There's one of those houses in every town ....

A second successful day of writing to inspiration with Dillon! Today was my day for choosing things, and I chose two random photos from a bunch that I'd bookmarked a while ago because I liked the way they looked.

I'm having trouble linking them here, but one is a colorful photo of a butterfly, while the other is a black and white photo of a gate surrounded by skeletal trees. Quite the juxtaposition!

I sort of floundered a bit with this, not really sure where to start or where to go, so this is a bit all over the place. Oh well! This isn't about writing gold every time, it's about pushing myself to write even when I don't necessarily feel anything pressing out of my brain trying to get through my fingertips and into the world.

---

There's one of those houses in every town - ramshackle, unloved, unkempt. A fence that's nearly falling down, a gate that's rusted shut, a footpath that's completely hidden underneath a forest of weeds that leads to a door that hasn't been answered in living memory. If you live in a town with a lot of teenagers, the glass that was once painstakingly installed, usually in some sort of intricate design, has been knocked out by thrown pebbles. There's always a ghost story, some sort of legend, that's passed on from older kids to younger ones. There's always a rite of passage that comes from sneaking through the gaps in the fence and tiptoeing up to the door and touching the soggy wood. More adventurous kids will try and stay the night, curled up fearfully in a sleeping bag that gets pulled over the head in order to keep out the sound of the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls and the crevices in the windows.

I grew up in cities, where abandoned houses are knocked over to make way for high rise apartments. But when I was young I would go visit my grandparents every summer, spending a month running around their paddocks, trailing after my older cousins as they did useful things like get the tractor ready for harvesting or loading up pesticide on the back of the fourwheeler. When they'd head out to the farthest fields to work, I'd wander off on my own down the empty streets of the town. It was always a heady experience, being on my own like that - When a grand total of 132 people live in a town, there's no worry that a ten year old might get snatched off the streets if she's left alone. So visiting my grandparents, I had a modicum of independence, and would spend hours away from their musty house finding secret hiding places in the fields. One day, I found a nearly overgrown dirt road, and followed it. It lead me away from town, from the houses which huddled together and the great flat plains, and down into a valley that was shadowed by large trees. Ahead of me on the road was an old wrought iron fence, with intricate swirls to the design. At the height of summer, when the earth was dry but the grass should still have been green, everything beyond that gate was dead.

Of course, I didn't know that that was a sign for concern. Like I said, I grew up in the city. As far as I knew, plants were plants and they grew how they wanted. If these ones wanted to be dead, well, maybe they were just tired.

The gate wasn't fastened, which to a ten year old is as good as an invitation, and I pushed it open. The bright sunlight beating down scared away any fear I might have possibly felt, chased away any shadows that might have been forming in the corner of my mind, and I stopped only long enough to take a juice box out of my backpack - orange, warm but still delicious. I was careful to tuck the empty carton in the plastic bag that my Grandmother had given me just for that purpose, in that way that little kids who have had the importance of not littering approach keeping track of all their trash.

Finally, I stepped through the gate.

I may not have been afraid, but I knew that taking that actual step through the gate was a big deal. There was something about that place, and that gate at the end of an abandoned road which made me feel like the world was holding its breath.

I wish that I could say that I followed that road to its end, that I found a ramshackle house that I spent the afternoon in, finding treasures left behind by the people who used to live there. I wish that I could say that I carefully pried a shard of blue glass from where it still sat in a window frame and wrapped it in leaves to stop it from shattering my bag. I wish that I could say that I fell and skinned my knee when a rotting floorboard gave out, and that my Grandmother scolded me while pressing a bandaid to it.

But I can't.

What I can say is that I was found in the middle of an empty road, a day later, fast asleep. I didn't wake up no matter how hard they shook me, and I spent the next week in a coma in a hospital.

When I woke up I couldn't tell anyone what happened. They didn't believe me about the road that snaked through the fields (that's just a waste of good land, my grandfather said gruffly, no one would be so foolish out here), and they didn't believe me about the fancy gate.

They wrote it off as an adventure had by a city girl out in the country on her own for the first time, a city girl with a strong imagination who let herself get lost and confused by the sun.

I was restless when they let me out of the hospital. Something was different about me, I felt, but I was watched all the time now. My mother had pitched a fit over the phone when she'd learned I was hospitalized, so my cousins traded shifts of watching over me.

Then, one morning over breakfast, it happened.

