...and then a magical unicorn floated down and said, "Behold, I hold the ambrosia of the gods."

And clutched in its purple hoof was a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos. It placed the Doritos gently upon my head, whinnied, and galloped away on a rainbow made of human faces.
I really love Nacho Cheese Doritos. Sometimes I think that I write to give purpose to my life, but now I remember that the only purpose I have in life is to eat all of the Nacho Cheese Doritos. All of them.
Of course, this means I must eat all Doritos, past and present and future. And since time traveling hasn't been invented yet, and the Doctor won't take me on as a companion because I'm not blond or red-haired, unfortunately, if you've ever consumed a Nacho Cheese Dorito in your life, I'm going to have to split you open and eat your stomach.
This applies to anyone who eats one in the future, too. So put down that Dorito. I mean it.
Also writing.
This is unpolished and unfinished, I think, so. If you have critique, share it, and I'll only maul your face a little bit.

"But why?" sighs the willow tree
As I stretch beneath her canopy
Nothing gave me better company
Than that softly sighing willow tree.

"Why so sad?" chirps the bluebird
Perched up high on the willow tree
No one offered better advice
Than the truth the bluebird told me.

"Nothing lasts forever," called the satin leaves
Their honest chorus sang to me
as I lay beneath the willow tree
and the weeping willow gently grieved.

"There's always hope," says she
As she reaches her hand to the willow tree
and beckons the bluebird from her perch
and sings a tune for the lonely leaves
and melts away into the night.

And I rejoice in the sun's bright light.

Oh, Woe,

I don't really know. I haven't written anything in a while, so it's strange. Just.. shh.

Doe, look not so innocent
Your soul betrays malicious intent
For all your purity you cannot hide
All the times you've tricked and lied.

Oh doe, look not so surprised
Cannot deer live sinner's lives?
Blink slowly, but understand
The judgment hour is close at hand.

Oh, doe, look not so alarmed;
Only the unrighteous shall be harmed.

Doe, stretch not your neck to me
I've got more important things to see.

Because I'm Going Through Old Shit

Another school project, this time for The Odyssey.
-----------------------------------------------------------------

Odysseus; my Odysseus- my only son, the love of my life, taken from me. Driven to war, to defending his pride and his honor, and now-though the war is over, the Greeks victorious- he still wanders the mighty court of Earthshaker Poseidon. My poor Odysseus- I fear troubles far beyond a normal man’s capacity have befell him and his fleet. I can only hope that his incredible wit and bravery can pull him through these troubles.

My name is Anticlea- I am wife to Laertes, mother to Odysseus. It has been seven years since the Trojan war was ended and Odysseus sent on his way back home- I spend my days in silence, staring out at the sparkling blue ocean and waiting for the day when a white mast will poke above the horizon and bring my son home safely.

Laertes is no comfort- he dresses only in rags, and has refused to see me for days- I think he figures this was somehow my fault, that I could have done something to stop Odysseus from leaving. Oh, men- they can never see their own folly. Instead, they blame it on us women.

            Every day, I go to the market in search of gossip, of any news on my Odysseus. Oh, the tales I have heard! Of monsters, and storms, and the wrath of a god! My poor Odysseus, always favored by the all-loving gods and goddesses of Olympus, held accountable for a deed he couldn’t have avoided! I’ve heard stories spun of hurricanes and typhoons and horrible Lastrigonians- but most of all, of a Cyclops, Polythemus, taking my poor Odysseus and his crew and holding them hostage, of bloodshed and eventually, Odysseus’s cleverness as their savior.

I’ve heard such stories- and yet, my Odysseus hasn’t returned! How much trouble and pain can one mortal possibly endure before cracking? I can’t even imagine.

            The morning dawned as brightly as any other- the sun was shining over the deep blue sea, making it sparkle and shine like a sapphire. However bright it shined, I would never again see it as a thing of great beauty and mystery- to me, it was a monster. A monster working to destroy my Odysseus.

I stepped outside into the sunshine, shielding my eyes from its brilliance. Once they had adjusted to the light, my eyes beheld a peculiar sight. Up the rocky path from the village shuffled a stooped old man, a stranger I had never seen around the market before. He walked slowly, painfully, and I hurried to help him up the path to our house. Zeus Thunderer has taught us mortals of the rules of hospitality, and it would not be right to ignore them now, though my poor heart still aches for my son.

