Little wonder we stumble in life.


Trifecta – The Forest For The Trees

Tonight, I found a new writing challenge that I just couldn’t resist:

“Write a horror story in 33 words, without the words blood, scream, died, death, knife, gun, or kill. Good luck.”

Here’s my entry…

She trembled. Her heart was thumping through her chest; she clutched at it desperately as she ran. The murderer was getting closer, and she almost thought she would faint. The forest closed in…

Prompt taken from Trifecta.


Friday Fictioneers – Abandoned

It had only been a few decades since she’d abandoned it. In the life of a vampire, that’s not very long, and that had only been at the start of her new life. So very few people ever appreciate the young of her kind, unlike for humans.

She had left her broken home and torn through the bush in this old ute, which then had only broken down by the fence. It was the barrier between her old world and her brand new life, and she had jumped it easily. She’d never even thought twice about it.

But now she knew better in the early night. Life was hard here too.

I got the idea for this from the story I’m working on. From Madison Woods‘ blog.


Top 4 Best Modern Anti-Heroes

Everyone loves an anti-hero, let’s face it. They may date back to 1714, but anti-heroes are very much considered to be modern day characters.

1) Lestat de Lioncourt

For a modern character, his age probably dates back to about that same era. Created by Anne Rice in Interview with a Vampire, he was definitely the stand-out character. More ruthless than Louis, his actions turned Claudia against him, forcing us to see the errors of his ways.

When I watch Lestat in that movie, I just can’t help to root for him up until, and even after that point, when we learn how mistaken they were. Even though I know what he advocates is bloody wrong. (Get it? Bloody?)

I love writing vampires, and he is my role model for what vampires should be. Unfortunately, the rest of the world seems to have gone more for Louis. And now look what vampires have become!

I really wish vampires would go back to their badass glory days. Is it any wonder there’s a movie called Vampires Suck with vampires like Edward Cullen out there?

2) Greg House

Let me count the ways that House has captured my mind.

He’s intelligent; I tend to agree with almost any point he makes, not necessarily about medicine, but about real life opinions. Anything from “Everybody lies” to “There is no dignity in death”, and multitudes in between. Besides, I respect intelligence immensely.

He defies social norms; speaking as a person who’s been as rejected as I have, with an Aspbergian mind (something House himself was once suggested of by Wilson, only to have it disproven or else rejected), I tend to revel in House’s rebellion of normal society.

He’s an ass; and he gets away with it. I certainly wouldn’t want to work for him, and few others can handle him. But he gets away with it. Maybe if he can get away with being who he is, then there’s hope for the rest of society’s rejects.

These are the various reasons I love him; these are the various ways he’s an anti-hero.

3) Severus Snape

The serious Potions professor is rather another role model to speak of. Both as someone similar in hygiene to myself (which honestly sounds sad), and as one who is far too often misunderstood, perhaps even to his fans.

Harry Potter certainly was no fan. At every turn, he reveals his common ‘judging a book by its cover’ mentality, despite the fact that in his world, nothing is ever as it seems.

Severus Snape was certainly one of many of those.

There are plenty of reasons why fans adore this character. The stoic strength of his persona, the comedy of seeing him torture the students, and for a lot of time, there was also the question of his true loyalty.

But most of all, Snape is also a representation of the odd bullied school kid with a lifelong grudge. And that is the thing that I think might have drawn in more fans; the fact that he was seen to be a senseless victim in Order of the Phoenix of James Potter and his leering friends (minus Remus).

He clearly wasn’t the innocent one either, though, considering his vast knowledge of the dark arts and his liberty with Sectumsempra, but many people sympathised (and empathised) deeply with him.

And it’s understandable. But that’s why he’s an anti-hero.

4) Dexter Morgan

Dex: cop by day, killer by night.

Dexterously distinct, delightfully dark Dexter takes the cake when it comes to playing the anti-hero. How many of us delved deeply into fantasies of such renegade justice in our youths? I know I did.

An idea transcended into life sums him up pretty well. It’s alright in the safety of our minds, but where is the line?

An anti-hero that really tests the moral strings of our subconscious, Dexter is someone that stands up for the unfortunate in his own dark, twisted, transformed into good but inherently bad-natured way.


PS Something I’ve always wanted to express about House is that I think his story was somewhat derived from Sherlock Holmes. House and Wilson are so similar Holmes and Watson, and that bogus story Wilson once fed to Kutner and Taub… the “Irene Adler” story… that’s a Holmes reference, too.


