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The Madness of Davi:
A Never-Ending Saga
Yet again, I convinced myself that taking an online course would be good for me. Fail. Writing five essays in two weeks in not appealing. Not in the least.

Currently, I am procrastinating on writing two mini-essays for my test. One is on a great topic: Which ancient society would you like to live in and why? Woo! Fun. Still can't write it though for whatever reason. I seem to have lost my form of eloquence over these past few years and have devolved to rambling tangents or short and to the point sentences. And the second essay is one of four choices, none of which intrigue me. *Sigh* why am I doing this to myself? lawl.

Break is going. Not well, nor poorly; it's just going.

I nearly had my best friend move into my (should be condemned) house. I'm so glad that she didn't have to in the long run (she got money together for her rent, somehow). One of my ancient (and bitchy) cats finally kicked the bucket. However, he had been sickly for MONTHS. I told my father to bring him to the vet back in september. "Why? So I can pay $500 to have them put him down? Fuck that". I tried to explain to him that most pet illnesses, just like human illnesses, can be cured easily and cheaply if caught early. That bastard let my cat suffer and die a slow miserable death. Yea, my father is a bastard, but at least my cat has moved on. Rest his soul.

While I'm ranting about my father ... this man does not know how to clean. I won't go further, because I'm already ranting like a biotch, but anyhoo.

This upcoming semester is my (hopefully) last semester at cortland ... and I'm kinda scared. Ye GODS am I ready to be done with classes though. Fuck essays so hard. Let me go write lesson plans and teach kids how to conjugate -ER verbs, plox. I'm so done with thinking. I want to apply my knowledge, already! Of course, I know that I will never stop learning, which is a good thing, but I just am sick and tired of essays and papers and tests and group projects! Oof.

Allrighty, I have to actually find the motivation to whip out these two essays (which will most likely be shitty). *sigh*


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Well yea, I can't exactly explain this funk that I've been in, and it's rather bothersome.

The only time I feel more whole is when I am at my faux-altar (which is almost never). I don't need religion in my life, but oh gods do I want it back. However, for some strange notion, I truly do not wish to practice alone. Every time I go to study tarot or play with my crystals, something feels wrong and incomplete. I'll ponder over it for a moment only to find out that I have no one to share my learning with. Fuck, that's right, I'm human and need interactions in pretty much every sphere of my life. What's worse, I want to practice with a partner, y'kno, like a boyfriend. Grand, I sure have a surplus of those things, y'kno? (sarcasm)

Anyhoo, school is going well. I haven't missed a graded homework assignment yet. My classes are all rather fascinating (some easier and more boring, others far more difficult and suffocating). My social life is almost non-existent, but that's not new.

However, I don't know why, but I have been hearing SO many references to dead parents, abandoned mothers, horrible children, and any other reference to make me feel even worse about my recently deceased mother (rest her soul). I nearly bawled in francophone literature when we discussed a short story "Une Lettre" which was from the perspective of a mother in a retirement home. Her son never visits (ever, not even for the holidays), and she was slowly forgetting all of her cherished memories. When my professor talked about how lonely her life must have been and how her son must not have truly loved her, I nearly cried in class. I managed to suppress this to only a single tear which was easily hidden.

I thought I'd be doing better about mother's passing. I wish I could go visit her in a retirement home with my kids, her grand children. I don't even have a scenic gravestone plot I can go to; just the urn in my father's living room. The loneliness of it all is hitting home.

I'm surrounded by amazing people. I love my floor. It is very quickly starting to replace my first group of residents. They, for whatever reason, truly enjoy me as their RA. They want to be included (of course, they also want their independence); they feel comfortable coming to me. Well, most of them anyways.

Class, tutoring, Spectrum & being an RA are the only things keeping me going only because they keep me too busy to realize the horrible parts of life. My grades are decent, I enjoy my classes, I'm truly helping people in tutoring, and I'm helping guide young minds by being an RA. What more could I want?

Oh, right ... about that bi-boy? He quite blatantly told me that he found out this summer that he's straight. He's older than me and only found out that he's straight this summer. He hasn't been able to properly look me in the eye since then, and when either of us muster up the balls to look each other in the eyes, all I can see in his eyes are guilt, regret, shame, and pain. I haven't even hung out with him once since then. It was nearly two (three?) weeks ago. Was I honestly only staying his friend out of some pathetic hope that he was bi or gay and that his relationship would eventually fail and I could just sweep in and pick up the pieces of his shattered heart for him? I have this sick and twisted NEED to fix other people who could turn around after their salvation and finally fix me. They all are heterosexual. Darn.

