Waking Up

So I am not an easy person to wake up.

Or rather, I am, but I’m not an easy person to keep up.

I can make myself get up when I feel enough need for it, such as going to work or getting up to bring Gwynn on a walk (when Lexy has crossfit in the morning), but otherwise it’s very easy for me to sleep the day away.

I’m getting much better at getting a regular up-by-X-time sleep schedule, but still I have issues.

I like my sleep.

To give you an idea of what I do to myself to get up, and also what I can go back to sleep after, I illustrated this mornings’ waking.

Lexy has a system where she turns on my light a little while before she actually wants me to get up, which I’m thankful for, but today I had a little early wake-up call…

from my brain.

drawn by me, my brain is a paranoid SOB

drawn by me, my brain is a paranoid SOB

Anxiety over being late is usually what gets me up when I have things like work I absolutely have to go to during the day. If you know what I mean, you can laugh, and if you don’t know what I mean, do you at least know about those dreams you wake up gasping from? You shoot upright, chest tight, anxious… maybe from a dream where you’re falling?

Yeah, well, my brain does that to me with anxiety over being late.

Lexy then turned on my light, I hid from it for a while, and then she told me to get up… I did… and I am ashamed to admit it, but I basically got up, put on chapstick, and went back to my still warm bed.

I feel like I should tell you now that all of my clocks are set at slightly different times, mostly earlier than it actually is, like now where my watch says 11:18am, my phone says 11:15am, and I think my alarm clock upstairs is somewhere in the middle. I know that my watch, at least, is a few minutes ahead of the clock at my work so even when my watch says I’m a few minutes late I can reassure myself that I’m actually going to be exactly on time.

Maybe early.

Maybe within the 5 minute grace time given for when you can clock in.

But I digress.

Shameful but comfortable me of this morning knew I had to get up sooner rather than later, but I could languish a little bit longer.

Then, wake-up-attack #3 (though I think of it as #2, really, as Lexy’s approach is less of an attack and more like a peaceful take-over) starts up.

My phone is bubbly. Also named Dam. Because when I first got it it autocorrected "Damn Phone" Into "Dan Phone" And that's as close to an introduction as I think we'll ever get.

My phone is bubbly. Also named Dam. Because when I first got it it autocorrected “Damn Phone” Into “Dan Phone” And that’s as close to an introduction as I think we’ll ever get.

I have multiple alarms set on my phone, and most of them with different songs so I can’t get used to one sound and tune it out, and this usually works.

Not today.

The fumbling of trying to figure out how to snooze my new phone are done with, and now I know just where to swipe to snooze it, just how to flail to always reach it, and that alarm is silenced.

But there is still yet one more attack.

I’m going to pause here to say that I don’t think my alarm likes getting up any more than I do. The buttons are old and don’t really work that great–the snooze works fine, thank the gods, but if I want to change the hour I’m supposed to get up, instead of hitting it once, twice, 23x’s for earlier wake-ups, I have to keep on clicking at it until I find the right angle and the right pressure, otherwise it doesn’t change.

MY alarm is old, has room for a cassette tape, has stubborn buttons, and doesn’t like getting up any more than I do.

It must collect the souls in the dark of night, which is why it hates getting up so early

It must collect the souls in the dark of night, which is why it hates getting up so early

And also lets out a sound like the screams of the damned mixed with a fog horn.

Where my brain fails to scare me out of bed, my alarm always wins.

And that’s how I get up in the morning.

P.S. Lexy the walk went fine this morning, both dogs are passed out and slightly damp, but…

I went down to MC park and it was a slush field.

Still a good walk.

Calvin seems happy too 🙂

Gwynn: Orange Fluff Aussie Doodle Calvin: Sausage-y fluff Corgi

Gwynn: Orange Fluff Aussie Doodle
Calvin: Sausage-y fluff Corgi

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Post Oral Surgery Texting is Frustrating

So if you read this post, you know that I got my wisdom teeth out and was panicking.

You should also know from it that I remember nothing of the ride back home (thanks dad and the drugs), but I was just looking at my phone and found that, in my drugged state, I had tried to text Lexy and my mom to tell them I was done.

