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I'm going to die.

Dec. 16th, 2008 | 04:03 pm
mood: draineddrained

I suck at math.

I need over $36,000.

My friend insists that I have a tumor on my hypothalomus.

I'm going to get a giant ulcer.  It's going to explode.  I'm going to die.

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Sep. 21st, 2008 | 08:04 pm
mood: listlesslistless

Today I was rummaging through my room for a notebook that hadn't been completely filled with my sloppily conveyed thoughts, when I found a rather large black spiral that I remembered purchasing the summer before my freshmen year.  No, I don't keep a reccord of every notebook I buy, I only remembered this one because it is the largest, most expensive spiral I have ever owned; I made Rose purchase several of them for me for school, after I had spent the day enduring her cruel comments about my weight, appearance, mind, talent (or lack thereof) and out look on life.  It was the best revenge my meek, beaten down little mind could think of, sadly.  But I digress; the orgin behind this notebook isn't what this entry is about.

I opened the slightly battered notebook to see if I'd written anything in it-- I have a nasty habit of saving notebooks I like until I have the perfect thing to write in them, and then I never end up writing in them-- and I was greeted by my own familiar scrawl.  I don't like writing in pen, so pencil scratch had faded and smudged, making my writing even more difficult to decipher, but I managed.  The notebook wasn't one I used for any particular class, it was probably the one that I have every year that sits in my bag getting badly abused by pounds of text books and binders, waiting for me to need something to take down a few notes or vent in.  On the first page of this notebook I found a poem.  After reading this poem, I could remember the day I wrote it; I was seated on the steps outside the school during lunch, and I was positively fuming, which is made obvious through the hastily scribbled lines of angst.  Needless to say, the poem was terrible, yet, at the same time, the raw emotion in it made it kind of... I don't want to say beautiful.  Pure, I guess.  Whether its good or not, there's something to be said for art-- be it music, writing or anything else-- that is created on an impulse, existing only because its creator was in danger of imploding if they didn't find another place to put some of that emotion. 

Flipping through the notebook, I found more evidence of my freshmen life; the pages were practically dripping with the residue of my former self.  I found poems, stories, science notes, math problems, articles written for my beloved newspaper (I especially enjoyed reading those) and impromptu journal entries.  At the very last page of the notebook that had writing in it (which is only about halfway through the thing) I found the question who am I?  For the life of me, I can't remember why I penned that particular question.  Perhaps it was the beginning of an assignment, perhaps it was the product of a moment of melodrama...who knows?  But seeing it after reading some of my old stuff made me think really think about that question.  I've made it to a point in my life where there's a huge difference between who I was and who I am, and an even bigger difference between who I am and who I will be...I hope, anyway. 

It's so weird to look back at my life from where I'm standing now.  In my mind, I see it split into chunks, or maybe I'll call them chapters, seeing as I fancy myself a writer.  The first chapter covers the first nine years of my life, up until my father died; the second ends when my step father left; the third when we moved to Redmond; the fourth when I graduated from middle school, and the fifth is coming to a close even as I type these words.  Not to mention the many subchapters that litter these larger chunks.  Or maybe the subchapters are actually chapters, and the chapters are really seperate books entirely.  It does seem as if I was a completely different person in each of these sections that I've created; as if who I was in each of these stories ceases to exist the moment the story ends, and a new version is born at the beginning of the next. 

I could write forever about my past, and maybe someday I will.  The pages of my past may being boring and insignificant to everyone in the world save for me, but the temptation is always there to just sit down at my computer or with a good note book and slice open a vein so I can let the blood that has been running through my body for seventeen years spill out and stain page after page...  But at this point, it would have no point and purpose.  What good would come from looking at the past?  If I dwell on it, I'll never manage to move forward and, frankly, I'm just not ready to relive all of it, so what would be the point?

Who was I?  It doesn't matter.  That person-- or those people-- is/are either gone or a part of who I am now, either way, it's nothing worthy of an explanation or moment's worth more of contemplation.

Who am I?  It's wonderful and stupid question.  I am the president of the speech and debate team, I'm an aspiring writer, I'm a student, a family member, a friend, a bitch... Like everyone else in the world, I'm many things, but who I am can't be summed up in a series of titles, or any words, really.  A better question would be where am I?  I have just stumbled over the thresh hold of my senior year, and I'm trying to plan my future.  It's hard to do, considering...everything.  I'm scared.  I'm scared (and delighted by the idea) of things changing again, I'm scared of the fact that America is spiraling into another depression and I don't have one skill that will keep me alive in a desperate country, and I'm scared of everything that I'm so damn uncertain of.  Everyday the same questions whiz through my head at a thousand miles an hour.  How am I going to pay for college?  What can I do afterwards?  Journalism?  Teaching?  Am I actually good enough to be a writer?  What's the point of all this?  Like all teenagers, I guess, I have highs and lows.  Sometimes I'm confident and excited and can't wait to dive right into life and write my little heart away, and others I feel like I've made a mess of things by choosing such a career, one that is so uncertain.  And then I realize that it's all I'm good at and feel even worse.