“Thank you, kind madam,” he said once I had him seated at our dining table. I smiled sadly and placed a platter of peasant meat in front of him, the best I could offer since Laertes had stopped working. He ate it gratefully, and when he was finished I cleaned up after him. As was custom, I waited until he had finished his wine and sat back contentedly to inquire after his name.

“My name is Athanasius. I come from lands far from Ithaca- lands I do not think you would have heard of. I am very glad for your hospitality- you should be rewarded. Is there anything you desire?”

Odysseus, my heart screamed, but I was not about to trouble this strange old man with my grieving- just because depression was my only companion for now does not mean I should bring down others’ happiness.

“Well, Athanasius, my son… you see, he went off to fight honourably in the Trojan War, but he- he hasn’t returned yet,” I said hesitantly.
He nodded knowingly. “You want news of him, am I correct?”
I hung my head meekly. “I hope it isn’t too much to ask of you… I just want to know if you’ve heard anything. My son… his name is—“
“Odysseus.” I gasped involuntarily. “Yes! Have you--?” I trailed off expectantly, my eyes shining, watching his every move. He sighed heavily.

“Your son, Odysseus, is with Circe, the witch goddess, on her island. Against his will, I’m sure,” he added hastily, seeing my look of shock and misinterpreting it as horror that he would forget Penelope and have an affair with a goddess. All I could see was blackness- I felt dizzy, and had to grab onto a chair to steady myself.

“H-he’s alive?” I said breathily, grasping at the only good news this tragedy brought. Athanasius nodded, watching my face warily.
“Is he going to be okay?” I asked desperately.

“That is for the gods to decide- I’m sure they’re doing the best that they can. Now, miss, I’m sorry to intrude on your hospitality for so long- I should be going.”

“Oh! Oh, if you’re sure…” I snapped out of my daze long enough to help him out of his chair. Athanasius hobbled across the room, pausing at the door long enough to look back and offer one last condolence.
“May the gods be with you.” He walked out of the threshold and shimmered, disappearing. I gasped again, clutching my hand to my chest. “Of course,” I breathed, wondering how I hadn’t seen it before. Athanasius- meaning immortal. Names were powerful- a god had just visited me.

The next couple of days were the worst of my life. Depression seemed to haunt me at every corner, and I wasn’t the only one. Laertes, after hearing my news, seemed to sink farther into his own sadness, and in doing so, he shrank even further away from me, the only comfort he might have in these lonely days.  

Now, I fear things are getting even worse. I have not heard any gossip, not even the wildest of stories- stories that I have now come to believe as true- and I fear for my Odysseus’s life. Without him, I’m not sure what I’d do. Thinking of his return and hearing of his travels is the only joy I had, with Laertes so far gone, and the gods have seen fit to keep even that bereft of me.

My appetite seems to have fled with my joy- I haven’t eaten in days, and I can feel myself growing weaker and weaker. I know I should eat, but I feel like denying that pleasure will somehow even the score with the gods and send my Odysseus back to me. I do nothing all day- nothing but stare at the ocean, with its endless tides and rippling waves, and send prayers to the gods to help my plight.

I long for Odysseus, for my son, to return home. I know not how long I can go on doing so- my body seems to betray me, and normal actions like walking or moving around seem as impossible as shifting a boulder. Even so, I am not worried- if I die, perhaps one day I will be reunited with my son, my Odysseus, once more; but for now and always, I wait.

           

Because I Haven't Been Here in Ages. Penis.

And also because my schoolwork is draining every inch of my creativity so that the only witty or thought-provoking things that appear in my brain are barely long enough for a Facebook status that nobody will appreciate, here is a story I wrote as a project for school a while back, where we had to describe a utopian society using animals. Like Animal Farm. Because it was an Animal Farm project.
Just kidding. I only have the first part on here. So here's a section. That nobody will read anyway.

