tinhuvielartanis: (Devil Smidge)

You know, the time before last (which was three days ago out of desperation from migraine pain), when I seriously tried to commit suicide, within a week of getting to the house, I was offered a stay in England and in Australia.  When I was in serious danger of losing the place Smidgen and I live, I was offered a place to live, at least for Smidgen, which is my first priorty.

All this started in 2014.

I have gone nowhere and still have no home for Smidgen.

This is why I have trust issues with people.  They will say anything if it makes them think they will with either help and things will get better or I will choose to live.

The hopelessness of my chronic pain only seems to get worse with every passing day.  I live in isolation in this room in a house with people who hate me.

When I bought this harness for Toby, I thought I'd still be able to walk this canyon hill.  In my condition, that's just not happening.  I can't even walk up to the bus stop stop without almost passing out.  I had one dude treat me like like I was some kind of crazy person, because my blood sugar went so low.  Depending on the sentiment, it was either a curse or a blessing I was gotten back in time to get some sugar.


The harness is easily prepared for idiots like me who never learned how to tie a knot.  It'll be fast and no one will notice.  I'll be taking Smidgen with me, since no one wants her.

When will this happen?  I don't know.  Probably on the spur of the moment, when I have enough money to get to the park.  Sometime in July, probably.  All I know is that I'm sick of the exasperation I receive when I have to go anywhere, even the doctor. I'm tired of being treated like a criminal because of the illnesses I have. I'm tired of being tired and not being able to sleep. And I'm tired of being placated to just to keep me alive, when no one really wants me alive. It's a reflex. What's the point in living when there is no one and nothing to live for?  I'd rather just have honesty and be told that, yes, I am a throaway who was only ever loved by Aunt Tudi.

She's dead now.  What's the point of anything? I am constantly in pain, these migraines are getting more frequent, no hospital or doctor but Sharp will give me any relief, there's no point in continuing like this.

tinhuvielartanis: (Farce)

Aunt Tudi has been on my mind a lot,  more so than usual, these past couple of weeks.  I hate it.  I want to turn off my brain, but I can’t seem to.  It would be okay, if the memories I had were just of the times we spent together, good and bad.  The laughter and tears, the fights and the impromptu comedic moments, the times that make up people’s everyday lives.  


But they’re not.


The memories are interspersed with the sharp flashes from the days she was on life support to the day she was taken off.  I don’t remember it all.  I was in a haze.  But I remember enough.  I have some very vivid memories of those horrible 96 hours.


To remember her failing on every level to learn the Electric Slide from Johnna, then instantly see her lying there with tape over her partially opened eyes, is unbearable.  I miss her so much, and I still feel the burden of responsibility for having put her in such a dehumanizing situation in what would be her last days.  She would hold my hand when we crossed streets in Asheville, but she didn’t hold my hand back when they took her off life support.  She wasn’t there, I know, but the gravity of the moment was very present, and it still is for me.  


It’s like it was just yesterday all that happened, even though it’s now going on five years.  My brain will not stop with the incessant barrage of pain, and I have no solution to remedy the problem.  I just want it all to stop.

tinhuvielartanis: (Ornate Triskele)

A song my Father Unit wrote and performed at both Bele Chere and Shindig on the Green, in Asheville, North Carolina in 1976. Years later, he was able to record it. Until she sent the song to me, my Stepmother Unit was the only person in possession of the song since Dad's death in 2006.

All the pictures I used for the video are of Asheville and locations on the Blue Ridge Parkway, focusing primarily on The Smoky Mountains. The woman seen beginning at 1:16 is my aunt and my father's sister, Aunt Tudi. She is sitting at the rock wall in Craggy Gardens, from where we scattered my Paternal Grandmother Unit's ashes in 1993. In 2011, the family scattered Aunt Tudi's ashes in the same spot.

Also, the green A-frame chalet seen at 2:07 is a house in Black Mountain that I lived in, in 1975.

To the best of my knowledge, 'Carolina Mountains' was only shared publicly at the two aforementioned music festivals. Although he did copyright it, Daddy was too scared it would be stolen. I'm sharing it now, because it needs to be shared. All songs have importance and worth, and this is the best way I can honour him and let people in on one of my father's many talents.

The other reason for sharing it is I'm homesick.

tinhuvielartanis: (RepLogo)

We would go up to Craggy Dome at least once year to pay our respects to Granny.

