too tempted.

Meme stolen from Melissa_Tlc.

Respond with your name, favorite color and birthday.

1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a dessert with which you and I would have a food fight. (Or, since I can't confirm my expertise on various desserts, something we both have in common)
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me (maybe/maybe not).
5. I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of (your Patronus?).
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
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twelve things you'll need to know about me (except, not really)

1. I love to dance in the rain. I love rain. I love snow even when it's freezing cold. I love all weather, basically.

2. I get hurt easily. One pinch, one word. I take things too seriously and that's my problem. Not to mention that my basal ganglia is far too overactive which means that the normal things you people do such as "not think about it" means I have to think about it. Repetitive thoughts haunt me. Right now I don't have to resort to rituals to satisfy my compulsions, but that does not mean I am still not paranoid.

3. I am needy. I like affection. I get used to it. When it's taken away from me, I go through a stage where my heart is just dark and empty.

4. I went through a most distressing and annoying stage in my life where I thought that my purpose in life was to be an activist for all the "right things" before I realized; hey. I don't HAVE to. Even if they are the right things, I don't have to believe in them or stand up for them. That was when I developed real opinions. And you know what? It feels really good. Doing something for the sake of doing it is just not enough. I need to feel it before I do it. That's when the real passion comes in.

5. I really love the oldies. People call it hanging onto the past, but whatever it is, I like songs from the past from time to time.

6. I don't listen to the radio. I don't know what's hip and new, I just know what I hear and like, that's all. Sorry :(.

7. I have met some real assholes and they've inflicted a lot of stress and repressed anger in me that is sometimes very misdirected towards others. If I seem like a bitch, I am sorry. I really am. I have the worst temper in the world. I really do.

8. It's my nature to be possessive of what I have, and even when I try I can't change the way I feel. So even when I'll try not to seem jealous, I still feel jealous. I think we all do sometimes. The heart isn't rational. At least, most hearts aren't.

9. I tend to shy away from people and seem very stuck-up. I am not. I just don't know how to handle myself properly or stand up for myself. I know exactly what I want to say, but I often don't have the guts to say it. I am working on this.

10. I am under the impression that Oscar Wilde has been one of the best things to happen to me in a long time. For those who haven't read him yet: I envy that you'll discover him for the first time.

11. I really love the way people think sometimes. The human mind fasinates me, moreso because I have trouble with getting out of my own. I want to understand why people do things and give them reasons why they do it. I do that to myself sometimes, and sometimes I can way overanalyze my own dreams.

12. I want my major in college to be Philosophy. Many people think I want it to be English, which is sort of my second choice. A lot of other people think the only thing I am interested in doing is writing and reading, which is wrong. I have other strengths too. I am sorry to disappoint you, but yeah, I've got a brain and I know how to use it. :)
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"it's always going to be the same." call to ab

We're in the bedroom. The window opposite the bed is showing us a roof that's sort of like a playground, surrounded by the color white. Jane, Affan, and Arifur are playing and talking and chatting. They're jumping up and down. They're having fun. They don't see me looking. I make sure I turn on the bed so they catch a glimpse. When they do there's a silence, and I head for the bathroom when my father calls me back and says, "Come back, they want to talk to you. They want to see you again. Come back."

I do, I am wearing my blue shirt and my blue skirt and tiny shorts underneath. All three are looking uncomfortable in the midst of their playground, with only a fence and the white light coming in. Jane cracks a joke, says "Oh my god, you're wearing something that short?" I look down, the length of my skirt is gone and my shorts remain. They laugh and laugh and something. It's unsettling.

I am trying to get their attention, trying to talk to them while they're still on the roof. But they don't hear. They don't hear at all. They keep on talking and ignoring, finally packing their bags and they left.

They left before I could come to play with them. I walk away. There's scattered flashes of the dream that remain, but not as a whole. The one part that I remember vividly is the white light. It's shining on them, but not me. And they leave before I could join them, which I was planning to do, which I was trying to get them to agree to. I was trying to ask, why didn't you invite me? I think I did but I am not sure of the answer.

They left in the dream like my mom said they did. But not in real life. In real life there was no Arifur in the park when we had the recreation festival, and the last time I saw all my friends together besides Francia. In real life they left because they had to go. They all left around me, leaving me in the center of the ground, staring after them, looking after. I came home, and the next morning mom and I had a fight about what she said. About how she nagged me over and over and showed off the fact that I was left by my friends to my dad. I tried to tell her, that's not true, they didn't, they had to, but she shut my mouth with her hand and kept on talking. The next morning I cried and told my sister. Told her Mom ruined everything and she was a horrible person. I told her I hated her. But I didn't, I didn't, I was just angry.

I am such a child. But you get to be when your parents treat you like one. "Why didn't your friends stay?" Mother sneers. "What kind of people are they?"

