Ow. T.T

So, I'm at my parents', babysitting my brothers (and house-sitting) and my sister and her friend Alicia is over for awhile to see us (and Alicia is literally like a family member to all of us) and we're all having a mostly good time, talking and reminiscing about old times. Which would be great if the conversation would stop reverting to this or that bad thing I did to someone or something, somewhere when I was in high school or whatever. And whenever it's me and my parents talking and reminiscing, the same thing happens, except instead of "Oh, remember when you did this...?" its "I couldn't believe you when...", "Why did you,,?", and "You were so horrible when..", and then it becomes a (usually drunken) lecture on what a horrible person I am. And I know I did some shitty things-which I've apologized for- but, fuck, come ON. I've changed! I got sober, I'm happily married, and I'm working towards getting my fucking G.E.D! I feel like I'm being shit on and singled out and it pisses me off.

What is it going to take for me to stop being seen as the black sheep?
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    depressed depressed

(no subject)

I just read that Stephen King apparently writes about his fears as a way to gain leverage over them. Perhaps this will be my inspiration finally.

Any thoughts?

(edited to fix a stupid typo)

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

My CreepyPasta!

I made a CreepyPasta! I hope this little burst of creativity lasts. It was SO much fun to write. :D Tell me what you think, folks? :D

Not Following You Dec.5/10

You're on your daily afternoon walk around your neighbourhood. You are deep in thought. Without thinking, you wander off your regular route and, without being aware of it, you turn into a narrow side street. You continue to walk until you finally snap out of thought and stop. You gaze at your surroundings in shock. You don't recognize anything around you. You fear you may be lost. You turn around and see a huge, old house to your left. Had it been maintained, it might have been a beautiful house, but this house is far from attractive. The veranda surrounding it has collapsed in parts. Many windows are broken. Shutters are missing or broken. Any trace of paint anywhere on the house is gone completely-if it had ever been painted at all. All the flowers and trees around it are as grey as the house, and look dead and lifeless. The weather-vane is on the front lawn, with the “E” pointing towards the sky. You hesitate for a brief moment, and then you open the wrought iron gate and walk nervously towards the gate. You know your curiosity will bring you back to this house later if you turn back, so you walk up the stone path towards the house and open the front door.
You stop a few steps in. You take in the surroundings. The inside is in a similar state of disrepair. Directly ahead of you is a staircase. The railing is on the floor next to the staircase. You look up the stairs dubiously. All you see is darkness. You look down the hallway beyond the railing on the floor. You see what looks like a kitchen. You step over the broken railway and walk in. You see an old, run-down kitchen, with nearly all of the normal amenities a kitchen would have. The knobs on the oven are all missing. A thick layer of dust covers everything. You turn left and see a living room. More of the same normal, yet old and broken furniture. The moth-eaten couch looks like it has been broken completely in two. You move on once more, this time going to the right of the staircase, to what looks like a study. A great desk faces you. Two armchairs face the desk. It looks like something has been carved into the desk. You walk towards the desk and see one word “RUN.” Startled, you turn around and around, wondering if someone could be watching as you wander through what might be their house, their territory. You see no one. You hear no one.
After a few minutes you simply shrug, do your best to shake off your nervousness, and walk back towards the staircase. You look up the staircase once again, this time even more doubtful of it's stability and even more fearful of the darkness, but once again, curiosity reigns and you carefully walk up, stepping lightly. You hope your foot won't find a rotten stair. Once you reach the top, you once again stand there for a moment and look around carefully. You let your eyes adjust to the near-darkness. You see four doors-two to the right of you and two to the left of you. All of the doors are closed. The door closest to you on your left is the only one made of metal. You feel uneasy when you look at the door, but in spite of it, you turn to the closest door to your right. You turn the doorknob carefully first. It's unlocked. You enter and see a plain, minimally furnished bedroom. There is only a bed, a tiny nightstand and a small chest of drawers. There is one window. The walls are a soft pink that has faded considerably with age. You guess the last occupants had a little girl. You notice a drawing taped to the wall. You walk up to look at it, and you are startled at what you see. You see a clumsily-drawn picture of you, as if a child had drawn it. Your face is pinched and contorted in agony. Blood seeps from a what looks like a wound in your stomach. In the bottom of the picture there is a shadow figure standing over you, with what looks like a knife in it's hand. You stare at it, bewildered and terrified.
You want to just turn and run, but you change your mind once you remember the curious metal door and decide to finish. You turn and go to the door farthest to the right. It's a tiny bathroom. There is a heavily rusted claw-footed tub, a sink and a tiny mirror that is heavily coated with dust. There is a tiny window, and the walls are a soft blue. You look at the floor to your right. You see dozens of long-legged spiders crawl out of the heating vent and move towards you. You gasp, jump in fear and stagger back out of the room and shut the door firmly behind you. You take off your jacket and stuff it in the bottom of the door frame, hoping the spiders don't have another way out. You are panting in fear.

