Murderous in[Sanity]

I was in Philly today. It was filthy, and cramped, and altogether very innercityish (dibs, haha, I called it first). The people in the area were of the following variety:
1) Black people.
2) Puerto Ricans.
3) Asians.
4) Young white kids trying to be either 1, 2, or 3.
5) Crazy-looking old white people, probably on psychotropic meds.

Okay, first of all, we passed this huge area of town that was completely Korean. I'm talking, the store names were in Korean, the people were Korean, and the houses had these angry-looking signs plastered to the doors that were...well, in Korean. The whole time we were driving through it, I was hiding in the backseat of the car, waiting for the Korean mafia to leap out, screaming, and take us hostage. Who knows; they may have wanted to pin the whole North Korea/South Korea shit on us, the only white people in the whole area. Note to self: Never piss off an Asian.

Not to mention the white kids walking around with their pants around his (or her, yes, her) knees, the utility chains hanging around their necks, and the mock-licence-plates dangling from said chain. Then you have the crazy white women wandering around, with crazy hair, crazy eyes, and crazy lipstick smeared all over their faces. I'm sure that I saw one lady holding a dog leash as if she were walking a dog, but there was nothing attatched to the other end of the leash...

But all of this isn't even the important part.

The important part: I survived.

The other important part: I survived without being corrupted by the insanity of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. And I got to see family and some old friends of my mom's who were absolutely hilarious.

The other, other important part that is honestly too depressing to talk about: My poor great-great (-great?) Aunt Peggy is dying of cancer. Her room smelled like death, and I couldn't stay in there for too long without crying. It was odd. I hardly knew the woman when she was alive, but the thought of her passing on made me so emotional.

I hope this isn't some sort of phase. Because if it is, I am so having a word with the Head Honcho(s) of this dilly-o called lyf3.

Anyway, so ends my Philly adventure.

Earlier today, I was speaking to some of my friends from hockey. It was early in the morning, but the heat was already seeping into everything and blurring it all into a big jumble of color and noise. A small group of us was relaxing on the sidelines, guzzling water like it was going out of fashion (sorry Coach, but the whole "three sips" thing doesn't cut it), and yapping like there was no tomorrow.

Not far into our little mix of words and mumblings, someone mentioned something about an annoying younger sibling. Able to relate, I tuned into that part of the conversation. It was Alyssa.

"She kept whining and screaming at me, and it was starting to make me really pissed off, you know?" Alyssa complained.

A couple of the girls lazily muttered their assent.

"So, like, I just took my glock and I hit her with it."

I stopped listening at that point and narrowed my eyes. A glock? What would Alyssa be doing with a glock? Was she involved in something dangerous? Was she a bad person? Had she killed people?

I have no idea why I suddenly got to thinking all of this -- perhaps it was the heat -- but after a while, I plucked up the courage to ask Ayssa why she had a glock in the first place. Laughing, she quickly corrected me by saying that I'd heard wrong.

"A clock," Alyssa told me, as if I was five and not fifteen. "I said I hit her with my clock."

You know what I say to that? Bullshit. That's right.

I mean, a clock? Who hits someone with their clock? That makes even less sense than my theory.

Despite her obvious attempt to reassure me, I am not convinced. Alyssa is full of secrets and lies and I'm determined to descover the mystery of the glock.

Don't kill me. I know what you're thinking. "Is she crazy? Don't those advertisements that she constantly sees on T.V. and websites completely ruin her day? Doesn't she practically have a heartattack every time she catches a mere glimpse of a pop-up she didn't call for?" The answer to all of these questions is yes. But call me not a hypocrite for displaying this following advertisement, because it's for a perfectly good cause (not like those "feed the starving children" ads; I mean, yeah I don't want kids starving, but let's be honest. That money will never make it any further than the company's pocket).

My personal muse, Soul Twin, and bestie-best-best friend in the whole entire world has finally made her own blog. (: <--- hey, look, a smiley face.

Anyway, you can find her right about...here. Wait no, that's not it...here? Nuh-uh. OH! Found her. She's right here.

And just in case you missed that... The Psalms of Fahlia.

