Monday, June 30, 2014

Just Me

I've been exercising four times a week for the last three weeks. And I have not lost any weight but my body does feel different. I know that the number means nothing, because muscle weighs more. I'm still fluctuating between 163-164. I don't weigh myself every day, but have every other week or so. I know its my health that matters, and boy, I do feel different!


I had been doing revolt, and I really liked it. However, the creator of the program kept getting way behind at posting videos. First it was one day behind, so I just did the same video over again. Then it was two, so I tried to work off the exercise sheet (hard for me, I don't know what the names of things are...) Then it was an entire week. So I got annoyed and decided to stop. She's trying to run Revolt all by herself, and I don't think she's dedicated to it. I bought a year subscription so maybe I'll try again. (it was only 40$ for a year, and that's less then what we pay a month for our YMCA membership, so I didn't lose much money, but still...)


I'm going to keep exercising. And you know what, my husband has been going with me! It's fun to go together, even if we both end up doing different things. (Him machine, me dance class usually) I've noticed that he has a lot more energy and zest in the mornings!


How have you all been? I've found some days I feel like the exercise I'm doing means nothing. And other days I feel great. Hah! (Also, yes, I am wearing red lip stuff from Burnt Bees today. I like it. Also, it tastes good.)

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Leaving

This is part four of my novel, "What Losing You Did to Me". To start at the beginning, click here. Right now a new section of my book posts every Tuesday and Saturday.
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Your father is more then angry. He is livid. He calls me a trollop and a whore. He calls our love a sham.

He threatens to disown you. He threatens your job.

You just stand there and take it, holding my hand until my fingers go numb.

The entire time he never once looks at me, because I am nothing to him.

Your grandfather refuses to see us. He tells you to come up to his office without me.

So, for awhile you are gone, and I sit alone among the plush furnishings of your fine home, feeling anxious. 

In the end we stumble back out to your car. It turns out I am not invited to dinner, and so you decide to leave too. I think I'm in shock. The sky is still blue but it looks fake somehow, marred by the words your father has flung at us. Your truck is still there but it looks so small next to the sprawling mansion and grounds of your grandfather's estate. Your mouth is a thin small line, and your hand is shaking as you unlock the doors.

But we get in.

And we drive away.

Your grandfather had gifted you with a small townhouse right outside of campus, for easy commute to and from class. It's in a gated community, the same community your grandfather's house is in. Apparently you are still able to use it. I am glad.

I can tell by the look in your eyes and the swirling turmoil of your mind that you need to be alone, so I busy myself dragging in our boxes and bags. Everything from our college days looks so ragged in this big house. Our wrinkled much-highlighted books, my worn thrifted clothing, your socks with holes from to much frisbee—all worn and used. The furnishings your grandfather has provided for us are made of leather and wood. I tiptoe around them afraid to touch. They look basically flawless next to our smatterings of things. Upstairs, I faintly hear you turn on the shower. I think then and there that I'm going to make a pie tonight, your favorite blueberry flavor. If only I can find the grocery store.

Halfway through my haphazard unboxing, the phone rings, and I wonder belatedly if I should get it. I decide not to. I don't want to upset your family any more then I already have. It rings and rings and rings. I suppose you can't hear it in the shower. Your mind right now is a black range of ugly squiggles and mist—I don't want to intrude upon you even there, although I know your anger is not directed at me.

A week before we came you tried to tell me that things would be different here. But all I remember is how you promised to stick by me. I know you don't want to lose you family, and I respect that. I mean, I don't even have a family. But if I did I imagine they'd see me more. I've only met your dad twice now, but I can tell that he can't see you. He only sees what he wants you to be, what he expects you to be.

But I see you.

I'm the first person that's ever seen you. Seen your laughter after a movie. Seen your glee as you completed your first glimmer-spell. Seen the tears and the rage in you after a phone call from your family. I've been allowed inside your very self. We've melded, mixed, and loved, fought and giggled and made a life together. You told me I was the only person you really trusted, the only person who you didn't have to wear a mask with.

That's why you came West, I think. To be yourself, to find yourself outside your grandfather's shadow.

When you tumble down the stairs your hair is wet but your eyes are softer.

“I'm sorry.” You say to me. I know you are sorry. I am sorry too, sorry I am nothing.