To Lexy:

 me:  Gun
Fub
Ixbu
Fonr
Cdibf
Fdone
 Sent at 10:33 AM on Friday
So then. I was trying to say ‘done’. Because that’s nice and simple. I even managed it at the end, even with a little extra made it through, too. but fdone is still good.
Not quite what I tried sending mom, though…
To Mom:
me:  Junnkiyhhnifbviutt
Just fubufhed
Ddrgrtty
 Victoria:  You done?
 me:  Ffuf guhuvdgdd diutxgffddd
J
U
S
F
U
N
I
S
H
R
D                                   <<<I think this whole bit was me thinking I could send it one letter at a time<<<<<<
Victoria:  K
Sleep. Stop texting
 me:  Fin
Is
Rd
 Sent at 10:34 AM on Friday
So I think what I was trying to say was “Just finished”, and managed the ‘just’ once, and got… some of ‘finished’ written out when I tried sending one letter at a time…
also managed fin is rd, which sounds more like a shout in Skyrim rather than a word, but I’m giving drugged me an A for effort. Just there though.
Oh what fun it is to type when you’re drugged out of your mind….
And, you know, hilarious as that is, my mouth hurts and it hurts to smile, and my head feels like it’s full of cotton balls…. I should probably take a nap, but I have this worry I’ll never go to sleep at a normal time again if I do that, so I’m going to go back to Buffy The Vampire Slayer.
Woo.
Oh, and one more note, Lexy was nice enough to respond to my gibberish good-try texting with
Done?  Glad.  See you soon
 Sent at 11:04 AM on Friday
except she doesn’t say that I’ll be drugged to the gills, incoherent, passed out, and will not notice until close to 7pm that she, and indeed, the rest of the family have gone to my Aunt Christine’s Cottage.
They even took the dog…
But whatever, this’ll be a bit of a bonding weekend for Dad and I then 🙂
Lexy, Mom… more likely Lexy if she checks her e-mail while away, I’m doing fine, bloody spit is just as attractive and appealing as it sounds, pudding is good, sorbet is better, and I will see you guys when you get back 🙂
In a slight change in topic, I have just found out that, along with not being able to write fiction when I have had any sort of alcoholic beverage, I also cannot write fiction when I’m on pain medication and am bleeding from the mouth.
Sadness.
Edit: Also… now I’m all chubby cheeked.
Apparently the swelling happens well after the surgery is finished.
Woo.
Unhappy chubby face

Eviction Notice

So, Lexy was the one who chose the phrase for this writing challenge via From My Write Side, and since I keep meaning to try out writing for one of these things…

I have to include the following phrase into my story 🙂

master-class-chalkboard-6Enjoy!

~_~_~_~

Continue reading

Oh Calvin.

So Lexy’s dog sitting right now…

He’s adorable, and chubby, and very different attitude-wise than Gwynn.

I’m not saying he’s unfriendly, no, but it’s mostly in body type.

And also commands, but that’s something else entirely.

He’s just short and stout… I actually think his ears are longer than his legs. (For visual, I’m pretty sure he’s some sort of Corgi mix. Pictures later perhaps.)

His People gave us his stuff for the time they’re gone, and included in that is his bed… That he apparently doesn’t really use as a bed.

Gwynn likes it.

Dis is my bed now. I love to curl up on and in things too small for me. It proves I *am* in fact a lap dog. Pet meh.

Dis is my bed now. I love to curl up on and in things too small for me. It proves I *am* in fact a lap dog. Pet meh.

But… The other night I had some friends over to bake and start watching Doctor Who… K has seen some of the series, but not enough to be a Whovian, form a mix of watching some scattered episodes and from the inevitable spoilers from Tumblr.

But I’m not certain that Doctors 9-11 will happen this summer, not sure if there’s going to be enough time for her to catch up in time for November, so we’re dealing with only 11 right now.

It’s good. We watched 1 episode. I was happy. my Dr Who merch at my side…

9th/10th sonic screwdriver (Left), TARDIS diary (Middle), 11th Sonic screwdriver (Right)

Yeah, but afterwards, when they left, I had some time to see Calvin and Gwynn interacting… here are my notes:

Adventures after hours.