Rolling hills covered in lush green grass stretched out as far as the eye could see. May gazed out at the fields in wonder, as she did every morning. Waking up to the same view everyday was in itself a new experience, an experiment with stability, security and happiness.
May couldn't remember the time before she was brought to Crystal Lake. All she could recollect were feelings of despair, loneliness, and fear. But that was all behind her now. Besides, she shouldn't even be thinking of that kind of stuff. Rule number one: forget.
Getting to her hooves, May blinked her great brown eyes slowly and set about her routine. Rule number two: memorize. Each cow at Crystal Lake had one job, and one job only. There was a strict policy about this; any cow attempting another job without written permission from another cow announcing they'd switch duties would be publicly reprimanded. This was the worst punishment one could receive at Crystal Lake, and it had been issued only twice in May's lifetime; once when Harold the educator tried to administer to a cow during childbirth, and once when Serena was caught conversing with a wild fox that lived in a den nearby. That was rule number three: quiet!
The cows of Crystal Lake did not interact with any of the other creatures in the land, not that there were many nearby. The other animals had their wars, their silly power struggles, their complex systems of government. Speaking with other animals would only result radical, dangerous ideas, ideas that could jeopardize the safety and serenity of their community. In the Crystal Lake, every cow lived by one mantra: “Only in simplicity is there peace.” This was the unspoken rule number four.
Life in Crystal Lake was carefree, but very structured. The day began at sunrise, when the cows set off to do their various jobs. There were educators, who spent their days teaching the cows nearing maturity what job they would have; calf -rearers, whose job was to watch and feed all of the calves at Crystal Lake; doctors, who administered herbal remedies to cows who fell ill; funeral directors, who were responsible for conducting the funeral when a cow passed away and taking care of the body (deceased cows were pushed off the cliff that bordered the fields to the east and into the sea; that way the bodies would not contaminate the grass); and May's own job, field tender. Her duties consisted of observing the field, making note of the weather, and letting the cows know when they needed to graze elsewhere.
After a few minutes of quiet ruminations, May meandered towards the bank of the lake, nodding hello to all of her friends as she passed by. The herd all met at the edge of the lake in the morning to greet the sun and prepare for the day. Even the smallest of calves, quivering with youthful energy, could understand and appreciate the beauty of the rising sun. Then they would commence the workday, same as any other, and at 6:00 they would reconvene at the lake, and the field tenders would announce the grazing spot for the day. For two hours they would graze in silence, for there was absolutely no talking unless necessary during grazing. Then there would be one hour for socializing before bed.
This hour of socialization was rarely utilized by any of the cows at Crystal Lake. They found they often had little to talk about. This lack of conversation didn't bother anyone, however, because they all could see by the examples set by the other animals that talking led to discontent, and discontent led to war.
The timetable of the day was never actually enforced, as there were no taskmaster cows, but most cows stuck to it anyway. The lack of leadership in Crystal Lake, too, was for the best. The nature of power was to want more power, and when that kind of greed was introduced to a community, even a rather peaceful, simple community, it corrupted the goodwill of the citizens, a quick-acting poison spreading through their veins. As a result, everyone in Crystal Lake was absolutely, irrevocably equal, from the lowest, scrawniest calf to the toughest bull.
The sun peeked above the horizon, as if checking to see if it was safe to come out. May loved this time of day most of all. The silence, solidarity of the stately sunrise always amazed her, even more so than the dazzling array of colors and blinding light. She let out a low moo, and, to her delight, every other cow around her joined in, a huddled bovine mass greeting the new day as one. May watched with awe as the sun slowly rose, flooding the plains with color.
The herd began to scatter, setting off to do their work. May headed towards the platform by the lake, reserved for field tenders to observe the plains. As she trotted over, she made sure to bow her head in reverence to the stone placed squarely in the path of the rising sun, in a way that it was the first thing graced by the rays of the sun in the morning and the last to lose their embrace in the evening. On the smooth flagstone their manifesto was engraved in flowery capital letters- “Only in simplicity is there peace”- and every cow was supposed to pay their respects as they passed.

Brevity

The brevity of a blooming flower is astounding to me
They live only to smell sweet and soak up the sun
If such a short life is filled with such joy
It forces me to wonder
Is the long life worth living?

Kurt Vonnegut: "smh"

Oh man I did this for a laugh. I need to read my classics. I didn't write out the list, it's taken from Tumblr. The bold/red ones are the one's I've read, the italics/blue are the ones I WANT TO READ RIGHT NOW but I'm either too lazy or I don't have the means to get them.

1) Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2) The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3) Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4) Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5) To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6) The Bible
7) Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8) Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9) His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10) Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11) Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12) Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13) Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14) Complete Works of Shakespeare
15) Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16) The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17) Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18) Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19) The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20) Middlemarch - George Eliot
21) Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22) The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23) Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24) War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25) The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26) Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27) Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28) Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck

29) Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll

30) The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31) Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32) David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33) Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34) Emma - Jane Austen
35) Persuasion - Jane Austen
36) The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37) The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38) Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres

39) Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

40) Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41) Animal Farm - George Orwell

42) The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43) One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44) A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45) The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46) Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47) Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48) The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49) Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50) Atonement - Ian McEwan
51) Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52) Dune - Frank Herbert
53) Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54) Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55) A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56) The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57) A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58) Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59) The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60) Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61) Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62) Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63) The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64) The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65) Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66) On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67) Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68) Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69) Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70) Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71) Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72) Dracula - Bram Stoker
73) The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74) Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75) Ulysses - James Joyce

76) The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath

77) Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78) Germinal - Emile Zola
79) Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80) Possession - AS Byatt

81) A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens

82) Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83) The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84) The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85) Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86) A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87) Charlotte’s Web - EB White
88) The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89) Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90) The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91) Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92) The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93) The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94) Watership Down - Richard Adams
95) A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96) A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97) The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98) Hamlet - William Shakespeare

99) Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl 

100) Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Oh, you're still reading?



No poetry here, I'm way too tired.
Though lately I've felt rather inspired-
It's the perfumed springtime air I believe,
but I am actually tired so I'll keep this brief.

In Which I Reveal Works in Progress

I can never actually finish shit though. Whatever.

Punchline:
I want to beat you with my logic
Cold cock you with knowledge
Love's an unusual dichotomy for me
It doesn't go over well at parties.

Untitled:
I could kiss your poisoned lips
I could lay beside you in eternity
But frankly that doesn't interest me
I look towards the dead for tips

Untitled #2:
Strolling through the graveyard in late afternoon
Watching as ragged trees rattle their bones
And sing for our sins on the spring blossom wind
I crack a smile and I'm home.

Trod on the roofs of the dead and gone
Plots staked out in anticipation of fate
Sparrows ride on the aerial tide above my mind
Stop and wonder at the noise they make.

Lay among the silent population
As leaves rustle and discuss the sun
Stained my eyes with ghostly lies and promises
Yet they still say I'm the lucky one.


Yep.

The Start, Possibly, of a Novel?

Normally I don't care if you guys critique my work or not (though I do love compliments, really, keep those coming), but I really want to know if my writing style is interesting when it comes to prose, and whether, basically, you would put up with a whole novel of it. It's something I'm really self-conscious and particular about, because personally, I think it's boring as shit. But ANYWAY I also need to know if this even makes sense. Love you all.


Hazy night swallowed the beams of light thrown from the passing cars with a hungry gnashing of its teeth, leaving red and blue trails across his vision. The cool tinted glass cast a purple glow over the world, a gauzy sheen that only made the night seem more real and cold. The barrier flowed beside him, a comforting companion on his singular journey, a journey of 'self-awareness' and 'relaxation' if you could believe his well-meaning campaign director, which you couldn't, not entirely. It was made of solid concrete studded with metal bars and chopped up by the occasional guardrail, and its presence calmed his thudding heartbeat somewhat.

"What do you think, barrier?" he thought, and pressed his forehead against the nice purple glass that kept him a reasonable distance away from his friend. Separate worlds, it was safer that way. "Do you think he really wants to help me?" The barrier flowed on, offering nothing but its steady gaze through the night. His head bounced on the glass as the town car jumped over an uneven section of midnight pavement, and each crack of his forehead on the glass sent a dull firework off in his mind, an explosion of ashy gray and yellow. Even the fireworks in his mind were dirty.

All of a sudden the barrier was swallowed up by the ground, which was coated in a crystalline dusting of sparkling snow, though the cool green grass poked its spiny fingers through where it was able. James's eyes widened, endless spans of glistening black from his dilated pupils, and he pressed one hand against the glass. Dark hair sprouted on his fingers, which were splayed wide apart on the window. His surprised stare locked on to the stretch of grass where barrier had only recently run alongside their car, and his heart ached for his fallen friend.

Then, as quickly as it had dived underneath the terrain, barrier leapt forth victoriously from the earth and resumed its sprint. A ghostly smile split on James's face, and the window reflected his tombstone teeth with an ethereal glow. As he watched the barrier, so strong and steady, was replaced by a guardrail, which scurried on its spindly legs, only to be overtaken once again by the concrete wall, and the two played a game of cat and mouse alongside the black town car as it sped down the parkway.

A violent buzzing tore his gaze away from the wonders of the nighttime world, and James swiveled on the smooth black leather seat to locate the source. Dave reached into the inside pocket of his expensive charcoal suit to grasp the vibrating phone.

"Hello?" Static burst forth and buzzed busily around the interior of the car, and James shut his eyes briefly against the invasive noise.

"Davey boy!" said a jovial man on the other end, his voice bursting through the static. The silence in the car allowed James to hear their conversation without meaning to.