The thing that made me realize that that gate to nowhere had changed me completely.

I was glaring at a half of grapefruit, wishing for some sugar to sprinkle over its top, when an ugly moth landed. Disgusted, I reached out to wave it away, but as soon as I got close that strange restless feeling that had been keeping me irritated ever since I was released from the hospital seemed to thicken and gather in the palm of my hand, and then leap out of my hand and into the moth.

With an audible crackle, the ugly brown moth was suddenly a butterfly, its original brown flecked with the orange of the grapefruit it still sat on. It flapped its wings once, twice, almost experimentally, before it fluttered away.

Since then, anything living that I come close to I change. My cousin changed next, from a gangly 19 year old with hair like straw and elbows like doorknobs into a stunning beauty worthy of being on the cover of Vogue. That knocked me back out for a day.

I don't know why it happens, or how, but there's a crackling of the restless energy, and I feel relieved for a short time afterwards.

Except it's tiring, too, I think it uses up my life energy. And I'm dieing from it, slowly. Think about it - where on this planet can you go where there isn't something alive? My life energy is being drained out of me as I move through this world, leaving changes that I can't control behind me. The more color and energy and vibrancy I push out of myself, the more I'm left behind, slow and weary and turning black and white and soon dead.

Sometimes I wonder if it's even me in charge anymore. I don't feel like it - I feel like there's something in me, something that's taking my life and channeling it out of me. Something that lurks behind my eyes and sees the world as it is, and wants it to be something else. To strike out all the things that could be beautiful in their own, unique ways, and homogenising them by conforming to classical standards of beauty.

So the moral of the story, you ask? Well that's easy.

Stay in the city. Don't go exploring. Don't go visit that interestingly haunted house at the edge of town. Don't open that beguilingly unlocked gate.

You don't know what will come through it.

We ready ourselves for battle ....

Dillon and I have started on a campaign of encouraging each other to write something every day, alternating inspirational music, ideas and topics between us. He chose today's inspirational song:

I kind of like the picture that I began to form in this snippet. It ended up surprising me, to tell you the truth, but I had sort of run out of things to write and still had 400 words to write to reach my daily goal of 750 words so I pushed on and this is what my brain came up with! It's why I love taking a stream of consciousness approach to writing - it's never boring. I don't think I'll do anything with this to refine it or turn it into something bigger, though.

---

We ready ourselves for battle.

There have been fights before, but none like this. My people have fought wars for glory, or for the principles of others, and always they come to us with hands outstretched and gold dripping from fingertips, knowing that none can beat us when we set our minds to battle. But now, we fight for ourselves. The darkness has swept across the land, the moon hidden from our skies, the sun veiled behind a thick cloud summoned by the most evil of magic. So now, we fight. Not for others, not for money, not for glory. But for our freedom against those who would beat us into the ground.

Blood drumming through my veins, I arm myself. Like too many others, this will be my first fight. I come from generations of fierce warriors, but too many of our parents are dead, leaving only us behind. By the calendars of my people I am still a child, and have not even undergone the final ritual of readiness. But my mother was slain in the Battle at Discord Bay, and my father was taken by the Monks of Paulton, and my sisters were swept in the magic of the Mysterious Moon, so now we are all that is left.

There are so few of us left. So few of us to take up arms, to carry on our legacy. But what else can we do? Through away our heritage? Accept the coming darkness?

There are some who have done this, of course. There are always those who fail when faced with true enemies, with a true battle. But I cannot. I was raised since I was young to believe in the tenets of my people, to believe in the Way of Battle above all else. Though I will admit that our Way has been swayed over the past generations by gold, that we have become mercenaries as opposed to the feared religious warriors that we once were, I do not think that our Way has been completely corrupted.

And now, fighting for myself, for my people, as opposed to a sum of money given upon completion of a victorious war, I believe that my blood will burn brighter for the battle lust, that knowing that I fight for principle over greed I will be victorious. I have both might and right on my side.

I cannot fail.

---

This text was found written on a scroll in the latest excavation of the ruins in the north. It is the first eye-witness account that we have of the days leading up to the infamous War of the Night. During that time, there was a lot of confusion and strife over what we now know to be a dust cloud that filled the atmosphere after a large meteor decimated a continent to the south of our lands. The days that followed the impact were filled with fear, accusations of magic, and bloody battles as various lands pulled themselves apart in terror.

