Another Entry I shouldn't be Writing
Weird day. Earlier Sheepboy said some abbreviated word and my heart seriously stopped for a second. I don't know what the word abbreviated, but the 'abbreviation' was one of my old passwords. Strange. It's not a word you can find in the dictionary. Well, it can be considered a misspelling of a word. Whatever.

An overall good day today. I spent a long time in one stupid room, coding it that is, and not even coding in all actuality. I was writing a description with, no lie, 23 nouns that you can look at and a room description of twelve lines with the cols of 79. That's what I would call overdoing it. I have so much left to do, I don't know where I find the time to write in this. ;) Then again, I don't know where I find the time to take online quizzes either.

I took a 'commonly misspelled words' quiz and unfortunately I missed two out of fifteen. Which is pretty bad. One was an alcoholic beverage so I knew that was the 50/50 guess. The other was minUscule. I suppose I didn't spend too long looking that one over. Here is that quiz. I noticed the 13/15 received the same rating as a perfect score would've, so I guess it's not too much of a let down. Then, feeling upset, I looked at a list of commonly misspelled words. I also took a Science related quiz. I knew that was going to be educated guessing but, surprisingly, I knew a bit. I got a 7/10. One I missed I had learned in 7th grade, another I secondguessed myself, and the other.. I didn't know. Then.. I went to Emode to see what quizzes they have. I took one about Love or Money just for kicks. I also took some Beauty Aura quiz and then I took an Introvert or Extrovert quiz. I knew the result before taking the test but I'm just amused like that. Oh yea, another quiz. Discover Your Past Life isn't as grand as it sounds. In fact, it sucked. It's speaking in animal terms. I am an Iguana. But, anyway, here is one of the questions. 13. Are you a lover or a fighter? Lover Fighter I just sleep Do you know which one I picked? Do I even need to point it out? ;) I sleep. Indeed I do. I keep forgetting how many quizzes I took as I scroll down a notepad file. Several more folks. A Karma quiz. Of the following six Karmas they used: Caring Nature, Compassionate Nature, Forgiving Nature, Good Will, Noble Nature, and Selfless Nature, I received the latter. Another result I was satisfied with, compared to the others. Apparently, in the last year I've earned 735 karma points. Who Were You in High School? I was the Rebel, out of Brooding Artist, Class Clown, Crusader, Jock, Popular Kid, and Teacher's Pet. I guess it seemed to fit the most, although I thought of myself more in the Artist group.. I was really part of both. I got into a lot of trouble but I wasn't a punk or anything. I didn't smuggle smokes into the school, possess illegal substances, sport tattoos or radical piercings. Nothing typically 'rebellious'. I was just me. "Fuck the World!" My mind screamed. And that was that. Here are some questions I liked. 20. What is your best feature? My unsurpassed intellect My competitive spirit My biceps My quick wit My creativity I chose the first one. ;) I really don't have a 'best' feature. Whatever it is, or was, unfortunately became diluted among my 'quick wit' and 'creativity'. Heh. No.. no subliminal message there, of course not. 25. Your friends hung out with you because: I was popular I was their captain I let them copy my homework They were outcasts, too I always had a plan Isn't it obvious? I'm really, really funny Had to be the last one. I swear, that's the only reason why people want to be around me. I'm an ass. Sometimes a smart ass. Sometimes just an ass. Hee Haw. Fin!