“You are everything.” You remind me, and I smile and then we are hugging. "No, you are everything." I tell you, as you roll your eyes at me.

Our choice to love is everything. And we'll protect it.

For the next few hours, together we unpack our home. The bedroom, with the muted brown bedspread. The study where I put your computer. A walk in closet, larger then our bedroom at our old place. A living room and a receiving room, and a sprawling kitchen with so many cabinets they must want you to feed an army of professors.


“Now that we are here, I can finally treat you like the princess you are.” You say. Your head is full of images of me shopping for new clothes, and thoughts of me buying my very own computer. Your father had refused to send you money or even pay for your housing since you'd absconded to a different college. I guess since you were back that had changed.

And I knew we'd only both decided to come here to save money for traveling. Two years tops, you'd told me, and then we'd be on a plane to the north, to adventure into the open, unexplored territory. We needed about one year of wages just for the pass, and another year for gear and supplies.

But right now my head is full of thoughts of teaching with you. Of securing a place at the college. I'm sure I can, with my degree and excellent grades. 

That night you tell me some of your grandfather's fears.

I am of unknown lineage. My gene pool is not known. My family tree is not known. Our childern could be born without magie, a thing that has not happened in Aainn's family for generations, he says.

I have no money. I have no special skills. I am not much better then the non-magie.

“But you are my unknown.” Aainn said to me, “And I love you. That's all that matters.”

You tell me that your family has begrudgingly said I could stay. I'm so happy I jump up and down and spin around. But I can sense there is more. Something you are not telling me.

“We compromised, Merienge. You can stay but you are not invited to any public house events. Also...they said they won't let you officially work at the college.”

I am suddenly still, and you face is closed and shut like a real mask. “My grandfather made sure of it.” You ball your hands into fits and glare at the wall. “I know it isn't fair. But it's something. This college does not have many women professors, anyway.”

But I can stay, so I'm happy.

“We'll only be here two years.” You say, before falling asleep, your head nestled close to my heart. "Just two years."

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This is part of my novel, "What losing you did to me". I post a new section every Tuesday and Saturday. Click here for part five.

All my writing can be viewed here.

Friday, June 27, 2014

One day when I was 16...

I don't quite know what to call this blog post. The time I was expelled from school? Things I regret? A story of unfairness and bullying?

Whatever the name, I'm going to write about something that happened to me in high school.

Something I still feel rather odd about. I'm not sure how to feel. Or what to do about this particular event now that I can analyze it with adult eyes and adult knowledge.

When I was 16 years old I was expelled from school for telling two of my peers that I wanted to kill them.

me at 17 the summer before my senior year
You may be shocked over this fact.  I, too, am shocked at myself still. I wish I had dealt with my feelings of anger and pain in a different manner.

You see, for the past three years of me attending a christian school (since 8th grade) these two girls in my class (we will call them A and W) had relentlessly picked on me.

They had called me ugly. Fat. Stupid. Dumb. Told me to go die. That they wished I would die.

I hated it. I just wanted them to stop picking on me. I felt horrible about myself and although I liked school and I had friends--I would have a panic attack whenever I saw or thought of those two girls.

I don't know why they didn't like me, and I guess I'll never know. It doesn't matter anymore.

I developed really horrible self-esteem and shyness. I didn't develop a bad self-image (I had really positive reinforcement of self-image at home) but I think under different circumstances I would have.

So one day in the middle of English class when one of these girls told me my hair looked like a rats nest, I lost it. I told them I was going to kill them. And of course they promptly reported me and I was kicked out of school for a month while I was "evaluated" to see if I was going to one day "snap". Meanwhile these two girl's parents said terrible things about how I was quiet and read books all the time just like the guy who had recently shot up a school. They said I should be expelled forever and they threatened to criminally charge me.

All I said was that one thing. I've spent my life regretting it as well. That wasn't the way I should have handled it, but I didn't know what else to do. These girls were very popular. I didn't know how to talk to an adult about this or how to get the girls to stop. Obviously, I meant them no harm and after finally telling my side of the story (backed up by my friends, who told me they were called in and questioned) I was allowed back into school and finished up my time there.

taking senior pictures with friends!
I avoided A and W when I finally came back to school. To my utter relief, they avoided me as well.

