This is how life should be.

Thanks for the comments on my last entry. I appreciate all the concern. <3

I forget what I was going to update about.
I think my blood tests were alright. But I don't know. Because the god damned doctor hasn't called. Hopefully they're fine.

Anyway. The radio is giving away Stones tickets all weekend. I shall try to listen. For The Stones love us. And even though I don't love them as much, since they started to sell out, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I don't have the $300 to live out. Thus, the radio is here for me.

I've got to go now. I've seen people posting videos in entries, so I thought I might give it a try, myself. It's one of my favourite music videos of all time. Radiohead's videos are facking brilliant.

I wish I had more to say, but unfortunately, that is all.


-L-

Is it me, for a moment?

Found out yesterday that I may have an ovarian cyst. This she determined from examining my hair. She says it could be that, (cancerous or not), could be hormonal, could be diabetes, or could be just that I've got a sort of recessive balding gene. Again, she determined all this from my hair.

Golly gee, I just can't decide which one to route for... -.-

I don't really know what to do with myself, anymore.
-L-

Maybe you would understand.

"Feel".

Here's me singing Syd's "Feel" because I got bored and I happen to like that song. Sorry, but I didn't even bother to try and ad-lib things at the end. For my musicians are solely in my head. :)

-L-

Almost time...

I've been doing a bit worse than usual. Not sure why, not sure how. Took another stab at songwriting earlier, and I'm about to go work on it again. I may do a voice post of myself singing, later on. I was thinking "Terrapin" but let me know if you have any requests. That might even just change on its own.

I've got to stop by Kassie's work in a little while, to collect the money for her ticket. I think it'll be loads of fun. Hell, I know it will be. But it's too far ahead for me to be excited about it. It probably won't hit me until I'm in the damn parking lot, like last time.

Last night I did something I swore I would never do again, and I did it twice. I won't say what, but I feel horrible about it. I'm going to really make an effort not to do it again. I think I also may have kicked the cigarette habit. That was short lived, eh? I also drank quite a bit before bed. Not good. I seem to be surviving solely on caffeine, alone. It took me until this afternoon to realise that all I had consumed yesterday was three coffees and a soda. Christ.

Anyway. Back to the piano with me.
Next chapter of Rhiannon coming soon. Promise.
-L-

Breathe in the air.

1946-2006. Born the day after I was.
I think this is the first time in a long time that I am truly at a loss for words.

I love you, Syd. Shine on.
-L-

Rhiannon: Chapter 4

Looks like I crapped double for you, tonight, har har. Enjoy and please let me know what you think. I've been appreciating all the comments.

Rhiannon: Chapter 4
"Alright, fine. So I'm a terrible person," she said with a slight smirk.
"See, you can't even say that with a straight face! You really are a terrible person!" Sara. Her only real friend in the real world. Sara had tried to save her so many times before. From herself, from the pills, the booze. A few times she had saved Rhiannon's life. That's how she knew she was a true companion.
"I really don't see what the big deal is, anyway. It's just like Valentine's Day. The card companies invent these holidays to make more money." Rhiannon quipped, taking a drag from her cigarette.
"Yeah, but you know how mother's take them so seriously. I forgot Mother's Day once, too, when I was like, eleven. My mum never forgave me for it. She still brings it up. You know how mothers get.."
Rhiannon stopped walking and took Sara's wrist, bringing her to a sudden halt.
"You don't have my mum, Sara, you don't. My mum is different. She's... controlling, and clumsy, and worrying, and emotional, and--"
"She's just a mother," Sara interrupted, timidly. "She's the same as mine. I know." Sara's dad had died when she was only six. She did know. The difference being that her mother re-married.
"I know.. I'm sorry. I just.. she's always so--" Sara's arm was suddenly linked with her own. "C'mon. I'll help you pick out a card."

The two of them perused the shelves for a moment before deciding on a sappy "belated" card and a rose. After they had paid, they walked back out into town.
"Do you ever get the feeling all those cashiers are.. laughing at you?" Rhiannon questioned, thoughtfully.
"They usually only laugh at people who forget Mother's Day." Sara checked Rhiannon's response, which was a playful glare.
"Who's the horrible person now, hm?" They laughed, and Rhiannon pointed to a coffee shoppe across the road. They started towards it.
"I hate these corporate bastard coffee companies," retorted Sara, despite being on her way there. "Which reminds me," she poked Rhiannon's side, "when are you going to get a job?"
"I--"
"Writing and 'sketching on occasion'..." she used air quotations to emphasise the sarcasm, "... Does not qualify as work, Rhiannon."
"You're supposed to be my friend and back me up on my decisions! It is too work!"
"Not if it isn't selling.." Sara smiled smugly and approached the counter to place her order.