Shaking a bit now, you decide to avoid the odd metal door for the time being and you go to the door farthest to the left. You turn the knob and you don't want to go in, don't want to see what happens, but you are determined to get through this. You take a deep breath and open the door. It's the master bedroom. There is a four poster bed, a nightstand on each side, two windows and a larger chest of drawers. The walls are as grey as the exterior of the house. You notice two big spots on the ornately-patterned, faded comforter that covers the bed. You step closer to the bed and gasp in shock as you see two giant blood stains on each side of the bed. You notice that they don't look as old and faded as everything else in the room. Feeling a deep sense of dread, you lightly touch the one closest to you. It's wet and cold. You shriek, gasp and frantically wipe your hands off on your jeans, backing away from the bed and leaving the room. You wonder what could possibly have happened here, and then you almost immediately decide you really don't want to know. You make a mental note to call the police once you get the hell out of this place.
You turn and face the metal door. You hope it's locked. Then you won't have to see anymore. Then you can leave this place forever and let the police deal with it. You take a shaky step towards the metal door and turn the knob. Unlocked! You take a shaky breath and open the door, wishing you had never come here in the first place. You enter the room. It is pitch black. There are no windows. You pout your arms out, panting in fear, and your hands finally manage to find some kind of metal cord. You guess it's a light switch and you pull on the cord. You see a black room. You notice it's not been painted black like you had thought. The whole room is covered in chalkboard. You let your eyes adjust and you see words written all over the chalkboard, covering nearly every bit of available space. All you see is one terrifying sentence over and over again “I AM NOT FOLLOWING YOU.” There are white crosses placed at seemingly random places throughout. You shriek and begin to turn and just run like hell. The moment your back is turned, you hear a shuffle of feet. You hear a click as the cord is pulled and you hear a little girl's voice exclaim “You found me!” in a raspy voice. You hear footsteps move towards you. You run. You hear the pattering of feet behind you follow you no matter how fast you go. You don't know how, but you have found your way home and you're running up the stairs to your own bedroom, the only place where you feel completely safe and protected. You run up the stairs to your bedroom, still hearing the pattering feet behind you. You fling open the bedroom door and dive into the covers. The pattering stops suddenly. You hear a raspy giggle.
All at once you jolt awake. It is 1:00AM..You are drenched in sweat and your face is pinched in pain, and you feel a burning agony in your stomach. Horrified, you remember the child-like drawing and feel your stomach. Your pyjama shirt is soaked in blood. There is a deep wound in your stomach. You have no idea how it got there. You hear a rustling sound at the foot of your bed. You struggle to raise your head and you see a black figure standing over you, with what looks like a knife in it's hand....
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    creative creative

Seems like everyone's doing this!

The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books here. How do your reading habits stack up?

Bold the ones you’ve read! Italicize the ones you’ve partially read!

01 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
02 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
03 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
04 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
05 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
06 The Bible
07 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
08 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
09 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime - Mark Haddon (I LOVE THIS BOOK SO MUCH! T.T)
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Inferno – Dante
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare  (Wasn't "The Complete works of Shakespeare" up there earlier? Bwuh?)
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
Also, I have a headache. :( Plz to not morph into a migraine, kthx.
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    bored bored



This time it was heat combined with constant blue screens that did it in. I forget what did it last time, but it only took one day to format! That's pretty awesome considering the number of blue screens I get DURING formatting.The bad thing is that the computer crashed so suddenly that I didn't get to back ANYTHING up. So I have to search for and download everything all over again. Im in the second day of retrieving things and I'm not even half done. AND my N64 emulator won't work with my controller for some stupid reason. BAH.
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    geeky geeky


Formatted on the 1st of August. It took 1 and 1/2 days. Which is okay. :S 
  • Current Mood
    bored bored

I hurt myself.

So I burned my wrist on a hot burner, and now I have a puffy pink and white stripe on my arm that hurts if I touch it even lightly, although it's a bit better now. I can put my bracelet back on without having it hurt the burn.