Arg

I shouldn't be making all of these updates. Just, lately I've been hit with a realization that, hey, I'm starting to have a personal life. Someone I knew a few years in high school is starting to get back in touch with me and it's strange for me to be there. It's so hard to explain my thoughts. I'm trying to mean that it's strange for me to have a friend. And I sometimes forget that we are all human and we all have problems. For the first time, it seems, she let me know how she's doing and it didn't sound all too great. I wrote her back and it had such an unusually formal, pretty serious, touch. I'm not used to being serious or taken seriously. Well, for these certain situations. My resolution or advice to any problem is humour. But, when people are really bothered inside I know humour is the last thing they want to hear. I hope my email makes her feel better. It's so incredibly strange trying to make someone happy. I don't always know if I am capable of doing such a feat. I like to take the laid back route of 'fuck that' and that usually is the recipe for 'problem solved'. However, I know most people can't do this because, I guess the word is, they're more human than I. Some days I can care too much about something so trivial. While, other days, I can care too little about things that may be very important to me. I like to attribute this quality, or lack thereof, to depression. It's strange to say but I think depression has been an immense source of coping for me. I couldn't even try to think of how life would be if I didn't just say, "Fuck the world." I mean that. I either sleep or I shove the problem somewhere deep in my mind, where upon forgetting it, the problem becomes solved. Don't follow what I say because I know that's not a healthy solution to problem solving, but it's worked for me at least. I never know the right words to make someone happy. I usually do what I know how to do, add a lot of sarcasm and rude comments. But I don't use this to hurt people. Whenever I use harsh sarcasm it's because I feel like the person on the other end knows me well enough to know I'm fucking around. And, if someone gets hurt by my words, then I obviously judged them wrong. I don't try to add a lot of smilies on the end of sentences. If I do, it's usually because I'm joking around and am not sure if the person knows this, or I don't want to seem upset or mad about something. The stuff I type usually doesn't sound happy so I'm sometimes forced to add a smilie to get my point across. Then there's times I blatantly add a smilie to what would be called an inappropiate comment. That's just me. If you can't understand a fraction of what I have to offer, don't bother trying to get to know me. Because I can tell you now, if you can't tell when I'm joking or not, you're going to get offended or hurt by something stupid. I don't go online to piss off people. I don't go online to slander others or make harmful comments. My humour is just full of sarcasm and seemingly careless banter, don't let it offend you. I swear, you can tell when I'm joking or not. I would like to think so. I'm not going to change the way I type so you respond the way I'd like you to. I just don't want this to concern me. It takes a long time to get to know someone, just make sure you're willing to get to know them before too long.

Fun are Guns

I don't know much about guns, just thought I'd mention that before I go any further. But, if it's one thing I know, I know the Law. I know that if someone broke into this house, broke in as in they have no legal right to be here, I have the right to open fire on their sorry ass. Bearing this in mind, I also know that for whatever reason they broke into this house for, they can sue me for shooting them. I'd probably win but, to remove all possibilities of them sueing, it'd be better to kill them rather than simply wound them. (My father says to kill them either in the bathroom or in the kitchen -- don't want to stain the carpet, you know.) This train of thought has to do with a dream I had yesterday. It was a reoccuring dream in which someone broke into this house. Sometimes the ending was satisfying while, other times, it was not. Know that I have not had a single person dead or dying in my dreams since July, when I changed my sleeping habits. So, to get a nightmare was very uncomfortable for me. Especially one in which I couldn't tell was a dream initially. Everything felt real. The pain was real, the horror was real, and the fear was all too real. Skipping the details, the dream was based around a government conspiracy in which someone knew more than was considered legally healthy. I saw the victim 'neutralized' near my back yard and I was seen peering through the window. With just two siblings home at the time, the government agents came into our house and wanted to offer some sort of deal. I provoked the agent who was supposed to be hiding and she stood up to fire a fucking rocket launcher. My two siblings ran into the room next to the front door and that was where the rocket landed. I yelled at them to run and, somehow, one sibling was equipped with a ..M16 or something. (I don't know guns.) They tossed it down the stairs, over the counter separating the room from the stairs by the front door, and couldn't jump over the counter in time. The rocket set off but surprisingly was a very small explosion. The other sibling lay on the floor, probably dead, while the one with the former gun ran in circles around the room aflame. I was between them and the two agents who offered to make a deal, in a hallway. Assuming the siblings were beyond help, and that the aflamed target now tossed a grenade into the general area to kill the two agents, I ran down the hallway into my parent's room where there was a convenient gun rack. This is the part that's always in those reoccuring dreams. The gun rack. I always stand there for a few seconds, trying to think of which gun to pick up, and which bullets to use. I never get it. In the dream yesterday I picked up a "squirrel gun" because I recognized its small bullets. Slightly upset for not knowing much about guns, and the reoccuring dreams in which knowing about them could quite possibly save my dream life, I told the dream to my father. He happily and very casually, without me asking, gets up and walks over to the rack. He takes out a rifle, which looks pretty old, and picks up a magazine of hmmm 25 bullets, more or less. Then he demonstrates how to put in the clip and 'lock and load', as they say. Wonderful, I thought, absolutely wonderful. In my dreams I was always searching for a suitable handgun, not a fucking rifle. But, whatever works. My brother just finished a shower and walks through the room. My father stops him and demonstrates what he just showed me. My brother knows more about guns than I do. I think he may even fire a little more accurate than I. A small disappointment. And that was that. I'm glad my father showed me that and now, hopefully, my dreams will end a little more on my side.

(I'm still working on Halloween surprises, too.)