Spectrum's going well. Yessy hasn't done jack shit, but that's good, because I truly don't want her involved at all. There is some fresh blood in the group and, in fact, no old blood has returned. The sga email has been down for a while tho, so who knows.

Autumn is here, and soon, the psychic fair will be here. I'll enjoy the long sleeved weather to hide my constant reminders of my past. I look forward to the beautiful leaves and, eventually, the snow.

I hope all is well for you, reader, and, as always, thank you very much for reading.


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Thrilling subject, I know and I hope that your reading interest is peaked like cold nipples, but first, some whining (read: existential emo-ness).

Why is it that when I have such a good idea of what I'm going to do and how I'm going to do it, I feel more lost than ever? The game plan for the next two years is set: finish up school, go to France so that I can actually be worthy of a French degree of any sort, student teach so that I can get my teaching degree, apply to grad schools and apply to be a RHD at those same schools hopefully get accepted to the same grad school that I get the RHD job at. I have many more personal goals lined up (like making Spectrum - CGSA a household name at Cortland, and getting the Summer CA job again), but the big picture is pretty much set. So of course NOW I'm going "fuck, wait, what? when, why and how the fuckin' how?!" about everything.

I am so far behind on what I wanted to learn in terms of mystic stuff. I never finished learning about mythology, or palmistry, nor tarot, nor dream analysis, nor energy manipulation, nor healing (never even really started that one tho) [in retrospect, I know that the nor's aren't correct. I have come to terms with this nicely. Carrying on]. The only things that I have since started is a divination tool very similar to tarot and expanding my crystal collection. That's very unimpressive.

Well, it shouldn't matter. I mean, hell, up to this point, I've learned quite a deal about tarot, dream analysis, and general divination/prediction shit. That's what I want to focus on. I've accumulated most of my spiritual tools (currently lacking a crystal sphere, but they are massively expensive [aka, my "you got accepted into grad school" present]), so I am pretty much prepared to move onto the next part of my spiritual path (which I dabbled in far too soon in my learnings): practicing what I've learned for others. I've done many tarot readings in my days (and many of them truly helped people or at least gave them a heads up), so I have no worries about giving people more advice and readings of different sorts, but I'm still rather puzzled ...

So, here's why. Remember that subject line about So apparently I'm now a parent? Well, my father has recently outed himself as a mystic and started studying. He did this last winter. Sure, not too long, but this man has gone through (or half-gone through rather) so many damned books on the occult and mystic topics than I could ever dream. If I had that library (aka: mountain) of books he has, I would jizz myself and not know where to start or how I would ever finish them all. He's been trying to make up for lost time seeing as he dabbled in mysticism when he was much younger but then let it drop. So ... here's the parenting part: He's fucking it up. He's half-learned far too much shit and is so lost in the woods that I worry about him finding his path. He doesn't care what it is, but if it's mystic or pagan related, he wants to learn it / wear it / put it into whatever orifice it can fit into (not so sure on the latter, but I wouldn't put it past him) and he's severely fucking things up. Reading a few books here and there and collecting a few mystical objects from different religions is cool and all ... but there's a line. He wear shaman tools, wiccan tools; he collects symbols from any and all religions hoping that one may call out to him and show him his path; he collects as many crystals as he can (and at this point, he easily could have spent 1k worth of money on stones and crystals and related merchandise) all the while not really knowing their purposes or using them properly, whatsoever.

So the inner parent in me screamed at him today. He bought a crystal pyramid (amethyst) and I questioned him on what he would use it for. "I'm not sure, I'll find a use tho". I asked him if it had called out to him (maybe he found a tool to lead him to his path?) "No, it just looks nice". Ok, so he's stupid. Let me tell him what it's for. I say it's for crystal healing or meditation, but that amethyst is generally useful for healing purposes, but that it's better to start learning with tumbled stones and smaller pieces. "Oh, I read about it in books." So I up and yell (in a shop no less) that he's fucking up the process, fucking up his learning because he won't listen or slow down to see signs and hints. He just plows through books, buys as many stones and symbols as possible, and blindly expects some god or goddess to be able to reach him when he is in such a spiritual cloud of chaos and frenzy. So, like some child who didn't get a candy, I storm out of the shop and don't talk to him all night.