The last two times I visited, it was to add Aunt Tudi's ashes to Grannys. I went back up a couple of weeks later, broke my camera, got lost, and finally got back to Janice and Uncle Michael's.

I want to go again.  One more time.  I need it.  The only other place I could imagine being happy to die there is Craggy Gardens in Asheville, NC, and magick that is Avesbury.

Visiting the area from which we scattered Granny's ashes in 1993 seemed to bring a kind of peace to Aunt Tudi.  She might have started the journey a little down in the mouth, but crazy music and dangerous coffee took care of all that.  And it allowed us to have the fun, I'd like to think Granny would have wanted us to have.  The one solemn moment was when Aunt Tudi would retouch the black cross on the stone from which we launched Granny.  I could always tell when she needed some alone time.  I never thought I'd be making that drive by myself, intent on tracing a Pentagram beside the cross.  Aunt Tudi was not a Wiccan or a Pagan, but she grokked it in a way a lot of self-proclaimed Witches are at loss to understand.

I want that sensation of flight and try to spin onto my back like a bag in the wind, so I can face Nature's painting masterpiece and maybe even glimpse the spirits of Aunt Tudi and Granny, as they stand to welcome me after gravity has had its dark way.
I need to go home.


Feb. 12th, 2015 03:12 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Can't Stop Writing)

If you are reading this, before you go any further, I want to make sure you are aware of the intention I had in writing the journal entry.  In now way am I trying to be Emo, navel-gaze, or inviting anyone to a pity party.  This is merely something I've had on my mind off and on for quite some time and, as is my writerly nature, this is my attempt to do a purge in the only way I'm superficially capable.  I am not looking for hugs, commiseration, or attention.  The entry is simply what most of my other entries have always been on the Cliffs - one of many entries I've made over the years.  That said, I'm cutting the rest of it out of courtesy to anyone who does not want to read further.  No harm, no foul.

Cut for a massive blob of needy bullshit. )
tinhuvielartanis: (PSA)

English is the only language I can fluently speak, and even that is debateable. I know bits and bobs of other languages, including Mandarin, Welsh, German, Yiddish, Russian, Polish, and Xhosa. But there is this one language whose intricacies I began learning at a very early age. That would be Sarcasm. When it comes to Sarcasm, it really doesn’t matter what your native tongue is; rather, it’s more to do with body posture, inflection of the words, even the tone of voice that makes for a successfully delivered dollop of linguistic malice.

I began learning Sarcasm at the tender age of nine. It had been going on three years since my parental units’ divorce and, even though I was well taken care of and had no doubt that I was loved by Granny and Aunt Tudi, I still missed that connection kids apparently enjoy, regardless of culture or location. I would write them letters, and be thrilled when they wrote me back.

If they wrote me back.

One day, Aunt Tudi and Granny took me to Woolworth’s so I could spend some of my allowance money. Instead of getting a little toy, or candy, or whatever a kid with a couple of bucks could buy back in 1976, I bought two identical greeting cards. After not hearing from either Unit for quite some time when I saw these cards, it was my first crash course in the wonderful world of Snark.

Even though I was hellbent on mailing them to the Mother and Father Units, Aunt Tudi convinced me not to do it. I kept the cards, though, up until I finally disposed of them in the late 90s, because they were yellow and tattered with age. The message was ingenious, though, and I kind of wish I’d held on to them, just for shits and giggles. I’ve recreated the card here, for the enjoyment of any and all.

Very simple, to the point, and unmerciful – like all good sarcasm should be.

tinhuvielartanis: (Cliffs of Insanity)

Years ago, Aunt Tudi found a mail order gag gift that she just had to have. She's holding it in the picture above. She asked me to get her, the Father Unit, and Uncle Michael one each, because she thought it was just hilarious. When it came in the mail, I took this picture of her, and photoshopped one gleaming tooth, adding the caption. I posted it here on LJ and on Facebook.

A lot of people here on the Cliffs got to know Aunt Tudi really well over the course of the nine years she was with me after I began blogging.  Many of them became friends with me on Facebook as well.  Facebook is where [livejournal.com profile] dydan contacted me to tell me she'd spotted Aunt Tudi on eBay.  She gave me the link to the eBay listing, and the belly-laughing commenced!  So I wrote to the person on eBay.  Here's a screen cap of the note.

And would she have laughed? Most definitely.