Of course, we know what happened to all of those who fought in the War of the Night - believing that they were facing an enemy who drew upon magic to block out the sky, they readied themselves using faulty knowledge about herbal lore, believing that if they covered themselves in certain ointments they would be able to block magic from affecting them.

Unfortunately, they used a deadly combination of plants and spider venom, and every single warrior quickly fell ill, breaking into contact rashes which swelled into boils. Skin literally sluiced off their bodies as they disintegrated from the outside in.

Even as they died, they called out against the dark sorcerers they believed to be causing their doom.

Today we understand that they were merely the victims of natural disaster and inaccurate scientific knowledge.

It is with these memories that we continue to model our society on the scientific ideal, eschewing supposed claims of 'magic' and working to understand the true underpinnings of our universe.

It is only by completely eradicating all those who profess to use magic that our society can progress.

For this purpose, I have decreed that all those who claim to practice magic, or to have experienced magic, should be killed on sight. No trials shall be held for those who sacrilege against logical progress.

Because after all, there is no magic. And those who accuse me, your great leader, of being a powerful sorcerer who came into power after the chaos of the War of the Night because I engineered it in order to take advantage of the situation are obviously insane. The fact that I have lived so many years longer than expected of someone my age is obviously a sign of healthy living, not a sign of blood magic. And the fact that those who would oppose me die mysteriously is only a sign that the universe is in my favor, not that I have some sort of magical power and assassinate my opposition.

This again

Oh hello internet, it's been a while!

I'd like to say that I've been off having adventures, changing the world, being productive, writing my thesis ... But in reality, I haven't.

What have I been up to since my last post about going on a first date? Not much. A lot of work, really. Visiting my parents. Looking after my sister. Procrastinating. Re-initialising my WoW account because I'm a crazy person.

That date ended up going well, by the way. The guy was nice - taught economics at a high school. Unfortunately, I realised pretty quickly that I don't have time right now to date - all my time is taken up with work and seeing Rachael once a week. Maybe, if I'm lucky and not completely brain dead from working too many shifts, I'll see a friend, catch up with Mel over coffee, or see the girls at Girl Dinner (a fortnightly thing we instigated because otherwise I would probably never see anyone ever) or having breakfast with Kev. But dating? Really, I have no time. I certainly don't have the emotional energy, I've decided.

How healthy that is, I'm not entirely certain. But, it does mean that I'm inviting one less person into my life to judge me for my erratic sleeping patterns and the way that I watch TV shows like they're crack while I'm at work.

Speaking of which, I've been watching Supernatural. And then I wrote some fanfiction about it. Because, yes, I'm a giant fangirl and couldn't get this scene out of my stupid head.

I've decided to try harder to keep this updated, even if it's just me logging on to muse about how unproductive I've been. Mainly, this is because of Dillon and the good example he's setting. So, internet, blame Dillon! Now you will be forced to bear the brunt of my natterings! Mwahaha!

Going on a first date

So tomorrow I am going on a first date - my first first date for a long long time. By which I mean something like six years, considering my last relationship (which was four years long) ended about two years ago. Why the huge break between ending that relationship and deciding to embark down the magical road of another? I had too much crap going on in my life (what with my dad's medical stuff) and recognized that I barely had enough emotional energy to keep myself sane as it was - there was no way I was going to enter into the roller coaster that equals embarking on a new relationship until I got my life sorted out a bit. Which I think that I've done, to a certain extent. My dad's cancer hasn't come back, and I'm motoring along quite nicely in regards to my university studies. Hence, the first date.

But what exactly does one do on a first date? My friends are no help at all on this matter - they are all either in relationships, not interested and never have been (yes, asexuality exists) or have a completely different approach to dating than me: ie; sex on the first date is totally a-ok. In fact, sex even without dating is great. And while I wish that I had the emotional capability to go "yay orgasm!" and not get emotionally tangled up with the person, I suspect that casual sex is something that I just will never be able to do successfully. As one of my friends so eloquently said once, my heart lives in my vagina.

So, the trick is to choose a place on a first date that is not conducive to sex, which means public setting over private house. Which serves the dual purpose of allowing me to run away if it turns out that this guy is a psychopath or something. It's nice to be prepared!