Yeah, Whatever

My mind does not want to work with me. I want so much to be laughing right now, this early in the morning, rather than feel like a world of problems are floating around in my mind. Which, I suppose, is the case. I'm not feeling good physically and mentally. Perhaps it's that I haven't laughed in a while (teehee.com) and it would help my immune system.. so.. regarding that website's information, I should just start laughing for no reason other than just because. And that doesn't sound too bad. Except that I can't laugh right now. My head hurts, as it has been for the past two or three hours, mainly because I sprayed a lot of bug spray a foot away from where I currently sit. The smell is just affecting me and making me feel quite sick. It's one of those bug killers, you know, that 'neutralizes' them upon contact. Like nerve gas. There's a window also a foot away but it's so damn cold these days I'd rather feel sick by the fumes than cold to my stomach. I've written plenty lately, just not in here. I'm a writer, I can't help it. I've always written a hundred times more than I draw. I'm just better at drawing than writing, isn't that a shame? I've always excelled in Art and Language Arts, sometimes having better grades in the latter, and most times also being more interested in the latter. Contrary to what people stereotype 'artists' to be, I don't give a damn about art history. I just love to draw. Sometimes my art teacher would tell me, "I hear there's going to be a great art show up in Yadaville, if you want to come with me." And I would think, "NO. NO, I would not." but say, "Ehh, no thanks." I only liked going on art trips if it were during school.. and sometimes during Saturdays if I felt like doing something outside these ugly walls. It's just the strangest bond between a student and a teacher. I've always gotten along well with my art teachers. I've pissed off some of my English teachers because I liked to add sarcasm and humour into what I did, like junior year in high school, when I was 'outrageously rude' to Robert Frost. Fuck Robert Frost. The road less travelled on is the one through the trees, not on either path. I fucked around with the poem and I believe I mentioned chickens and thieves that mugged people who travelled on the less travelled path. She didn't like that very much. In fact, she was pissed and talked with me after school. I'm creative, so what? She then failed my tests because when it came to an 'opinionated' question, like, "What do you think of.." I put, "Well, seeing how I do not have an opinion in this class, answering this question would not benefit my score in any way." But, being the smartass, I finished the question with my wholehearted opinion and she still marked it wrong, just because I wrote that disclaimer. Damn I hated her. She took me for an idiot and would often ask me what some of the vocabulary words meant, and then frown when I was correct. Which I was. There was even a word I wasn't clear of but still got it right, just by looking at the sentence structure. I'm no idiot. I wouldn't humiliate myself in front of class over vocabulary. Eventually she did like me, and even chose one of my goth stories as a top five in class or something crazy. I didn't even like the story. I hated it. I don't know what I'm writing anymore.. tired and my hands hurt. My fingers hurt too. I peeled potatoes for two hours today and about an hour the day prior. My left hand in particular looks to be stained a light brown/orange color. Fucking potatoes. I have all sorts of tiny nicks and cuts on my hands, which sting when I type. Like one cut on my right thumb. Every time I hit enter the nick stings and I wish I learned how to use my left thumb to hit enter more efficiently. Or something. Lalalala..... lot of time passed. Stopped writing in this... Yea. Forgot what I wrote.

Stupid Babble and Shtuff

And you thought I just listened to rock, pop, alternative, and ska! Hah! There's over fifty Elfwood artist galleries I plan to stop by and return the favor of comments and keep in touch with again, so that's something I'm looking forward to. Again, I need to catch up on drawings and even some sculpting a few commenters requested. It's just hell because I'll have to rely on my camera instead of my sister's (technically sister's boyfriend's) scanner, and the pictures I take with the camera don't turn up so well. Annnnd I want a damn wacom graphire tablet! Lot of plans. Every time I look at a calendar I think, "Halloween is sooo far away." But I'm going to do a lot more offline coding/invis coding. ;) As much as I'd love to be informed of bugs or asked for better weapons by the players, I need to be more organized and less self-distracted in what I do. And just an apology for my behavior last night.. I was up for 30+ hours and acting extremely giddy and childish. I'd like to think that only happens once in a blue moon, but it probably happens quite frequently. So, I apologize to all the people I annoyed while in that state, and in the future I hope to be more mature and level-minded.

Much to Do.. Plenty of Procrastination
I have so much I want to do right now, but the order is not listed in 'top priority' to 'shit I can do later'. It's a little bit of both and all, mixed in a less-than-honed order. I've been up for over twenty-five hours and I'm just frustrated because I haven't coded anything today.

I want to start working with websites again. :( I just made several new layouts in the past few months, and worked with several different websites.. but I want to rework the layout to some of my other journals.. and then my main website.. rewrite the content, etc. I also want to create a new journal, either here or at another preferred website. But, you see, I'm holding all this off until I finish the Halloween coding projects. I'm someone who has a LONG list of shit I need to do, and I normally just pick whichever I feel like doing. Normally. Not in this case. Halloween is closing in and I don't want to pass it again because I was lazy and unmotivated. BLEH.