Aily, you crazy bee-otch, I luffers yew. {insert smiley face}

I've decided to use this blog as more than an outlet, but as a running record of certain things that appeal to me, frighten me, amuse me, make me want to kill someone, etc, etc. With this is mind, I've also come to the conclusion that I have weird-ass dreams, so they will be included here among the rest of this badly-written, astoundingly ridiculous, and highly intoxicating mess that I have bravely dared to label as my blog. Whatever I happen to remember from my dreams (which occur during REM [Rapid Eye Movement] sleep; you see? Biology does come in handy) will most likely be displayed here as soon as I am able to reach my computer. (That is not to say that I'm ever not able to reach my computer. I mean, if I couldn't reach it, I'd be taking some things up with the Boss (Wo)Man, because this computer is -- sadly -- my life.) This said, I would like to introduce you to a snippet of a dream I recalled when my mother so rudely woke me up at 6:30AM for my hockey practice. I don't remember much of it, but this one scene is very vivid in my mind...

~

We were standing on a dusty road, on either side of which there was sand. Sand and a few rocks. A few miles away, I could spot palm trees, but I figured it was a hallucination. Instinctively, I knew that there was no sign of life nearby, besides the silent, friendly man before me. I knew his name, knew that he wanted me to go somewhere with him. But I also knew that he was manipuative, and I knew that he was not to be trusted.

"Come on," the man said. He was tall, and had sand-colored hair and extremely dark eyes that one moment could look blue and the other could seem green or black. He could not have been more than four or five years older than I was, and I was aware that he was very familiar to me.

"Come on," he repeated. "Let's get out of here. We can hit up Alabama or somethin'."

"No," I coughed out before repeating it more firmly: "No. Look, I can't keep doing this. I need stability in my life. All this traveling...it's crazy. I love it; but it's crazy. I can't...not anymore."

The man frowned and said nothing, and then he disappeared into the dream and I woke up.

~

It's rather odd, but I can see the scene now, as clearly as I could see the old run-down church in one of my other dreams. It's so vivid that if I had the skills (which I most certainly do not *grumblegrumble*), I could draw it exactly as I see it now. I'm not sure what it means, and I could really use some help...

Any ideas?

Okay, so some really weird shit has been happening to me that has caused to...yes, I admit it...feel fear. Despite common opinion, I am -- in fact -- often weakened by feelings, and one of those feelings that I am certainly not proud of is fear. I'm afraid. There. I said it. Sue me.

Since I can't really tell anyone in person (they would think me insane), I feel the need to dedicate a post on here to the causes of this fear. This will mostly just be my excuse to vent about why the hell I -- Rowan, that crazy bitch who often seems completely emotionless -- am even afraid in the first place. So listen close. This is a once in a lifetime deal.


-->The Deal<--
Here's the deal: Weird shit is happening to me.
When?: Some strange things have always sort of occured, but I've almost always viewed them as coincidences. Lately, as in "since last month"-lately, things have been happening that I can't ignore, and I can't pawn off as coincidences.
Why?: That's what I'm trying to find out.
Whatthehellisgoingon?: Thank you for asking. Now I may begin.

I guess I should start with the numbers. On June 13th, 2009 (it was Monday), after finally managing to fall asleep at midnight, I woke up at exactly 1:23AM. On the following Tuesday, the same thing happened, and the same again on the Wednesday. I found this slightly odd, but thought little of it until, exactly three weeks later, on August 3rd, I woke up at exactly 1:23AM. The same thing happened on the following Tuesday and Wednesday. Since then, I've seen the numbers 3 and 9 (3x3) literally everywhere. This was indeed quite frightening, so I did some research on numerology.

-->The Numbers<--
Supposedly, the number 3 (which seems to be incredibly significant in most religions and spiritual occults) means several different things, some of which are listed below:


-Chinese say: 3 is a perfect number.
-Mayans say: the sacred number of woman.
-Egyptians say: the number of the cosmos.

In other cultures, and as a general rule of thumb, the number three is:
-universally significant
-the number of balance
-a symbol of harmony
-believed to encompass the attributes of both the number 1 (unity, simplicity, and agreement) and 2 (duality, complexity, and tension)
-a representative of opposites and the harmony between them

...and so on and so forth. Apparently, 3 is a very complex, yet simplified number. I don't understand the point of it, or why I'm seeing things in sets of three, but that is that.