The internet tells me that if I'm feeling nervous and stressed out about going on a first date, that I should back off and wait till I'm feeling more comfortable with the person. But that seems counter intuitive to me - how the hell are you supposed to get to know someone better before you start dating them? Are you supposed to psychically connect up with them? Mind meld from a distance? Still, I get that you should go into a date feeling confident and sure of yourself - if you're feeling nervy then you're probably going to make a bad impression. I for one talk a million miles an hour when I'm nervous, and also talk about really really inane things.

I've stumbled across a list of "good" first date locations, and I'm a bit confused. How on earth is taking someone with you on your first flying lesson supposed to be a good way to get to know people? Also, there is no way in hell that I would ever want to meet someone I'm trying to wow with my sexiness at a 3k bike ride for charity. Ever. Seriously. I would be puffing away, bright red in the face, and pouring with sweat. I'm pretty sure that even for people who are like nine billion percent more fit than me an uber long bike ride would not be the best way to go. I've got to say that this sentiment also applies to taking a yoga class together. Even if I was super flexible and crazy fit, I'm not sure that getting to know someone while twisting into interesting poses is really going to be the best way to go about a first date.

Does she look like she's about to tell you about herself? No! She looks like she's concentrating on not falling over, or maybe even on not breaking her back!

I think a lot of people miss the point on what first dates are meant to be - they're meant to be a time where you get to know a new person, and check if there's any chemistry between you. It's not that hard! So obviously a first date needs to be in a setting conducive to this sort of communication. Translation: You need to be somewhere you can talk! It helps if you go somewhere that has a natural end in sight, so you don't find yourself awkwardly trying to figure out how to leave and not having an out. Going to places like a cafe or a restaurant, or maybe even organising a picnic, is perfect. You get to talk, and the end of the meal or coffee gives you a natural opportunity to leave if you want to. Dinner and a movie, which is an old standby, works as well if you're worried about not having anything to talk about, because you can always just talk about the movie. But, there is the awkwardness factor of sitting in the dark next to someone you barely know.

If you're looking for something a little more active, then going to an outdoor festival, or maybe even the zoo, could work as well. But whatever the case, the most important thing is that you allow space to talk. Because otherwise you and your date are going to make your judgements based only on appearance.

For my first date, it looks like we will be going for a walk on the foreshore in South Perth, and then grabbing breakfast at one of the many cafe's along Mends Street. Well, I'll be grabbing breakfast, he'll most likely be eating lunch. I've made it pretty damned clear that I'm the least successful morning person around. Which totally reflects my current plan of being brutally honest about personal habits from the start - no need to go into a relationship expecting one thing and winding up with something completely different!

Fingers crossed that it goes well - I'm a bit nervous about what I'll wear. I had initially thought "Heels! Heels are sexy!" but then I realized me + walking long distances in heels = awkward fest. Seriously. So, all star chucks it is!

I'll write something in a few days saying how it goes. But seriously, what's the worst that can happen? He says "Gee, sorry to have wasted your time, but I'm not that interested in you." Or I say something like that to him.

Just as long as something like this doesn't happen:

Also, how much does that blonde girl look like Billie Piper?

I was going to start a new blog, but ...

I couldn't come up with a name I liked well enough. And then I realised that though this blog was made originally to fulfil a coursework component it would serve perfectly well as a place to continue documenting my thoughts on all the things, ever. (Also, allthethings.blogspot was already taken, to my irritation, by a nonexistent blog that doesn't even have a post on it. Uncool!)

So here we go again - it's been two years since my last confession to the internet, and while I haven't really sinned, I have gotten up to some antics, grown up a (very) little, and think that keeping a blog for playplay could be fun. God knows I'm good enough at rambling, so why not put that to good use!

While I had thoughts of deleting all my old posts, the same sense of nostalgia that doesn't allow me to throw out my notes from middleschool means that I will be keeping the posts up.

From here on out expect no rhyme or reason to the posts that get put up here. I've read that the way to make a blog successful is to choose one specific thing and to write about that a lot. But I'm more interested in keeping a blog going for any period of time whatsoever, frankly, than in becoming a blogess (which is like a duchess but instead of royal lineage you have money from your blog and movie deals and so on).

Hypertext Experiment

I'm really excited to present a new experiment in hypertext that I've started - All The Myths Are True. Head over there now to check it out!

It's the end of another semester. And...

Writing Exercise - Klaus Schultz's music

For this exercise I reflected on the end of semester. Of course, for me it's a bit delayed, but that just ties into the overall end-of-semester stress that everybody has to face one way or another. Looking at this, I see just how much trouble I've lined myself up for, and recognise that I need to confront that face on and just get on with things.