Friday Fictioneers – Lost Sun

I breathed heavily, loud to my ears, like a wild wind.

I’d never see another sunrise. I know nothing about living in the woods. No one was coming, they had cruelly left me behind, betrayed.

My throat and nose were chilled raw, torn with too much air. I’d shivered all night, hadn’t slept, the whole ordeal had exhausted me. I just wanted to be wrapped up warm in my bed.

Then something amazing; a dewdrop of warmth shone upon my arm. I looked up; my long lost sun. It was still cold, but my new sun eased me a bit.

Still painfully lost, I saw a speck up on the hill ahead of me, waving, distantly shouting, a wild thrill to my ears. More people arrived.

They had come back for me.

132 words… From Madison Woods‘ blog.


Flash Fiction Faction – Burning Light

I used the following words for this prompt, in random order:









She sat, blinking her eyes painfully against the light. I watched her anxiously.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “How long have you been sitting in the dark like this? You have to let some light into your life occasionally.”

“Not if it hurts,” she complained.

“You look like a mess,” I told her. “What is this downcast behaviour, lately?”

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“No, it’s not.”

She sighed, eyes decidedly closed now. She didn’t speak for a long time. “What?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” I retorted.

“Alright, fine…” She hesitated for a long moment. She sighed again, before hesitating again a few more seconds.

“Alright, if you wanna know… you remember how overjoyed I was about getting a compliment a few weeks ago about my new haircut? A week ago, someone spat in my hair and called me ugly. Then when mom saw me washing my hair out later, I told her, and she agreed with them, thinking I was ugly.”

I looked at her sadly, disappointed in my wife. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her tonight.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“There’s just one thing I’d like to know, Fifi. Did he do anything else… after he spat at you? You know, because some people… can sometimes step outside their bounds.”

“No?” said Fifi, definite in her response.

“He didn’t threaten you?”

“No, he didn’t, dad!” she moaned, as though I had just asked her if she had put product in the wash.

“I’m serious, Fi, men can be like that.”

“Dad, it’s not like we’re living in some ancient dynasty in which slaves get whipped every day and die of internal bleeding or something.”

“Maybe not, but you should still be careful. You never know who’s out there ready to hurt you or kidnap you or something awful.”

“Yeah, yeah…” she said.

“Not ‘yeah, yeah’,” I told her. “‘Yes, dad, you’re right.’ Say it with me.”

“Yes, dad, you’re right,” she repeated with me in a monotone.

“All right. As long as you know,” I said. “Now, do you think you might be up to helping me harvest in the backyard tomorrow? I’m eager to see how those Roma tomatoes are going. Perhaps we can use them in a delicious homemade pasta tomorrow night, huh? What do you think of that?”

“Sounds great, dad,” she said, not entirely enthused. I supposed it would be a slow process to get her back on track again. It was hard work trying to preserve her optimism, especially with an outspoken mother like she had.

I still hadn’t exhausted my online resource. Still, it was tough dealing with a sensitive daughter.

Thanks again to Quill Shiv, for her writing prompts. It’s not as good as the last one, maybe. But still; tell me if it’s believable.


Flash Fiction Faction – Blood

My heart tightened in my chest, wrenched at the sight before me. It was devastating, it was life shattering. I crashed to my knees in reverence to the higher power before me.

Blood, everywhere, obscuring everything. Red, the only colour left in the world, I lingered on it weakly. It was grisly in its nature, torturous to the mind.

My baby sister. Killed by a maniac.

I bowed down before him, surrendering to the violence. Surrendering to His Will. After all, it was all in His plan. He was no God, but he was the beginning and the end of my world now, he was the Creator of chaos. He showed as much mercy as Mother Nature, as much love as Lucifer, as much power as God Almighty.

I cradled my demised sister in my arms, wailing, mouth gaping, letting the blood flow over me, her blood. I wanted to feel connected to her still, but there was nothing to be connected to anymore. That blood, that precious blood, I needed to be covered in it to remain as part of her. Even now. Especially now.

She had been so sweet, a sweet contrast to the world’s evils. She had been so pure, my poor sister, and she hadn’t deserved this, no, not at all. She had been so innocent, had never done anything to anyone, even if she was only young. She was a child, a simple five year old child, and he had killed her.