Sometimes I feel like I'm living in a fish bowl.  Though I never stop moving, I never get anywhere, I just keep moving in helpless circles.  And as I'm moving around in circles, I can see another world, I just can't quite get out into it... and then there's the fear that, even if I could, I'd never survive. 

I don't know.  I needed to rant, I have done it.  Tada.

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It Builds Character

Jul. 27th, 2008 | 11:31 pm
location: Home
mood: creativecreative
music: Sunset Babies-Alice Cooper

I'm debating about starting a new story, another historical fiction one (yes, pirates).  I'm not far enough passed the brain storming stage to actually write, so I decided to help myself build on my main character by filling out one of those myspace survies from her point of view.  Some of these questions don't apply to people in this time period, but I'm going to answer them anyway.

 Would you date someone 10 years older than you?
Certainly, if they were of sound name and reputation.  Besides, it's not really up to me, is it?  And father says that women need older men to guide them.  And mum says that, the older the gentleman, the greater the fortune.

What do you think about smoking weed?
Such vices are inappropriate for women.  If a gentlemen were to partake in such activities, it would be no matter, as long as he did so in his hold home.  He'd certainly suffer gossip, however.

What do you hear right now?
The maids shuffling about downstairs.  I wonder what they think of being servants, and of watching us live our lives so?  I wonder what they think of me?

How did you wake up this morning?
To Angela pulling back my curtains and letting in the light.  Mother scolded me for sleeping so late, claiming that my future husband would find it unattractive.  She'd be even more displeased if she knew what I was doing all last night to make me so tired.

Do you believe everything you hear?
I'm expected to, as I am but a girl, but I find I'm actually a rather skeptical person.

What is the next big decision you have to make in your life?
Whether I'm going to sit back and let everything in my life be decided for me, or if I will take charge of my own life--scandelous, I know.

Do you live near your best friend?
I haven't got one.  The girls that I would call friends are too common, according to mother, and the ones she would have me associate with are too pompous for my tastes.  I suppose you could call Thomas my friend... my dear, dear friend.  But he is the butlers son, and I oughtn't even speak to him if I'm not giving an order.

Is there anyone you would die for?
Goodness, what would I have to do that?

Where were you at 11:45am today?
I believe I was still sleeping.

Who was the last person to lay in bed with you?
Perhaps my mother, when I was a very young child.

What's the best eye color for the opposite sex?
A lady doesn't think ot speak of such things!

If you're being extremely quiet what’s it mean?
I'm behaving.

Are you into anyone?
My, what a question!  How improper...  I suppose I'm sweet for Thomas, but no one must ever know about that.

Does anyone like you?
All evidence suggests that Thomas does.  But, as mum says, men will play wicked games with an unsuspecting girl's heart.

What are you doing this Friday?
What I always do.  I will sit silently and knit. I will keep my face emotionless, and inside I will wail with dread for my impending season.  When night falls, I will certainly not be sneaking out to the stables to meet Thomas.

What are your initials?
Oh, but what is the point of writing them?  They will change the moment I am taken by a husband. 

Do you trust all of your friends?
I have none to trust.  Thomas is a man, and my female ways have an effect on him that makes him quite untrustworthy, indeed.

Do you want to go to college?
A woman in college?  What an idea!

Have you hugged anyone in the past week?
Of course not! 
Well, Thomas... Shh.

What do you think of your siblings?
James is quite the insufferable prat.  It is his greatest joy to go slumming and sneer at those less fortunate then ourselves.  One can only hope that one day he finds himself in a sorry situation, and there is a chap there with a nose just as large as his own to sneer down at him.

Whats your favorite number?
Numbers are numbers.  Why should I have a favorite?

Do you know how to swim?
Why on earth would I?

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Of Pirate's And Naval Commanders-- Five Months Later

Jan. 25th, 2008 | 01:27 am
location: Home
mood: cheerfulcheerful
music: Socio-- Stone Sour

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Scapegoat 5/?

Oct. 21st, 2007 | 01:47 am
mood: anxiousanxious

 TITLE: Scapegoat 5/?
AUTHOR: CharmingSadist
PAIRING: House/Cameron
RATING: pg-13
SUMMARY: House tries to figure out why Cameron has changed so much since the shooting.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters... Sad, I know.
NOTES: I am SO sorry this took so long.  I promise 6 will be out soon.

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Scapegoat 4/?