I'm raising my father. He's never really had friends, but since my mother's dead (rest her soul), my sister being sent to a group home (she's doing quite well actually and she loves it there) and me always being away at college (read: escaping from my dead mother's house so I don't see daily reminders of her and cry hysterically every time I see them), he's been even more alone. So, he found this local wiccan thingy that accepts community members to some things (not coven only obviously) and he's met some people. I feel like a parent whose kid FINALLY made a friend, but cannot stop worrying.

Fuck this. If I ever actually have a kid, that kid will not be NEARLY as much trouble as this man. He's my father, so he REFUSES to listen to me in regards to things that I am vastly his superior in (mysticism). He's my father, so guiding him through his awkward re-adolescence is uber awkward because he refuses to listen to me about what's polite, who to trust and who to avoid. Basically, I am raising an angsty teen who thinks he knows better than I do. Great pa. Prepare me for the worst part of the world: parenting.

At the age of 21 years old, I feel kinda prepared to raise a child. The shitty diapers will be, well, shitty and oh gods, puke. But, I would love taking my kid to the ymca to teach them to swim. Hell, if my kid wanted to learn football or baseball, i'd love to learn it with them so that they could play. Whatever that kid wanted to do (minus watching porn and drinking booze), that kid would get it. The kid would be spoiled in all the good ways while taught to be determined, open minded, and practical.

And I feel epic lost because I'm only 21, and not supposed to be having thoughts like this. Aren't I supposed to be thinking about getting drunk and getting laid? But no, I want to find a partner to settle down with and get a kid. Maybe I should start researching about surrogate mothers just incase I find a nutjob boy who also wants to settle down and have kids.

Where the fuck did my childhood go? I honestly don't ever remember being carefree. I was either concerned for friends and giving them advice, trying to keep my alcoholic mother alive, or avoiding the world. The only time I've ever been carefree was when I could play WoW for hours on end ... but I still lectured ally-noobs on responsibility and respect and etc.

Can I have a refund check for my youth? Make it a trust fund for that kid that I'll eventually have.

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Fuck materialism.  I'm not going to waste anyone's time whining about economics of lack of money.  I can deal.  I AM however going to waste people's time whining about how lazy and pathetic some people are.

Who the hell cannot keep their house in at least a reasonable state of cleanliness?  My parents sure as hell cannot.  My mother, rest her soul, was a pathetic pack rat and the day that we could see the carpet again was a few weeks after she died and my father and I purged the house.  The kitchen sink has, and apparently, always will be my task in this forsaken house.  In the near 3 months that I was at Cortland working this summer, it looks like he did dishes NEVER.  The sink has some sort of mold/fuzz/life thing growing at the bottom.  How this man ate or lived in the 3ish months I was gone is a mystery.  Whatevs, dishes are a petty deal.  No one likes doing them, but most people don't put them off until their child comes home from college.

The big thing is that we live in a house that should be condemned.  Both toilets have their sewers leaking.  The upstairs tub/shower combo has the drain clogged, but even if it wasn't, it leaks into my father's closet. The downstairs shower leaks into the basement and the floorboards direly creek if anyone steps a foot into the shower.  The basement's foundation is cracked and the underground stream constantly bubbles up to the point that any cardboard or clothes on the floor turns to black mold.  The Heating, Plumbing, and Electricity haven't been updated since prolly 1970.  There are quite a few holes in the walls or ceilings here or there as well.

Oh well, boo hoo, i guess.  There's no motivating that man called my father to fix this house up.  It's quite a nice house with a decent amount of space and good land, but it just has rotted to hell and no one's done anything to stop it or even slow it down.  Sure, it would cost a lot to fix this place up, but it would be damn worth it to have a proper living environment.  I just wanted to bitch, and this is a good place to do it.

I've been spoiled at college.  The res halls (not dorms) are amazing.  The RA's get sicc'd on people if the residents have disturbingly horrible hygiene habits.  There's a professional staff to keep the bathrooms sanitized.  Any and all maintenance issues get taken care of (sometimes faster than other times, but they still get handled).  And there are just so many other little niceties.  Sure, there's annoyances (like no pets or candles), but that's decent.