Almost 10 years later I still see them around town and it's kinda awkward. I can tell A has changed. She's said hello to me a few times I've seen her out. W leaves the area whenever I see her. It does not bother me, I just don't understand it.

I want to tell them I'm sorry. I want to know if they know how much they hurt me. After all of this I try to tell myself it does not matter. And it doesn't. We were all kids. We were all hurting. And we all make mistakes.


Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Rainbow Swirl Hat



I knitted a hat! This swirl hat uses both colorwork and cabling to create a fun textured beanie for your head. It was fun to make, and comes in two sizes. Click here to download the free pattern!

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Remembering

This is part three of my novel, "What Losing You Did to Me". For part two, click here. Right now a new section of my book posts every Tuesday and Saturday.
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I first met your grandfather that fall. You were offered a teaching position at his college. We packed up all we owned in your little red truck and drove over the border to make our introductions.

I knew you were afraid. I could feel the waves of fear rolling off you like the tide combs the shore. I tried my best to comfort you. You tried your best to explain.

“My family is not like...” A brief picture of our school flutters though my head, a fragment of your thoughts. “They had my whole life planned...you see...” Another image, a girl wearing a pink dress. That girl, I know her. Because sometimes you dream about her. I know she was to be your paire, just as you were supposed to stay at your grandfather's college, to tutor under him and take his chosen classes. You feel guilty about letting her family down, even if there are no feelings between you and her.

“I know.” I said, and touched the cleft of your arm to reassure you. “Don't worry. We'll take it slow.”

I also knew your family did not approve of me. We'd met at your graduation. Your mom. Your sister. Your father. Besides my grades, I am a nobody. No name, no title. No dowry. No lands, no future. Not someone to “shack up with” the firstborn grandson of Rien Durithean, head of West Magie College.

But that night you told me that you didn't care. That night was when I'd finally whispered my true name into your ear, my name-under-the-stars, you carried me back to our bed and showed me what my trust meant by tangling your body with mine.

“Merienge, let me do the talking.” Now your car is in the driveway, parked beneath the clouds. Your house is so huge, a sprawling beast of a thing. My eyes couldn't even take it all in at once. I remember nodding. I could feel the tightness in your demeanor, like a crouched lion, like a mother about to defended herself against a deadly prey.


I was afraid. But I nodded, and twined my hand it yours. Your palm was sweaty, and my heart sounded so unnaturally loud against the quiet knock upon your door, a door opened by a butler.

We were ushered into some sort of drawing room. I'd be mesmerized with all the beauty if I wasn't so scared. A lush, expensive carpet tickled my toes as I sat beside you, and whole-wood furnishings (the like I've never seen before, given that creating with wood is now illegal) were peppered thought the room. Someone has given it a lot of thought.

A lone picture stand above the mantle. I think you are in it, but am afraid to ask. I don't know what my voice would sound like in this big room.

Your sister comes in first. She's wearing a long dress, and her hair is in curls down her back. I remember her from your graduation. She must be almost 16 now. I can feel you relax besides me, your frame sagging, like a lot of air escaping from a loose balloon.

“Sœur, you look well!”

She sits across from us, perched delicately on the edge of her seat.

“Father is going to be livid with you, you know.” She says, her eyes drifting over to me.

“I know,” You say, “But it can't be helped.”

She looks at me for a split second, her eyes registering something akin to pity or perhaps remorse, before turning back to you.

“He told you at graduation to leave her there.”

You wince. I do nothing. I am used to being spoken to thus—at the l'orphelinat I was often discussed at length while being present in the room. But it still hurt. Maybe because, at college, I'd been wildly respected for my skills. No one there knew my past, and I had been considered by my rank in school, which had been very high. I'd had many friends. More so after our pairing, since you are so mysteriously regarded, but that is besides the point.

I wish, fleetingly, that I could read your sister's thoughts. To do so I would have to ask her to lower her natural barriers, and I can't think of one reason why she would. Also, she'd be aware of my magie—and because Aainn and I were paired, it could “smell” like a mixture of his and mine. As a pair, our magic had mingled. And when we are within a certain distance, we instinctively draw upon each others reserves, and as such our magie can be tainted with the others particular odor. 