  • Calvin apparently doesn’t sleep in his bed. Gwynn has taken advantage.
  • Gwynn eventually leaved Calvin’s bed when Calvin makes demon pig noises beside him.
  • Gwynn looks alarmed and offended when Calvin stalks to his crate, calms down to only being suspicious when Calvin drinks from water bowl instead.Gwynn is a hypocrite.
  • Calvin has apparently decided that his bed is good for sleeping after all
  • —No. No. Apparently bed is for staring soulfully at Gwynn and making demon pig noises.
  • Gwynn leaves.
  • Mosquitos let in from departure of friends keep after me. I fear blood loss problems
  • Demon Mosquito bites itch like a bugger.
  • Gwynn returns and curls himself under chair for comfort.
  • Calvin is heavy breather. Always sounds like vague growly demon pig noises.

I switched focus somewhat part way through, but it’s all good.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, baking this time was much less frustrating than last time. I did very little of the mixing and everything. I just put things on sheets, and provided the ingredients.

No stress. And then Dr Who, so it was all good.

All good.

Yes.

🙂

 

I don’t know why, but it’s AWESOME.

It’s not that the thing is awesome, more that the thing is going to happen.

My Torchwood fanfiction ‘And I Wake Up‘  (which has now reached 50k!) has a somewhat steady readership, and you can probably find it in the comments, but someone asked me if they could make it into a podfic.

A podfic, if you’re wondering and don’t want to click the link I’ve so generously offered you, is an audiobook. Generally pronounced “Pod Fick” (Pod like the pod people, or three peas in a pod, and Fick like You’re putting on a British accent and trying to say ‘thick’, or fick like the beginning of fickle or like Fiction which is where the shortening comes from), it’s the meme-ish version of what you’d be able to get from a library.

It’s a weird thing, but I say this as someone who genuinely enjoys reading words on a page, multiple pages for an even better experience, and the idea of someone being like “Well, I really liked the beginning, but can’t I just lie back and listen to it being read to me instead?”…

Well it’s a strange one.

I don’t know why they want to do it, but it’s flattering as hell.

It’d be like getting fan art, and even if it isn’t particularly great, the vain peacock that you try to hide behind modesty perks its head up and preens.

Ooh, compliments for me? Why thank you, I'll take that with a grandios dash of YES I'm amazing :D

Ooh, compliments for me? Why thank you, I’ll take that with a grandios dash of YES I’m amazing 😀

Also, yes I like Batman. I AM BATMAN.

So I don’t know how this’ll work out, It might end up being crap, all my spelling mistakes might come out in words, but you know what?

I’m going to listen to that.

I’m going to download it, and listen to someone else read out my story.

I’m also going to be linking to it when even one PART of it is done, and you know what? SO MANY MORE PEOPLE WILL HAVE ‘READ’ MY STORY AFTER THIS GETS OUT.

I don’t care if the person narrating has the most out-of-my-mind odd voice, this stuff will be on my iTunes, hell, IT’S GONNA BE ON MY PHONE.

I’m going to ruin all sense of anonymity and post this stuff on facebook.

Because YES I’m a vain peacock, and, speaking from experience, the people who say that being this excited over something as small as this, I know the feeling.

Don’t be jealous 😀 I know you want to be as happy as I am right now because I haven’t been this weirdly happy since…

Well, I think since I was so determined to believe that Santa was real. (Or maybe since Lexy made the post about it I’m linking you all to, read it and her blog because she’s amazing), or maybe when it was my turn to be the Easter Bunny (Bulk Barn didn’t know what hit it).

Thing is, I’m genuinely happy, and I don’t even know entirely what I’m happy about.

I’m just enjoying the feeling.

Whether you read my stories or not, if you’ll be listening to my story or not, someone liked my (Now 50, 000 word long) story enough that they wanted to express it outside of a review, and it’s fantastic.

I’m happy 🙂

fabpinkshoes

And, if my blurb about being happy about a podfic didn’t brighten your day, here’s the story behind this last picture:

Yesterday my mom posted a picture on Facebook of my 5 year old brother Sam wearing a pair of shoes he picked out for his first day of preschool.