-->The...Well, Just Read and Find Out<--
Now, I'll advance to the much creepier part...the part that you need to look at objectively, from my point of view as a completely sane individual. Because you need to keep that in mind as you read this: I am and have always been sane. That's what I tell myself. Therefore, you must tell yourself the same.

All right, a few oddities have stuck out over the past few weeks, but the strangest and most vivid of these "strangenesses" occurred this past Monday -- the 17th of August. I didn't mention it then because I was, frankly, very weirded out.

It was nighttime, I don't recall the exact time I realized what was happening, but I know it was late -- at least 10:30PM. In any case, it was late and my grandmother and mother were both in their beds, and my little brother, Declan, was in his room on his computer, I believe. (However, I was unaware of this final part until much later.)

I was sitting at my computer, typing away, chatting with friends, and listening briefly to the noises coming from the back room -- the game room that is on one side of my bedroom. At the time, I believed my brother was back there, watching television. I could hear sighing, and shifting on the couch, and creaking of the floorboards, and something that sounded like the faint hum of the T.V. "Oh," I thought to myself, hearing another irritated sigh erupt from the back room. "I want water." So I rose, and walked to the back room, wholly intending to make my poor little brother (*coughSLAVE?cough*) get me some water.

But when I peered around the doorway...

Yes. The room was completely empty. At that point, I could even feel a slight chill (though no air conditioning has ever reached that room since we moved in here a year ago -- it's like a god damn tropical island). But that could have simply been my imagination. Or maybe it was the fact that every ounce of blood in me suddenly froze.

Either way, that was quite obviously a very scary encounter. I remained the rest of the night wrapped in a blanket in the corner of my room farthest from the back room.

I may not be sure exactly what's going, or why strange things are happening to me, but I know that the most prominent thought in my mind then, besides the wild fear running rampant in my brain, was: gotta write about it now.

Last night I started a book -- the events of which were inspired by true events.

*insert scoff* That's a writer for you.

I haven't gotten a single bit of writing done since Friday. I'm beginning to think that I've got a serious problem. I know that writer's block doesn't actually exist (thanks to all ye who carelessly burst that bubble for me), but procrastination sure does, and I believe that it's seriously impeding me my duties as a (young, very young) writer. However, I'll be trying my best during the days to come to get my act together and put words into sentences, and get setences onto paper so I can move on with Lies. And the same with the other novels that are sitting in my Lost and Found bin. I've just got to...dive in. Here goes nothing.

In other news, I'll finally be getting to go see Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince! I've been waiting since Twilight for that damned movie to come out, and I'm definately going to see it tomorrow morning. Most likely with family. HP6 is yet another example of me being incompetant. Oh, what in the world can I do with myself? *insert dramatic sigh*

Well, it's nearly 1AM and I'm really, really, really tired, but here I am. I tried to write and managed about a thousand words. I was really aiming for 2k, but it'll have to do for tonight. In saying that, I also wish to mention that I dedicated most of that measley 1k of words to The Truth About Things That Matter, which is a really good thing. Even though I've been commissioned to complete Lies by March 5th (a birthday wish from a friend), I feel that I need to exercise my other outlets. All this vampire nonsense (I say the word fondly, because I love my Lies characters very dearly) gets to my head sometimes, and I feel that my brain requires a break from it.

However, being that as it may, it is still 1AM. Nearly all of my 1k was proably flawed and grammatically incorrect, but it will have to do until morning (though it'll probably be closer to afternoor when I wake up). Lovely morning (afternoon) when I can relax and work out the kinks and major flaws.

Anyway, I think that is enough for tonight, so I bid you adieu.

