Commissions are Open! :D

Hey everybody, so I found out that I have a chance to get my first aid certificate for about $90 (rather than the normal $175). I have been planning to get it for a while (especially for Girl Guides, and to a lesser extent, big events), but work has been slow, so I thought I would open commissions! I have three things I’m going to do.
1. Star Trek Tribbles

I’m sure at least some of you have seen my little tribble (called Geoffrey) but here is a pic. He is about 5 inches (I think, he fits well in the palm of my hand) and very fluffy. As I only have one kind of fluffy material, they are currently only available in the same colouring as Geoffrey.

I am pricing them at $20 dollars each (You have NO idea how expensive fluffy material is, and the sheer amount of fur it sheds makes it a huge pain to work with). I will also be making a baby one, about 3 inches, which I will price at $15.

For my friends in the USS Tydirium, or those I see regularly, such as youth group, I can personally deliver them, at the next event I go to, assuming you will be there (Those sales won’t go through the etsy store, as I don’t know how to manage a free postage thing on it). For anyone who isn’t within those circles, I’ll have to ask you to pay for postage (I will research several options for you and let you choose). One last note on the Tribbles, if demand is high enough, I will be buying more material and will get other colours, which will be advised later.

2. Ambigrams

If you haven’t seen my photo gallery on facebook, I design ambigrams ( a kind of weird calligraphy that can be read differently upside down, its hard to explain) As an example, I have included a photo of a basic design.

They are a great idea for couples (as long as the names are reasonably similar in length) or as in the case of the example, can be good for motivational messages.

Due to high variability, I cannot set an exact price (some take a LOT more work than others), but the base price will be $25. I will mention, I cannot do any with the letter Q (sorry, but I have tried for HOURS and simply cannot do it), and some combinations will not work, so I will try my best.

This price is for an electronic copy, but if you want an actual print, it can be arranged. Also, if you want a background for it, that can also be arranged, just email me :D. Also, if you see any I have designed already, such as in my Facebook album, I can organise prints of them, it will just be a matter of asking me (they will be at a lower rate, but enough to cover printing)

3. Minecraft Avatar Plushie

These are something I have done a few of. They stand at 32cm tall (At a scale of 1cm to every pixel in a standard resolution skin), but as they are highly variable I will establish 2 separate prices;

Basic Design Plush

As you can see, this design is relatively simple, and will cost $40 (To cover time taken and materials, price does not include postage if required)

Detailed Design Plush

Now this was a complicated one, he took a lot more time and effort (and materials, he’s wearing a cape as well). So if the skin is detailed like this, I will price it at around $60 (don’t forget, a LOT of time goes into these, usually 12+ hours)

It will be up to my discretion as to whether a skin is Basic or Detailed, and I will tell you once you send me a pic of the skin, BEFORE I start it, just to make sure you are ok with this.

Finally, the important details.

My email address is lamiroire@gmail.com 

If I receive interest, I will open up an etsy shop, to better facilitate payment and orders (I won’t set it up just yet, as I don’t want to be paying listing fees if nobody is interested)

If you are interested in buying any of these things, send me an email (With something like commission in the title please) and I will respond as soon as I am able. Time for completion will vary, depending on how many I get, and delivery will also vary (postage is evil, and for those near me, it will depend on when I see you next :P) and as I don’t know many international people, my etsy store will not have international shipping (But if someone is interested, I can arrange something. I will do them in order of when I receive commission, and I will do my best to have them made at a high quality of workmanship within a reasonable time.

I very rarely ask this, but I would greatly appreciate if you shared this post with whoever you can. I have never done commissions before, but I will certainly try my best.

Thank you for reading this far, and dealing with my self-promotion, but I’ll shut up now.

Lamiroire

 

Science Officer Samantha Blackburn, reporting for duty

I know I keep saying I’ll update more often, but it never works that way, does it? I write this blog when I feel about it, and some days, I just don’t want to write, or have nothing to write about. But I finally have the winning combination of things to talk about, and motivation to write, so that’s good, I guess.

A few weeks ago, my dad went to the Newcastle Collector Mania Toys and Collectibles Fair. He was mostly interested in Lego stuff, but ran into a bunch of people dressed as Star Trek characters. He had a chat with them, took a brochure for the fan club, and continued looking at Lego until he came home.

Prior to that, I had debated going with him, as I figured it to be more like the trading card things he went to, which I found monumentally boring. How wrong I was. He showed me the brochure, told me about the people he met, and I decided to look up this Star Trek fan club; The USS Tydirium, on Facebook, and see what it was all about.