Magic is such a tedious thing.

“I won't leave her, Maieldryn.” You are still speaking, and your sister's lips are pursed. I'd missed a lot of conversation, as my thoughts had turned inward.

“I know, but grandfather isn't going to like it. He was all set on you with Wveina, you know. We need that family as allies. They won't be happy about this either.”

I search out Maieldryn's eyes. It's almost as if she is pleading with you. But I don't see it. I still felt then like things were going to be okay.

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Click here for part four.

All my writing can be viewed here. Picture in this post is from here. Used with permission. 

Monday, June 23, 2014

10 Things I miss about being Single

I've read a lot of blog posts about how great marriage is. I myself am married, and I enjoy it, I really do! But I think a lot of people don't realize that even while being happily married, there are a lot of things I miss from my single lifestyle.

Usually marriage is herald as the next step in life after college, and those who have somehow found themselves without a partner are to be pitied. Yay unrealistic social pressures? I think what many don't understand is that both of these lifestyles are choices, and as such both have pros and cons. Neither is better then the other, of course.

Yes, marriage is great. Yes, singleness is great! Yes, it can suck when you feel very strongly that you want one over the other but are stuck with no foreseeable way to accomplish this. I've also seen many of my friends who are perfectly happy with their choice be judged because they aren't fitting into the mold. It baffles some people that others can be content without a +1.


Being married almost two years, and happily so, I wouldn't trade my husband for the world. But that doesn't mean I don't yearn, sometimes, for the days of singleness. Here are a few things I've realized I miss, with funny interjections by my husband added. (He misses things too!) 
  • Being alone
I don't really have the leisure to be alone anymore. Sure, there are times when my husband is at work. But I always know he is coming home. And sometimes what I want more then anything is to come home and know that their won't be anyone wanting something from me or playing loud music or needing attention. I miss the days of heading back to my apartment and laying on the couch in my undies to binge watch Angel just by myself. I miss the days of heading home to my room (my room) to close my door and flop on my bed and just stare at the ceiling without someone thinking they need to come cuddle. (Husband adds: I miss the days of knowing where all my stuff is. Because someone else moves it. When I was single no one really moved my stuff. Or tried to clean my stuff. Or throw it away because it looks like trash but really is computer parts that I might use one day.)
  • Food
What I ate used to be up to me. Did I want to go out? Yeah! Takeout at home? Yeah! Leave the dishes for a few days even if they smell? Yeah! I'd cook what I wanted, when I wanted. Now there exists this other person who has ideas (can you believe it) about what I might want to cook for dinner. Maybe once this week I could make meatloaf? Braised in beer? And perhaps we could go to this restaurant, because I picked the last one? And don't get me started on the annoying factor of feelings and food. But I don't feel like that type of eatery! I feel like this. But you feel otherwise. Now what? (Husband adds: why do girls like hummus and not cheeseburgers?)
  • My time
I remember when I didn't have to ask anyone if I could hang out with a friend on the weekend. I'd just look at my work schedule and go from there. Now I have to make sure my husband does not have anything planned and also make sure I make time for him because he's, well, my husband and deserves to feel special and loved and included in my life. (Husband adds: No iPhone time for you. More cuddling needed. )
  • Sleep
Oh, dear. This is probably one of the biggest things I miss. A whole bed to myself. Nothing wiggling. Nothing wanting to touch me when I'm trying to slumber. Nothing in the middle of the night suddenly deciding it's time to think intimate thoughts. Nobody who needs to get up to use the loo and turn on a light. Or open a door.

I'm such a light sleeper. Really. I'm like the lightest sleeper ever. I'm so glad my husband does not roll around a lot because if he did I don't think I would ever sleep.

He also wakes up at 6am every day. So guess who else wakes up at 6am every day. Yeah. Me.