After they'd both gotten their caffeine fixes, they decided to head back home. Rhiannon hopped into the driver's seat, coffee in hand.
"You really should, you know." Sara said, sipping the frozen drink.
"Should what?" Rhiannon turned onto the main road, and lit another cigarette in one fluid motion.
"Get a job! I know someone who could get you into a position, real fast. The pay is good, and you just sit and answer phones all day. It's not much, but at least you'll be able to--"
Without taking her eyes off the road, Rhiannon interjected with conviction.
"Sara, I will never. EVER. Have a telemarketing job, okay? It's not me. You know what is me? Writing. And sketching on occasion." She ashed out the window and took a long drag before continuing. "And I'm fucking sick of hearing from everyone that I need to get a job. I do okay, y'know?"
"Yeah." Sara muttered, afraid to say anything more.
"I do! I fucking do. And I don't need to be in some white shirt, answering phones all day for some shit head with a stick up his arse, and waiting all month for a measely check that has all sorts of taxes taken out of it. I don't need it, Sara. I hear it all the fucking time from my mother, and the rest of her fucking family, so I don't need it from you, okay?" She exhaled shakily, immediately regretting flying off the handle at her, like that.

"Jeez.. jeez, I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way. Well.." she scratched behind her ear and drew a sigh, unsure of what to say. "If you want to draw and write, for the rest of your life, you draw and write."
Rhiannon smiled and chuckled softly as she flicked the cigarette out the window. She could tell how forced it sounded. "Say it like you mean it!" she cried.
"Rhiannon, you'd better be a fucking artist, or I'll find you. And god help you if I find you.." Sara reached over as though she were about to strangle her, and choked out strange zombie sounds. The two of them laughed as Rhiannon pulled into her driveway. She parked the car and looked down at her lap.
"You're my only friend." she said, practically whispering.
"Oh stop, you're making me blush." Sara swatted the air playfully, still maintaining the light attitude they had before.
"You are," Rhiannon whispered, seriously. "And I.. love you." She kept her eyes averted and fiddled with her fingers. Sara suddenly realised how serious she really was. Rhiannon glanced up, afraid of her response, but Sara just smiled and said "I love you, too, Rhiannon." Sara pulled her into a rather awkward hug, inside the car, and whispered in her ear.
"I do, Rhiannon, I love you."

That night, Rhiannon didn't drink. And she slept wonderfully for the first time in a long time. The next day, Rhiannon felt fantastic, and went back to working on a novel she hadn't touched in four months. That night, Rhiannon's mother killed herself by downing 21 sleeping pills. Rhiannon tore up the mother's day card and tossed it into her mother's grave. Later that night, Rhiannon got drunk and pilled, and wondered if her mother's death was meant to be a sign. She guessed that it meant happiness can only last so long, before passing out. She awoke 3 days later, with a splitting headache and a renewed sense of reality.
-L-

Rhiannon: Chapter 3

As always, comments and questions are welcomed and encouraged.

Rhiannon: Chapter 3
Part of Rhiannon's mother wanted her father back. Rhiannon didn't know this. In fact, neither did her mother. She would mutter to herself about what a good life the three of them could have had if he had just stayed, while humming Rhiannon to sleep.

"Read me this one, mommmy," she chirped, dropping a heavy book on her mother's lap. Rhiannon's adult mind often flashed back to these broken pieces of her childhood during her trips. She used to try to analyse them, until she realised that they really meant nothing to her. At least, not anymore. These memories really served no purpose to her. As this hazy recollection passed, she took another couple of sips from the sticky, open bottle in her hand and exhaled, slowly. Where had she ended up? She distinctly recalled many nights where her mother would be unconscious, stinking of rotten booze, and terribly irate, upon waking up the next morning. Why did she remember this? Is this where she was destined to end up? Just the other night she had another one of those dreams. Her mother would call, concerned. "You really ought to see someone about those, you know," she'd say. What did she care? Rhiannon had never really been anything of real importance to her. She was always an inconvenience; a mouth to feed, a body to clothe. Rhiannon's feelings meant nothing, from the day she was born. Perhaps her mother just felt an obligation to check up on her. She took another sip.

"I've got to get out of here," she whispered, aloud. But where was here? And who was she talking to? She only had one really good friend, who was hardly ever around. Aside from that, she had no partner since high-school, and very few aqquaintances. She spent her whole life wondering where to fit in, and now she was nowhere. Just floating.
"You're tearing yourself apart, you know." A vision appeared in front of her. She looked exactly like her, but less tired. Youthful. A part of her former self. She took a puff from a cigarette that dangled from her fingers, and Rhiannon chuckled to herself. Even the healthy version smoked.

