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Okay, it's been what feels like forever and a day since my last measly attempt at a journal entry, so I've returned with (hopefully) something worthwhile: pictures of my little trip to Cuba!

Clickie!

Yeah, yeah... I spelled Varadero wrong, but it's the thought that counts!

A cat has 9 tails.

Plain and simple.

I dare you to proove me wrong.

Here, I'll save you the trouble.

I'll be the nicest person ever.

I'll give you the truth.

Or I could just keep you reading.

So that you won't know the truth.

Keeping you ignorant.

Or is this enough space?

Nevermind.

How about I entertain you all with a joke:
Why did the chicken cross the mobius?

To get to the same side.

xd

Now, wasn't that entertaining?

Or have I just left half the world looking at me funny...

That's probably what happened.

Unless you actually know what a mobius is...

Then you'd be bursting your sides laughing.

Trust me, I was when I heard it.

3nodding



Okay, here's that proof: A cat realy does have 9 tails.

No cat has 8 tails, right?
A cat has one tail more than no cat, right?
Therefore, a cat must have 9 tails.
xd


Don'cha just love math jokes?
cool

Alright, I've made up my mind. Lately, I've been having the urge to write whatever random thought pops into my head; thankfully, I have a journal at home that a co-worker gave me for my birthday last month. But then I got to thinking, "Hey, I already have a journal online. Why am I wasting paper when I can just type?" So here I am, starting two actual serious journals. I won't call them Diaries because I believe the sterotype for Diaries is a little girl writing down all her hopes and dreams. I'll be writing about my fears and nightmares.

Speaking of nightmares, a few months back before summer holidays, I had this really disturbing nightmare about my father. I'll try for a recount... but when I have time. wink

(Four days later...)
Okay, I think I have enough time now.

Are any of you familiar with the console game Killzone? If you are, think of the arctic environments with more snow and less "rectangular-ice". If you aren't, think of a giant chasm in the Rockey mountains with all sorts of ledges and protusions. This is similar to the setting of my nightmare.
Remember all those horrow flicks out there that have the soon to be victem running, looking back, then stumble and fall; run, look fall? Well, I was running, stumble and fall then look. I tell you, whenever I looked back I was preying that I would see nothing. But I always did; I always saw someone chasing me, always getting closer. But the thing was... I was running, they were walking. The snow was a total handycap on my part, but for some reason the person following me was not affected by it. They just kept comming no matter how many ledges I toppled off of, no matter how hard I tried to escape - they just kept comming.
Then I saw something ahead of me. Snow was begining to fall, snowflakes that is. It wasn't until I was a few feet in front of that 'new' thing that I realised it was my mother, my REAL mother. She was telling me to get into the car - not our real car, an orange thing. She was telling me to get going and to leave her behind... even with the person I was running from just a couple hundred yards away.

How many people can say they feel comfortable doing whatever they want? All I know is that I'm not one of those people. Seems that whenever I so much as even attempt to write something on a more personal and serioius level, I revert to the comical side of me in an attempt to avoid revealing the "poetic soul", as one person affectionately refered to it as (on Gaia, none the less).

Lately, I've been very absorbed in a novel that had been staring me in the face for weeks on end - litterally. The book is "Memoirs of a Geisha" with one of the most famous geisha adorning the cover; Nitta Sayuri's grey-blue eyes just kept staring at me from the shelf whenever I used a particular computer in my school's library. Earlier this week I decided to put an end to things and take a look at the damn thing. What I found was a prolific and slightly errotic account of Sayuri's life.

Supposing you looked at it in a philosophical sence, her life is full of parodies. For example, as her mother was slowly dieing, Chiyo (Sayuri's origional, childhood name) was sold into a kind of slavery by a man she thought would adopt her from her aged father. She called it slavery, but the women who bought her called it "an investment". Chiyo was sold to a certain home, called an okiyo, that would be like her headquarters later on in life if she ever became a geisha - the predominant reason why she was sold in the first place.

Looking back myself, I can see why Sayuri refered to it as the best and worst afternoon of her life. She was sold - taken away from her only family and separated from her older sister - but given the chance to become something great. I suppose this parody should be easily transcribed to most everyone's life... but when transcribed to my own, all I see is the day I finally force myself off my lazy a** and actually find myself a real job - none of that "casual part-time" crap. If I do manage to procure some form of occupation, then more windows and doors to my future will be opened; more opprotunities to become something great. How laughable. The only thing great I see in my future is thinking how great it would be to actually LIVE, not just existing or surviving... but to actually live to my heart's content, well, I would die happy having even one instance of an experience like that.

Well... it would seem I've attracted the attention of ONE person. 3nodding
-sigh-
Sometimes though, I honestly wish I didn't have so many acursed aspects of my personality. Is that too much to ask?

For starters... on Gaia, I'm perhaps one of the strangest, most confusing people you'll love laughing... and pointing fingers at... mocking me...
But in real life, I'm a well read, Honour role high school student who'd love nothing more to curl up with a good book for hours on end... or spend those hours watching TV, that would be good too.
GAH! See what I mean! There, just there! I was one way, then the other!

....I really need a life to distract me.... pretending to be an actress is wearing thin. Too bad the actress who had my role before me moved to the next province west before dumping the role on me. Yiiipppeee... (please take note of the painfully obvious sarcasm).

Fine, enough brooding. If I find out that more comments on my... odd...journal come in, I may decide to grace you all with some of my true writing skills with an original novel-in-the-works. Yep.

For those of you who now how to work a journal properly, please be kind and offer me some of your mercy; for those of you who don't know me and couldn't care less about wether or not a person can adequately operate the journal system - Hi, nice to meet you! And for those of you who know me from my filandring days galivanting in the forums, I'm glad to see I haven't been forgotten.

In case you haven't noticed, this is really just an introductory test post for anyone in the mood to actually read and comment on the gibberish that flows from my mind to my finger-tips... and (thankfully) not out of my mouth.

I suppose it would be a good start to give a brief description of who will be your resident author for the next few minutes, but seeing as you most likely have better things to do, all I'm going to give you is that in real life, I'm a 5'10" brunette with an all natural grey (or white, to be more accurate) streak of hair. I've not a tatoo on my body (yet...) and am proud to say I am a Canadian who's never failed a course to date and am a loyal servant just short of a otaku to the animes I actually get a chance to watch.

Oh, and one more thing... I am very weird. That is a confermed fact by both me, myself and I, friends, random people on Gaia... and my younger brother. So be warned.

Well, that was quite a mouth... uh, handfull of typing (and reading) so I'm just going to let you marinate for the next little while before my next (or first) serious journal entry. Tips and topics are more than welcome... so are questions.