(Husband adds: You snore too. One day I filmed you remember on my iPhone and you got really annoyed with me but you said you didn't snore so I had to prove you wrong. Also you drool. Like a lot. I didn't know I was going to marry a waterfall.)
  • Trips
I used to be able to just pick up and travel. This year I really wanted to meet Rachel and Michelle, two of my favorite bloggers. I was just going to go on my own and my husband really didn't like that idea. Because he would miss me and worry about me. So I waited so we could go together.
  • Complaining
This node was interjected by Mr. Adventure. He says he misses driving without me freaking out. People against back seat drivers, unite?
  • Money
I think my husband and I both feel the same that managing money is one of the hardest parts of marriage and the one we both struggle with the most. I miss when the only person I had to consult before I purchased something was my bank account. Now we both try to include each other as we shop. (Husband: I miss the bathroom not being full of wigs.)
  • Family
When you get married you join a family. With all the drama. While I love my mother in law, sometimes we don't see eye to eye and it can cause a three-way misunderstanding that usually makes everyone have a bad day. Communicating with your spouse is hard, but communicating with their family is harder. I have a hard time forgiving his for not coming to our wedding. Being free and dealing with only my family is something I really miss. I never had to think if "such and such" would be acceptable or worry about offending someone.

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I think my husband and I juggle all our differences well (for example sometimes we'll pick up take-out from two different places to suit both our appetites) but there are days, (for him also, I'm sure) that we both fondly remember being single. 

What about you? Do you miss anything?

Saturday, June 21, 2014

Just Gone.

This is part two of my novel, "What Losing You Did to Me". For part one, click here. Right now a new section of my book posts every Tuesday and Saturday.
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In the orphanage, there are three ranks. The enfants, the jeune, and the extraordinaire. We are all tested upon arrival, in the magie machine. I tested positive. This set me apart from the others, both academically and relationally. Because the gift of magie is hereditary, finding it in an orphan is extremely rare. I was one of two girls at l'orphelinat found to posses such a gift
 

I was immediately segregated. Later when I was older I was told I must have been a donation from the se separer village. The village where magie is illegal. My parents would have been forced to either leave, or give me up. I wonder what makes an entire village more important then their own daughter.

I guess I'll never find out, because as a magie user, I can never enter.

I know now that I was lonely back then, before I turned 16 and was allowed to enter the magie school. And then I met you, my best friend, my Aainn'deliemiian, and I thought I'd never be alone again.

It was the day I graduated that you told me your truename.

And the next year, on your graduation date, we were paired.

I learned about l'appariement (the pairing) my freshman year, in Introduction to Magie. Magie users are different from other humans. While all humans marry and are given in marriage, the magie “paire". It's fundamentally the same as marriage, with the rings and the vows and the never-shall-we-part, but different because after consummation we can share each others magie as freely as our own. And other things. Like knowing what you are thinking, dear Aainn, comes easily as thinking to myself. I remember the first thought of yours we shared together. You were thinking about how I'd burnt dinner. And I was thinking right back at you how sorry I was. Then we both laughed, a laugh the bubbled not only outward, but inward as well. 

The summer before we moved back East is one of my favorite summers. We had a small apartment together, and I cooked and tutored freshman while you finished up your last classes.

To say I'd never felt closer to anyone before would be an understatement. We shared everything. From laughing over cleaning toilets to shopping downtown to dreamy star-lit nights, to our first miscarriage, with me crying in the emergency room, unable to save our baby.

Can you even remember our baby? Cielen says somewhere deep inside you must remember. That you will remember. He says I should start all over again, run to you, find you, introduce myself. We both know where you are, what you are doing. I've even seen you once or twice, on the news.

But I can't just go back. I can't pretend I don't know you. Because every time I see you my knees give out and I remember the feel of your skin against mine. I remember the way your body used to wrap around me at night, like I was an anchor tethering your soul to land.

And it breaks my heart that you don't even know my name now. It breaks my heart that you don't spend every night crying out into your pillow, your whole body yearning for me as I yearn for you. Almost every day I sob myself to sleep, while you peacefully slumber, unattached, in your plush bed.

Thinking of this always reminds of of him. Him. Your grandfather. The man that destroyed us. The man who still lives. The man who thinks I don't remember, either.

Perhaps if I break him, you'll come back.

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Click here for part three.
 
All my writing can be viewed here. Picture in this post is from here. Used with permission. 

Friday, June 20, 2014

The Dark Side of Designing Knitwear

This has been bothering me for awhile. It's about knit and crochet pattern designers. 

First off, let me say that I love the online fiber community. I really do. I signed up for Ravelry with my heart full of ideas and eager to learn. I started this blog to showcase my art. I also make and sell art and designs on Etsy.