This is proof positive that anyone can be a model, even middle-aged, eccentric, crazy-cat-lady level, Southern goofballs with a fetish for novelty items!  Screw Kendall Jenner.  Aunt Tudi is a star!


I just got permission to share the rest of the conversation as it stands now. If there's anymore in the future that I can share, I'll do more edits. I have to say, this has really made my day. :D


(I then sent him the link to the video, since I wasn't bright enough to include in the original response)


tinhuvielartanis: (Bible)

When I was as young as three years old, I believed without question the existence of god. At four, I began wearing a towel on my head (don't go there with the jokes...), held down by a plastic mixing bowl, to pretend I was a nun. I also attended temple a couple of times with the Mother Unit. I got my first taste of wine there. Mogen David FTW!

At the age of five, in my first grade class, we were all required to recite psalm 23. Since my family was of mixed faith, and not excessively religious (I was probably the most "devout" at that time), I knew no bible verses by heart. I was the only one in my class not to get a silver star by her name. Looking back, this was my first experience with indoctrination in a setting that should have been more in line with the law of separation of church and state. It was mortifying, to say the least. I remember crying all the way home and staying up well past my bedtime to memorise the psalm, but was never called on in school to clear my name as a godless fiend. During this time, I also got it into my head that I wanted to be a preacher.

Aunt Tudi explained to me that I couldn't be nun, because I wasn't Catholic, and female preachers are few and far between, and usually weren't respected or listened to. So that was that.

A few months before my sixth birthday, my family exploded, when the Mother Unit requested a divorce. During this time, a pastor started frequenting the house. He'd take me for rides in the car on occasion, and we'd sing the BINGO song. While he was showing the face of a concerned man of god during this difficult time in the family's life, the family comprising of the Units, Granny, and Aunt Tudi, he was discreetly fleecing anything of worth from an already desperately poor family. I didn't find out that last part until years later, but I had always wondered why he suddenly stopped visiting, especially when I felt I needed him most, after the break-up was finalised and my Father Unit had a nervous breakdown. It turns out he got what he wanted, which was pretty much everything we had had as a family unit.

While I was being verbally terrorised by the Father Unit, as he instructed me to despise the Mother Unit for all she had done, and telling me she had never loved me, otherwise she wouldn't have left, I prayed fervently to a god that never seemed to hear me. I felt adrift. I never felt safe. When I got to see her, Granny would tell me the story of Job, and that all I needed was to hold on to my faith, and eventually everything would be okay.

But it wasn't. I had my home, my neighbourhood, my parents, and my favourite grandmother and aunt taken away from me, until the authorities decided on what to do with me. By the time I was seven, I was living with Aunt Tudi and Granny, in an A-frame chalet in Black Mountain, North Carolina. I still wanted to believe in the existence of a higher power, so I began reading the bible frequently. Aunt Tudi bought me a Rainbow Bible. I still have it...I think.

I remember reading about Gideon in Judges, how he wanted proof of the existence of god, and put the deity to a test. This verse, Judges 6:39, impacted me:

And Gideon said unto God, Let not thine anger be hot against me, and I will speak but this once: let me prove, I pray thee, but this once with the fleece; let it now be dry only upon the fleece, and upon all the ground let there be dew.

I figured if Gideon could do this, and be answered by god, surely I could too. It was in the bible, so it must be something that was true and could be repeated. I got a dry washcloth and, placing it in the very back of my closet, asked god to let me know he was with me, that he did listen to me, by making the cloth wet by morning.

Morning came, and I rushed to the closet with hope and expectation. The cloth was dry.

I could not bring myself to say there was no god. Atheism is still unthinkable in the Southeast United States, but back in the 70s, the very word itself was an abomination. I could not not believe in god. But I learned a new word - agnostic. From 1975 until 1988, I was an agnostic. That doesn't mean I didn't have spiritual experiences. I had a few throughout my life, like the revelation of Durga at the age of five, and the irrefutable holy feeling upon seeing the beginning of the movie Xanadu, featuring Jeff Lynne's music. Even Star Wars triggered a spiritual reaction in me, which I found out later was a very natural one, considering the use of archetypes and stories older than even our most ancient ancestors.