I would rather live in a cubical room of a dorm than live in house that should be condemned. 

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So, this has been a question which has bugged me ever since I got my first job.  Being professional vs. being who and how I am.  I haven't been "David" since middle school.  Since the beginning of HS I have gone by the name of "Davi" or "Dav" or some similar enough name.  Honestly, it feels weird when telemarketers or professors call me "David".  It feels as if they are talking to someone else.


And to be honest, to my insane mind, "Davi" and "David" are two entirely different beings.  Now, let's ignore their nicknames "Davi" has "Dav" and "David" has "Dave" (the latter of them all being one I despise, moving on), and I'll explain the difference.  "David" is a strong, well known and common name which served me well and can serve me well in the future.  That name can give me a bit of credibility and stability as well.  However, "Davi" (in the US at least) is unique.  I made it up in HS because it sounded frenchy to me (lo and behold, come to college and find out it's a common Jewish nickname in Israel, ah vell).  "Davi" has truly become the image I wish to become: smart, quirky, new, spontaneous and lively. 


To my fractured mind, when someone calls me one or the other, I actually will change (in minor or major ways depending on the situation) to which name they called me.  If someone calls me "David", I act a bit more formal and stiff, but always still polite and kind.  Now, let's pretend I'm around a professor who calls me "David".  Now, imagine if a friend walks up, joins the convo, and refers to me as "Davi".  My mind will start to switch to more a personal, loving, and caring attitude in regards to that friend.  However, if someone who I was not close to or cared about tried to call me "Davi", I would probably become agitated or hostile towards them.  Likewise with a friend should they dare call me "David".  Something that formal doesn't belong in friendships.


Hmm.  But that's not the issue.  When I grow up and become a real big person (fuck, that's in like, 2 years), I'll have bosses OUTSIDE of Residence Life and Housing (FUCK!) who probably won't be as nice, easy going, or lovers of individuality like most Res Life staffies.  If I say that my name is "Davi", they'll look at my paperwork (which will say David) and call me batshit crazy. I don't want "Davi" to become that exclusive VIP status privilege that only a few people can call me.  It either must become my name ... or vanish?


I don't want to transition into becoming "David".  It's kind of like Peter Pan having to grow up.  It's scary, odd, awkward and just not how I want my life (or my name) to be.


As a language major, I've come to realize that EVERY word, each and every word, has its own unique meaning.  Fuck synonyms.  Sure, some words come CLOSE to the same meaning, but no two words can have the same equivalence to the either of a language major.  Names are the exact same thing.


Example:  You randomly meet a girl named Jenny.  Think for a moment of how she might be.  Now what if her name was Susan.  Does a different image come to mind? Or is it the same.  If it was the same, you don't have any idea why I'm fussing over "David" vs. "Davi".  If you saw the difference between Jenny and Susan, you probably can slightly understand my predicament.


Way back in the day, people actually thought about naming their child to help guide that child down a path.  This one name meant strength, that one meant patience, blah dee blah.  I'm sure that some people still do, but I don't think there's as much of an emphasis on the subtle hidden meanings and nuances behind names anymore.


I love subtly and nuance.  These two things make up the most important (and interesting) things in the world.  That will be another blog for another time, tho.


Do y'all think if I legally changed my name to "Davi", that I could still get a teaching job?  I don't see it as a hindrance, but then again, I'm a nutjob belonging to a very small percentage of language based thinking.  Ah vell, time will tell, =)

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I had what I can only describe as a "social shutdown".  This happens to me on occasion, but it's frequency doesn't mean that I understand it whatsoever.  I'm sure that it's some sort of a psychological defense mechanism, but that's all I know. 

At all times, there's a tiny little meter judging how social I am being.  If at any point, this meter judges that I am not being social enough, I become clingy and queeny (FLAME ON, CLING-ON!).  That I can handle.  It's when this stupid meter judges that I am being TOO social, that the interesting shit happens.

I revert to a cold, rational and mostly emotionless person.  The last time that I can remember this happening in full detail was when I dated Kenneth freshman year.  At that point, I was still mostly withdrawn and not social (and dating an awkward flaming social butterfly / theatre major), so this boy procc'ed (gamer for triggered) this annoying defense mechanism quite often.  He described it excellently as:   "You become an icy, overly rational being afraid of any emotion, warm, or irrationality" (I did not do that justice whatsoever).  Basically, I only see people's flaws (my own included) and I become extremely motivated (read: fixated) to erradicate them (not solve, fix, or remedy, but erradicate.  go get your dictionaries people).  example: That nervous twitch that aunt-so-and-so has?  Well, let's experiment by slapping her with various objects to see if it fixes it.  No?  Maybe severing that muscle if it isn't vitally important?  Oh, i guess that she wouldn't like that ...