I love being a part of the internet crafty community.

But right now I’m upset, because no one told me about the dark side.


The side where I’ll be accused of copying a pattern, even through I didn’t. It’s stripes, people. You don’t own strips. Or buildings. Or strawberries. Or gnomes.

You can't see a item I made that has such-and-such on it and say OMG! My item also has such-and-such on it! YOU must have COPIED me! Because I didn't. My such-and-such, while still looking like an item, is not exactly like yours.

I am not kidding, I actually get hate mail over this. One time a very famous designer (who will remain unnamed) posted an entire blog post about how I "stole" her design. She listed my twitter and my website on her blog and for about a week I received messages and threats on my twitter telling me how terrible a person I am because clearly my pattern looks so much like hers they must be identical, even through these people never took time to compare the patterns because they aren't.

I talked about it a lot on facebook when it was happening, but I didn't have the heart to write a blog post about it at the time, mostly because I was really upset. 

There aren’t many ways to put "strawberries" on leg warmers. Or hats. No matter what you do you kinda want it to look like a "strawberry". No one can own a copyright on "strawberries". You can copyright the image you create, to a certain extent (like a pattern chart) but you can't say every single thing that suddenly appears with "strawberries" on it belongs to you.

Seriously.

This is knitting. This is crochet. This is not a competition. This is not a war. I am not here to win. I am here to love my fiber. I am here to make friends.

Don't bully me. If you think I've copied your pattern, ask. I would never download a pattern and re-upload it as my own. All my designs were designed by me. Please, try to treat me with respect. I would do the same for you.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Lies about Sex I was taught

As a female, there are many lies about sex in the world that we are taught. Here are a few I've been discovering I myself believed.
  • There is a dress code for sex
I learned recently that I've been taught that I must appear, or look a certain way before engaging in sexual activity. I've found myself uttering comments like:
    • Just to warn you, I haven't shaved today...
    • Don't look there! I'm ugly there.
    • Wait, let me go put on something sexy! 


This is simply not true. No matter if I shave or not, my husband still enjoys being intimate with me. When I first began to warn him of my unshaven state, he would laugh and rub my legs to show me he didn't care, but I would still feel bad for "not prepping myself" and for "letting him down". Now, almost two years into our marriage, he has told me point blank to stop apologizing, because there is nothing to apologize for. My husband loves me, and my excessive apologizing was ruining not only his mood, but mine as well as I felt sub-par. Sure, its nice to shave sometimes, and it's nice to put on something sexy, but it isn't a requirement for sex.

I think the media really perpetrates this lie. Most of the sex portrayed in the media is full of lingerie-wearing flawless women and 30-minute sexcapades where they solely focus the camera on the women for the enjoyment of men.

  •  I need to be quiet if I'm just "uncomfortable"
I'm not talking about pain. I'm perfectly able to tell my husband to slow down or stop if something hurts. I'm talking more about things that make me uncomfortable or make me feel scared/anxious. Because of my past, I don't like certain things. But I felt like speaking up to my husband would ruin his enjoyment. I felt for the betterment of our marriage I should just shut up and wait for whatever bothered me to be over. My mental checklist went something like:
    1. Is it painful? Okay, no. Don't talk.
    2. Is it wrong? Okay, its not wrong. Whats the big deal?
    3. It only appears to be inconveniencing to me so I shouldn't say anything.
This is wrong on many levels. Attempting to be discrete, at least in some fashion, I'll say that when I finally did tell my husband that I really didn't like such-and-such, he was baffled, but supportive. He was only doing these things, he said, because he thought I would enjoy them! He was confused as to why I didn't tell him sooner.


I needed to learn voice my concerns. I mean, I'm half of the sexual experience! It's not just about my husband, it's also about me. And he wants to pleasure me as much as I want to pleasure him. I learned to tell him "I like that" and "I don't really like that". I try to say it in a way that lets my husband understand that it's not something he is doing, but that "it" just does not particularly feel good to me.
  • I need to be loud during sex.
Sex is different, and each person reacts to pleasure in different ways. Some people are shy. Some people are bold. I shouldn't feel like I have to sound a certain way in order to let my husband know he is pleasing me.

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Can you think of any lies you were taught? 