I love relaxing. A lot. And I've been doing a lot of relaxing lately. I wanted to code at least a hundred new things for Halloween. Is that crazy or what? I have under twenty at the moment. Realistically, I see around fifty. Man..

I am just out of it right now. I don't feel very tired, physically, but my head feels like it's collapsing on itself. Imploding. Doobedoobedoo. Folk Implosion "Natural One", that's a good slow song. The more I write here, the more I think I'm tired.

I'm going to code until I pass out now. Seriously. I need to get shit done.

"I throw peanuts at old ladies."

My father comes home and promptly starts his daily "what happened at work" story. Apparently one of his co-workers/employees just got out of shoulder surgury and so was answering all the phone calls. He had three 'retarded' phone calls in a row and, now frustrated, an old lady calls and asks, "How do I get into the circus?" He puts his hand over the mouthpiece, half-laughing, and yells to my father, "This retarded old lady wants to know how to get into the circus. I'm going to tell her to grow a beard!" My father quickly replies, "Nooo! There's a real circus in town. Tell her she can buy tickets at the *IGA." *IGA was bought by a local wealthy family because their spoiled daughter wanted to play cashier in a real live store. The older citizens still call it IGA.

Much Love to Screaming Males

I'm listening to Disturbed's "Prayer" yet, in the background, a "White Christmas" midi is playing on the computer. I feel so fucked up right now, it's all good. I slept so much today I may as well have been in a coma. I remembered exact details from the dream when I had awaken but, regarding it all as nothing great then, I chose to forget about the dream altogether. Nothing good, ever, it seems. I still haven't started a dream log. Part of it being, again, nothing great seems to occur whilst in my wasteful slumber. Another reason is that I've read about Edgar Cayce and it's almost disturbing if someone, of his intelligence, ever stumbled upon my logs and knew more about myself than I did. The odds of that happening are less than one in ten million, but still. It's not that I'm scared someone will find something I'd rather have left undisturbed in my haunting memories, but more that I feel all too confident of what they will gather from the dream. And that's probably just the same thing, reworded, but I refuse to admit anything I deny as potentially true. There I go again. So then. I've been looking at random websites for almost five hours and I've got the biggest fucking headache. No, not really, but I have something going on in my head and it doesn't feel nice. Ooh, Chevelle's "Send the Pain Below"! Pain begone! Hey, it worked. Metallica's "One" is playing, now. I love that song. I love the music video just as much. Sad and depressing, just my kind of music. "Hold my breath as I wish for death. Oh please God wake me." I just briefly went into my room and realized something. I hate sleeping, but I love my bed. Just looking at it there, so cold and all alone, I can't help but sympathize with it and share my bodily warmth as it holds me in its good associate, blanket, returning the favor. I take much pleasure in laying my head down on Mr. Pillow and closing my eyes, free from Mrs. Mother and Stupid Brother. Cuddled by Mr. Jacket and antagonized by Nylon Pants and Damn Coldness. Woe is me. I had the craziest idea earlier today: making a new journal for verbose thoughts. Verbose, as in, what I've been writing lately but expanding upon the thought rather than condensing it. I used to keep a journal that exhibitioned my inner thoughts but I followed someone else's thought, not advice, that having others read their mind was awkward. I didn't feel the same way, because I don't personally know the people who read my online journals, but I really admired the person who mentioned being an introvert and if keeping an online journal made me an extrovert, for sure, I didn't want that. It's all a bunch of bunk to me. I honestly don't care who reads my thoughts because, again, I don't know you. I will probably never meet you. Being socially adept over the Internet does not mean I am amiable in real life. Expressing my thoughts through an online journal definitely does not make me an extrovert. The Internet and the 'real world' are two completely polar opposites. The greatness about online writing is that no one knows you, theoretically, and whatever you write for others to read will have no bearing on your mentality whatsoever, and you will not be affected in the slightest by their reaction. Whatever you write, you have the option to edit or delete it as you see fit. I used to keep a real journal but, even though those are my real thoughts scribbled and scratched onto its pages, I don't believe people should judge you as a person on how you think. Thinking and acting are two different things. I may think, "Gee, I hate that old lady and I hope she burns in Hell." but I'll still hold the door open for her. Some people found my diary, one of which I wrote about frequently, and read it aloud to their friends. Even though I was friends with the same people, from there on out, they looked at me differently. So, I suppose the indirect point I've been writing about is: An online journal will never be personal. No matter how much of yourself you put into it, there will always, always, always, be more that you left out. Though I really don't care what I put into entries, because I don't know the people reading them, I will always keep personal shit out. You may read something and think, "I can't believe she wrote that." thinking it relatively personal but, believe me, if you're reading it I don't think it personal. Thoughts are not personal. Some feelings are. You can have my thoughts, but you won't get a lot of feelings with it. I wonder if that makes sense to you, because it sounds coherent to me. Links from today's escapade: What type of lame scenester are you? Pictures, a Pineau Cornucopia Custom Creations Tattoos Stillborn Ideas Hilarious articles.. (If you have a sexual/sick sort of humour.) The "Modern-Day Holocaust" Bestial Acts Biographies (I was looking up birthdays of people I knew, and reading about the celebrities who shared the same birthday.) Johnny Depp Johnny Weissmuller D. H. Lawrence Adolf Hitler Heinrich Himmler John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich Journal (Don't know the person, but he goes to a forum I do.) Kill Puppies for Satan And a little something I enjoyed. (I absolutely love this guy, he kills me, in a very good sort of way.) Oh, and a little background to this: I uploaded my dark.jpg avatar (to a forum I participate in) and soon after I posted a reply to some song lyrics, Negative Greg posts: Greg: jaide you're pretty. but i'm drunk, but that doesn't change it. ever hear the song.... So What? yah, that's good stuff. have a nice day. Me: Heh. Thanks. I haven't heard the song before, but I just looked it up. Interesting lyrics. Greg (next day): wow. i seriously don't remember that post. but i would have suggested great lyrics like Opeth - Demon of the Fall Tool - Sober Metallica - Fade to Black. but my soberiety issues have nothing to do with the fact Jaide is still cute. te he he. I love him. And he's probably the only person I can say that about. ;) Lot of links, by the way, eh? Seven hours of site hopping, as I write this, so today was especially uneventful. My mother woke up about an hour ago and said, "Finally I see your face." Yea, I replied.. I was actually sleeping so long to avoid her, for some petty reason.

