do, without any guilt or remorse. I am GOOD at acting. I will knock the freaking socks off of the people behind the table when I do my monologue. And possibly unhook a couple bras. With the power of ACTING!!

I am in such a good mood. Better than anything I've felt in a long, long, long time.

I can rest easy tonight.

(This entry was originally posted here, from my Dreamwidth account. LJ-cut to spare my f-list; feel free to comment there with your LJ account via OpenID!)

Mar. 11th, 2011

No, I'm done with these hideous emotions of isolation and despair. I'm not going to bother indulging with them. They're not worth my time.

I'm gonna talk about my puppy instead. Specifically, the things she does that makes me smile:

1) The way that, after I open the gate for Mom to drive through, she sprints across the field to see me once she's let out the car.

2) The way she'll snuggle up and claim some part of me if she's felt previously deprived from my presence.

3) The way she can be so smart and yet so dopey, all at once, at the same time.

4) The ways that she's gotten wise to my ball-throwing tricks, so that whenever I'm entertaining her with another dog, I can throw it in such a way that she'll race after it before the other dog can.

5) Whenever she lies down in a place I've previously been sitting or resting on.

6) The sheer excitement that comes over her whenever she spots me from afar, like when I'm coming off the ferry or when mom takes her over to my place for a visit.

7) Many, many more things I can't think of.

I miss Rozsa.

(This entry was originally posted here, from my Dreamwidth account. LJ-cut to spare my f-list; feel free to comment there with your LJ account via OpenID!)

I'm Gonna Break My Rusty Cage And Roam

Ever have one of those days where everything seems to go flippin' amazing?

Decided to head down to a coffee place I had a coupon for on Hillside. Had a two for one coupon for the place which pretty much guarrantees awesome. Decided to wear a raincoat I hadn't worn since last year. And what do I find in the pocket, which I hadn't touch in equally as many months? A lost, forgotten cheque for $200 from my old summer job. This, compounded with the $25 dollar cheque in my wallet from my uncle, means that everything is beautiful and magical today.

And so I'm feeling pretty contented about today, despite the fact that I injured myself by falling off a ledge; bike lock fell off a railing and in my attempt to climb over and get it, I landed hard on my big toe, bending the nail so far back it drew blood. It's still attached, but now my sock is all bloody at the top end... not fun.

But the collection of good things far outweighs the bad for today. And now all I need to do is something productive with these last two hours at the coffee bar. Got a bunch of audio notes to listen to, Twelfth Night in my saddlebag, a textbook on Shakespeare, other stuff besides...

We'll see how I do. For now, just dwelling in the contentment of an utterly awesome day. Hope everyone else is feeling the same, or will feel the same in the near future.

(This entry was originally posted here, from my Dreamwidth account. LJ-cut to spare my f-list; feel free to comment there with your LJ account via OpenID!)


My id says, "I don't want to do it," but it has no answer when I ask it what it wants to do instead.

Skipped out on class, supposedly to have more time to work on this. Not getting through to myself. Not sure what I can do.

Go to the library. Get a cup of coffee. Bring textbooks and laptop. Listen to lecture notes. Turn off internet.

That's a pretty good idea.

I don't wanna do it.

But what do I want to do instead?

Hide. Hide like a mole. Hide in cowardice and never answer the phone and run out of money and starve and be miserable and a failure.

All because of this one exam in the first year. This moment, like every moment, is of course the crowning apex of the reaffirmation of all the accomplishments made in my lifetime. It all hinges on getting this right, which is of course why I've been so scared to even start. Right? That's the truth, isn't it?

I feel sympathy for the person I used to be. The person who sobbed his heart out over a freaking incomplete GDD. The person who let that negativity drag him down and ruin all his other accomplishments. All the rest of the terms, bathed in the drowning light of my one, single, failure.

But I'm starting to wake up. Everything is not ruined forever. This first year is, ultimately, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. What I'm going to do is this: Make myself something to eat, then pack my things, and spend the rest of the day in the library, with my notes. I'll do what I can and then come back and make a dinner, canned soup or maybe defrost chicken strips or maybe toast a sandwich or make a salad.

Then I'll look over my stuff and know that I haven't checked everything and I'm not going to be able to check everything but I'll also know it'll be enough to pass, it'll be enough to get through, and that's okay, that's okay, that's really quite all right. I won't have to cry, and I won't have to rail at myself.

I don't love myself right now. I don't think I've loved myself in a prolonged period for quite a while, apart from the occasional glimpses of what it could be. But I'm trying not to turn into into self-hatred, self-flaggelation. I'm doing my best to remember that there are people who love me in this world, who want me to succeed for my own sake. I don't know what I'd be without that support, apart from up a certain creek...

I just have to not be ashamed, and it'll be okay. Not be cowed.

I'm scared of being alone, but it's okay, I can make it through.

Tomorrow is another day. It's a day like any other, and it's happening before the day that comes next. The culmination of all these days equal the span of a single life. Why waste any of it on uselessness?

Start now. Start right, now.

(This entry was originally posted here, from my Dreamwidth account. LJ-cut to spare my f-list; feel free to comment there with your LJ account via OpenID!)

Feb. 27th, 2011

I just want to concentrate. To focus.

I wish I had a study partner.

(This entry was originally posted here, from my Dreamwidth account. LJ-cut to spare my f-list; feel free to comment there with your LJ account via OpenID!)

Got A Letter From A Messenger

Eeesh. Let's see if I can do this.

Made all efforts to sabotage myself, it seems. Too embarrassing to go into details. On the bus right now, writing this out, listening to music. Dragging a huge bag on wheels around in, what, five inches of snow? Smart. Can't remember why I wanted to use this instead of a backpack. Experimentation?

