If only 307 Ale were real....
Mar. 6th, 2006 02:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holly_evolvingHow to portray Clan Nosferatu using only pose and lighting:
http://photobucket.com/albums/v239/lorettakscott/Dark%20City%20Session%201999/?action=view¤t=scaven3.jpg
Man's a genius with character.
So, I've had some time to cool off. There are things I want to complain about, but I won't, out of respect.
I will say this. I need something to take care of. I need a pet. I'm thinking a Chinchilla. They can be quite the curmudgeon, but not if handled gently every day from early in life. I can't have a cat because Craig's mom is allergic, and my schedule is nowhere near routine enough for a dog. Craig's mom has forbidden rats, and I won't keep a reptile while I have regular contact with children (risk of salmonella contamination is small but there). Rabbits are finicky and large. Guinea pigs are noisy, as are birds. Small rodents just aren't enough interaction.
Now all I need is a few hundred dollars to buy one. Well, fuck.
Did some more work on the old photobucket with albums of last summer's Celtic Fling and Craig's friend Sandra's wedding. Photos are still large, so beware.
Edit: Some wonderful people have said some very nice things to me. I really appreciate it. I know that I don't sound like I do, what with being such a downer. But please try to understand. Anything I've ever actually wanted to be has been taken away from me. I wanted to be a palaeontologist from the time I was three years old (the first book I ever read by myself was Time Life's Life Before Man. I was an excellent student, and outside modern animals, palaeontology was all I studied. Then a garage door closed on my head when I was twelve. I went from mathematical genius to ordinary. Ordinary people can't be palaeontologists. I didn't have the grades or the ability to even consider going to school for it. And, as it turns out, before I'm even old enough to have completed my doctorate, my body is unfit for field work.
I've given up on a music or writing career. I just can't sell my soul the way I'd need to in order to succeed. Even the little concessions that artists make are too much for me. And, having taken classes on literary criticism, I can't bring myself to feed the bottom feeders that are all art critics.
So, motherhood was it. The last accomplishment that really, truly mattered to me. I need to care for someone. And my body just can't handle it. All this time that I spent preparing for the future, and now it won't happen. For almost a year now, I've been trying to cope with living day-to-day and being happy without something to work for beyond my own financial success. But what am I building it for, now? What does my own space, my own sanity matter?
I'm alone waaaaayyy too much.
If anyone reading this is a doctor, come up with a cure for autoimmune disease. Please.
http://photobucket.com/albums/v239/lorettakscott/Dark%20City%20Session%201999/?action=view¤t=scaven3.jpg
Man's a genius with character.
So, I've had some time to cool off. There are things I want to complain about, but I won't, out of respect.
I will say this. I need something to take care of. I need a pet. I'm thinking a Chinchilla. They can be quite the curmudgeon, but not if handled gently every day from early in life. I can't have a cat because Craig's mom is allergic, and my schedule is nowhere near routine enough for a dog. Craig's mom has forbidden rats, and I won't keep a reptile while I have regular contact with children (risk of salmonella contamination is small but there). Rabbits are finicky and large. Guinea pigs are noisy, as are birds. Small rodents just aren't enough interaction.
Now all I need is a few hundred dollars to buy one. Well, fuck.
Did some more work on the old photobucket with albums of last summer's Celtic Fling and Craig's friend Sandra's wedding. Photos are still large, so beware.
Edit: Some wonderful people have said some very nice things to me. I really appreciate it. I know that I don't sound like I do, what with being such a downer. But please try to understand. Anything I've ever actually wanted to be has been taken away from me. I wanted to be a palaeontologist from the time I was three years old (the first book I ever read by myself was Time Life's Life Before Man. I was an excellent student, and outside modern animals, palaeontology was all I studied. Then a garage door closed on my head when I was twelve. I went from mathematical genius to ordinary. Ordinary people can't be palaeontologists. I didn't have the grades or the ability to even consider going to school for it. And, as it turns out, before I'm even old enough to have completed my doctorate, my body is unfit for field work.
I've given up on a music or writing career. I just can't sell my soul the way I'd need to in order to succeed. Even the little concessions that artists make are too much for me. And, having taken classes on literary criticism, I can't bring myself to feed the bottom feeders that are all art critics.
So, motherhood was it. The last accomplishment that really, truly mattered to me. I need to care for someone. And my body just can't handle it. All this time that I spent preparing for the future, and now it won't happen. For almost a year now, I've been trying to cope with living day-to-day and being happy without something to work for beyond my own financial success. But what am I building it for, now? What does my own space, my own sanity matter?
I'm alone waaaaayyy too much.
If anyone reading this is a doctor, come up with a cure for autoimmune disease. Please.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-03-08 03:33 pm (UTC)