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

What Losing You Did To Me.

Remember when I wrote a book? Yes, a long time ago I talked about it. Well, I actually started writing two books. But I've shelved both of them for the time being. Instead, I started writing this novella based on a dream I had a few nights ago.

I've decided to post this book on the blog. It isn't long enough to publish as a novel. But oh well. Maybe you will enjoy it. I'm just glad to be basically done! I plan on posting parts of it every Tuesday/ Saturday until the end. Please be aware that this novel has not been proofread by anyone other then myself. If you notice any spelling or grammar errors, don't hesitate to let me know. You won't offend me, I already know I can't spell. Also, parts of it are in french. Why? I don't know, it made sense at the time.
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What Losing You Did To Me
by Carolynn Markey

I'm writing this down for you, Aainn. Even through you'll never remember.

Right now I'm thinking about the day we first met. I was a sophomore, and you were a freshman. You were congratulating me on my high marks, while I flipped my hair in the sunshine.

How long ago that was. What a different person I was.

The next day you stopped me again, asking for tutoring, asking for help. And because I was in the top tier of our magie school, this didn't phase me. Of course I tutored you. I'd tutored others. It was the only means of income for me at that time, since I was one of the orphan transfers. But I don't think you knew that. Not then. Not like you do now.

In contrast to myself, everybody knew you, but not for your grades. Your grandfather was the head of the Eastern magie school. You were a prince, with a bit of a clandestine story. The girls all whispered about you. The professors were hesitant to discipline you. And for some reason you'd come here, to the Western school of sun and palm trees and beaches. Were you not good enough for your families school? They said it was by choice. I never got the chance to ask you, maybe because I got lost in all the kissing.


Somewhere in the days of tutoring, those many hours spent bent over books, your long fingers pointing out questions and leafing through diagrams, we fell in love. You were a sophomore then, and I'll say with pride your grades had improved. Still, not as good as mine. You were never as good as me. I regret holding that over you.

Anyway, that first kiss. It shocked me. We were on the beach that day, trying to move the water around. It takes a lot of effort, you know, to move things in the real world. Much easier to construct transparent spells out of our âme. We both knew that, but still we tried. As most mages did, in their  school days, before they learned that magie wasn't much of a practical art as it was a subterfuge.

Magic: good for reading minds, glimmer-spells, protection and enhancement. Not good for levitating books unless you want to feel like you've run 10 miles uphill while trying to carry a 6-year old. But we college kids didn't know any better, and thus we tried.

Until we collapsed from utter exhaustion, of course. You collapsed first, utterly spent, and I gratefully lay next to you, glad to stop trying to lift the sea. Your brown hair was over your eyes and despite your fatigue you were laughing at me.

“Merienge,” you said, your eyebrows like questions marks against the sand, “thanks.”

Thanks for what? I almost asked—but then you kissed me. Your lips tasted like salt water and for a second I couldn't see anything but the top of your nose. But it was a kiss. Your first, you told me later.

--------
This is part of my novel, "What losing you did to me". This novel is complete. Right now a new section of it posts every Tuesday and Saturday. Click here for part two.

All my writing can be viewed here. Picture in this post is from here. Used with permission.

Monday, June 16, 2014

A Letter to my 16 year old self

Your boobs will get bigger. Don't worry.

Also, please remember to wear pants when the monthly fairy visits. You don't know what you are doing, and the world will thank you. The desk in 5th period English will also thank you. Think dark, baggy pants. Got that? Good.

Another thing. Your mom is not out to ruin your life. She actually loves you. And, she's not "being mean," she's actually attempting to teach you life skills such as laundry, cooking, cleaning, and gardening. So stop whining and listen, because she knows you'll need these skills one day. Your boyfriend's hot pink bed sheets (that were white) will eventually teach you this, but they also cost you $50 to replace, so listen up. It's important.

You will regret listening to that Evanescence song on repeat. Yes, it's still stuck in your head 12 years later. Also, you can't listen to it without giggling like a fool now.

Don't even think about trying to flirt. You look like an awkward turtle whose having a badly disguised seizure. Just. Don't. Do it. There is plenty of time to figure this out in college.
me (on left) + sisters
Contrary to popular belief, your siblings do not exist so you can borrow their clothes.