In 1988, I began studying Wicca. I felt like I'd come home. Here was a spiritual place that you carried within you, a way of life that held everyone (male, female, human, non-human - all life) in a kind of reverence. It renewed my belief in magick and the possibility of a life of wonderment. By 1990, I had become a New Age Fluffy Bunny. By 1992, I was a High Priestess in the Caledonii Tradition. Even though I eventually turned to solitary practice and dropped the Wiccan label, preferring the cognomen of Witch, my faith never faltered.

Until 2011. On August 25th, 2011, I was catapulted into the gravest spiritual crises I'd ever known. It was different this time. I didn't feel as though god/dess was not listening to my prayers; rather, I found I had nothing to say to any deity. If people would ask, I'd nonchalantly say that I was going through a spiritual crisis or that I was a Pagan-leaning agnostic.

Monday will mark the third anniversary of Aunt Tudi's death. When it happened, people wanted to pray for me, or pray with me. They tried to comfort me with praise of god/dess. I felt myself being offended and angry, not just with deity, but also with the people who seemed to crawl out of the woodwork to use my tragedy to turn me to god. On Christmas Eve, I called my Aunt Josephine to wish her a merry Christmas. I was only four months out from losing Aunt Tudi, so the wound was still raw (honestly, it still is). Instead of giving me any sort of comfort in her own way, instead of even wishing me a merry Christmas back, Josephine proceeded to tell me that I needed to get right with god; otherwise, I wouldn't see Aunt Tudi in the afterlife, as she was in heaven, and I was definitely headed for hell. That was the last time I ever talked to her.

Three years on, and where am I as far as my quest for a higher power or my need to commune with deity? In all honesty, I would have to say that I've crossed that line between agnosticism and atheism. With all the horror I see in the world now, I prefer the idea that there is no god as opposed to one that seems to revel in the continuous abject suffering of its creations. I have no patience for any of it, in whatever incarnation people claim it exists. I want no part of it.

Now some may say that this is simply my own version of the descent of the goddess, and they can believe that all they want to. If I've been descending, then this post is the end of my journey, because I don't plan on ascending. There is nothing up there for me.

So yeah, I think it is pretty safe to say that I am an atheist. Looking back on my experiences with the spiritual world, I can see now that it was an inevitability.

Forgive Me

May. 24th, 2014 03:09 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Pensive)
Today, Aunt Tudi would have turned 70 years old.

I've been relatively okay up until now.

The Mother Unit and I were talking about how illogical the "buy more, save more" mantra that retailers so often use to encourage more consumption. And I told her about how, every week, Aunt Tudi would go to Wal-Mart and fall for so many of their tactics, and we would always leave with mounds of stuff we couldn't use, wouldn't use, and was a total waste of money and time.

And it occurred to me how impatient I was with Aunt Tudi at times like that, and how I'd lose my temper, and rush her, and complain.

I would give everything in the world just to be able to go to Wal-Mart with her one more time, and buy anything and everything she wanted and tons of stuff she might think she might want later on. And I would play any music she would want to hear in the car, if I had one, and I'd listen to everything she had to say, and engage in lengthy conversations with her, and pay her more attention, and not be put off by her inclination for nostalgia.

And I would play along at Christmas time, and not be such a Scrooge. I'd pretend to be more family-oriented, and participate in any of the celebrations she would want to attend. I'd listen to her political rants.

I would do anything she would want me to do, and I would do it gladly. Because I'd just be glad to have her around again.

I am not okay. Not by a longshot.

I see her dying, her eyes empty, and that's all I can see whenever I close my eyes. On her birthday, I keep seeing her die over and over again.

I am not okay.
tinhuvielartanis: (Dark Eyes)
I would marry my psychiatrist if he proposed, but I doubt that would happen. I see him every two weeks for intensive therapy that doesn't just focus on Aunt Tudi's death, and my guilt and woe because of it. The day before any appointment with him, I would psych myself up, and be certain not to lose control of my emotions, especially anything that would trigger crying on my part.

But he told me a few sessions back that, that was exactly what he wanted. He wanted me to lose control. He wanted me laid bare, so we could build on something healthier for me. He wanted me to do the exact thing I did not want to do.

So, yesterday, late in the afternoon, it was getting dark, and I was preparing to get Toby into the house, which I did. Then I double checked that Smidgen was on her usual throne, my bed. Everything seemed in order.