She explained to him in the store that they were really made for girls. Sam then told her that he didn’t care and that “ninjas can wear pink shoes too.”

Sam went to preschool and got several compliments on his new shoes. Not one kid said anything negative toward him about it.

However, my mom received about 20 comments on the photo from various family members saying how “wrong” it is and how “things like this will affect him socially” and, put most eloquently by my great aunt, “that shit will turn him gay.”*

My mom then deleted the photo and told Sam that he can wear whatever he wants to preschool, that it’s his decision. If he wants to wear pink shoes, he can wear pink shoes.

Sam then explained to her that he didn’t like them because they were pink, he liked them because they were “made out of zebras” and zebras are his favorite animal 🙂

What does it say about society when a group of adults could stand to take a lesson in humanity from a class of preschoolers?

This was from a facebook post that’s made its way through the internet, and HERE is a more in-depth bit of info on it 🙂

 

Plot Bunnies With Cattle Prods

Everyone gets ideas, it’s a fact.

Everyone gets persistent ideas as well.

You know the ones, the ones with cattle prods. With Taser in hand.

Sometimes the cattle prods are red-hot at the ends, as they want to brand you with themselves.

But it’s an idea that you can’t let go of, even as it pokes and prods at you, wanting your attention, wanting you to do something about it, wanting you to –hey, why haven’t you dropped everything yet? What’s up with that? This idea is so much more interesting than what you’re doing now, or what you need to do later, that it’s amazing you haven’t imploded from the need to move onto this amazing idea yet.

What is wrong with you?

The idea will poke and prod until you do something about it, it will continuously remind you that you have a duty to it every time you stop for a moment, let your mind wander…

Why haven’t you done anything about this idea yet?

Are you stupid?

Idiot.

But, because you have something that NEEDS to get done, that idea will have to wait.

It has to, because it came to you not when you had time, but when you were reading something, or perhaps doing something important, or getting ready to go to bed after working fo the entire day and the idea finally catches up to you…

And then doesn’t let go.

These ideas are funny like that

But, no matter what you’re doing, until you have done something about this idea–no matter what, exactly it is an idea about–you will be poked, prodded, sometimes bashed over the head, so that you are either mildly distracted from what you need to do, or else you are blinking and shaking your head from disorientation from this new abusive relationship you have with this part of your psyche, asking “pardon?” and hoping no one will notice you weren’t paying the least bit attention to this thing that NEEDS your attention

Of course, this idea you have also NEEDS your attention, doesn’t it?

Because you know that it’s an idea that needs to be explored, it may even be something that you will eventually actually NEED to get to, and you don’t want to lose this at-the-moment unwanted passion and unwilling enthusiasm, that what’s grabbing your attention will not be done nearly as well if you don’t get to it while you’re THIS interested.

And there is this fearful need to get it done, because there are a few things that run through your mind, and most of them are what-if’s

What if you just finish what you’re doing, and come back to it? Will that work?

What if I forget this amazing idea? (Note: his happens a lot right before you’re going to bed)

What if after I’m done this important thing, I’ve lost the enthusiasm? Then it won’t be nearly as good…

All these things will run through your mind at one point or another, and more, and it adds fuel to the fire of any anxiety you’ve already experienced thus far.

Not fun.

With me it’s usually story ideas, and I end up telling Lexy a lot of them (she does this in kind, though lately it’s been for her amazing short stories), and one term for these ideas you might have heard about is that you’ve gotten a ‘Plot Bunny’

It’s rather clever since the ideas are usually little fuzzy things bouncing around in your mind, sometimes breeding with other bunnies in the vast landscape of your imagination, and creating new, sometimes more developed plot bunnies.

This is usually what I imagine a plot bunny would be like:

Plot Bunny writer Kitteh

Cue yeah? And writer cat is good for me too, since a great deal of what happens is that I get so focused on one idea, and sometimes get distracted, or focus on a different plot bunny and ignore the others I’ve already started working on. It’s a bit like a cat who’s really interested in the game you’ve been playing, but then between one swipe and the next the claws are out and they’re entirely disinterested in that bit of string that’s held their attention so long.

But these ideas, these plot bunnies that kick and shout and generally screw with your mind until they die or you give up, it’s like something went horribly wrong.