There are two ways (that I know of and have tried) for me to counter this:  to force myself to be more social and barrel right through the awkward silence and force myself not to attack peoples' idiosynchrosies (sp?) which is painfully awkward.  Generally I just stare off into space or ignore everyone.  OR the other option: become a hermit for a few days and glare at any advances of friendship or kindness and wait desperately for my little social meter to declare that I'm not being social enough. 

Both ways (if you know a healthier alternative, please suggest) generally ellicit a concerned and overly-protective instinct on the behalf of my friends.  These added social contacts, especially focused on fixing MY idiosynchrosies, usually make it worse.  Which then makes me focus even harder on how to fix it and this odd lop-sided spiral happens leaning mostly on introspection and finding peoples' faults.

If this happens, love me, ignore me, and leave me be.  That dust speck in the corner of the room truly IS that fascinating at the moment when this stupid thingy happens, because people thoroughly bore me / infuriate me / intimidate me / scare me at that moment.   I'll work through it and if I cannot, then someone else doing it will thoroughly aggravate me.  I have power issues and if I don't have power of my own mind and someone else does, I'll reject that (quite violently) in its entirety.

Moving along, now.  Time for sleep, =)
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So, this summer has actually been flippin' awesome.  Yes, for most of it, like many summers, I sat in my room alone and played video games.  HOWEVER, this summer I had an AWESOME job at Cortland as a Camps and Conferences Assistant (Glorified hotel manager who hands out keys and listens to people bitch about their room assignments *sigh*).  So, I got to bond with some amazing person (if I knew how to link friends, I would put my silly poly sci major's link here, but I do not ... just pretend for me, kk?  ^. ^) and the summer as a whole has been great.

I return "home" to newburgh in a week exactly (although, this year, I've only lived there for about 3 months out of the year ... I'm starting to wonder if that counts enough) and then I will be back here in Cortland in 4 weeks for RA training and whatnot.  =)

Working with Orientation Check ins and Check outs was amazing.  Let me tell you, I checked people out as if it was my job, =)  There are some cuties coming in this semester.  Dammit, at least one of them has to be gay/bi/into men but not into labels DAMMIT!  Eventually, my patience will win out and I'll find a boy.  It better not take going to France for this to happen tho >.<

So ... yea.  Everything's peachy.  For once.  It makes me =)

Oh, and that hairstyle in my piccy,  my hair will be very similar to that soon enough, =)

BAI! *huggle*

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Oh banshee, how I would kill her if I could.  She's trying to bring death to two others that I am close to (one openly, the other grudgingly).  However, the only thing I can do is pathetically attempt to ward my little sister and father from her dubious attacks.

Let me recap.

Spring semester 09: I fell out of friendship with several friends while developing a few good friendships for a tiny handful (and a possible unrequited/mutual infatuation/love possibility with another).  All last semester, I had frequent panic attacks about being alone that would do quite a decent job at fucking me up physically and emotionally, which I couldn't quite understand until this point of revelation: I am not developing as a mystic or psychic because I am alone.  Why would this induce a panic attack?  Oh, in case you missed the memo: I'm uber religious.  Think creepily crazy Christian person who thinks Jesus is constantly by their side.  Substitute Jesus for Gaia (cuz Ouranous wanders around, my spiritual father doesn't chill for too long, =) ) and that's me.  Moving on.

  How do I know that what I perceive to be my powers aren't just my imagination.  Yes, I have faith in myself and my abilities, but I also am doubtful about everything I ever do or try to do.  Others do not make my magic and psychic abilities real ... but it certainly is reassuring to hear confirmation every once and a while.  I know I have an old soul full of power and ability ... hell, I can still do a shitload without even practicing; which is a good sign ... but ..

I'm losing my magic.  I'm clinging to my psychic abilities (and growing at reading people's hearts and souls, =) ). I've lost my mother who drank herself to death. My biological sister was taken away from my father and put into an adult home for mentally handicapped (I’m sure they have a more PC version of it).  She is happy there ... but my father is slowly withering away.