But then, leaving the beasties in my room, I came back out and began to frantically search. I called out Chester's name two or three times. Matt, who was going up the stairs, stopped and asked me who Chester was. I was kicking myself both emotionally and mentally, but I "manned up" as "they" say, and tried to explain to Matt that Chester was the Yorkie who used to live with Aunt Tudi and me, and later on just me. And I explained to Matt, I had no idea why I looking around so frantically for a dog that had passed just a few weeks before I left for California. Matt found this extremely funny and said something along the lines of "your dead dog won't come, no matter how much you call for him." He was literally guffawing, and called to the Mother Unit what had just happened.

I just turned around, went into my room, and closed and locked the door. And I cried as though my heart would break. It was the first thing I did when I woke up at 2 AM, then later in the morning when I saw Matt.

Dr. Harrington asked how I came to have Chester, and wanted to know how he died. I explained to him about Winston dying in Aunt Tudi's arms when we went to visit him at Dr. Patch's. I've never seen her so attached to a dog, and I wanted her to have the chance to be blessed with such feeling again. I searched the sparse rescue homes in the Upstate, but no joy. I finally found a breeder about 30 miles away from me. Aunt Tudi picked the pup for her, and we spirited the bundle of joy home.

He was Aunt Tudi's xmas and birthday gift that year. As I was trying to tell the doctor everything that had happened, and how devastated I was to first, be stupid enough to call a dog that was no longer alive and second, the scenario turned into fodder for Matt's ridicule.

The entire time I was telling Dr. Harrington this, I was crying as though my heart had broken. And this made me feel even worse, that I was crying so hard over Chester in front of anyone. It was as if I placed more loss and grief over him, than I ever did Aunt Tudi. The doctor asked me if I had ever heard of transferance. Of course I had. The dictionary definition is: Psychoanalysis: the shift of emotions, especially those experienced in childhood, from one person or object to another, especially the transfer of feelings about a parent to an analyst. And he just looked at me for a moment.

"You know where I'm going with this, don't you?"

"That subconsciously placed all my hidden emotions and grief onto a dog that was brought to our home specifically for Aunt Tudi."

He just smiled, and I apologised for bubbling. He reminded me that this was exactly what I needed to do. Well, this made me cry even more. He made it quite apparent that with the one brick of stoicism metaphorically weakened by recent emotional upheaval, we could get down to some brass tacks As he was talking me down, though, he asked why I hated so badly to cry, especially in front of anyone else. I told him that the stock answer for bullying those days was the "sticks and stones" mantra. And if anyone did pick on me, avoid contact and never, ever cry, because the bullying would get worse. I learned to keep my head down, avoid eye contact.

He told me that I've been internalising shit a very early age and now, it's time to purge myself of emotions and grudges, or else I would implode. I told him about the writers' group and the walk around Mission Valley, whatever the hell that is. I'm also going to a writers' group.

We talked a bit more about my rampant misanthropy, and how I could feel like I do, but like individuals. Still, though, we are part of the problem on this planet and, if even one human survived it could well proliferate the virus again. He wanted to how just one person could this. In one word - parthenogenesis. So he asked for clarification about how I want the world to end, that surely I would want to be on the planet, and not have to deal with people any longer. I explained that I wasn't keen saving the planet for myself. I was keen on our species exiting the Terran stage. That we were a bad experiment living in a petrie dish some intern forgot to dispose of.

That's all I can think for now, but it is pretty intense nonetheless. More soonsoon

I go back to him in two weeks.
tinhuvielartanis: (Elton_Tin)
Since I've been in California, I have noticed a distinct change in my mood and my thought processes.

I do not think of Aunt Tudi 24/7 like I was doing. When I do, they are good memories, and I am sharing those with the Mother Unit.

It's not like I don't have my moments. I still envision her dying, but it's only happened a couple of times in the past two weeks.

My sleep isn't much better, but at least I can sleep a little each night.

This is the first time in two years that I've felt that everything was going to be alright.
tinhuvielartanis: (Farce)
Granny's favourite bird was the hummingbird.

Just after her death, we started getting "flocks" of hummingbirds around the house. They didn't come in flocks, but there were tons of individual hummingbirds that flitted around our house, almost every minute of every day.

When we went to Craggy Gardens to spread her ashes, a hummingbird came and literally hovered face-to-face with Aunt Tudi. It comforted her in a way none of us ever could. Both of us believed it was Granny's spirit telling us that she was okay.