If you can go to the mall by yourself, you can call and make your own dentist appointment. You can also order your own taco bell at the register. Don't hide behind your mom when she asks you to order for yourself. It's not rocket science. The guy at the register does not care that you are shy or that you think he's cute. He just wants his $5.50 so he can buy weed later. Leave him alone.

Those two girls who pick on you every day? One is bulimic. The other one is just a jerk. Some people are like that. But you won't find this out until college. So disregard them and their Victoria Secret underwear. You aren't ugly and who cares if your unmentionables are just from Walmart?  Pray for them and mind your own business. You marry an engineer, anyway.

Don't lie.

Don't worry about what other people think of you. You can't please everyone. It's okay.

When your mom asks you if you want to see the Matrix: Reloaded, just say no. It has probably the most awkward sex scene in it and you don't want to endure all ten minutes of it next to your mother. Say no. Later you'll realize it was pretty embarrassing for her too. Suggest the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie instead, both of you will have a better time.

You are about to get your braces removed. Sadly, your teeth are going to be permanently stained for the rest of your life. When the deist lectures you about not following the rules, don't try to tell him you did, actually, follow the rules. You gave up popcorn for 4 years. And eating whole apples. Trying to tell him you don't drink coffee or eat sweets (really) won't work. You even brushed after every meal! Was it all for naught? Well, whatever you say--he won't believe you. Even if you drag your mom into the room. He'll just shake his head and say something about teenagers while casually offering some type of laser treatment that cost $10,000 a session and makes your mom turn green. Later you'll find out that stuff they gave you every Wednesday in 5th grade was not actually for drinking. You were supposed to gargle it. Congratulations, you have fluoride poisoning.

Lastly, please try to remember for more then two seconds of the day that the world does not, sadly, revolve around you. Now go do the dishes and hug your mom.

Love,
Carolynn

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Friday, June 13, 2014

Randomly Kitty-Ears

I've enjoyed Rachel's blog for awhile! She's one of my favorite people to read. I've been unable to stop laughing as I've read about some of the things her husband says. I've also sat in shock and prayer with her as she retold the story of how she survived a tsunami. She's funny, honest, sweet and an amazing writer.

Today I attempted to dress like her.

I don't know if Rachel has a style. As far as I can tell, she just loves color. Her outfits range from extremely weird to cute to cross-cultural.

photo credit: Randomly Rachel
However, I did notice that a majority of her outfits included bows, a-line dresses, and funky tights! Thus, I ambled down the road to goodwill and found myself a dress for $4.50. I paired it with bright blue lace tights and a pretty pink bow! I also styled my hair in a fax bob to try to mimic Rachel's cute short locks. Rachel, how did I do?



Now I just want to chop all my hair off after seeing how cute my hair would look short. And how much easier it would fit under a wig. 

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Crochet Totoro Purse

New totoro purse! This one is flat, messenger style, unlike the one I made a few months ago. Also, I designed this one myself!


The inside of the bag is lined in a flower print fabric, and has two pockets. The tutorial I uploaded to Ravelry shows how to crochet the bag and also line it with a sewing machine. I even created a youtube tutorial as well, so you can see all the steps as they are happening.


 Totoro bag, you make me happy!


Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Purple Hair

I was really excited when I found a purple wig for under $10 on amazon. Purple is one of those colors that normal hair can't naturally be, so of course I had to try it.


I paired this wig with gunne sax dress I purchased a long time ago from Etsy and then tie dyed. The last time I wore this dress was in college, and it was considerably looser. Also, the last time I wore it I forgot to wear a slip and I noticed in the bathroom you could see right through it and everyone all day knew exactly what color underwear I was wearing. I spent the rest of the day holding my bag behind me and walking really really slowly.


I think I am addicted to changing my hair color with wigs now. My only regret is that I didn't get into this sooner. It's so fun to change my style without completely destroying my natural hair. Because I also like my natural hair. But sometimes I just really want purple hair. Or pink. Or blue. Totally normal feelings, right? You get them too, right? Please tell me I'm not the only one!



I still think the pink wig is my favorite, but purple, I like you too.


I'm linking up all week with Delirious Rhapsody and Modest Momma for Sprummer Fashion week! What are you wearing this summer? Come link up!


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