I'm losing the man I loathed and resented for nearly two decades of my life (and I'm only 21 people).  Frankly, he's dying of loneliness, because his jewel of hope and light (my sister) has been taken from him.  She's in a much better environment where she is around people to socialize with and improve her speaking ... but my father is utterly alone.

A small part of my heart resents ever coming to college.  Cortland has given me a multitude of futures to hope for, and I am ever grateful for my decision to come here ... but I've almost successfully lost my past entirely.  I have only successfully clung to two friends from high school because they are tenaciously hanging on to me.  I love them for that, because in my closeted angst and suffering, I forget about anything more than survival.

If my father dies too, I can only hope he has life insurance with me as a benefactor.  I honestly don't know how to survive.  I am ashamed of my spoiled upbringing, because I am soft and complacent.  Thank goodness for this job as a Conference and Camp assistant; this is the first job that I have ever had to live from paycheck to paycheck with. Sure, I could go ask father for money, but I don't need it.  I'm forced to cook and see the fact that I waste money on things I don't need.  Ah vell, I'm a greedy american.

I apologize for ranting.  When I turn to these pathetic and invisible blogs of counseling, I allow my mind to unravel like an old and tattered rope.  Thought trains just drift away like broken threads of that rope.  So what's the core thread that will maintain?  The title, silly!  =)

Through one of my many neurotic dialogues, I’ve found hope as to how to survive.  If my father stays alive for two more years (which is quite likely), long enough for me to get out of Undergraduate, I can get a real person job and survive.  Then, if something horrible should happen to him, I can survive.  If he were to die sooner ... well, that's an unallowable possibility, for I have not yet the means to survive at a capacity that I can appreciate.

In all reality, I want that pathetic bastard to stay alive long enough for me to have a child for our lineage to continue.  This blood cannot end with me.  I must pass along this magic (but oh, fuck, we have lots of health conditions too ... damn this family).  So, somehow in the future, I will reproduce (ew, vagina ... ew.).  Hopefully, by that time, surrogate mothers are more of an acceptable social idea.  So, all those friends who jokingly said that they'd produce babies for me ... in about 10 or 15 years, I may ask for that joking promise to be fulfilled!  BWAH HA HA!

ew, vagina.

I'll get this pathetic teaching degree just as a stepping stone.  I never want to step foot into a high school unless I'm the advisor to their GSA and somehow involved with both the Tennis and Cross Country Team.  Oh, don't forget the young Pagans united club (or whatever they call it).  If the Christians can have it, so will we!  But that means I have to give up on so many other destinies.  What about a translator for the UN?  What about government liason for francophone countries?  What about a small pagan supplies shop and tarot readings?  What about stay at home dad with kids (yes plural) while my amazing life partner works an amazing job?  What about that crazy college professor who teaches AMAZING classes that intellectual students love to take and the mindless collegiate fear?  What about ruling the world and fully enforcing separation of church and state?   There's always being a chef or masseur ...

The future means sacrifice.  I used to think that having a future meant building up strength and assets ... but now I realize that it means choosing paths that destroy countless other paths; all in the blind hopes of doing something decent with one's life (and if one is intelligent) moving the world one step closer to something more whole and healthy.

Or I could just get drunk, fuck a lot of gay/bi out/closeted boys, go to the gym far too frequently and waste my life on far too many  materialistic goals.  Whichevs, =)

I thank the gods daily and nightly for having these options.  I've been given a strong body and a mind 10x stronger to deal with this world.  Whether the entire world dies or not, I will survive and thrive.  It might be lonely ... but I refuse to lose anything more.

And now I’m tired of sounding pathetic and ranty ... so ... *huggle* bye.

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If a friend asked you for some new music recommendations, what would you suggest?
Regina Spektor, Our Lady Peace, Fiona Apple, Nightwish, anything from anime, etc. =)


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So, for those of you who read this, you'll probably have read (or heard) me referencing to the following lately:

The Tower must crumble for me to move forward. Death will come and claim someone/something dear to me. The Sun, the Moon, and the Star will then shine brightly and guide me towards a bright new future.

Friends from freshman year ... remember that epic dream I had with that uber boy that I've been searching for since and the Banshee attacking me ...

Yea, they were TOTALLY tied together.