Aunt Tudi's favourite bird was the Carolina Chickadee, which very often came around our home, especially in the Winter time. This is the second season after her death, and I haven't seen one chickadee. They used frequent our home, and particularly loved the Witch Tree (contorted filbert). I haven't seen one chickadee since her death. I think I would have found comfort in seeing a chickadee just like Aunt Tudi was comforted in the hummingbirds that seemed to gravitate to her.

There has been nothing. I have had no sign whatsoever that Aunt Tudi's spirit is anywhere around me, is watching over me in someway. That's one of many reasons I question the existence of any higher power now. My faith in signs and portents of any sort may well be so deep, I may never recover it. My bear totem seems ridiculous to believe in. The owl spirit I have long honoured and adored seems irretrievable. Any sort of message from the natural world around me is lost on me, I don't see or hear proof of existence.

Perhaps I could have healed just a little if I had been given any sign that her spirit lives on, but I haven't. It sort of makes you think that upon death, there's nothing. Absolutely nothing. And part of me wants to believe in that, because nothing is better than every moment of your life is bereft of hope or meaning.
tinhuvielartanis: (Snow)
For the first time since Aunt Tudi died, it is snowing. There's already about 4 inches on the ground. My first reaction was "oh my, Aunt Tudi is gonna panic since I have to go somewhere tomorrow. I won't hear the end of it.

But there's nothing to hear.

Here's a picture of the Witch Tree. I had missed her looking like this. She always looks particularly witchy when snow is gracing her branches.

I'm attempting cheer myself up by watching World's Dumbest Daredevils 2. It always brightens my day to see the utter stupidity of my fellow humans, even though I have the sneaking suspicion I will end up on that show someday. Ha ha!
tinhuvielartanis: (Yay....)
When I do get to sleep for any length of time, I'm having dreams of interacting with Aunt Tudi. They are so incredibly real that I have woken myself up several times in the past couple of weeks, talking to her. And, if I'm not doing that, I'm having those falling dreams that you tend to have when you're on the threshold of actual sleep, the kind that make you jerk awake. Neither are very conducive to decent sleep, and to be honest, they actually make me want to stay awake. At least when I'm awake, despite the depression, I have some semblance of control over my mind.

In other news, I ate for the first time in three days just a few hours ago. Everything tastes horrible, and I haven't really been hungry. If I keep this up, I'm either gonna be thin or dead...or both. Either or both would be fine with me.

That's the latest good news from the Cliffs of Insanity. I'm gonna end this quickly, as I have an extremely clingy cat lying in the crook of my right arm, preventing my ability to use the keyboard with any shred of success.


Oct. 25th, 2012 10:43 am
tinhuvielartanis: (Syd Barrett)
I woke up, went to the bathroom, looked at the calendar that Aunt Tudi had put out...it's her calendar, the only one I have left, because I threw the rest of them away. I looked at it wrong and thought it was the Sunday, the 29th. I had gotten myself all geared up to take Aunt Tudi's clothes up to Janice and tell her she could take them to the Monday flea market tomorrow. That's when she told me she was at the Thursday flea market, and could'nt take the clothes today. I can't touch Aunt Tudi's clothes until I can rush them to Janice and not look at them for long. I told her that whatever money she made, to keep. I don't want the money. I don't want money from something of Aunt Tudi's. Something tells me that wouldn't be right, that I would be nothing but a vulture.Something tells me she would want me, considering my financial situation, having a car payment on top of everything else, but I just can't do that. I won't do it.

I'm forcing myself to begin journaling again, and to talk about how I feel. For a year now, I have felt guilty about laughing, for doing anything that brings me pleasure, because I feel I'm betraying her memory. I've only been up to Craggy Dome once, first having weather conditions where the higher elevations of Blue Ridge Parway were closed, then with the car situation. I knew I'd get to go for sure, since I had solved the car problem. Then I had my seizure behind the wheel and I can't drive for six months. My time is up at the end of January but, by then, Craggy Dome will be shut off again, probably until sometime in April. My luck sucks. And I feel like I suck, I feel like I'm postponing going up there, like I could have done more to go, that I am a bad daughter.

So, yeah, that's what is going on today. I may post again; then again, I may not.

When you can't go anywhere and the only thing you can do is struggle to write, or watch one more movie, I don't see much point in boring whomever read this. Hugs to everyone. Ta.
tinhuvielartanis: (CadmusOrphaeus)
We're watching the news and the ticker at the bottom said something about a money crisis. Aunt Tudi read it as "monkey crisis." That's much more interesting. From now on our economic upheaval is dubbed The Monkey Crisis. It may be more appropriate.