And why? What had she done to deserve it? All she had ever done was treat people with kindness, even the ones who had treated her poorly at school, teased her. That was sad, but surely no tragedy, not like this.

That was one thing. At least she was alive. This was taking a life away, it was destroying others, it was cruel and dark.

And it twisted my heart. It rung it out and squeezed from me all the life, all the happiness that was known to it before. There was something missing from me now, the fullness of my heart, the fullness of my life, and however I tried to absorb it back, I would never be the same, I would never be that perfect again.

And there he was, standing over me, satisfied with what he had done, so happy and smug, as though he had done his job, as if my reaction was the only reason he had done it. But why? I had always known he hated me, but this? He was a psycho. He wasn’t human. No true human being could cause such cruelty for one of their own. If they could, then I didn’t want any part of it, not if this was the result.

My heart was broken, dry and shattered. This felt like the very end of existence, I couldn’t think beyond it at all, yet I knew it was a lie. Unless he planned to kill me too.

I heard his evil mocking. I turned to him, and demanded, like so many who feel forsaken by their god, why he had done this. I shouted it at the top of my lungs.

And he just sat there smiling. Like he could break me if he wanted. Like any second I’d crumple back at his feet, begging for mercy or forgiveness. Like he deserved to be worshipped.

I rose to my feet, furious, incensed, ready to pounce like a puma, claws out, teeth bared. And he laughed. After all, it was just a big fucking joke to him wasn’t it? My fear, my pain, and now, my anger. He was the one who should be lying dead right now!

So I attacked, fighting with my fists instead, ready to bite, ready to crush his body. He pushed me back hard, as though I were just a kitten trying to play, and I were getting on his nerves. That hurt far worse than it ever had before, and my fury mounted.

I wanted to prove myself, show him that I was no child like everyone always thought of me! I could take him down! I could make him hurt!

But the pain from his blows hurt so much I wanted to cry. I literally fought tears as hit me over and over again, and I began to believe it, that I was weak.

No, I thought determinedly. I couldn’t let myself become that. I had to keep fighting.

I landed another blow on him. He staggered back, injured. I seized my chance.

But I didn’t keep it long before he struck back at me once again, practiced in parries and blows, and sent me back to the ground. The tears really flowed now. I really fought them, wiping furiously. But no matter how I hard I tried, they wouldn’t stop. My hands were now coated in tears.

He seemed pretty pleased with himself, just standing there domineering over me. I hated that. I tried to swipe his feet to knock him down, but he was as fast with his feet as with his fists. I was defeated. Desperately, tragically defeated.

I was nothing.

A prompt from Quill Shiv. Obviously a little late, but I’ve done a video writing prompt, and at the time I didn’t realise.


Friday Fictioneers – Good Dog

She was a good dog. When you told her to sit, she sat. When you told her to roll over, she’d roll over.

Personally, Darren didn’t think he could stand it if he was like that. You tell a person to do that and you get no respect if you do. They probably laughed at her just as they would laugh at him if he acted like that. Probably called her a little bitch after she did, just like they’d call him a poof.

Being docile and agreeable counts for nothing; it makes you nothing. You have to be aggressive, hostile to survive. There’s no other way.

“Good Dog” Taken from Madison Woods‘ blog.

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Wrocking out with my wand out!

Last Monday I went to the Harry Potter Exhibition with my dad and my sister at the Powerhouse Museum.

It seemed like forever since I’ve gone to the Powerhouse. When I was a kid, dad used to take us into the city often enough, but we went to the Australian Museum more than the Powerhouse.

There was no crowd in front of the museum (unlike last time) and the entrance was pretty clear, too. An employee stood ready to direct people. “Harry Potter Exhibition, or general admission?”

“Both, I think,” said dad without hesitation.

We went to the counter and he paid for our tickets, keeping them on him and leading us in. The Harry Potter Exhibition was immediately apparent; ahead to the left was a big sign that informed me thus, and there was a small Ford Anglia hanging over our heads. I examined the licence plate and thought about geeks who probably had it memorised.

We had about an hour and a half until the next time we could enter the exhibition. So we spent it exploring the rest of the museum. We went through the space exhibit, looked around at cyberworld, saw the planes trains and automobiles room, and enjoyed the Lost In Space life sized robot having looked for it in the miniature robots.

We must have circled those places around a few times looking for different places, seeing new exhibits along the way (Lace exhibit, Ecology exhibit…) When we returned to the line for Harry Potter, it was stretching back into the Engineering exhibit. The employees soon had to fix that, us in the rear.

