well, still. pretty good year.
Birthday was a birthday. Most people, including one immediate blood relative, forgot it happened. Oh well. Those who did remember are my favourites. So there!
I got an Eevee, a sleeping Kirby, socks, and a gardening set. Good times! (No, not being sarcastic. It’s a lot more than I expected and I like all of it so much. ♥)\
Trying to smush my writing and personal site together onto Neocities again, but I’m so mentally bombed out that inspiration’s lying thin on the ground at the moment. I’m so glad that this hit after clearing out my to-do list for the month, but it still sucks. I feel horrific and I can’t even distract myself with creation. Utter BS.
I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves there grew…
I got approved for a fanlisting that I’ve been dying to run for literal decades…and one that will probably help in…putting some Stuff to bed, for good. Forever.
I’m surprised I’m alive right now.
Maybe I’m not quite as Noldo as I first thought I was; I’d happily never see a star again if I could just go home right now.
apparently, it’s March.
just this morning while i walked up to the letterbox, i thought, this is great, the ground’s finally drying up and i won’t have to dodge puddles and mud anymore!
two storms later, returning to the tin can literally walking through ankle-deep water: nevermind.
my kingdom to return to bloody suburbia and concrete fields. i did my time slogging through constant mud, rain, and biting insects seven thousand years ago, it wasn’t romantic and earthy and cottagecore then, and it isn’t now, either.
i would even have the literal criminal neighbours over everything i’ve endured over the past two and a half years, and i feel like a complete fucking moron for ever thinking it was unbearable. you didn’t know what unbearable even was, idiot child.
aestivation, stat.
god, i despise summer with every fibre of my being. can’t i just sleep until the weather starts behaving in a civilised manner (ie, stays 26ºC or lower and the humidity takes a hike)? i don’t understand how i’m like…anti-accustomed to this. for someone who grew up in the subtropics, i should be immune to this, or at least just find it a minor inconvenience, not five months’ worth of life-stops-brain-dies BS.
i love brisbane so much, and the thought of leaving her at all makes me sad (with the approaching five-ring-circus coming to town, it may end up a necessity, moneywise), but damn if most of her summers aren’t just sunshine brutality.
or maybe it’s just that they’re intolerable when i have nothing to do while they occur, which…makes sense. summer ’16/’17 was the happiest i’ve ever been for an extended period.
at this point, geocities was honestly more tolerable.
the nerve of some people. so, someone on neoshitties was direct-linking to my header images for a couple of cliques i run. sigh, turn on direct-link protection. a little annoying, but no big deal, ultimately.
only to find that said person has SAVED THE HEADERS and uploaded them to their own website, and has a disclaimer on their splash page that amounts to “lol, all the images on my site are hosted on imgur so feel free to steal them!”
excuse you?
seriously, i am this close — this. close. — to just, like…putting up a disclaimer on my site that says “if you have a neocities website, please get the fuck off mine and stay ten gigabytes away from me at all times, and keep your grabby little paws to yourself”, because christ, the entitled BS that most of its idiot users pull…
(which would be horribly unfair, because there are absolute gems in the mire and muck that is NC; they’re just largely quiet, keep to themselves, and are overlooked by the algorithm your average idiot nostalgian goes on and on and on about how they’re rejecting. but whenever i have a disagreement with someone about what they can and can’t do with content that isn’t theirs? it’s always fucking NEOCITIES.)
perspective
“She’s found a family that understands her at a time of experiencing a relentless depression and loneliness, and that, like any illness, could very well have meant the end of [her], had she not found a tribe willing to take her in. Would she even really survive, returning to modern civilisation? Her fate very well may have ended the same as her sister, in that case, taking her own life as a result of this depression. At least with the Hårga, Dani experiences some actual happiness. Even if she’s chosen at random to be sacrificed for some stupid ritual only a week after the movie ends, we could still argue that even the briefest experience of pure happiness is a better fate than returning to where you don’t belong, to further deteriorate in isolation. She may have withered away and died in darkness, without ever having known the light of life.”
— “Why The Midsommar Discourse Misses the Point”, Terror Formed
how much
dad’s in the hospital with a TIA and blocked right artery.
i don’t know what else to say that i haven’t said already, and i’ve lulled myself into a kind of semi-dissociative feel-nothing state, which possibly isn’t healthy, but feels less like the whole world is caving in on me, so i’m not going to force myself out of it by elaborating any further on a blog that nobody reads.
i just. i want to disappear. i want to turn into a star. i want to shine light and beauty onto everyone and everything but not have to interact with anyone to do it. i’m tired of the pain. the pain never stops. every moment is pain. and just when you think it’s let up, something else happens.
i can’t take it anymore. i am not large or strong enough to hold all this.
oh yeah, happy valentine’s and that.
it’s been a really rough few days, and frankly i’m surprised i’m not in hospital, but probably grateful as well. my living situation is still completely intolerable and i’m still lost in little dreams of winning even just a couple of grand — enough for a bond — and getting the fuck out of here before i end game forever. it’s not a matter of if, anymore, it’s only a matter of when.
when will i live in an actual house. when will i die. which will come first. who knows. i don’t.
as i said before, i’m tired and i’m sad. i’m also bored, stir-crazy, full of hate, this close to screaming, and wishing i could be put into a voluntary medical coma until things get better. i’m fucking tired of the pain. it’s not even producing any good words.
ganked someone’s DSi from mum (who wasn’t using it; i’m a bitch but i’m not THAT much of a bitch) and am now playing final fantasy 4. we’ve just gotten the sand pearl thingy from the antlion. i kind of love cecil, rydia is amazing, tellah’s hilarious (and also currently gone mad with grief and not with us), and edward is a wet hen on top of being a spoony bard. oh well, we can’t all be the figaro twins, i guess.
it’s nothing personal, babe
there’s always a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when i have to reject someone for the aromatic clique lately. it’s like, okay, prepare for the argument about why $X_PERSON should be the only exception to the rules about accessibility and why they can read their site so surely everyone else has no trouble with it and just…i wanna hide. it’s not a personal thing. the rules are the rules and i can’t make exceptions for one person. it doesn’t mean i hate you or think you’re shit or whatever, i’m just sick of fucking squinting at my gigantic screen and i cannot be the only person. god help me if i was on laptop or mobile.
i just don’t wanna argue with anyone. i’m tired and i’m sad.
anyway i’m in a really bad way and won’t be surprised if i end up in the hospital tomorrow, but illness does this sometimes. i’m half-tempted to pack a bag tonight and that’ll take some of the stress off for tomorrow…but i’m exhausted at the moment so moving is difficult. (i just used up any energy i had trying to get a moth out of the room. partially worked.)
i think i’ll just return to ff6 and dragons of autumn twilight on audiobook for the time being. (i’m doing boring lore-finding for strago on the veldt; i don’t need the soundtrack for that lest i end up loathing the veldt theme forever.)
caps are for people who aren’t so exhausted they’d happily curl up on the nearest flat surface on any plane of existence if they were promised they’d get a solid 36 hours of sleep out of it.