I just recently stumbled (literally) upon the notebook that I used during yesterday's "work hard" session, This was the session I illustrated in the previous post that included the psychotic screaming, and the music-playing, and the movie-watching. Since I didn't do any real writing yesterday, unless you consider the ramblings in said post "writing", I instead commenced to "writing" in this notebook. I had taken the Dictionary (it's capitalized because it's like my Bible, so back off, all ye Typo-Searchers) from the shelf upstairs, randomly chosen five words, and thrown together a brief plot summary as quickly as possible. Repeat, repeat. Here is the trilogy of plotlines I composed last night (WARNING: All three are probably hopelessly riddled with grammatical errors, but it was late, I was tired, they were each written in like five minutes, and well yeah, you'll have to live with it):

1) city, execute, sea, magistrate, parasite. Verdali City is a fantastical place by the shores of the shining sea of Malla. It is ruled by a Magistrate -- Massimer Dodds -- and his crew of Enforcers. The people fear Massimer and the Enforcers, because of the terrifying, strict laws that they create. The first and most important law is called the Parasite Law. It states that anyone who catches another person breaking any of the other laws or otherwise being a drag on society must turn them in immediately. The turned-in "parasite" will promptly be executed by the sea, in front of the whole of Verdali City, setting an example for anyone else considering the life of a "criminal".

2) nutrition, pathology, poison, light, evoke. A poison known (in layman's terms) as Virus is spreading rapidly across the face of the Planet. The effects of Virus aren't fully understood, but it is believed to have some sort of effect on the brain, making a person less curios, and therefore less apt to ask questions. A small group of pathologists get together in order to discover a nutrition to counter Virus. During their studies, one of the scientists accidentally evokes Light, a possible cure. But he and the others find that Light may be more difficut to control than they had first thought.

3) asthma, charismatic, cross of Lorraine, funeral, reflective. A small-town girl named Lorraine dies of an asthma attack at age sixteen. A charismatic teen by the name of Zander moves into the small town on the day of Lorraine's funeral. Beginng with a few of her personal possessions -- a cross of Lorraine (ironically) and a small hand mirror -- Zander enter the life of Lorraine. Abused by his lazy, drunked father and ignored by his distant mother, Zander finds refuge in the life of Lorraine and in the company of her family and friends.

There they are. They sound horrible right now, but one day they'll be longer, more awesome, and freakin' grammatically correct. Just you wait.

Sometimes I wonder where my head is.

I've been neglecting my duties as a writer. "I'll write more tomorrow" and "Oooh, one a.m. sounds like a good time to start", are not good habits of thought. I'll have to start planning out how many words I type a day if I'm going to get anywhere with this.

Anyway, I snuck onto my computer at eleven o'clock last night after a hard day's work. A hard day's work being six and a half hours of me screaming relentlessly at my homework, turning rock music on during Chemistry just so I could piss off my overlord mother, and then relaxing (stressfully) in front of the television while I watched an abnormally long movie.

But after all of that, I had some juice, cracked my fingers in a very badass manner (it hurt), and sat down at my computer to work on Lies.

An hour and a half later, this is what I had come up with:

{start colassal waste of time}

Character One hit Character Two with a salami.
Character Two cried for his mommy.
Character Three -- who is he??

The best defense is a good offence. So by offending you, I'm defending myself.

A BRIEF SUMMARAYY::: So, like, there was once this girl and, like, this hot guy. She thought he was soooo hot, but there was nothing she could do because, like, he was totally depressed and stuff. One day this other hot guy came along, and the girl was like, "Hey these guys are both really hot, I wonder which one I should choose." In the end, she chose both and ate them both whole. FIN.

Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about.

riting iz gud

Why is it Yes, Man and not Yes, Woman? Rascist. I mean, er, sexist.

Me: Okay, people, y'all better calm down, got it?
Cast of Lies: We get it.
Me: Good. I'd hate to have you all commit suicide.

CHARACTER THREE IS THE SALAMI!!!

{/end colassal waste of time}

I have no freaking idea what was in my orange juice last night, but I've made a few assumptions based on what I'm seeing.

1) I'm a huge procrastinator.
2) There is more to Lies than meets the eye.
3) No more oddly colored drinks after 3PM. It's water or nothing.

I saw these quotes and they made me smile(:

"Today, give a stranger one of your smiles. It might be the only sunshine he sees all day.”

“A smile costs nothing but gives much. It enriches those who receive without making poorer those who give. It takes but a moment, but the memory of it sometimes lasts forever. None is so rich or mighty that he cannot get along without it and none is so poor that he cannot be made rich by it. Yet a smile cannot be bought, begged, borrowed, or stolen, for it is something that is of no value to anyone until it is given away. Some people are too tired to give you a smile. Give them one of yours, as none needs a smile so much as he who has no more to give.”