My shoulders are stronger than my arms, I think. I can do backpack weight, but this is a whole different kind of muscle. Strange and unwieldy. Sigh.

Going to go see Mom.

Yesterday, I was thankful for many things. Still am, but they are slightly overshadowed by anxiety today. And fear. I know I can get myself to do this work, but can I do it without inflicting self-loathing upon myself? I hope not. I hate doing that. I'm scared that's where I'm going.

Endless cycles. Encless habitual emotional torture. Inflicted over and over upon myself until I start catching the cycle. Only so many times you can get swatted by a newspaper until you start instinctively flinching right before it's swung. Only so many times until you can dodge away.

Hungry. Only had cereal. Didn't bring my travel mug, even though I made tea for myself and everything. Fucking. Shit.

But it could be worse. Could've left books. Could've left notes. Could've left clothes. (Valid concern - I did get them from the laundry at the very last minute.)

I have less than an hour before the ferry supposedly leaves after docking. One prays it's later than I.

I'm very, very fearful, but I'm trying to keep it in. Trying to keep it under control. But whenever I push down my emotions, they always come back later, harder, meaner. I have to find a way to defuse it before I see Mom and the puppy - although maybe that'll be enough to get me over myself. If I get there.

This is just tiresome. Why do I let myself do the same things that I know will keep me on the computer for hours on end? It's addiction, yes. It's unconscious, habitual, entry ways into never-never-land. Sometimes I don't have the will - oftentimes I come home and that's my refuge, but there's things to do. Things that aren't many things, just small things I could be doing over the course of the week. And I'm not doing them. I'm not reviewing my notes, I'm not reading stories I missed. I'm barely feeding myself and doing laundry and cleaning dishes and everything.

Always doing things at the last minute. In a rush. Staying up too late because there's one thing I need to do before going to bed but I don't want to do that yet because I'm still reading something on the internet and yet I'm also tired and I want to sleep but there's one last thing I need to do right after this article or game or article on a game or or or or--

I'm so. I'm so. I'm so.

I hope I'm not so fucked.


(This entry was originally posted here, from my Dreamwidth account. LJ-cut to spare my f-list; feel free to comment there with your LJ account via OpenID!)

The Last Time On This Earth

Had one of those moments waking up this morning, blinking the sleep out of the eyes, preparing morning rituals of breakfast and tea.

I had an idea - I've always thought people who wake up from a long-standing coma had something, a soul, if you will, trapped in there, or perhaps waiting to come back in, and that it all made sense then if that's what brought them back. But then I thought, what if that isn't it at all? What if we're all just trapped in our bodies until something happens to zap us back to life, if anything? What if we're doomed to be stuck in these shells forever, till we disintegrate and are nothing?

It's good to have these thoughts, I reckon - crisis of mortality. I imagine most serious writers put themselves through it.

Weekend has been something of a scorched brain era. Barely managed to sustain myself in that time. Still marooned without bike keys, without a student card, and now I'm going back to work for the first time. Going to scene shop, an hour early, because I missed it last Friday. See what happens. I did go to bed around 3 and wake up at 8, so there's... that. Three and a half hours or so of work. That should look good.

Had a cup of hot lemon water for the first time in weeks. I feel like I can get back to good habits, if I try. If I'm self-aware. I can do this, I can, if I just let myself concentrate on the things that matter. I want to make this work, this life of mine, and I want to get back to something meaningful.

Tomorrow I start exercising. Today I might begin keeping a food diary. Little things like that to improve my life. Improving it begins now, as it could any day, but today it begins now.

Wish me luck.

(This entry was originally posted here, from my Dreamwidth account. LJ-cut to spare my f-list; feel free to comment there with your LJ account via OpenID!)

Feb. 20th, 2011

Sometimes, I feel there's a heavy tome resting next to my heart.

It is an autobiographical work. Within it, I scrawl down my various crimes against others, misdemeanors great and small, evidence towards proving my final judgment. People whom I have overstepped the line with, or angered due to my words, are people I am suddenly terrified by, for their names are in the book and the tome will never let me forgive myself as long as it has control. Occasionally, memory intervenes, and a page is worn illegible by sheer mercy, but the crimes never go away for good. Sometimes I hearken back to the misdemeanors I have forgotten, not remembering the particulars, but feeling an empty spot where I used to feel shame.

As long as this book exists, I'll never be free. As long as my mind keeps telling me that I'm not good enough to be loved, or even liked, I will never love in turn. These are things I must overcome... things to thwart at every turn. If I can. If, I can.

The other day, I deleted Oni and Max Payne 2 from my Mac, and adblocked Kdice. I felt it was time; none of these games are worthwhile anymore. I played the first two constantly, endlessly, trying to get more items and less damage for each savepoint, stockpiling so I am invincible, carrying an endless war against never-ending bad guys. Rushing forward, executing moves I've perfected for months, my own expertise known to no one but myself. And what could I do with that? Upload a youtube video? Show it off? No, there comes a time when one has to put away the things that give him nothing but escapism, and do something else.

As for kdice, well... there's an environment of fake strategy. A simplified version of Risk which rewards strategy with randomized luck - which can reduce even the most determined player to 7th place by sheer arbitrary rule. No, I don't think I should go back there either - the people are unpleasant and borderline sociopathic, and there are greater things for me.

I did buy Penumbra and Amnesia: THe Dark Descent though. Survival Horror games from the same company. We'll see if those games are worth keeping around...

Signing off.

(This entry was originally posted here, from my Dreamwidth account. LJ-cut to spare my f-list; feel free to comment there with your LJ account via OpenID!)

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