I hope that I can find it within myself to keep up this blog. I've always been a fan of freewriting, which is what this blog has tended to focus on. But I also love to comment on the things that I read about gaming and games. This blog has really filled that niche, and my aim is to try and keep it up after I've finished up all my assignments.

---

It's the end of another semester. And for the first time it's the end of my degree, as well. Well, sort of. I've been an undergraduate for five years. It's a really really long time to live as a poor student - and it's getting a bit old. So am I.

I have always had lofty plans for myself. Become a famous director, become a rich photographer, invent something everybody wants, change the world ... And here I am, 23, nearly a quarter of a century old, still in the strange in-between world of university.

And the crazy thing is that I'm about to sign myself up for another four years of it. I've had a burning desire to do a PhD for about three years now. My passion for it is so strong that I've actually convinced friends to go for postgraduate work, as well. And yet here I am, the most passionate of all of us, still stuck in undergrad.

I know that there's a lot of things that contributed to my being here - my father being diagnosed with brain cancer is a pretty big one. And I don't resent the situation, not at all. How can I? My life is what it is. But I do see it as a form of weakness within myself that I wasn't able to deal with what happened in my family and still pull off my degree. I suppose I just don't have that steel minded dedication that's required for that sort of achievement.

It's bizarre - when it comes to my family I will sacrifice anything, especially myself. But when it comes to my academic work I can't seem to get going. Maybe it's because I'm afraid that I won't be good at what I want to be? Or maybe it's because I don't really know what I'll do when I reach the end of my postgraduate studies, and so am sort of subconsciously self-sabotaging myself to prolong getting there?

Whatever the case, I've decided that this is the last time. It's why I'm now madly trying to scramble around and catch up on all of the assignments that I let fall by the wayside when I went back to the states to see my extended family. I refuse to repeat another semester. I need to move on, stop being an economic burden to my family and start being an economic resource. Or at least, make a positive step in that direction.

It's difficult though, and not just because I've gotten myself into a mire of half-completed assignments and a semesters worth of catch-up work. It's also difficult because I've recently realized how much I absolutely love film making. I used to think that I just loved film because of the analysis side of things - to look at the cultural trends at work within a narrative has always been fun for me. Strange, I know.

But recently I've had the pleasure of working with some really passionate and driven artistic people and have had a blast making some great films that I'm really proud of. At the top of the list are a documentary that I directed and edited, and a music video that I helped produce and edit. I have no problem sacrificing myself to the world of making movies, and I'm beginning to wonder if that's some sort of sign that I've signed myself up for the wrong career path. Maybe I'm meant to be a maker of things, not just an analyzer of them? And if that's the case, have I just wasted five years of my life by focusing on a secondary passion?

It's this sort of self doubt that plagues me. I know that we're living in an age where jumping between professions is easier than ever. I know that it's not necessary to sign yourself up to one particular industry or company and never ever leave it. But at the same time, it helps if you have the right tools behind you. And I'm terrified of reaching the end of my degrees - what will be nine years of my life - and discovering that I spent it all on the wrong thing.

I guess this is a reflection of my generation - we don't like to waste time. Well, we do, but not on the big things. We want to know now that we're on the right track. And I know that comparatively I still will be getting my PhD quite young - but not as young as my friends who are currently in their last years!

It's interesting - I've never really been one to plan out my life. I grew up moving countries every three years, never knowing where my next school would be or who my next friends would be. I was happy to let things happen however they might, to let life blow me along and to just enjoy the ride. But throughout that I had the certainty of a loving and supportive family. Now that my family is fracturing from stress and sickness, I find myself worrying more and more about where the future will take me.

All I can do is keep moving forwards, I guess. I've put myself on a path and I need to see it out till the end - that's just the way that I am. I've thought about calling it quits at the end of this year, but I know that if I do then I'll spend my life wondering about how things would be different if I'd gone on and done what I'd set out to do.

So it's time to stop letting life get in the way and get on with things. I need to catch up on my assignments, I need to cram in a semester's worth of work into a few weeks. I know I can do it -I've done it before through sheer laziness and bad planning. Sure, my reasons this time are a bit different, and I've got different responsibilities now thanks to the situation with my father, but I need to suck myself out of this mire that I've gotten myself into.

I just need to keep reminding myself that I can. And really, that's the hardest part.