Falling Into Madness

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Memories, light the corners of my mind.

I realize I've been somewhat of a less-than-stellar blogger, but I lost this piece of history way back when Blogger was bought out by Google, and I only just found it a week ago. My old template was corrupt (Google seems to have a problem with buggy software these days), so I spent a while trying out a new one and adjusting code. I still haven't worked the kinks out of the Blogger Comment code (one minute it's there, and the next one it isn't), but I'll eventually beat that one until it submits, too.

Why are our minds filled with so much useless junk? Honestly, do I need to be reminded of exactly how terrible my brother's snot feels when rubbed into my skin? Or how much pressure he uses when trying to hold me in a scissors move on the couch so I can't run away his horrendous flatulence? Should I really remember quirky translations from a high school German II class? Or that Frau showed me samples of her poetry back when she was trying to show me that someone understands such inane ramblings? With the amount of worthless memories I have stored within this ill noggin, you'd think there would be room for the important matters, but that's where I have trouble.

In dreams, I recognize faces I can't pair with a name, and I hear names which are meaningless without a body. I find myself back in high school with some sort of unfulfilled purpose...but what, exactly? I dream more about school now than I ever did while I was still unfortunate enough to be learning there. Well, damn...I haven't been there in twelve years.

I can remember every teacher I've ever had and with what subject they are connected. I can name you many of the people who also attended with me -- some who left for places unknown all the way back in elementary school. Give me an artist, and I can tell you names of albums, recording dates, lists of songs, who played what on each song, how long each song runs, and what studio was used.

However, I haven't the slightest idea what I was doing fifteen minutes before now.

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la vie en rose

4:59 PM

Who Am I? What Is This?

"Who are YOU?" said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, "I -- I hardly know, sir, just at present -- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then."

In my early years, I blossomed in the backwaters of Osgood, Indiana. While its charming backwardness helped to shape me into the member of the female species whom I am today, I do not regret hightailing it out of the seventh level of Hell after graduation ended. What was it like to live outside of civilization? Watch Deliverance, Mississippi Burning, Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?...you'll see the point I'm making here.

My specialties are foreign languages (specifically German and Japanese), Asian studies and history, linguistics, world literature, and etymology. The fine arts, if they please.

I am: a halfbreed, bipolar, borderline, schizo, paranoid, anxious, occasionally depressive, constantly battling the desire to bring harm to myself, sometimes battling the need to kill others, not easily put into any identifiable sexual preference group, polyamorous but am not a "slut," in an open marriage, a mother of three, creative sometimes, working on a novel, a published poet, a fanfiction writer, an artist of many trades, an infrequent singer these days, a wannabe musician, a lover of all musical genres, a big kid who still adores cartoons, a big nerd specializing in everything imaginable, and...well, this list could go on, but I won't let it.

Warning: Be prepared to read all sorts of political, psychoanalytical, macabre, philosophical, self-analytical, and just general babble within this journal. If the thought doesn't turn you on, then go elsewhere. That doesn't mean that I shy from a good debate. All opinions are tolerated here. Who am I to keep others from their First Amendment Rights?