I'll tell you what kind of people they are, Mom. They're my real family. They're the only one I ever had. I told my sister that but she says it's wrong, I've got it wrong, I am supposed to love my mom, I have to love my mom. I told her I didn't like her, even though I loved her unconditionally. My mom closed her eyes and pretended to go to sleep. When my sister said she was upset, Mom yelled. "Get out of my sight! Just..just get out. I don't want to hear your voice." She called me names and I didn't say anything except, "Yeah, well, we can see why this family's oh so emotionally stable. It's rubbed off on me."

It was cruel. It was uncalled for. I even ended up telling her shut up once. I know I am at fault here. I know I should apologize. I know it but I can't. This time it's more than pride stopping me. I don't want to be rejected. It's not exact, absolute fear, it's just..I've heard my mom talk about people she really hates, who she thinks are bitches, who she holds grudges against. I've heard it, and in her voice that day I almost began to think I had become her enemy, I was becoming someone she hated because I told her the truth, or what I thought was the truth at the time. I don't know the truth now. I am not even sure I know my mom anymore. I haven't said a word to her since yesterday, and she hasn't said a word to me. She's set out food for me, but she hasn't said a word. I know at least that she wants me to stay alive, that somewhere inside she still cares, and I feel the same for her. But that's not enough for us to quit the silence. And I hate silence. It's as cruel and cold as everything I've said to her. It's as cruel and cold as the world and the biting wind and winter and the frost. I hate it but there's no way to break it. I am hoping I am wrong even as I write this. I am hoping I am so wrong.

(no subject)

Oh dear lord, where has originality gone? Sure, there is nothing truly original, no story that is exclusively yours without the touch of another author's work, but dear lord. I have been trying to find a username, a new LJ username for about all month (not saying much as this is only the beginning of August) and IT SEEMS EVERYTIME I DO find one that rocks, it is taken by a great, cool philosophy sort of person. One who rocks far beyond what should be possible. It is not fair. God is giving me ways to feel inferior, isn't He? Oh wait. God has better things to do.

I had the best day of my life yesterday. I'd rather not describe it because, I don't know, lately when I write something in my LJ it just seems to cheapen the experience. Lately, I despise my own LJ. I want to rip it out of my life and tear it to shreds. DIEEEEEEEE, FAKE PERSON! DIEEE! YOU ARE NOT ME, YOU ARE AN IMPOSTER WHO TRIES TOO HARD AND IT IS DISGUSTING AND I LOATHE THAT YEAR OF MY LIFE. GET OUT. GET OUT, NOW!
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Ah, the fine luxury of having glasses.

I can see the world outside behind the dust-tinted windows. I can see how clearly the trees are and the background beyond the tower of all the buildings. I can see the speed of everyone walking. I can tell what they're wearing and from a distance what their faces look like when withdrawn from the fog of my nearsighted vision. I can see the old gold color of the car. I can see the color of every car and the shape of its hood. I can slant back and relax against my chair instead of hunching over with my jaw aching and my arms sore to read the messages on the screen.

How long I have lived without my new keyboard (able to type z, and use the beloved shift key which I had no idea how much was worth before I lost it) in my lap, sitting more than inches from the computer, and leaning back as if this is life, and life is good. What difference a pair of lenses make, what difference to SEE. To finally see as others do. The only thing I feel I cannot do is read a story so clearly. I hate reading a story that clearly. I love being able to use my own eyes for reading a story. I can now see pictures and my wallpaper and the television. I can see every little tiny window across the desktop and what they read. You perfect visioners have it so easy. You get to wake up and open your eyes and see everything from first sight in the light of clarity. Complete and utter clarity where everything is perfect and serene.

(no subject)

02:29pm 19/03/2005
music: too many to count
I guess I've learned something from all of this.

That's what you're supposed to say after you cry your eyes out until you want to have your eyes shrivel out. Because then crying won't seem stupid, or useless. Because you know the reason you cry is stupid, but it makes you feel so much better afterwards. Because, hey, there you go. You've done it. It's over now. And then it starts up again at the edge of your eyes and then suddenly your heart's on fire because someone lit it with a match and forgot to put it out.

So I have learned something from all of this, and it's nothing good, and it might just change. You have to go on.

Every morning, you've got to feel that treasure chest heavying your heart down because you want something so badly you'll want to kill for it, and then you've got to wake up and breathe. Soft, sweet, slow, there, there.

It's really not going to be okay. You will fucking die inside sometimes. You will not want to live. You will want to lash out and punch everything in sight and just curl up in bed and listen to Mariah Carey because everything's so stupid and everything's just fucked up and everyone can go to hell. Then there are times you find peace, those times where you smile and exchange words and think, I have people. I do. I do. And then you're thinking inside, better tell them I love them before they leave, because they'll leave, goddamnit, that's what people do, and I need to tell them I love them just as much as they love me, even more.