"Harry, how are you?" replied Dave briskly, his tone clipped.

"Listen, Davey," continued Harry, ignoring Dave entirely, "I was telling Mickey earlier--" Laughter filled the car, though both Dave and James bore stoic expressions. Dave held the phone a couple of inches away from his ear as he waited for the mirth to subside.

"Shut-shut up! Shut up, I said!" shouted Harry to his friends, and after a couple of seconds the car was quiet again. "Anyway, Davey boy, like I was saying, I was telling Mickey earlier that after you've finished with this- this 'vacation'--" Jeers could be heard through the phone's tinny speakers, and James cringed and returned his gaze to the window, though he continued to listen. "When you've finished with that, you need, you have to come back here and BUY US A ROUND!"

 Laughter and catcalls erupted once again and Harry chortled in Dave's ear. Dave could imagine Harry's considerable girth shaking as he went red in the face, the result of too many drinks and faith in his humor. He was suddenly thankful for the quiet car trip, though James was certainly not delightful company.

"Yeah, like you need more alcohol," he returned, and Harry chuckled good-naturedly.

"That may be true, Davey boy, but at least I know how to live! How's the trip going, anyway?"

"We've been driving for the last three hours or so," said Dave with a touch of exasperation, "and we're probably about two hours away. It's peaceful."

"I bet it's peaceful. I bet! You'll be getting all the peace you could ever want, am I right, Dave?" To Dave's great annoyance Harry began another round of laughter.

"Yeah, Harry, yeah. Listen though, I've got to be going now, I've got to go."

"Oh of course. Got business to attend to in that town car of yours, eh?" said Harry, and Dave heard the jest in his voice and the sparkle in his brown eyes. "You do that, then. You work. I'll just stay here, if that's all right with everyone," and in the background Dave heard shouts of consent firing like gunshot. "Just remember Davey boy. You finish up with your work, your important vacation and image-saving, and then you haul ass back here and you BUY US ALL A ROUND!"

Dave sighed and hung up, not bothering to say goodbye, and glanced over at James, who was sitting in his characteristic-as of late- silence, staring moodily out at the upstate New York nighttime plateau. As usual, Dave couldn't fathom what was whirring around in that overactive brain of his, but he hoped it wasn't anything that was going to make his job any more difficult than it already was. Thoughts of work began a parade of worries and stress in his mind, and he rested his head on the side of the car, letting his ruminations swirl.

Look, Shit!

Going on my previously hatched assumption that no, nobody gives a shit what I do, I'm gonna post some works that aren't necessarily edited or polished to perfection, against the advice of the type-A perfectionist/neurotic who inhabits my mind sometimes.

You'll Just Have To Trust Us

What a price to pay for freedom
What a prize is awarded at the end
While the world parades deaf and dumb
Yet still there's this shuddering trend
Violence and inhumanity reigns
What queen has taken her throne?
We're helping, trust us, however faint
You'll just have to trust us on this one.

Other Stuff
Birds and song and sorrow
That's all I can hear
in the depths of my mind a party thumps
and a voice rises from its casket
"hello hello" it says joyfully
a keener joy was never heard
a fierce fright bubbles forth
today something new takes hold.

Absent and Invisible

I've just been lurking lately, because I haven't written anything in weeks and I'm too tired all of the time to do anything really. We have one week left before spring break, and, in typical high school fashion, it's going to be absolute hell. First of all, I have tennis conditioning from 2:30 to 6 every day, and I'm not in shape at all. Three and a half hours of wall sits, planks, sit ups, suicides, drills, push ups, and a mile run every day. I'm kind of scared. Scratch that, I'm really scared.
However, I did realize one thing. The reason I haven't been writing lately, the reason I've found it inexplicably hard to express myself through the written word for like the past month and a half, is because I haven't made time for reading. I keep forgetting that when you stop the intake of creativity, you also pinch off the outpouring of it. To fix this problem, I booked it to the nearest Borders (get it? booked it? to a book store? lamepuns) because they're going out of business where I live and bought like everything in the store because it was like 60% off. Currently I'm reading All the King's Men which, frankly, I'm surprised I haven't read yet, seeing as it's right up my alley. I have a hefty reserve of books now, but I'm also very open to any suggestions.

Well, yes, this is been yet another pointless and writing-free post. I have a plot for a short story brewing in my mind, so we'll see how well I'll be able to start it with my crazy week coming up. I try.