“We’re going to be in this line forever…” I commented.

Though I was agreed with, it soon turned out that the line was moving faster than expected, which I also pointed out. “Yeah, it’s actually going pretty fast,” agreed dad.

“What do you know? I didn’t notice the Ford Anglia there before…” said dad further ahead, to which Kristi agreed. “Are you kidding?” I said, I noticed it right after we came in!” The teasing was unnecessary.

Pretty soon afterwards, we were across the front hall to the second half of the queue, where it seemed the action was.

The queue continued on through a photo studio for each group together could get a green screen photo taken of them in the Great Hall. The funny part was that the green screen was framed like those Hogwarts portraits.

As we got closer, both Kristi and dad decided they wanted to do an awkward family photo. We started to mimic how we might do the photos if we did, but truth was that I was nervous. Nobody else was doing awkward photos, and as the group in front of us were doing the photo and the photographer kept saying, “smile!” I wondered if we should.

We did anyway, or at least the other two did. I thought of doing that huge sneeze I had mimicked in the line, but as we got in the front of the camera, dad had me in a headlock, and I couldn’t see what the others were doing. I certainly was too nervous to do anything but smile.


As we moved away, the other two were too excited telling each other what faces they pulled. But then they turned to me. “What face did you pull, Ashley?” asked my sister.

“Uh…” Cue confused awkward explanation, that ended simply in “I panicked.” It was true. I felt no better about the confusion, though.

The line then bended toward the back of the room, where an exhibition notice and eight Harry Potter posters circled around toward the entrance. We were herded into the back of a group to be the next through those doors. We had to wait a few minutes; there was a clock there marked 12:52. We went in at 12:56.

We were lead into a room. A majority of the people (children, mostly) sat around on the floor, while the rest of us stood at the edges. There was a flat stage in front of us, with a stool holding a sorting hat.

The witch who had introduced us into the exhibition walked out in front of us, decked out fully in black robes. She said that before we could go on to the exhibition, we had to get sorted. “I will need a volunteer,” she told us.

An enthusiastic little girl quickly raised her hand, and got chosen. The witch asked a few questions of her first — what is your name? Where are you from? — most notably, though, “What house do you think you should go in?”

“Gryffindor,” she said without compromise. And so she she sorted to.

The next person who got chosen was closer to us, and I heard him wonder out loud, “I wonder what house I’ll get sorted into.”

He was called up. He was soon announced to be from South Australia (“Now I know that to be a magical place,” said the witch), to which we applauded. His answer to the crucial question: a shrug. “I dunno.”

So the witch took a guess. “I think you’re a Hufflepuff,” she said, after a short reasoning over how she thought he was rather mindful and caring of people. And so he was proved to be.

One more person. I spotted the most rigorous indicators; a parent sitting with her children pointing in front of her at a child I couldn’t see. I guessed the kid was pretty young.

When she stood up, I realised I was wrong. She was about as tall as the first girl, skinny with glasses and smooth brown hair. She sat upon the stool, and the witch guessed she was Ravenclaw. I would be happy with that; had to be a Ravenclaw somewhere in here, and besides, they couldn’t all be Gryffindors, right?


How disappointing.

We were moved into the next room. This time we crowded around eight screens showing the Harry Potter posters. “Stay away from that curtain; it may be dangerous,” I heard the witch tell someone, and observed the presence of a wall barrier (that could be called a curtain).

We watched a presentation of Harry Potter on the screens. They showed different shots on different screens, all tying in to the same film. At the end of the film, the wall was gone, and Hogsmeade station at night filled our sight, and me with excitement. I wanted to bound forward, if not for the crowd.

“First years, this way,” said one of the new employees that had suddenly apparated to the scene. The crowd surged forward, and I walked happily into the mist of the artificial night, beaming with the fantasy that this would be how it was if I went to Hogwarts.

Losing my family in the crowd, I squeezed past a few people and caught up to Kristi. Walking alongside her, I heard them say, “Come on. We don’t care for dilliers and dalliers at Hogwarts.”

“I’m not dilly-dallying,” I told Kristi.

“I know, right? I pushed past a bunch of old people.”

“Me too,” I said. I had done to catch up with her.

Soon enough, though, we were walking through an archway and into a main hall, with portraits on the right, with the occasional one moving on screens.