My question- there is also a TEENY blister on the bottom of it, but it's big enough to concern me. Should I pop it, or let it be? I've got NO bandages of ANY kind in the house, and I know that burns are supposed to be bandaged with a gauze that will let the burn get air. The burn is also pretty mild. I doubt it's even a first degree burn....It just hurts when I touch it, and it REEEALLY hurt when I leaned on that damn burner! 

What should I do folks? I'm hoping there's a nurse or doctor who reads this.. or at least someone who knows more about first aid than I do! :P

(X-posted to boring_people)
  • Current Music
    the fan blowing on this crappy computer..


    It starts out in this old, old house- the kind of house I've always wanted to live in-with secret stairways, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and fireplaces in every room.

                   (A nice cozy house like that.)
    It's abandoned, yet it doesn't look run down at all.  I'm walking up the narrow gravel driveway towards it. Chris is with me, and an un-named hobo is with walking along with us, talking excitedly as we go. He's telling us of all of the things he's found in the street, all of the treasures in other peoples' trash that he's found and kept in the cellar of the house.
                   ("It's amazing what others throw out!", he declares.)

     We walk in, and go down to the cellar. It's much like the cellar at my parents' house-concrete walls and floors, and small windows at ground level, letting just enough light in to make you think that the shadows are out to get you....
    We walk in, and the hobo turns on the lights. There are boxes and miscellaneous objects scattered everywhere-books, magazines, tools, nails, stuffed animals, bicycles- anything and everything anyone could ever throw out. The hobo walks to one box and pulls out a handful of yellowed papers. He tells us that the papers are documents and newspaper clippings about the house's history. He says that the last inhabitants of the house were living there decades ago- a husband, wife, and an infant son. He holds up a newspaper clipping and tells us that the father went insane and killed his wife and infant son with an axe, and then killed himself. He goes on to tell us that the house is haunted, and that he hasn't gone above the cellar in years, but he can still hear the disembodied knocks and thumps from above.

    The scene changes. Chris and I are in the house, recently moved in and snuggling in one of the bedrooms. I tell Chris I'm not too sure about living here, the place is haunted,  maybe we should leave. He makes light of my worries, and tells me everything is going to be okay. I nod, which ends the discussion, even though I still feel apprehensive about living there. We hug, and I look to my left, at the doorway, and I can feel the blood draining from my face. My heart skips a beat.

     There is a naked woman standing in the doorway. She is rather plump, and she is standing with her arms down and palms open,
                  (kinda like the pictures you sometimes see of the Virgin Mary)

and she is standing with her back to me. She is headless. I scream and point, telling Chris what I just saw. He laughs and jumps up from the bed, basically making light of my fear again, almost mocking me. He stands almost exactly where the woman was just moments before, and he knocks twice on the doorjamb. There is silence, and then two distant knocks are heard. Chris looks shocked. I'm squealing in terror, yet fascinated. Something responded! Chris knocks again, this time knocking the "Shave and a haircut, two bits" tune on the doorjamb. There is another silence, and then an exact imitation of the tune comes up, clearer and louder this time. My jaw drops. Chris stares at me, grins, and then knocks out seven or eight beats at random, without any kind of pattern. There is yet another silence, then we hear the disembodied knocks again, imitating Chris' knocks exactly. We stare at each other, bewildered. I look out the door to the foyer. The lights are on. It dawns on me that they aren't supposed to be on. I tell Chris, and we go out to the foyer to investigate together.
                  (but shouldn't we run?)

    Now we're standing in the middle of the foyer, close to the main front entrance and almost directly under the twinkling chandelier. We're looking around for the light switch, discussing the possible ways the lights could have turned on like that. We both turn around at the same time to see a man stand in front of us, looking at Chris with an expression of uncontrolled rage. His eyes are red. he lunges towards Chris, and flies into him, and it's almost as if Chris had absorbed him. Almost at once, Chris takes on the hateful expression of rage that the man had had, and Chris' eyes are now glowing red. There is an axe in his hand. Chris lifts the axe. I run away screaming, Chris screams and runs after me, swinging the axe in all directions, hollering a war cry as he runs. I only manage to escape by wrenching my mind back into consciousness, forcing my eyes open and making myself awaken. I open my eyes, and see my window. I am awake, and I know I am safe, but even as I write this I still can't shake the dream away.
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    artistic artistic