That would be me. You know- rladyofpunk or Emma or whatever. I drew that. In class. Because I have no attention span.
New Skool (you know, the stuff I'm writing now?)
Old Skool (archivey-goodness)
And now for some random Delerium:
Hey, guess what! I'm sporadically working on a novel! I think it's cool, but be warned- it's not spell checked (my dictonary keeps being broken) and when I transfered it from word processing to the blog a lot of the spacing got jacked up. Bear with it and read anyway... unless you're offended by sex, drugs and rock n' roll. If you are, FLEE NOW! If not here are the links:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
And this is what Matt Groening (the infallible creator of the Simpsons) recomends for getting by in college:
And since I'm just posting inane stuff at this point, here's my kitty licking her own butt.
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2005-01-25 - 1:14 p.m.
bipolar
In the words of Hal, the computer:
"My mind is going... I can feel it... my mind is going........ mmooooooah. I know a little song. Would you like to hear it?..."
And then I sing the song:
"What have I become,
my sweetest friend?
everyone I know
goes away in the end."
Yeah, it's like that. It's like that and it's like a migrane. Ask anyone who gets them- you know when they're coming on. You get this feeling like "oh, shit, not again." And you know that soon you'll be hurting and you pray that the pharmacology is strong enough to keep you functional.
This is what my life is like. There are these fabulous stretches of normalacy peppered with migrane-like blips of the fucked up and absurd. Like yesterday. I had been fine. I was fine. For weeks- months even, I was fine. Then, about halfway through the day I got that feeling... like "oh, shit, not again." And then I started hyperventilating. I started buzzing. Delusions of grandeur, flying, all the fun stuff. I bought a pack of cigarettes and smoked them with shaky hands. I'm so fine, so much of the time. I have 5 years- 5 good years behind me since the worst of it all ended, and yet I still have the odd manic-panic. Of course, that's why the Doctor gave me a drawer full of only-in-case-of-emergency antipsychotics. I was shouting and dancing and I don't remember- then I took one and half an hour later I passed out. I slept a solid 8 hours and woke up feeling crushingly depressed. That's how being bipolar is. No matter how hard I try, I will eventually have another alarming up, and that up will be followed by an almost-as-alarming down.
Don't worry too much about me if you're reading this- nothing is grossly amis. Just know that this is me and I won't be much fun to be around for another day or two. Then you'll have Emma back and the good spell will return.
The last thing I wrote before this thing. The next thing I wrote after this.