Suddenly, there they were. Exhibits showing wands, outfits, settings.

There was Snape’s robes there, and his wand. While I was looking at the boys’ dormitories exhibit, I was told of it and burst through the crowd to the opposite side of the hall to see it. And of course, there were other things there; in Snape’s case, potions books, and in the set up of the Potions exhibit, ingredients surrounding Snape.

There was also a Boggart wardrobe (and a model of the Jack-in-the-box boggart), somewhere before the mandrakes. I let myself look at my reflection in it, so that I could remember fondly that I did whenever I watch the third movie and see it, as an excuse to see myself at Hogwarts.

Further down the hall were potted Mandrakes, four in a line. There was a sign at first I assumed ‘Don’t touch’ since that was all I’d seen so far. But on closer inspection, it was ‘Please Lift’. I smiled and lifted it, and it gave it’s mandrake’s cry. The next one down was a Madam Sprout exhibit.

After seeing every exhibit in that hall, there was an entrance like the Quidditch cup tent in the fourth movie. When we walked in, it was all Quidditch. A particular favourite of mine there was Quidditch ring game, where you grab the Quaffles down the front of the little booth, and throw it through the rings.

The kids in front of us at the time were crap, throwing too far below or between the rings. I waited slightly impatiently for my turn, so I could show them how it was done. The Quaffles were rather more soft than I imagined from seeing them all those years in the movies and in videos of muggles playing Quidditch in real life.

I missed the first ring, so I aimed for the one closer to me next instead of the one in the middle. In the end, I got at least one through all three hoops without moving from the spot on the right. I was the last of the three of us left at the game.

Also in the Quidditch tent was an exhibit of Quidditch World Cup robes, and various Quidditch trophies. There was also a glass case with a Nimbus 2000 and 2001 in it (I prefer 2001; Kristi prefers 2000), that also contained various doohickeys that I could only guess were used to view the World Cup in the fourth movie.

On the right next was Hagrid’s Hut. Unlike the last room, this one had another way around, but I wanted to see inside Hagrid’s Hut, I wanted to see how big everything was. There was a model of his clothes in there, and I was surprised by their size.

I remember going to a Lord of the Rings exhibition (though it was far less awesome, if interesting) and learning that, among others, the hobbits were played normal size and then shrunk by CGI. I had assumed that’s what Hagrid did. Guess not.

They also had Hagrid’s chair in that small room, among the remainder of his oversized things. I sat in it then, not comfortable enough, slid to the back. It was big enough that my feet, even as a grown up woman, poked out only a little way at the end. It was so comfortable, but I expressed to Kristi at the time, “that might just be because my feet hurt.”

She insisted on a turn. She enjoyed the seat so much, she refused to get up and let me back in. But she suggested that we could probably both fit in the chair side by side. I tried; but my left side stuck too far out to be considered in the seat.

I was going to sit back in the seat, but as soon as I saw she was up, I went towards the seat only to find the Hufflepuff boy from before was sitting in it. And he seemed like he had no intention of moving. Damn.

After a last sweep of the hut, making sure I’d seen everything I wanted to, and stepped out and saw the exhibit I would have seen if I had gone around. It contained two centaurs in the dark of the Forbidden Forest, and the Hungarian Horntail sticking its head fiercely from its cage.

Soon Kristi came to join me, commenting the centaurs looked creepy, and that she would be freaked out if she ever came across them in real life. “I respect you Mr. Centaur…” She also said that the far one seemed to have a blanket over its butt. I spotted it after a confused moment.

We soon moved across to see Aragog and a baby Thestral (“Look, I can see a thestral!” I said.) Soon after, we moved into the Forbidden Forest section. There was another set of Harry and Hermione’s clothes there, together with a model of Buckbeak. But to be honest, I don’t remember too much else from there.

There was another archway. On the side, there was a sign titled, “The Dark Forces”. I started reading it in a mock dramatic voices, and seeing as Kristi was listening to me read it (and there was another random between us that seemed to be watching), I continued to the end. Then we both continued into the Dark Forces room.

There was a model of a dememtor, outfits of Lucius and Draco from the second film (Draco was so small!), Azkaban prison outfits including one for Bellatrix, Wanted posters for Bella, Fenrir Greyback and the Carrows, five of the horcruxes and a model of Kreacher.

