GUESS WHO HAS A NEW ICON?

MOI.

Also, if you haven't seen this version of the Giving Tree, you so should.

I am such a wuss. That still makes me tear up. Shel Silverstein was one of my favorite writers ever as a wee Skadala and hell, now even parodies of it pluck at my tender heartstrings.

And noooooow it's treat-writing time!

For any who might wish to avail themselves of my original prompts, which are WHOA-big:

( and I mean WHOA big. )

:: melodramatic exhale ::

School's over for break. My Yuletide fic is uploaded. I feel at once cathartized and so very drained. Next up on the program, more posts and going through my notebooks for arts.

Yuletide fic uploading! Whee! This is both gratifying and terrifying, so I shall soothe my fragile nerves with a meme I ganked.

Comment and I'll:
a) Tell you why I friended you.
b) Associate you with something -- a fandom, song, color, photo, etc.
c) Tell you something I like about you.
d) Tell you a memory I have of you.
e) Ask you something I've wanted to know about you.
f) Tell you my favorite userpic from your list.
g) In return, you need to post this on your own journal

Where on earth would I be if I weren't worrying about people all the time? I'll never know, I guess. Freaking out over something else. Have been a rather industrious Ska the last few days here, and only two more proper school days left until academic field day and then Christmas break. Hmm.

Yuletide fic more or less finished! Yay! I hope the recipient likes it, even though it kicked my butt soundly and is so not my usual mode. And if they don't... ack!

Apparently at least two of my coworkers find my Adrian Veidt desktop wallpaper attractive. @_@ This worries me.

Okay, LJ, not cool. Sending me 31 different emails to tell me X HAS NEW GIFTS~ or whatever, not cool.

School's out on account of the snow, and I dreamed (rather surreally) about Rocky Horror.

My Advent angel left me a chocolate orange this morning, and we celebrated St. Nicholas today. It's always somewhat amusing to see all the leetle sevvies going around in stocking feet during the "shoe inspection" and coming back to find SHOES FULL OF CANDY. Can't go wrong with candy. Like, ever.

Herbert is being a mopey moper and I am getting posts ready to show up back at OM/AF. I forgot just how painfully much I miss everyone there and their writing.

Today, am not a happy Ska, but that is standard issue for Ska-ness. I'm doing that thing I was talking to Lilith about, cutting out bits of me and trying to patch other people up with them. It's hurting, and I'm absolute shit at communicating that it hurts.

On the plus side, have found my accordion, and am making a YouTube video of me demonstrating just how rusty I am with it for Lena-kins. Unfortunately, it's really hard to play a piano accordion with one hand for the camcorder...



I snivel a lot in this, and there's a lot of awkward shots of my arms. And bazoomage. Am still in my schlubby awful house-cleaning wear (damn it my bathroom is the cleanest ever, thanks mom) but for those who seem to take strange delight in seeing me do dorky things with no sense of shame whatsoever, this is like Christmas in July. Well, December. Early.

Um, I think I felt my mental health improve just over the course of typing this post. Unrelatedly, ACCORDION.

1200 words of Yuletide written! I am amazed with myself. Not good words, but words, nonetheless. I still keep getting stumped here and there, but I hope it's decent.

In other news, am not actually dead. Also, I got a haircut! (And donated what was cut off, though their inability to tell me where it was being donated to makes me wary.) Not terribly stoked for school tomorrow, but hey, whatever. That would be how life is.

( hair pics behind the cut! )

I repeat: 1200 words of Yuletide and 200 words (and going) of another treat, because I have to multitask. Am very cheered by that, at least.

Dear me,

Well, fuck.



-me

Dear me,


Don't you ever let yourself sleepwalk like this again. This isn't happy, this is still dead... you just don't know it yet.

. . .



-Ska

Speaking of triggers, I am now finding out that going to bed at a sane hour, rather than when flat exhausted, is a recipe for instant panic attack. It's thinking about dying that does it. Not religious angst, not now (other than the creeping horror that it might be religious angst and I just don't know it yet) but I just really don't feel safe being left alone with myself. There's scary things in the dark, the most monolithic and difficult to conquer Scary Thing, in fact, and most of the time my head's abuzz and it's not there. Only when I'm alone with myself. And it does feel alone. It's scary, like I keep describing, well, a lot of things-- like trying to call someone and realizing the telephone line's been cut. It's not sleep that I dislike. I've been nearly falling asleep in classes. I need more sleep. It's just getting to sleep that's tricky. I think I've got a visit from Enjolras coming on, but that doesn't explain it all, and if that's what it is, man, I hate it.

Also, I discovered Starlight Express. It's like musical crack. I'm seriously *addicted*. Except I know it's not OMAF appropriate and bringing it up out of sheer enthusiasm made everyone alarmed and uncomfortable. Especially Dree, who I seem to be rapidly alienating just by being around. Huhn. All my art class pictures are through, and I'm doing a Klimt portrait in acrylic now, or I will be. Can't write worth a darn, still getting things together for Yuletide. Still haven't talked to anyone about the above, uh, oppressive fear of death thing, but... augh. I just can't take care of everyone and everything. And every time someone tries to take care of me, either I can't take it or I won't. I wish someone knew without me having to ask.

Okay. So the past few days have been surreal, and, um, trigger-riffic. But I think I'm better. A bit.

I'm realizing now that all I ever do nowadays on OM is pretty much bitch about my need for attention. I can hardly post. It's saddening, and I don't... have the energy to do anything but bitch it seems. Sigh.

Working on Yuletide. My fic requires some *really* strange research, and also baking. Am game for both.

Title: But No Tentacles Until The Second Date
Rating: PG?
Fandom: Um. Disney animated canon/Watchmen crossover.
Summary: The yuletide IRC channel is to blame for this. No tentacles yet, though. Adrian Veidt x Mulan = OTP.
( Read more... )

Ooh. I got my Yuletide assignment, and while it threw me for the initial loop, I'm really excited. I've got a lot of leeway here, and it's exhilarating, as well as a bit scary. Hmm, now where to go from here...

Ach, I am just a bundle of Yuletide nerves...

Like, four more minutes until sign-ups close. I have no idea how long it'll be til assignments are issued, but ooh, I'm so stoked...

Again, m'letter's here.

:: flail ::

Oh, so the Crackthing has a TV Tropes unpublished works page. The Crackthing: or, "Two Guys, A Girl, And An Aversion To Sunlight". It's here~.

Title: All On That Day
Fandom: TdV, Crackthing-verse
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: A brief impression; Herbert randomly decided to show up all HAY U GUYS THIS IS HOW I GOT TURNEDEDED. Not the whole picture, of course, but an ugly fever-dream of it. 200 words, written in 14 minutes. Warning for some nightmarish imagery, but come on, guys, it's written by me.

( well, it's not in my nature to hate, to no one I bear animosity... )

I haven't written about these two in a long time. (They hail from one of my really early original pieces, "Uniforms", of which I am no longer so proud. But they're still prone to popping up in my head at bad moments and demanding to be written about.) This is probably one of my few real drabbles, and was written in six minutes.

( Read more... )

I'm still too sick to go to school, so I'm here at home. Sigh.

I had to ask my mother whether they still did the moment of silence on local TV stations; she's actually not sure. But I'm inclined to post some poetry. (And now I really, really, really want to hug Wilfred Owen.)

"Dulce et Decorum Est", by Wilfred Owen
"Anthem For Doomed Youth", by Wilfred Owen
And, of course...

"For The Fallen", by Laurence Binyon