Sayonara, Bloody IV Drip!

So I just got out of confinement. And no, that’s not me trying to wriggle out of posting. My body was being a bitch like the rest of me and wouldn’t respond to medication. So you lot out there who haven’t been totally rendered insane by the randomness of this blog, I advise you to stay out of hospitals. If anything, try not to have yourself stuck to an IV drip. The dextrose isn’t that bad in itself, even if the nurses said it was supposed to hurt. What does that say about my body? but the skin test shots for the medication you might get through it is just not something you want. It bloody hurts, I tell you. And that’s coming from someone who didn’t have any anesthesia while having her leg incised. And watched the whole thing.

Anyway.

I wasn’t confined the whole time much to my mother’s wallet’s relief. The internet got busted, I got loopier (what’s new?), and other shit happened. So between traveling eight hours per trip to a far away province for our fieldwork (which I intend to write about, maybe even post some pictures. The stream was awesome.), researching, recording, doing paperwork, applying for a scholarship abroad (and actually getting it; another thing I really, really want to write about), and juggling all of that with all the everyday struggles of taking care of our very own Mini Lord Voldemort and just trying to actually live, I got to squeeze in some time to write. I warn you though: there is a high probability of crappy quality. Or well, it’d be different from what I usually write, I think. I just couldn’t seem to get into the “right” mood for writing long enough. I’m trying (read the operative word, mates, trying) to make it my life to write something that isn’t too technical, bland, boring (who doesn’t?), or plain. My current writing mode borders all of that combined. Following my earlier train of thought, that would mean I utterly fail at life “OTL

I actually have a lot of stories to tell, more randomness to infect you with, and even more crack to test your sanity. I just have to type it down. Because yes, I have finally admitted to myself that I can’t function properly without traumatizing people with my posts sharing them. I kind of really absolutely unbelievably miss writing for fun and not having my head ache at random intervals because of the ever-present paper. Besides, I have yet to fulfill my mission of learning how to write casually at will. Even in the dratted things known as papers.

That said, forgive the lack of posts. And the nearly month-long lateness of the next installment of chapters. And everything else, except maybe for spreading the insanity. That part I get to say, “Hah! I told you so!” I’ll be putting up the next chapters for NEP and SD, but SASBRC will be a tad late because klutzy me managed to lose the paper with the last chunk of the chapter. Please don’t maim me yet!

Oh, and the title? That was pretty literal.

Daily dose of being freaky complete!XD

Awesome Forever Classmates Moments 001

So I said I wouldn’t be able to post until hell week ended, and here I am, typing a second entry not twenty-four hours afterward. Maybe if I say that more often, I’d finally be able to post in time to meet certain fanfiction deadlines. But today gave us (or me, at least) such an emotional work out that it would be a crime not to share it. The happier parts, I mean. Unless you’re particularly fond of schadenfreude, in which case it’s a pleasure to provide you with moments of my torment I think.

Today was a roller coaster of emotions, lots of  highs, lows, and the occasional okay, maybe omnipresent loopy moments. And they were all with these people who, in the course of two and a half semesters, have become a very precious part of my life. Continue reading

From Hypothetical Questions to a Full Blown Story

I have the weirdest hobbies.

Seriously.

It is currently four in the morning, and I am, once again, talking on the phone with my best friend. Having spent four days at home (Classes were suspended due to heavy rains and flooding…and it wasn’t even a storm!) We spent majority of the night insulting each other’s dueling skills in Pottermore and declaring that our Sorting was rigged for the other’s entertainment. (He’s convinced he should be in Gryffindor, I’m the same for Slytherin. In reality, I’m in Gryffindor and he’s in Hufflepuff.) We went through the motions of poking fun at each other’s Houses. It went something along these lines:

“Hah. Lost again. See? You Gryffindors jump too fast into duels. Not like us, we wait patiently for the right time, the right conditions.”

“Don’t you think it’s about time for you to stop with the dueling and potion making? I mean really, your House Points could do without you depleting the already languid flow of yellow gems.”

“…Exactly how many cauldrons have you made explode?”

“Failed the Sleeping Draught again?”

“Gryffindor has rubies, Slytherin has emeralds, Ravenclaw has Sapphires. I still don’t know what gems are inside Hufflepuff’s hourglass [in the Great Hall].”

“I read something about that before. It went something along the lines of, ‘Considering Hufflepuff’s usual House Cup performance, it’s filled primarily with air.'” (No offense to the Hufflepuff House. Just me being my usual snarky self with my best friend.)

But then we hit the inevitable dead end, which wasn’t so surprising, seeing as we had been talking to each other for about five hours straight. We seriously don’t know how we stay up on the phone that long with no particular topic. We were silent for a whole three calls — around thirty-six minutes or so — and we did nothing but listen to each other’s breathing and reactions to whatever we were doing at the time. told you my hobbies were weird.

For lack of topics, my best friend and I ventured into the realm of asking hypothetical questions ranging from what we were reading then, to visual novels, and to eroge (yes, my guy best friend is comfortable ennough to discuss eroge with me).

And then, since I was reading a Tom Riddle era fanfic, I decided to ask him a hypothetical question that went something along the lines of, “If you were to fall deeply, madly, obsessively in love with a Dark Lord in the making, a sociopath (I was reading something about sociopaths, The Sociopath Next Door by Martha Stout) who is not capable of loving, and is very much in every sense, except time and name and gender, like Tom Marvolo Riddle, with the same mass murdering tendencies, what would you do?”

(It was really meant to be a confusing, somewhat run-on statement, and meant to be corrected by the other. Don’t ask. Grammar Nazi giving another Grammar Freak some grief.)

And of course, that led to several more questions.

And a longer discussion.

The conversation has been going on for a good two and a half hours already. And I have several hours’ worth of his fantasies, musings, and suppositions. It would make for good story material.

And, of course, blackmail.

It’s really amazing what boredom can do.

Guilty Pleasures

Photo hosted at justgirlythings.tumblr.com

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I talked to my best friend tonight.

We’re both in college now, finally, but we haven’t seen hair nor hide of each other in the three weeks that we’ve been in school. I miss the bloody git. And I think, somewhere deep down — really, really, deep down — he misses me too. He denies it, sarcastically agrees, or says something vague alluding to it, but I know he does. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be calling me at random times at night and in the early hours of the morning.

Like right now.

And damn, I just realized how much I really missed having him around — flinging insults left and right, bickering about whether Clerith or Zerith was the Final Fantasy VII pairing, call me a creep for taking pleasure in observing people, and trying to break my neck just for the fun of it.

Just being there, not even really talking as much as knowing that the other is there, kind of really makes my day. Even if my day hasn’t really started yet. Even if I have to face another mound of homework. (I envy his freshman status; he doesn’t get as much torture schoolwork)

Even if he did end up sleeping on me.

Because if I was going to be honest about it, I’d be all creepy and say I’m reassured to just hearing him breathe at the other end of the line. It proves that he’s really there, real and very much alive, not a figment of my overactive imagination that my mind conjured up on my fifteenth birthday as a consolation gift of sorts.

So go on, Bryan. Just keep sleeping. And breathing. And living. And just being you.

It’s a guilty pleasure of mine just observing these things.