After a few discussions, I decided I really liked these guys. They turned out to be the friendliest, most welcoming people I’ve had the pleasure to meet, which was such a surprise, as I have had some very bad experiences with fan clubs.

About a year ago, I joined a Doctor Who fan club. They had their own website and forum, had fan art and fan fiction competitions, and regularly talked about all things Doctor Who. However, I soon realised that many of them didn’t even know about “Classic Who”, and those who did, were incredibly dismissive of it, and as a result, me.

I wasn’t allowed to post any of my fiction or art, because it was mostly classic stuff. I was darn-near chucked out, because I said I liked a companion from the Classic series more than Rose Tyler. At that point, I started receiving very nasty anonymous messages insulting my opinions and saying I was wrong and stupid and not worthy to be part of their group. At this point, I deactivated my account, and left.

I don’t wish to condemn this group, so I have purposefully used no names, or any sort of identifying information, as I believe it will not do any good. I do not hold it against them that they so strongly hold their own opinions, only that they used such aggressive means to voice it. I have heard from a member of the group (possibly the only one who didn’t attack me, and sadly that includes moderators) that they have since disabled anonymous messages, and redesigned it to make it clear it is for “New Who” only.

As you can probably tell, this experience left me very wary of fan clubs, especially internet based ones. The one thing that made me willing to try again, was finding out it was locally based (and by that I mean it was in Sydney, with smaller sub-branches in Newcastle, Golbourn, and Melbourne) and that they regularly met in real life. In me experience, you get far less hate with that sort of club, as people act differently towards you when you meet them face-to-face.

Boy am I glad I took that chance. I met some of the group for the first time about 2 or 3 weeks ago near the Sydney Opera House, as we were filming stuff to enter a competition within Star Fleet (The international fan club, our “Ship” is local, but part of the international group). I had nothing I could really help with, as they were all in uniform, and I had nothing.

Yet everyone was willing to include me however they could, one guy named Joel lent me a spare uniform (A different era uniform, but everyone was joking, coming up with ways that I traveled in time to join them) and as soon as I met them, everyone treated me like I had known them for months. This was probably helped by the fact that I brought Com-badge shaped jam cookies, which turned out like shortbread with jam (not what I was intending, but I don’t mind accidental shortbread :D).

All in all, it was an amazing day, I made a bunch of new friends, learnt how to travel by train on my own (previously, I had only ever traveled by train with either family, or school, so I was understandably nervous), and became even more hooked on Star Trek.

Just yesterday, we had another meet up at a Toy and Collectible Fair in Penrith (run by the same group who did the one my dad went to, it started in Penrith, and expanded to other areas like Newcastle). It started early on Sunday, and not wanting to be up at insane o’clock to get there in time, I asked if someone would mind having me stay overnight the night before. and David was nice enough to let me stay.

So I traveled to Sydney on Saturday, spent the early afternoon with another friend, and we explored a bit and talked. I had a great time with him (yes you, Ben. I’m not forgetting to mention you, but this blog post is mostly about the Tydirium :P)

I cannot thank David and his family enough for that; they made me welcome, and it was great fun watching movies with you all (yes, there was at least one Star Trek movie). Although I will apologise for possibly infesting his house with Tribbles…

At the fair, I had an amazing time; I explored a lot, got to wear my new uniform (I had a Star Trek uniform made, and as it was tailored to my measurements, I actually felt really good wearing it. Take that, self-conscious part of me! :D), bought books and models, got a photo with Batman, and got to know some of the guys in the club really well. 

Good grief, this post turned out a lot longer than anticipated so I’ll shut up now.

Live long and prosper,

Samantha

A Brief Update on Wisdom Teeth

Yeah, I know it’s been a while since I last posted, but as you probably know my depression makes it very hard for me to be motivated. But I figured I should post something now, before Friday.
On Friday, I will be getting my wisdom teeth removed. To me, it’s a good thing, and a bad thing. A good thing because it means after they are removed, I won’t have as much pain caused by my teeth. But the bad side, having teeth extracted. My wisdom teeth are not good. One is sideways, the other is leaning on a molar, but the top ones are relatively fine.
But aside from all that, I am genuinely frightened about this procedure. My biggest fear, is that I will still be awake for it, that they will just numb my jaw. The idea of being awake as they yank teeth out of my jaw is causing me an incredible amount of stress. I have no idea if they can put me under for it, as it is being done at a dentists rather than in a hospital. I’m just hoping it will be an option.
I know it is going to be very painful, and I probably won’t be able to do anything for several days after, but I’ll gladly put up with it, if only I could skip ahead to after they are removed.
I feel really scared just writing about it, but in a way, putting my fears out there helps, just a little bit.
I feel like I’m repeating myself a lot in this post, mostly about how frightened I am, but I don’t know how else to express it without going crazy and possibly having a panic attack.
I know it’s a relatively basic procedure, but it is really hard to feel positive about this, knowing just how much anxiety and pain it is and will cause.
This is going to be a long week.