Hum de Dum

I just wrote an entry and was getting ready to save, then looked up a picture on the computer which opened up in this screen. Since this is a 'public' computer, I use sessions, which logs you off your account once you leave the website. In such case, I did leave and the page just so happened to refresh. This is why I'm having a shitty week. Nothing is going right. Nothing. People are nagging at me and telling me the same shit they tell me every day for the past few months, despite me telling them to fuck off, go to hell, and die, respectively. And I'm still pissed about the asshole, who I do know but am refraining from naming them, that keeps downloading pornographic material (hentai) onto this computer. They delete the page history and think that's where the evidence ends. I'm tired of going through all the unzipped and downloaded files, removing 229 hentai files. This is bullshit. The problem is, nine times out of ten I am the one seen on the computer. So, if I ever brought it to a higher up's attention the pervert could just place all the blame on me and wold probably get away with it. I would like to clear this mess before the higher up's knew it took place though. Not to defend the pervert, because I really don't give a damn about their feelings, but it's going to look like I downloaded all the files and that's the last thing I need now. This is so sad.

J'ai froid. Damnit. I'm in a Saiyuki watching mood, can you tell by my language? I've actually been cutting back on my profanity, but I bet you couldn't tell that. I have the worst mouth that I've ever heard and I make sure to keep my language clean on Lost Legends. Am I the only creator who doesn't swear there? It upsets me. Oh well.

Amasiel hasn't come back yet. You know.. I think he set me up. I spent a few hours on him and throughout it all I felt like he was becoming less and less interested in coding here. Man. If murder wasn't a crime. ;)

Anyway. Today I was thinking about Krusk. You probably don't know him. His last log in was almost a year and a half ago. I wonder what happened to him.. he asked for a favor and then just vanished. And no one ever mentioned his name again. It seems like I'm the only person who ever remembered him.. but he left so sudden, without mentioning anything prior to, so it's just one of those mysteries I suppose. He was working on a ship, though.. I sometimes wish old creators would retire if they had no intention of returning again, so people wouldn't wait around to see them again. I guess I'm sounding depressed over this, but I'm not to my knowledge. Just curious. I hate mysteries but I love solving them.

So... end of the entry... here's what behind my house looks like at 7:30am. (Taken yesterday morning.)

Lethal Carving Pumpkins
The weirdest cold-induced idea:

Tinaker begins to carve a pumpkin.
> You're already carving the pumpkin!
> You're already carving the pumpkin!
> You're already carving the pumpkin!
> Tinaker accidentally jabs the carving tool into her eye.

As the last of your strength ebbs out of your body, you drift out of it to
find yourself a ghostly apparition with no substance.
You fall to the ground.