People leave. They either take something with them or take everything. It's up to you to know how much.

Suddenly you're on the edge of the world, you've lost it all, and suddenly you want them to lose it all, hurt just as much. But then you get your sense back. Because revenge isn't what it's about. It's about self-esteem. And I've never had enough of it to tell when something's wrong with me. Self-esteem is my fault, but all the blame's not on me. I am not the victim, I am not the predator, but the world's messed me up just as much as I've messed myself up.

I've never had the right kind of self-esteem. Not the kind that tells you I can live without people or things. Not the kind where you pick yourself up every fucking time you're on the ground, praying to God. I've never had that. I've had arrogance. Arrogance is what's led me along. It's the false kind of self-esteem, the kind you talk to yourself about and get nowhere. Hey, it's something. It's not the best respect to my mind, but it's the thing that sweetens it the most.

I can tell myself things, but without self-esteem, I won't be able to believe it without checking twice. So for this year, God. Let's have something besides the materialistic. Let's give me something I've needed all my entire life, that I should've had but was never given and could never make. Give me my self-esteem. That thing that'll make me tick just as nicely but less painfully, that thing that'll lead me along and have real strength.

I am asking it for this year. I think fourteen years is long enough. I think so, I think so. I know so, I know so.

Other people have it, and some don't deserve it as much. I've lived without it for a while, but I think I need it now. It's the thing I need most of all.


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    touched touched

I like it and that's all that matters.

I curse FAP for not working at a time like this. At a time where HPB Fic posting is crucial.

Ahh, well.

Title: Vanishing Cabinet
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry heads over to the Room of Requirement to retrieve his copy of Advanced Potions, and gets much more than he bargained for. H/D, sort of.

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You're Just as Sane As I Am

Phew! Looks like Hurricane Dennis's little brother showed up in NY today to pay us a little visit. It was kind of creepy when the windows all started banging open and the wind was crashing in the room, but I must say, summer rain is the most beautiful weather I've ever encountered. Today was a productive day, or should I say afternoon? Granted, the day's not over yet. I feel like I learn more in hours of staring at Fictionalley Park posts more than I've ever taken in, say, a Spanish lesson. Fortunately, or unfortunately? I hit upon a thread that was very stiumlating and interesting. Sexuality in the Harry Potter Series.

I quote, once said to someone very dear to me, "Sometimes what Umbridge did to Harry reminds me of sexual harrassment.. of rape." Yes, when I was re-reading OOTP, I certainly felt that way. When he was out of the room and at a distance, he started to run, and I felt something very, much more powerful going on beneath the surface. He was forced to write in his own shedded blood, refused to tell his friends, fearing that his friends and how they would reacted would make the situation much more worse, as if it would expose the horror between this 'private fight of wills'. I read the entire thread, post by post, and was delighted to find someone who took this point of view, as well. The comparison of CoS and OOTP could not have hit home more with me. Coincidentally enough, I was re-reading CoS right after re-reading OOTP, strange isn't it? I am aware of now, how similar Ginny and Harry are, in the sense that they were both deprived, or had something taken away from them. Ginny was robbed of her soul, which Tom Riddle used to feed on for his own strength and benefit, while Harry was 'stunted' , or restrained from telling his truth. These brilliant people explain it with much more investigation into both books, so if you are interested, please go here.

I admit I was very thrown on how many metaphors and concepts people were able to come up with for the entire Chamber of Secrets. What strikes me is that these metaphors are entirely plausible. J.K. Rowling, I think, incorporates that we are going to be seeing growth when Professor Sprout introduces the Mandrakes, which are somewhat subsitutes for what we would be seeing in the children's lives and their own growth. Mandrakes become "moody and secretive", "develop acne"..yes, these two certainly point toward what both males and females go through, though in different ways. Then, they move into each other's pots when they are fully and clearly mature, which is evidently sex for humans. Um, yes, I am a bit mad. and look into things a lot, but it's fun to see this things and explore into their depths. I also admit that when I first CoS, the first HP book I've ever read when I was eleven, I did not think of any of this, was unable to, because I was a child, and I think the HP books go through a different microscope when you start reading the books at an older age. Instead of what the book just gives us, we're able to put out what we've learned, what we know and start peering more closely. This is especially useful, because the sixth book is coming out, and I am very, very glad that I know now that I cannot only experience the book, but understand it fully. It is very different and strange at the same time, that though at eleven I could grasp the horror of what was happening, years later I can understand why it was so terrifying. Admittedly, Cos, beyond any other book in the Harry Potter series I've ever read, was the most scariest for me, and will always will be. Possibly. Who knows? Eventually we will know, and that's what makes it even more exciting.