A perfect afternoon

Having fought depression for a while now, it’s so rare for me to just be happy for no major reason. But something about today is different. For several hours now, I’ve been quite content doing nothing in particular, and it really love the feeling.
It probably started yesterday, when dad suddenly decided he wanted to watch some episodes of Doctor Who with the daleks in it. So I went into my room and dug out every Dalek episode I own. (If you know me, you know it’s no small feat, going through over 130 episodes).
The result has been a bit of a marathon with me and my dad. We aren’t watching them in any order, except the order in which I piled them onto the counter. So one episode, it’s got awful 80’s synthesised music, the next, it’s the second episode ever made (from 1963). It has reinforced my love for Doctor Who, and helped remove my fears that it was a passing phase and I would grow bored of it (a genuine fear I have, as that’s how many of my interests end).
So most of the late morning and early afternoon today, have been me and dad watching these episodes. Yet some people might observe, that we aren’t fully focusing on it; dad is building a Lego truck, and I am doing jigsaws on my iPad. To many people, it may sound like disinterest, but to me, it is perfectly normal.
I have a crazy mind, it cycles through thoughts quite fast, and in recreation at least, I find it very difficult to focus only on one thing. For example, if can’t do any sewing or puzzles in silence, it just doesn’t feel right to me. And if I’m watching something, my hands want to do something else.
To me, if I enjoy doing puzzles, or sewing while watching certain shows, it means I really enjoy them. The way it works for me, I enjoy a lot of shows, but some take more effort for me to enjoy them. I’m not saying it in a bad way, it’s just how my mind works. if I have to give it my full attention to enjoy it fully, to me it just isn’t as good as some shows.
With a show like Doctor Who, in my opinion, it isn’t always the best made and thought out story, but a genuine love of the story universe, and a fascination with the characters means that to me, it doesn’t matter if it was badly made, or the story is especially cheesy. I still adore it all (yes, even grudgingly I love Colin Baker).
For me, it is effortless to enjoy the show, I don’t even have to watch it. Just listening to it is enough. (It probably helps that I know the stories so well, I don’t need to see it to know what is happening). And I don’t mind that the volume is up way too loud for my comfort (dads nearly deaf, but I’m still sure you can hear the theme song playing from Mars, he has it up so high at times), which makes the Dalek voices even more grating. All that aside, I adore this show.
So sitting in the lounge room with dad, watching these episodes and doing puzzles on my iPad, I feel pretty good right now. I don’t feel as depressed and lethargic as I normally feel, which has done wonders for my mood. My dog is snuggled next to me, grunting softly in his sleep, his little chin, resting on my ankle. His breathing is quite soothing, a warm spot next to me.
Later, I’ll be going to a friends place for Easter, which means I actually get to go to an Easter service for the first time ever. I just found out that a particularly gruelling shift I was dreading today has been cancelled. Only one thing can improve my mood today, which I am doing right after I post this; I’m gonna go make myself a cup of tea.
Until next time, have a lovely Easter, and try not to go crazy with chocolate.

Flowers in her hair

Many people have described me as being a bit like a hippy; I wear long skirts, have long hair, I’m a vegetarian, and I care very much for the environment. But I never wear flowers in my hair. I never pick flowers. I don’t mind receiving flowers, but I can’t pick them myself. I know why.
When I was little, maybe 7 years old, there was a place about 5 houses down the road, and out the front of it, was a great big hibiscus bush, with pink flowers. Every time I went past it, I would stop for ages and just look at the perfect blooms. I was too frightened to touch them; I knew they didn’t belong to me. But I used to imagine what it felt like, and how pretty it would look in my hair.
One day, I was standing near the bush, and in a fit of bravery, leaned over to smell it. It wasn’t quite what I expected, it had very little scent, but the stalk in the middle brushed my nose and left a light dust on it. As I stepped back, startled and trying not to sneeze, the person who lived there came out.
I have no idea what they looked like, it’s a complete blank to me. But I remember they picked one of those flowers- the one I thought was the most perfect, and she gave it to me. I excitedly thanked her and ran home to show mum.
I spent so long just looking at it, stroking one of the petals, completely fascinated by the texture of it. I remember how delicate the stalk in the middle was, with small beads of pollen.
It was one of those moments where time stood still, for someone so young, I spent ages just looking at it, and touching it. But what I remember most was how quickly it wilted. The stalk snapped, and the petals took on that slightly oily texture they get when damaged. The edges turned brown. The pink faded.
It was devastating to me, this beautiful flower, that took month to grow, could wilt in mere minutes. It seemed so unfair. It seems such a trivial thing, but as a child, it was an awful thing to realise, that everything fades.
Since that day, as I walked past the bush, I saw all the other flowers, still in bloom. They were still beautiful, untouched by time. Even now, I will never pick a flower. To me, I can’t stand the idea of cutting its life short, such a beautiful and delicate thing. But maybe one day, I’ll get a fake hibiscus flower clip and wear it in my hair.