Aug. 30th, 2007 | 11:11 pm
mood: energeticenergetic

TITLE: Scapegoat 4/?
AUTHOR: Charmingsadist
PAIRING: House/Cameron
RATING: pg-13
WARNINGS: Spoilers up to the season two finale
SUMMARY: I expected her to pout, or perhaps resign again and wait for me to come crawling to her and beg her to stay.  Maybe she wanted another date.  What I didn't expect was to see her casually sorting my mail as if nothing had happened.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters!  This is just for fun, not profit.

Chapters 1-3: http://charmingsadist.livejournal.com/6221.html#cutid3

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Fic: Scapegoat 3/?

Aug. 22nd, 2007 | 10:59 pm
mood: blankblank
music: Macy's Day Parade--Greenday

TITLE: Scapegoat 3/?
AUTHOR: charmingsadist
PAIRING: House/Cameron
RATING: pg-14
WARNINGS: Spoilers up to the season 2 finale
SUMMARY:  I've learned no good can come from looking for something you're never going to find... 
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters. This is just for fun.

Previous chapters:

(Two. For some reason I can't make the damned thing say 'two.')

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House and Wilson friendship drabbles

Aug. 22nd, 2007 | 01:49 pm
mood: tiredtired
music: See The World

TITLE: House and Wilson friendship drabbles
AUTHOR: charmingsadist
Two drabbles in the P.O.V of House, about Wilson.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters.
NOTES: These are...very stupid.  But they are dedicated to my friend, Sam, because she is a fan of House and Wilson... And she is my best friend, though our friendship isn't like House and Wilson's is described here...  She's still my Wilson (nope, still not hitting on you.)


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An update on my oh-so-exciting life...

Aug. 17th, 2007 | 04:51 pm
location: Who knows?
mood: nervousnervous
music: Warning--Greenday (thanks to Erin!)

Summer is slowly coming to an end, and--despite my less than pleasant Sophomore year-- I find I am eager for it to go ahead and come to a grinding halt.  The break was nice and badly needed, but hanging out around the house with only my dog and family for company does tend to grow old after a while.  Besides that, my junior years looks much more promising.  My schedule line up is beyond satisfactory; over the course of the year some of the classes I will be enjoying are; AP English, creative writing, journalism, wilderness survival (where we will be forced to survive in the wilderness) and psychology.  I'm taking other classes, of course, these are just some of the ones I am quite excited about.  This year I am taking on the role of captain of the debate team, which sounds terribly nerdy, but I am delighted all the same.  Last year I lettered in debate; who knew a maroon patch in the shape of an "R" could fill someone with such pride.  Before I lead you to believe I am the worlds biggest nerd, I would like to point out that my school's debate team is far from being a geek squad.  Last year we were, without doubt, the most wild and rebellious team in competition.  From starting brawls with other teams to doing drugs and sneaking off to fornicate (though, I did not participate in the latter two actions and was quite angry with those who did) we certainly caused a stir.  Junior year also promises to be challenging and tiresome, with it's tests and many college applications, but, at the moment, I'm even eager for that part.  I'm ready to start crossing that metaphorical thresh hold into adulthood;  I'm preparing myself to leap, crash, burn, pick up the pieces and do it all over again. Right now college is as far as I'm allowing myself to look ahead, because you'll get no where if you don't take one step at a time... That, and a lot can change over the years.   

Over the summer, I've been attempting to drop some weight.  Though I'm not shedding the pounds as fast as I'd like to, I have so far been successful and the change is noticeable.  But my dearest grandmother will surely turn a blind eye to this fact.  Said terrible witch is disgracing me with her presence tomorrow; it is her plan to take school clothes shopping.  This may sound nice and generous of her, but the kind, doting granny act is all a facade.  She will use the day to pick me apart and force me to purchase clothing that I despise, simply because it is "the latest fashion."  The woman will gleefully point out every reason my deceased father would be less than fond of me if he was here now and then move on to her favorite subject; my weight.  Though I do need to lose some weight, I am not obese--as my friend often says, I am not Shamu.  I would like to be so optimistic as to hope that she will be kinder this time, but she has started the verbal slaughter via phone.  So, I am spending this day preparing myself for the unpleasantness that will come along with my grandmother and uncle; for a small bit of pay-back, I plan on informing them that I am, once more, dying my hair black... They won't like that a bit.

In other news, I turn sixteen in two days.  I am quite excited to be approaching the land mark, though it will be quite a dull "sweet sixteen."  At most, I'll be going to see a movie with a few friends...  But I'm not bothered; I'm simply glad to be turning sixteen. (well, that and my mother gave me season two of House M.D as an early birthday present a week ago, and that made me quite happy... and my friend, Erin, sent me a Greenday CD that I have been wanting to get for quite some time)  

I'm not sure what else to say, here... I just felt like posting an entry that was not a story for once.


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Hurt-- Sequel to "Scapegoat"

Aug. 14th, 2007 | 05:00 pm
mood: aggravatedaggravated
music: One Safe Place

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