My mother died today. She didn't get to hear that I loved her one last time, but I know that she knew it. Her spirit lingered for a few minutes, so I got to tell her a few things. My grandmother also visited and guided her along, so I feel a bit more comforted ... let me give you a brief summary of my mother.

She had the latent psychic and magical abilities of her lineage passed down to her, but couldn't use them (So they passed to me, as well as my father's). She did have, however, the great and proud spirit of her lineage. That was all she got from her lineage. Her mother preferred her sister over my mother, and my mother was always on the outside of the family to the point of exclusion. Despite this, she had done a few small great things in her life from her viewpoint. She gave birth to me, a beacon of light and hope (her words from ages ago) after a dark, painful life. She had previously been married and had two sons. All of which got taken away from her by the abusing bastard alcoholic of a cop. She then found my father and had two children with him. My father isn't the best man around, but he's in the middle of the crowd. She had my sister first and loved her dearly. My sister has Down's syndrome, but is a ray of light in our home. My mother then had me and regarded me as a beacon of hope and was immensely proud of what I've done with my life. Soon after my birth, my mother was fired from her happiest and proudest job ever. I estimate that it was about that time that she became a functioning alcoholic. But by the end of my elementary school years, she was not a functioning alcoholic. My mother slowly let herself slip into a withered, depressed husk of her former radiance. My father's job success and my mother's inability to hold a job weighed heavily on her. Her mother died a few years ago, so that was another blow to her psyche. The final blow was when my Aunt, executor of the will, took control and stopped answering any of my mother's calls regarding the will. She died from shattered dreams, loneliness, and alcoholism. She actually physically died of liquids in her lungs. She drowned to death on our way to the ER.

This particular Banshee (because i don't know how better to call her) from the dream mentioned above is a family spirit / guardian of sorts that has been hovering around my immediate family for ages. She has tried to kill 3 members of my family: myself, my father, and my mother. I escaped my suicidal attempts with the help of my metaphorical (but really, the term applies) little sister with my Mother Goddess helping her. My Father escaped death because so far he hasn't faced anything too lethal. And my mother was escaping death in the form of pneumonia (barely), but was finally defeated. That bitch fucking smiled at me.

In my premonition from freshman year, I had just found a boy who piqued my curiosity and interest (of what sort, i still don't know. I've interpreted this dream too many times to be sure), when I was attacked by the Banshee. Soon afterwords, I chase after the banshee to try to destroy her once and for all, however, she escapes and then, i get sidetracked hunting for information about my future as a mystic and about the boy. Soon afterwords (skipping a few scenes) I see a woman running towards the forest at Cortland. I'm in the forest trying to hide from the Banshee. All the while, little demons are attacking me, distracting me from the real scene. The Banshee successfully attacks my Wings, not me, but my Wings. I now interpret this to mean my birthrights, magic and psychic ability, but both as a symbol. She attacked that which gave me my power: my mother. She won. My mother's dead. That banshee will die within my lifespan. I won't wait another reincarnation or generation. That spirit will be torn to all pieces before I die. She has been too vicious to merely be a herald of death, as typically depicted. She has encouraged death. But anyways. No, I'm not insane; just too spiritual and mystic. Please don't apologize. You didn't kill her. She chose this by not accepting our help long ago, and is hopefully in a better place, or moving onto a better, happier next life.

I've learned that even though I've made poor choices with my life, I made choices that were (and still are) good enough. I did learn a little bit from my mother's death tho ... I shouldn't wait to tell people things, or wait to help.

So ... I've met new people this semester ...of whom, many I thoroughly enjoy as friends and as people ... one who I love on a level I do not comprehend, but would do just about anything for him at any time ... and a few who I've grown to dislike quite well, as well. When I get back to Cortland, or if I happen to see them beforehand, I'm going to fess up and tell them how it is. I cringe at the thought of losing friendships, but c'est la vie. I need to tell the boy how I feel, but not as a confession of feelings, but just to put it out there for clarification and clear communication; whatever happens afterwords, well, the ball will be in his court. I need to tell those friends why they irritate me so in order to move past annoyances and rebuild friendships ... because, for all I know, whoever they may be, they could die without me being able to tell them anything meaningful.

And with all this rambling and venting, my fingers are telling me that it's time to stop. Thanks for reading this, I do appreciate it. *hugs for all who read this!* =)


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