Possibly in a way that can be salvaged, but it’s like adding a buzz saw and ninja stars to a plot bunny.

No, wait. It’s like the plot bunnies have gone rabid.

They’re going crazy in your mind, frothing at the mouth, and you can’t not pay attention to that, can you?

It seems like it could be cute or scary or something from Monty Python, like something that could be in your dreams or nightmares, and in any case something difficult to put aside.

I feel like I experience this quite a lot, so here’s some things that at least help. It’s not a lot, but it means that these plot bunnies can sometimes be saved, rather than end up being put down like Ol’ Yeller.

I write things down.

I have probably a dozen or so word documents with a few ideas for stories written down inside of them, little bits and things that seem brilliant and are flashing and shrieking in my ear as something brilliant (or heartbreaking, there are quite a few plot bunnies that are on a mission to have me bawling my eyes out), so I write them down. If I can spare some time to write out a few paragraphs (even if they aren’t coherent, or in a proper story-telling kind of format), I’ll do that and just write out the other scenes around it… Mind you, if you do this you must have patience, because you may or may not be the kind of person who wants to post something immediately, or get to an idea quickly, but more times than not it’s best to write out what needs writing rather than jumping to this amazing scene that’s only amazing because YOU (the author) know all the back story and linking things for it.

I experienced this with my Torchwood story, when I jumped ahead to a part of the story I already knew would be happening, and had at least a chapter finished… only I knew I had at least another scene to write (at the VERY least, and that would be skimping on important detail), so the few reviews I got complaining about me not updating quick enough (which is equally flattering and annoying, by the way), or people asking if I’ve abandoned the story (NO. Each chapter is at least 10k, and I write ALL of the next chapter, don’t you DARE give up on me you weak-willed readers! Have courage to click the ‘subscribe to story’ button!), can get really frustrating, and I know none of them believe me when I say that I wrote ahead. That I’m not done THIS chapter because I was busy working on the next.

The Love-Hate relationship to writing fanfiction…

Another thing I do is talk about it.

Lexy is a fantastic sounding board. I personally hate calling someone a ‘sounding board’, sounds quite a bit like I’m just using someone, but it’s true.

I can talk to her about stories and plot ideas I’ve had bouncing in my head, and being able to talk about my ideas aloud sometimes help me solidify one idea or another. Sometimes I can get away with just talking aloud, but hearing feedback and seeing Lexy’s expressions and opinions really helps.

Most computers have some sort of webcam as well, and I’ve tried filming myself talking about a story idea to even see my own expressions, because watching it helps me figure out where I’m unsure. You don’t realize how much you express when you’re talking until you’re watching it.

This also helps out when you’re working on a story/idea already, and helps you get new perspectives. Dwelling on a story long enough sometimes dulls the story for you, yourself, as the author. It’s like the 20th time you’ve seen a movie, as you’ve already looked over all the hidden meanings, you know all the back stories, there are no more surprises, no more twists, and you think way too ahead.

So yeah, talking. It works.

It also forces you from your writing cave

And the last thing…

Well, It’s something I’ve been thinking of doing, so it isn’t something I KNOW works. I know there’s a possibility it may work though.

You could make a forum and adopt out your plot Bunnies.

I have a lot of ideas rumbling about in my head, and before I start writing a story I’m usually feeling it out for months before I start seriously writing it, so some plot bunnies get neglected.

So why not give out prompts? You could do it with one word prompts, and their definitions, or you could write out a small summary for your plot bunny, you could post a paragraph that you’ve written down, you could give bits and pieces and scenarios from plot bunnies and see where others take them.

If you make a request for someone to link their project back to you, then you can even read it, and you know that one quote…

If you don’t, it goes something like

“If there’s a story you really want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, get to writing it”

Something like that. It’s what got me into regularly writing my own things.

But back to turning part of your imagination into a sort of foster home for Plot Bunnies (Rabid or otherwise, and remember that you can always pick them back up again later when you have the time and inclination)… well, you really don’t have to, but it’s something to consider.