Turn the corner, and suddenly you find yourself at the entrance of the Great Hall. At first, I thought it was just an Umbridge thing up ahead, but it was really just a bunch of her silly decrees still hanging from her days as High Inquisitor. We read a couple. I read more.

I remember following Kristi to the end of the hall to see something (before entering the Hall) but I don’t remember what. Then we entered…

And it was all done up in the Yule Ball. Kristi gushed, confessing her love for the Yule Ball, and we went straight over to see the Yule Ball outfits, and the Triwizard Cup (which surprised me by its colour), before moving around the room to gaze at the plastic Yule Ball feast, wizard candy (such as Exploding Bon Bons and Honeydukes products of that sort), then over to Skiving Snackboxes (alongside models of Fred and George, dressed in Gryffindor robes) and most surprisingly, a Quidditch board game.

Down from the board game were outfits for Sirius Black and for Tonks (“I loved Sirius. I was so sad when he died,” said Kristi) along with their wands (Tonks’ was weird, like an animal horn…)

Down from that were two of Dumbledore’s robes (one normal attire, one Yule Ball dress) and one of McGonagall’s. There was also a model of Fawkes and Gryffindor’s sword in a glass case along the wall, next to the earlier Yule Ball outfits. (Damn was Emma small! You should’ve seen that waist! She was barely bigger than as a child.)

There was a small hall after that, with more Hogwarts portraits, two which were applauding, and on the left, the Bloody Baron’s outfit. I observed the blood last of all, seeing the extent it all and remembering he killed himself over the Grey Lady. Still, it reminded me a stupid theory I had heard once regarding the Baron that it was unicorn’s blood.

Hello; he’s a ghost! Of course the blood looks silver! All I could think in regards to those poor misguided individuals was: Ha! Suck it!

On retrospective, I was disappointed on the lack of Remus Lupin, The Grey Lady and Nearly Headless Nick outfits, but besides that, I was pretty satisfied.

At the end of the hall was Dad, having run ahead ages ago in front of me and Kristi, sitting in the only chair in a box of a room between the end of the exhibit and the gift shop, which was the point of no return if you were still interested in seeing the exhibits.

We wandered in together. Having seen so many people earlier with House themed scarves walking around the museum, I was eager to run ahead to get a Ravenclaw one for myself. But after years of wanting a Ravenclaw tie, I passed one up for fear of judgement, the same thing that almost stopped me from getting a wand; I chose Hermione’s.

I’m pretty satisfied after it all though, in general.


Cable Wakeboard Park to open in St. George, Utah.

Cable Wakeboard Park to open in St. George, Utah.

What a brilliant idea.

When I went surfing for the first time in the middle of last year, I was living out something I’d always wanted to try. But there’s also another water sport on my list, even if I’m unsure whether I could do it.


I started developing an interest in the sport after it became my favourite sport on Wii Resort, where I’m an expert. In real life, I wonder whether I’d be even near competent, because of course I know that video games don’t compare to real life, not even Wii.

Evidenced surely enough by the fact that I’m a great cycler on Wii, whereas I can’t even ride a bike too well in real life.

When I surfed in Hawaii, apparently I was brilliant. So maybe those skills could be handy in wakeboarding. But I really wouldn’t know unless I try it.

So here’s this cable wakeboarding park. Obviously this specific one is completely irrelevant to me since its in America, but if there was ever one here… I just think it’s a great idea.

Take Responsibility


It’s easy to hide in a crowd
but it’s so unsatisfying.
It leads to a life of desperation and griping
because others are making your life choices,
and you are following.
Take control of your life.
Make your own decisions.
Take responsibility for them.
Proudly chart your own course.

I recently read this from a new book I have, ‘Now Is The Time, 170 ways to seize the moment’. It cut me deep, because it’s all so true.

I guess that makes me irresponsible. It definitely means I never “seize the moment,” I only ever live off that dream. I love the movie Dead Poet’s Society, and now I think it’s maybe because it allows me to live through the characters, and objectively judge them as they go through their journeys.

In truth, I think them reckless, I always have. But on another level, “…carpe diem. Seize the moment…” I can respect their awkward bravery, because I will never be that. Or so I often say.

I don’t want anyone’s pity about it. Yet at the same time, though I always hate to admit it, I want to be noticed. The reason I always hide in the crowd is because it takes the pressure off, and nobody ever notices me anyway. I’ve heard sayings about people being two thirds dead, and I often relate to them.

All this is described best in my self-described theme song, Human by Darren Criss.