LOST is on.

Nov. 9th, 2005 09:08 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Locke)
Aunt Tudi is sleeping and I can't wake her up. So I'm taping LOST

My nanometer is gone. The dude hosting it suffered a bandwidth shortage. I feel for him. Damn.

So here's the new one. It ain't as purdy.

28,077 / 50,000

I will be online for one reason only: to keep the phone tied up so no rude ass can call me during LOST. I'm an evil and antisocial bitch.
tinhuvielartanis: (Onslow)
6 AM jangled my nerve (singular) and I slithered out of bed, feeling as hideous as I look. At 7:30, Aunt Tudi and I gathered up the dogs and Shmoop, and took them to the vet's office. Michelle is supposed to call us when the pups are ready to come back home. Shmoop won't be taking much of Dr. Patch's time since she's only there for a quick recheck from her surgery. Gravy.

Speaking of cats, while I was in the backyard feeding the Pride, Lynx came up to me and started rubbing along my leg. I scritched him behind the ear and picked him up to pet him some more. He's a real sweetheart! I checked out his rear parts to see if he had any tail at all. He has a furry button of a tail. So, now, Lynx has a nickname: Button Butt!

I believe it's time for a nap. This Moon is kicking my behonkie all over the place. My tentative plans to drive up to Asheville have been put off until that time I'm feeling considerably better and not so achy and hormonal. Aunt Tudi is cool with staying home. In fact, she's asleep on the love seat as I type this. Neither of us are worth crap.

Oh, and I'm a Socialist.

Like really! )

I want to write more, but I can't think of what I want to write. It's one of the worst feelings in the world. I may just force myself, though. Sui Generis is just frothing to be completed. Maybe I'll work on that later.

Ho hum.


Aug. 5th, 2005 09:04 am
tinhuvielartanis: (PSA)
First off, WORK. These people are driving me fucking batshit. Yes, it's true! The 311 mailings are still loitering on around my cube. I have a publicity list that seems to go with nothing else. I have a press kit that apparently is still missing the photo and order. I now have an order for a mailing that doesn't match up with anything else I have. And I have the Winits order finally, but the authorisation code isn't valid, so I have to wait for a new code or new order before I can proceed. All this is supposed to go out today. Ain't.....gonna....happen.

Also, I have an order for Classics that this dude called about last night, wanting it to go overnight. Excuse me, but we are all gone by 5 PM and this order came in at 5:44 last night. Now, I'm waiting to hear back from him to see if he still wants this overnighted or if I should disregard.

I hate having shit on my desk with which I can do nothing. It makes me paranoid that I'm missing something, so I'm constantly shuffling through papers and getting all antsy. Three more weeks of this crapola.....three.....more.....weeks........three.....more..........weeksssssssssss.........................................

I had a very alarming dream last night that shall haunt me to the end of my days. It involved someone who shall remain nameless who proceeded to seduce me during my visit, then engaged in terrifying me during "the deed." I also asked him about his girlfriend and, at first he said "who?" then said, "well, we just won't tell her, now will we?" Then he grinned maliciously and molested me vigourously. Never have I had such thoughts much less dreamed about him in such a way. Never do I want to again. It was too....too...::shudder::

The weird thing about the dream though is that his home was a floating home. It was like a big rickety longship in the sky. Very rustic and sci-fi all at the same time.

Lately, I've gotten in the habit of calling Shmoop "Cat Meat." It's her new nickname and she's beginning to answer to it. Why I have started calling her Cat Meat is beyond me. Somehow, it seems to fit though.

Lastly, I'm pissed with Aunt Tudi. Having decided to go comfy to work today, I donned my black jeans and headed out for The Pit. On my way out, Aunt Tudi commented wondering where the small family that should move into my pants was. Yeah, I know my pants are loose. Yeah, I know I have no ass. Thank you very much Aunt Tudi. It reminded me of Joanie, constantly saying, "Tracy, you have no butt!" Being Laotian, she sounded just like that lady on "King of the Hill" when she says "Peggy Hill got big feet!" I told her that one day, too. She just laughed.

Thank the Mighties it's Friday. Even though it's gonna be a busy weekend, at least it won't be here in The Pit.


tinhuvielartanis: (Default)
The Cliffs of Insanity

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