What would Hodgins have done?

Bugs gross me out. I don't know what it is, exactly that bothers me about them, but they really freak me out. Maybe it's their weird little limbs that move so fast. I don't know - I just know that I don't like having to deal with them.

A little while ago I found one upside down by my bathroom door. This episode made me furious, scared, and sad. Fear was my initial reaction for obvious reasons. I was (am) furious because after all the efforts the apartment complex made us put forth in order to exterminate all those bugs - there it was laying there, antennae stretched out to me. I, of course, had the boyfriend get rid of it. But before he came to dispose of the thing, I watched it laying there on it's back for a few seconds. Then I was sad.

It was dying.

I wondered where it came from. At first I thought I'd scope out where it came from to investigate a possible nest, or whatever those bug lairs are called. But now I am actually wondering; where did it come from? It was a rather large bug, so it must have had a long life, relative to bug standards anyway. How did it survive all the sprays and powders that were supposed to kill them all? Was it the last one? (Please let it be!)

And, what was it thinking, laying there on it's back, knowing it was about to die? It must have known.

Hmmm.

Happy Bday, OC! This one's for you, cherie!

It's that time of year again! Yes, yes, it is! Time for Harry Potter!

I just reread The Deathly Hallows and cannot wait for it. Simply cannot wait. AND I cannot believe how the writing amazes me every time I pick up one of the books. When I think of all those people who were, like, clinically depressed or whatever after watching Avatar and "couldn't go on" because Pandora didn't really exist - I say, "have you even heard about Hogwarts?"

Seriously, though. If you're gonna be all upset that a world may or may not exist, it better involve castles, pictures that move, house-elves named Dobby, Quidditch, and wandlore! Furthermore, what's the deal with Harry? Why does he use Expelliarmus and ONLY Expelliarmus? If I was a witch/wizard and my life was continuously threatened I would most definitely pick up a book and learn all the effing spells I could muster. Ya ain't gonna see me stumbling around yelling, "Expelliarmus!" as my only defense! I mean, Hagrid could do that! No wonder his wand took over at some point!

Okay. I got that (mostly) out of my system.

On to a new subject: Tomorrow is my sister's bday! So...Happy Bday, @ocie7up! OC has been a survivor of the Seattle streets for one whole month! She's been living off of coffee beans and a pink luggage bag full of dreams! She's a real-life adventurer and I hope she has some fun tomorrow. (Don't worry...she hasn't really been on "the streets." Not really.)

I say again, "Happy Bday, OC! This one's for you, cherie!"

formspring.me

uh...what it do? (baby boo) http://formspring.me/boncheon

Told you my drawings were getting better

Just look how accurate I am!*

I ♥ Caska










*In reference to previous post
For awesome drawing of Caska CLICK HERE 
OR, just, um, scroll down. :P

Need a distraction

I've just finished reading one of the most disturbing books I've ever read. It's such a horrible thing sometimes, imagination. As a child I was never allowed to read scary stories, watch thrillers, or even discuss the horrifying unimaginable. Now when I come across some foul literature or film, the ideas encompassed irk me into nightmares and sometimes instances of paranoia.

Sometimes I wonder if I had been able to witness some of these disturbing films, literature, and the like, whether or not I would be able to handle them now. Is seeing or thinking about human cruelty, nature, or fear-inducing images at an early age like being administered a vaccine against disease? If it is, then I most certainly missed out and have not grown an immunity of any sort.

In other words, I'm drinking diet coke, sleep-deprived, and officially freaked out.

True Love

Sometimes I want to be mean to my cat. I just want to squeeze her lights out till she can't meow anymore.

But I don't. I mean, I can't. So instead I tell her I'm going to noogie her really hard. Like really hard.
*insert evil laugh*

Damn, I was going for "pensive."

have you ever wanted to write about your life? tell your story? be heard?
if you did, what would it say?

i've asked myself this question a thousand times, but i can never really pin the answer. it's almost as if my story has a million beginnings, but they never really add up to much more than a few failed ideas. this saddens me.

i suppose my problem lies in the fact that i don't really know what i want for myself. don't get me wrong - i want stuff. i want to be stuff. i want to create. but i don't know what i'm meant to be, or have, or to create. and it is frustrating.


in other news: i ate way too much pizza. like the sickening, full-until-tomorrow's-lunch kind of too much. and it's making me feel doubly saddened.