People ask me sometimes to babysit their children, nieces, younger brothers and sisters, etc, etc. And I always answer the same thing. "I don't like kids." They continue to pester me about it, all the way up until the point that I wonder whether or not homicide is really worth it.

But it does make me think. I mean, sometimes I just want to say to them, "Do I actually look like someone you want to leave your small children with?" I wonder how many people would say yes, and how many would vote no. The ones who said yes, I would automatically point them in the direction of the nearest clinic.

I can't remember a time when I actually wanted children, to be perfectly honest. Even when I was a little girl, I enjoyed dolls but I wasn't one of those little girls who think that there is such thing as getting married at age 18 to Prince Charming, having a thousand little baby girls, and living a long and illustrious life. That shit only existed in fairy tales, and I knew it even then. (I may have been an imaginative child, but I was sure as hell not a gullible one.)

Unfortunately, my teenage hormones are kicking in, and suddenly-- voila! I want a little girl. I haven't exactly told anyone yet, nor do I plan to; that would ruin my perfectly good reputation as a hard-hearted badass who dislikes kids.

But regardless of what happens in the long run, I think this just goes to show that opinions can literally change on a dime. With the right persuasion, of course.

Do you remember the good old days when you believed in Santa Claus? Big ole' white beard, rounded middle, red suit, rosy cheeks, and a rather jolly outlook on life? Yeah, that guy. I used to believe. I would argue with anyone who told me differently, and often the argument would turn to bickering and fighting, since neither of us had any real proof of either side.

Well, think about religion. Isn't that what people do in general? A Christian can believe his side all he wants, but if a devout Judaist comes along, the Christian isn't about to persuade the Jew without use of force, and most likely not even then. Religion is a powerful thing: it has been used to raise hopes in times of hardship, but it has also been used as a shield of protection by so-called "righteous" men who simply wanted to take their neighbor's land and needed a divine excuse to do it.

After yet another long digression, I return to my actual point, which really doesn't have anything to do with jolly old Saint Nicholas.

Last night, I had perhaps one of the most controversially disturbing dreams in all of my remembered dreams. I do not recall what events preceeded this strange incident, nor do I know what followed, but I do know that this one skit was enough to freak me the hell out.

In the dream, I was at the entrance of this tiny, old, beaten-down church. At the end of the rows, seven on either side, I could see a Mary statue; she was very old as well, her blue robe was fading and her white gown was yellowing. I walked toward her and kept walking and walking, until finally I came to a halt in front of her, and I fell to my knees. I looked up at the statue of the Virgin Mary -- she was covered with dirt and cobwebs and dust -- and asked her, in my mind, for the truth. Then I turned and looked out the window to my right, and to my surprise, the dark sky lit up for a brief time, only to be quickly smothered again by darkness. An immense pressure weighed on me and I felt something strong, a feeling that I couldn't depict, and then I fell asleep.

I woke up seconds later to the worst sound in the world: my mother's voice at 7:30AM on a summer morning. My own personal alarm clock. Yay me.

I'm not quite sure what the dream means, but all I know is that I've never conciously had a dream like it. And second of all, I would never ask this Mary figure for anything, because I'm not Christian. I asked my little brother about it, and as one may guess, he called me crazy and joked that I was some sort of prophet.

I asked my best friend (a Christian) about it, and you know what she said? That I should become a Christian. Yep. She tried to convert me because she doesn't want me to go to hell.

I appreciate the offer, hun, but I'm pretty sure that I don't want to be ushered into your little "in"-group. Thanks anyway, I think I'll stick to my idea.

It's really amazing sometimes. You can be the soul twin of someone...and then at the same time have differing opinions about what exactly to do with your soul.

The beginning of...what, exactly? I don't know. That's why I asked you. Well then, let's make some introductions, shall we?

My name is Rowan and I'm a recovering drug addict.

. . . . .

No, not really. Let's try this again.

My name is Rowan, and I'm a fifteen year old chica with mixed heritage (1/2 Irish, 1/4 French, 1/4 Native American, 100% clinically insane). I'm homeschooled and proud of it. I'm not your average I'm-homeschooled-therefore-I-grew-up-on-a-farm type of girl, nor am I your average I'm-homeschooled-and-I-rather-smell-like-old-cheese type of girl. Seriously. Some of them actually smell like old cheese. It's disgusting.