What use are YOU getting out of them, hmm? What if you have an idea, a newborn Plot Bunny, but don’t have any plans on actually writing it? What if you just enjoy the idea hopping around your head? Well, you could foster it out and then you could READ the story someone else makes out of it.

You could hate it, you could love it… but it’s maybe gotten someone else to start writing, so that’s good 🙂

These tips work pretty well for other kinds of ideas, too, I’d imagine. An idea for a drawing you don’t have time for? Doodle it. Write down colours, just do a thumbnail drawing and come back to it. Have an idea for a poem? Keep sticky notes with you, or a note pad, and write it down as it comes. Edits are for later, and you might not have the rhythm for it later. Or what about a sculpture, or a carving, or something else that would be three-dimensional? Draw it out. A rough sketch to get the idea out, jot down the specifics, things not obvious in the drawing.

These ideas are rabid in your thoughts because they’re GOOD ideas. They may need refining, some other details figured out, but they’re distracting you because you can do something with this.

The Plot Bunnies and Business Bunnies and Doodle Rabbits and other furry creature ideas DON’T have to be a problem. Even if you’re in a rush, taking a half-hour break to jot down some notes can only help, since it means you won’t be (as) distracted when you go back to work.

How do YOU deal with your Rabid Plot Bunnies?

This is more of a nightmarish thing for me, honestly...

This is more of a nightmarish thing for me, honestly…

 

It’s One of Those Ages

I turned 19 on February third of last year (2012). And now I’m 20.

(SURPRISE!)

But…

19 is one of Those ages, I’ve figured out…

Those ages, in case you’re wondering, are usually ages in which it’s hard to multiply to get without 1 being one of the multiples.

You know, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23 etc, etc, etc…? I’m probably missing a number in between that, but…

Well, from what I can figure out, most of these numbers are significant ages to be, either to parents or to society or to you, as you are at that (or before that) age. It is from these ages you compare yourself to your younger self.

A baby turning 1 year old is a landmark in aging. But, like with dogs and pets in general, it’ll probably be until that baby is close to or past the 2 year mark before your age will be measured by years consistently, rather than by months.

If you ask Lexy how old Gwynn is, she will respond with “Almost three” or “Three in March” but once, for a while, she used wild numbers like 13/14/15/… months old.

It was a strange time that made me have to think a moment as I subtracted 12 from that number, and then… wait no, that would make him…

Ah.

(You redevelop math skills like this when you get a pet, or a baby, by the way. You don’t realize how much simple math you’ve lost until this time comes)

Turning 3 seems like an important age to me, as it is the first year after you’re two, giving you one full year of being referred to by year-age rather than by month-age. I don’t have a baby, and Gwynn is not yet 3, so I wouldn’t be able to tell you any other significance, except that maybe at the 3 year mark Gwynn, and possibly babies in general, will have learned a few new tricks.

Perhaps he will have learned not to go ape-shit over cats.

Unlikely, but a hopeful possibility.

5 seems to be that age that you’re constantly hearing/reading/seeing children being thereabouts. They are either almost 5 or are corrected to that they are only 5, not six for a couple of months yet. Or, they “Justh turned thixth”(say with clear lisp) and have likely lost a tooth. 5 is that age that you just want to BE. You never hear about your inner 4-year-olds or 6-year-olds. That’s because 5 is infinitely better than either of those.

Because you’re FIVE.

Later in life you will find out that you like fives even better, especially when learning your times tables, and find out that multiplying 5 is even easier than multiplying by 2’s.

But enough about 5’s, let’s move onto 7.

7 is important for a number of reasons, and not just because Voldemort had 7 Horcruxes and you always forget the last one or two from the list you try to keep in your mind, and not just because it was one of the most important numbers I learned because Mom sat me down and had me learn the days of the week. This was when I once thought that it was the weekend on a Wednesday based wholly on the fact that the alarm hadn’t gone off. 7 is important because you can finally leave 5 behind.

The memory of 5 is an immature phantom of a memory, filled with scuffed knees, grass stains, hair pullings and crying for no good reason. You have moved past the age of 6, even, with all the reminders of being 5 being brought up, and you are now free to luxuriate in your maturity and lording your advanced age over those stuck in the vortex that happens around 5.

