#anicou

[wolf-inthestory]

Watch the Heart

I really, really hope that I am a better parent than mine were. After all, parents have a world of influence on their children, and that never goes away, no matter the circumstances. All my life, I was shown that it's easy to leave me. My mom left me with my dad, my dad left me with my grandparents, then left me at a friend's house, then my family left me with my mom, then my mom threatened to leave me with my dad, then left me to my friends. And then my friends left me. 

I still can't talk to the majority of my family without cringing. But at least I've gotten past hoping they'll show me they love me. Now I just cringe every time I talk to them and get angry that they blame me for our noncommunication when they're just as responsible for not picking up a phone. 

I don't have very many friends because it takes me so long to make them. And then I constantly worry I'm too annoying for them to want to stay my friend. I feel like there's something wrong with me that keeps them from wanting to spend time with me. I see every missed lunch, every unanswered text as unequivocal proof of my defect. And it's so hard especially now that I'm so stressed and still reeling from my springtime sadness. 

I love the Mugen with all my heart because he is an adorable fluff ball that ran after me. It took three years of my pushing him away before he finally convinced me that he was here to stay, and even now there is still a tiny part of me that worries one day he'll see the flaw in me that everyone else saw and that he'll leave me, too. 

And then let's not mention my extreme sensitivity to even the slightest trace of cigarette smoke, the asthma and bronchitis and costichondritis, and all the other (some serious) health issues from living with people who smoked like chimneys in the house. Or the aversion to the smell of beer because I know too often how it changes people. How their words become sinister and take on whole new meanings. 

My insecurities tell me to apologize (and if I ever get drunk, that's all I seem to be able to say); my sadness tells me to disappear; my anger . . . well my anger tells me I'm better than this, that I'm worth something, that I will be successful and amazing, and so much more. For years I wrapped my anger around myself like a blanket, a battlesuit to help me fight through the demons. But now I just hope. I hope that I'll be better than they were, that I'll find my contentment (I've already found a huge hulking chunk with the Mugen), and that I'll build my bright life. And I find that those hopes and dreams are warmer, stronger, than any other thing I could use. Sometimes it's hard. Sometimes the other emotions crowd in. But then I sit back and tell myself that I can do it. If I can pull through that crap of a childhood then I can do whatever I set myself to. And that's what keeps me going. I'm a survivor. And I hope my kids never have to be. 

[wolf-inthestory]

Fuck You Grad School

Among other rantings.

Let me give you a run down. 

Each week, I am expected to read (at least) one book per class. Since a full load is 3 classes and my funding only happens if I go to school full time, I am required to read (at least) 3 books a week. 3 books a week that I am expected to read thoroughly, understand, and then discuss.

And then there are my papers for the semester. Each tend to be 25-30 pages, replete with footnotes (or endnotes) and bibliography. And, typically, this happens for all 3 classes. So, for my separate projects, I should be reading at least 1 book per class in order to gain some ground on my projects and not end up with a panicky finals week where I'm desperately trying to conjure 90 pages of well-written and researched material out of thin air. So that's an extra 3 books a week. 

We are also expected (in some classes) to supplement our readings with journal articles. Now, if you've never seen an article from an historical journal, let me just tell you that those are typically 30 pages long. Now, to be fair, this doesn't happen every week, just every once in a while and only in certain classes. 

So, if you've been keeping count, that means I have to read (at least) 6 books a week. 6 books that I have to read thoroughly, understand, take notes on, and generally know backwards and forwards to feel like I'm not a twelve-year old thrown into a college senior seminar. 

And now, let's just--for the hell of it--throw in a thesis, which I've been slowly chipping away at and is due at the end of this semester. A thesis which must be turned in to the professor of my two-semester seminar and must get at least an A- before I am allowed to present it to the graduate board for review. If approved, then I can graduate.

So, hey. I only feel like I'm mentally being squeezed into a teeny-tiny box that I can't escape. I'm only feeling anxious about graduating this semester and getting a job and paying my student loans and becoming nominally successful. 