No, I'm not typically your average girl. Then again, who the hell is actually average? What is average anyway? Exactly. You don't know, I don't know, nobody knows. How can you measure average, when supposedly everyone's "unique"? Point in case.

Anyway, back from that little diversion...I was born just outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and we lived there until I was about three, and my little brother, Declan (who was born in Lancaster, Pennsylvania two years after me) was only a year old. He does all his crazy shizz here. Continuing with my little story...when I was about three, we moved to Ireland and resided there, in a tiny rent-a-house, for roughly five years while my father worked as a bar-tender, and my stay-at-home mom gave us the best she could. That was saying a lot at the time, because we weren't exactly living in riches. We traveled A LOT when we lived there. Just in those few years of staying, I'd gone to Wales, England, Finland, France, Greece, and even back to the States a few times. So in Ireland, I had lots of friends and I was probably one of the most pampered kids in our neighborhood and blah blah blah happily ever after, right?

Wrong.

When I was about eight or nine years old, we moved back to the States. I remember the weeks when we were packing up, because they were the weeks following September 11, 2001. I don't remember the attack very well, as we were in Ireland when it happened, but I do remeber how much I cried when we left. But that's beside the point. Point is, we moved back to the States.

The next few years were very...difficult on my whole family. My father got a job as a social worker in New Jersey, and my mom worked as one as well for a time. My brother and I stayed in my Grandmother's house in Philly, with her two-hundred-and-seven-thousand cats and her peanut-butter-and-Fluff sandwiches.

A couple months of that little...obstacle, and we moved into my great-grandmother's house in New Jersey. My brother and I went to a Catholic school there. It was a fairly good school. I'm guessing the people were okay, but obviously they weren't very prominent figures in my life, as I can't recall any of them.

When I was about eleven, my mom quit her job, my dad didn't, and my family migrated to a small, quiet area of Lancaster, PA. The education system was less than satisfactory (i.e.: if you didn't understand something, the teacher, seemingly being paid to do so, would reply, "I don't need to answer that; I already got my degree", and would point to that one sheet of paper on that wall that always made you want to throw food at it), and the people were simply a random jumble of ignorance and petty childishness. They were the kind of people who smelled vaguely of money and baby powder when they walked by, nose in the air.

I'm pretty sure that was when the problems arose. I became one pissed off kid, and I picked fights with a lot of people who made fun of me, or looked at me wrong, or simply rubbed me the wrong way. Unfortunately, I'm still living down my pathetic reputation as a badass Irish chic with anger management issues and who was usually carrying around abnormally large wooden objects with which to beat people. I'm not proud of it now. But I damn well used to be.

My mother decided to homeschool me a half a year through sixth grade, but my attitude didn't improve. Rather, I became more shallow, shy, and withdrawn. I spent most of my middle school years in lonely drudgery, and I was a big fan of wallowing in self-pity.

It was only last year, when we moved from the Lily White suburbs to the rather diverse and amazing city of Lancaster, that my attitude toward things began to change and I became the wonderful (*cough*) person that I am today. I am a proud, and rather outspoken, Wiccan, despite my mother's claims that I can't possibly know what I am, and I am an open-minded soul who generally wishes to argue. Note that I said "argue" and not "bicker". If you don't know the difference, I suggest you quickly find a dictionary and enlighten yourself. I'm a patriot of sorts, and consider myself a Republican, but I'm really on the side of whoever is AGAINST socialist reform, and on the SIDE OF whoever actually has America in mind rather than just their own personal gains. Besides politics, which I adore, I also love the colors purple and green, but that also varies every once in a while, usually with my mood. I'm a learning-freak, too, so watch out for my magical powers. I may actually teach you something new.

Furthermore, I would like to point out to everyone that I am a ninja, I can see in the dark with a nightlight on, and I am a huge fan of Colin Farrell.

My life hasn't exactly been an adventure so far, and I'm not exactly in the position to come into large sums of money that I can waste on recreation, so I guess I'll just have to wait and see where my imagination takes me!

~ r o w a n <3