Writing down your age becomes a skewed checkmark of age and maturity, writing it in letters gives you the chance to write a ‘V’ for something other than ‘GIVE’, and you take something from that and maybe think if there’s a number out there that has an ‘X’ in it, or maybe a ‘Z’ because you really don’t get to use those that often.

Of course, Lexy has a friend she’s known from childhood whose name is Aziza.

I doubt she had thoughts like these.

(I think I stopped having this wonder for the letter ‘Z’ when I realized fully that one of my middle names could be spelled with a ‘z’ and decided to spell it as such, and it was only in the past couple of years that I have confirmed that on my birth certificate the possible worry of being an Elisabeth Rose was left for the certainty of being an Elizabeth Rose. Because I’m trying to be as honest as I can be while on the Internet, I’m going to admit that for a while there I think I was overzealous and decided I was an Elizabeth Roze)

(It made sense at the time…)

While moving on to 11 I am going to stop for a moment and take away the notion that 9 or 10 are important figures.

9 is a multiple of 3 and while it may seem mysterious by being almost as hard as your 7 times tables, it is not. You are past the smaller vortex (in comparison to 5) of 7 and are next to the little ball that is 10.

10 is insecure but vicious. If 9 tries to pull weight, it simply rolls over and squashes 9 with the fact that 10 is better than 9. 10 has 2 numbers.

It’s Double Digits.

9 can’t get past that. If you’re 9 YOU can’t get past that.

You must remember here that I’m not making up personalities for numbers, this is how I half remember/half imagine a child’s mindset is like. I wrote a great deal of my Harry Potter fanfiction “It’s Green” going on this, and managed to get a number of reviews on my realistic and odd young Harry… Which is flattering, but also makes me think that I won’t be able to write the personality of anyone over the age of 11…

And that would suck.

Back to numbers.

10 is insecure because while it has lorded its double digits-ness over 9 and occasionally 8, it IS right next to 11.

As grand as entering the double digits of age is, it’s not nearly as awesome as moving past that pinnacle to a new height of age.

11.

10 has the misfortune of having a zero in it.

Zeroes, as we have been taught in school, means nothing.

10, as great as it is, is written down as a 1 and a 0, a something, and a nothing.

11 has the amazingness of being the first number in the double digits that doesn’t have a 0 in it. 11 is also when you leave all the 9’s behind, because you are beyond being 10 and have no time to play with babies. Because that is what anyone is if they are still stuck within the limitations of the single digit of age, at least compared to you.

12 year olds matter nothing unless you yourself are a 12-year-old with other 12 year olds, or you are a 12-year-old who knows or encounters a 13-year-old.

Because, a 13-year-old was once… not a teenager.

But is one for the next 7 years or so.

(it’s hard to shake that image from The Adult’s minds)

Yes, when you turn 13 you are experienced in the ways of the double-digit-age enough to be accepted into the ranks of teenagerhood.

I imagine it’s very much like being accepted into street gang. Or maybe the Mafia.

It’s dark, it’s dirty, you are going to be introduced to a whole slew of sights, experiences, smells that you would have liked to be spared from, you will meet people who you may not like but are now part of different rules, ones that will remember you if you report them to the authorities of the Parentals… the ones from their district or yours, it matters not, they will remember and do their best to repay in kind or else find some other way to return the favour.

They will shank you for your candy…

And give bald-faces lies to the Adults about what happened, and you can say nothing.

I know (for the most part) that that’s not how it works, not exactly, but if someone can come up with a better example of what you are getting yourself into by unknowingly agreeing to join this… group… well. Feel free to step forward with your own post, and link me 🙂

But, regardless of your newby status, Parents will expect just a bit more from you, as the Responsible Teen you are, perhaps playing on your sense of new duty and responsibility to get you to do more around the house, set a ‘good example’.

This is an important stage in your life.

The next is 17.

I think that people will think that 16 should be one of Those ages, but aside from “Sweet 16” what is there, really? You can now get your driver’s license… Wonderful.

Due to new laws (at least in Ontario) you must wait a full year after getting your G1 to get your G2. You will be 17 when you are even remotely close to getting your real license.