"You're killing yourself."
"I'm not.." she retorted to the face in the dark.
"You are. You've tried to do it, so many times. But the one time it's actually happening... you don't even know it." The vision laughed. "You're pathetic, you know that?" the vision puffed again. "Pathetic." The last word floated out as a whisper.
"Aren't you here to try and protect me, or something? Like.. save me from myself..?" It was the first thing she could think of. After all, that's how it always happened in the movies.
"Who said anything about protection? I may just be here to shock you back into reality. You don't even know who I am, let alone why I'm here." This vision was very smart.
"You're me. Me from--"
"I'm twenty. Look at me. Look at my skin, my hair, my teeth. I'm healthy. Hell, look at my rack!" The vision thrust her chest forward. Both of them had a good laugh, at that.
"I've just been drinking. You're in my head." She swigged again from the bottle and exhaled slowly. "I'm imagining you."
"You don't know that," the vision scoffed, smugly. "I could be real, for all you know. I could have broken the lock and let myself in. Real slick." She took another puff.
The thought processed in Rhiannon's drunken brain. Perhaps she did. Perhaps this was just a startling look-a-like. But then her logic piped in.
"Why aren't you taking my stuff then?" she asked with a dry smirk.
The vision just chuckled darkly and stood. "Keep up the drinking." She said, gesturing with the cigarette, before extinguishing it on the table.
"And why should I do that?" She clenched the arms of the chair as if she were going to get up, but stayed seated.
"How else could we have these lovely little chats, mm?" She smiled softly, and with a timid wave, was gone; cigarette butt and all.

Within minutes, Rhiannon had drifted off to one of her other worlds. Someplace where everyone knew her. Someplace where she wasn't drunk, or stoned, or pilled. Someplace without her mother, or visions of her younger self. Someplace where she was happy.
-L-

Cold and grey..

Not really. More like hot and sticky. I just happen to have "Shine" stuck in the ol' gulliver. I think the worst part about vacation is the being thrust back into the 'real world' once it's over.
Anyway.

I'm back at work, having sex-whip fights with co-workers, and snacking on minty penises. Just the typical 9-5, you know. Still recovering from my wilderness excursion. Ever get sunburned on your tits? It's most unpleasant. I'm tingly and peeling all over, but at least it doesn't hurt to lie down, anymore. Still hurts to wear a bra though.

I've printed out a couple of my photos that were already stored on the home computer, matted and framed them, and they look marvy. I won't have access to Shira until Monday, so the third chapter of Rhiannon will have to go up then. I took about 150 pictures over the week I was away, so I'll post some of those too. (Don't worry, only a select few that I particularly enjoy.) Also photos of the Boris ring, aka 'Bela', and some pictures I took around work, including multiple pieces of other spider jewlery, edible undergarments, and a giant mug that says "BAD MOTHER FUCKER". So.

In other news, I haven't been able to keep up with all the "In The Attic" shows, lately, and I feel a bit bad, not to mention out of the loop. I have gotten to see some of the concert footage, though. Fucking incredible. My copy of "Wire And Glass" should be here by the 28th. Stupid Amazon. Oh, and I've learned "Shine" and it sounds quite pretty. So long as my voice reaches as high as Rachel's. (Which it does, if I skip my 2 coffees a day.)

Coffee addict, now. Need one in the morning, and one in the afternoon. I'm up to about 2 cigs a week, as well. Usually only one after a stressful day, and then I've got to shower and spray my clothes and what not. It's too much trouble to smoke. Relaxing, though.

And this entry is extremely long and startlingly pointless.

T'ra,
-L-

Err...

Bzowie, I'm bushed. Lots to talk about, lots to post.
Pictures soon, and I wrote the third chapter of Rhiannon whilst I was in de forest.

Better post later.

<3 Have missed you.
-L-

Time, truth, and hearts.

Leaving tomorrow, so lightening fast update now.
Last night, David Spade performed with Scott Weiland and his band (whose name escapes me now) "Suffragette City" and let me say. It made my fucking night. As if I needed another reason to love DS. He did my favourite line, as well. (Guess which one.)

Also, tonight at work, some 20-something bloke with a Beatle haircut bought a Paul figurine from me, and commented on my Who shirt. We got to talking about the concerts and the new album and the lack of John and Keith. He knew almost as much as me about them, for chrissake. Was bloody brilliant. Then to top off the night, I bought myself a big spider ring. It, too is bloody brilliant. I have named it Bela, since my spider keychain is already named Boris. Expect photos.

And now I must leave you all until Thursday/possibly Friday. Don't miss me all too much. In fact, I might be able to get internet, so I may in fact be lying to you all. Anyroad. More Rhiannon upon my return.

So bear in mind that I love you. You know who you are.
-L-