I'm also only fending off the disapproving gazes of everyone in my (and Mugen's) family who keep asking me why I don't have a job while I'm in school. And then see how often I spend time on tumblr or watching Doctor Who and think my life is so easy (I need my escapism to function). 

Like there are days when I lay in bed for four hours, knowing I should do my school work, wanting to do something else, but not having the mental energy to get up and actually do something--anything--constructive. In the meantime, I deal with annoying, lingering medical issues from last spring (long story short: fallopian tubes, dose of chemo, doctor says i'm all clear and incredibly lucky not to have needed surgery, hormones still royally fucking my life over 3 weeks out of every month). 

Like, I'd love to take a break, but I just need to finish this semester and I'll have my master's (and then can panic and cry and be anxious over the job market). 

Here's hoping I make it the rest of the semester. 

[wolf-inthestory]

The Fall

She woke at the first violent shudder, still half-wrapped in the silver gossamer of dreams. The air was heavy and still, the humidity closing in on the city with quiet menace. Startled shouts and fears flew about just beyond her parents’ home and she crossed to the window with hesitant steps. Hands quivering, she pushed at the wooden shutters and peered out into the haze-filled night.

The streets below stirred warily, servants stepping out of the stately villas, knowing caution written on their lined faces. Dark clouds tinged with green hung heavy in the sky, throwing a veil over the island metropolis. Kaia felt the heaviness of fate settle over her heart just as the sea beyond the ridges retreated in ominous agitation. The world shuddered in dark anticipation and Poseidon’s Bells rang a throaty warning.

Screams tore from frightened throats as the waves swelled and began a thunderous gallop toward the shore. Kaia’s breath hitched and she scrambled back from the window, turning to yell for her mother.

The ground undulated and tossed the buildings from its back, throwing stone and mortar about in black delight. The rafters above her head creaked and groaned, fighting against the buckling earth. Kaia ran through the halls, sleeping gown tangling with legs not quite grown, as she called to her family. But the villa echoed hollowly and she burst out into the night, now lit with flame.

Her eyes widened at the towering ocean, unwilling to believe in Poseidon’s fury. Fleeing masses pushed at Kaia and she felt swept up, pushed to the hill at the center of the mighty white city. But as the water built itself to touch the clouds, Kaia feared even their great island could fall before the gods’ wrath.

Death knells followed them as the sea swept over the city’s ridges and through its noble streets. Ever it chased them, those frightened and fleeing souls, as they raced over bridges and hills. They reached the pinnacle of the island, panting and pleading with the sea god, lips pressed in supplication against his cold, marble form. But the colossus in the temple’s depths stood silent, condemning. His prized people had acted with hubris, challenging the power and divinity of the Pantheon. Their sins could not be erased; their lives were forfeit.

Kaia turned in those final moments, arms wide in welcome as Poseidon stretched out his watery hands and wrapped them about the temple’s columns. She had not known the insult to Olympus’s pride but she would offer herself freely as toll. Closing her eyes in joyless acceptance, she stepped into the swirling current and tumbled freely to the depths of the Ocean black.

The angry tide ate up the last vestiges of its meal made of civilization before settling back in quiet repose. As the skies cleared and the full light of the moon searched for the Ancient City, only the ocean remained, jealously guarding its prize of earth and stone. The sea stood still, content for the first and only time in its tempestuous life. It had risen to wipe away everything in its path and lay content with its stomach full. Nothing of the ringed island could be seen; it had sunk beneath the waves.

Atlantis was no more. 

[wolf-inthestory]

For anyone curious

I have chosen this path of rediscovery because--for the past five years--I have noticed an overall decline in my drive, creativity, energy, etc. I feel I have become lost in the woods when before I could meander without a care.

I'm saying this for anyone who is even vaguely interested in Wicca or Paganism. If you'd like, I can walk you through some basic books, principles, and whatnot to help you explore. Or I can offer companionship if you're going it alone. 

Please drop me a note if you have questions, advice, or concerns. I only ask that you send me no hate, anonymous or otherwise. Believe me, hypocrisy and hate look good on no one.