17 is important for more than this real license, though, and it’s the reason why, in Canada at least, 18 is only really important if you’re in (or, I guess, beside) Quebec.

17 is when you’re preparing yourself for the fact that you will soon have to take the consequences for things that may or may not get you into serious trouble.

18 is when you are putting to use all these thoughts or concepts of responsibility, but 17 is for where you can get paranoid.

It’s about this time when you also have to start thinking about the Future… about University and College, what your major will be, what you want to do with THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

It’s scary.

Feel free to feel paranoid.

Be afraid.

It’s be a whirlwind, gale forces of GRADESGRADESGRADES whipping around you, sharp rocks of EXPECTATIONSEXPECTATIONSEXPECTATIONS will give you shallow cuts that sting, and you’ll be desperately trying to stay near the eye of the storm.

You’ll be desperate to stay there, because there’s always that possibility that the winds and rocks will chuck you any which direction, and you could land anywhere.

It’s not likely it’s going to be a place you like.

A few will actually be able to stay in the eye of this storm… until they’re turning 18 that is.

Those who have been struggling to stay near the centre will have gained endurance, will have scouted were they could land, and will have calmed down some by this time, but those who were suddenly jolted from their place at the Eye…

Well shit it’s scary being plucked from your comfortable place, isn’t it?

17 is the slightly more significant time, I think, and if you think it’s actually 18…

Well, of course you’d think so.

17 is desperately gripping at 18 and trying to stay grounded in that shit-storm as drama and grades get thrown around in school, jobs and money problems biting at tender unprotected areas like vicious mosquitos, and 18 is freaking out.

17 has already screamed itself hoarse, why else would 18 be louder?

For those who have later birthdays, it IS 18 that’s scary, but I’m talking from my own experience, so stick with me okay?

19…

Well 19 is scary.

And fantastic if you happen to live somewhere that the drinking age is 19.

Like, perhaps… ONTARIO???? Or Canada… (I live there, whaddya know…)

I was in luck while in Ottawa in that Hull (sketchy part of Quebec, drinking age 18, sketchy party/club central for the underages of Ottawa), in that for the few months before my birthday I could get alcohol, and afterwards I could still go out drinking with my friends whose birthdays were in Oct-Dec, and so were less than legal in Ottawa.

(I’m not saying anything about having an apartment-style res and being legal in a group of under-aged friends. Also, yes, 2+2=4)

But yeah, 19 means first year uni/college, or else it means succeeding in surviving first year, or not.

(Me? Kind of not, but I’m working on getting back in that tipped canoe, it’s a bit hard, but I’m doing it)

It means you’re trying to find the friends you’ll likely be closest with for the next four-or-so years, making connections, keeping your head above water and clothes the least wet…

Stressful.

But a very important time.

20…

Well, I’m only turning 20 now (Happy Feb 3rd everyone! Happy Birthday to me!), so I don’t know how it’ll pan out, but I have hopes.

I feel like I’m significantly more mature (Maybe… My mom would laugh, as would Lexy and maybe just about everyone who knows me), but it could just be because now I can say “I’m 20”

Because hell yes! I’m 20!

But on the other hand… I’m two decades old.

I feel like I should be whipping out cocktail dresses and be brushing off cobwebs at the same time.

This is said because of the two decades thing…

It’s not two centuries, no, but it’s a bulk unit of time.

Seconds, Minutes, Hours=Nothing.

Days, Weeks, Months= the make up of a year. So?

Decade= Impressive. That’s a bulk unit of time, the likes of which you haven’t been able to process by the time you’re 1 decade old. You have no idea.

Literally, for em, since i think I was still spelling ‘idea’ as ‘ida’ because I thought the ‘de’ in ‘idea’ was satisfied with just the letter.

No idea, I tell you.

(only Ida’s)

2 decades= 2 FREAKING DECADES! That seems like a lot! That’s MORE than ONE!

WOW!

Whoever can count their age by more than one decade is obviously super OLD!

And now I’m part of that group.

I’ve been kicked from the Teenager-Gang and have joined the Decade Group.

I don’t know what it’s going to mean for me, and I don’t know what it’s meant to other people…

I hope there are more cookies in this group though.

Happy February 3rd everyone!