Apologies and Musings on Accents

Welp, it’s been a while since I posted last, things have been kinda crazy, and my motivation decided now was a fantastic time to go on a Caribbean cruise without me. (My motivation is kinda mean like that, it keeps sending me pics from the beach)
I was actually planning to write a post about how mean my motivation can be, but it took the hint and gave me a better idea. As I’m sure you have noticed, I have a reasonably strong English accent. It isn’t really specific, but it’s there. So I thought I’d talk about it, and how it has affected me.
When I was little, even as early as kindergarten, I spoke very clearly, and pronounced my words well. It was a very slight accent, and came about due to a combination of my fathers’ (and to a lesser extent, my grandparents on his side) accent, and having to speak clearly to my father, as he is deaf in one ear. As a result, I carefully pronounced words, and had a slight accent (right now my brain is telling me to stop repeating myself, but I can’t be bothered to go back and edit it. This is how I think.)
What really didn’t help, was the primary school I went to. Don’t get me wrong, the teachers there were wonderful and supportive, but the students were awful. They all had a very strong Australian accent. To me, that accent sounds terrible, everything slurred together. And me being the odd one out (in more ways than one), I was teased mercilessly about it.
As early as year 1, I was called some pretty nasty things, including pommy queen and even a snobby b****. Considering I was 7 at the time, it was horrible. What was worse, was I was teased even more because the teachers all loved my accent, which made me a target.
As I grew up, my accent became stronger, which is kinda weird, considering I so rarely saw my grandparents, and my father didn’t speak much. I was surrounded by varying degrees of Aussie accents, yet the English accent became stronger.
I think what really made it become a lot stronger, was my love for British television. It started with Red Dwarf, then Britas Empire, and eventually Doctor Who (I’m pretty sure that’s the big one). But as I moved school, and eventually went to high school, I came to love my accent.
It’s so bizarre, I started off in a situation where every student I knew despised my accent, and me with it, but as soon as I went to high school, everybody loved it. I was actually interrupted in the middle of a History speech, by the teacher, commenting on how much she loved British accents. The entire class then began a discussion on why people loved those accents. It was one of the strangest moments in high school.
Now, I’m quite comfortable (and maybe just a touch proud) of my accent. I feel it defines a major part of who I am. In many ways, I think of myself as English, rather than Australian, even though I’ve never been to England (or anywhere outside of Australia for that matter). I know some people find it strange, but to me, I’ve never actually been able to think do myself as Australian. Because of my dad, I consider myself British.
So one day, I hope to go to England. Maybe I’ll get there, and find I don’t identify with it at all, and think of myself as Australian. But for now, I’ll leave you with a bit of a song.
And in spite of all temptations,
To belong to other nations,
He remains an English man,
He remains an English Man!
(Oh yes, I just went all Gilbert and Sullivan on you) Until next time, stay awesome.

My Guiding Life

Just recently, I have begun the process needed to become a fully trained girl guide leader. It is something I have wanted for a while now, having basically been a leader (although technically I am currently a unit helper) to complete the training and make it official. So I thought today, I would talk about guiding, and how important it is to me.

I first began guiding in about 2006, when my little sister Ashlee was in year 2. My little sister, being socially awkward like me, struggled in her classes at a relatively new school (I got into an OC class so both my sisters got brought over to the school as well), so her current teacher suggested Ashlee join our local girl guide unit as a “brownie” (they are now called junior guides, but to me they are always brownies). Me and Katie had both heard it was similar to scouts, which we had been interested in. So we started a month or 2 after Ashlee.

Katie and I both started with girl guides, the age group after “brownies”, and we loved it right from the beginning. We stayed for about 4 or 5 years, I think, became patrol leaders, and went to just about every camp and regional event. We never really went for the bigger awards like the BP award (the highest level award you can get at that age group), but just had fun. However, once we got to be about 15 years old, we were growing out of it, the activities just weren’t engaging for maturing, teenage girls like us. So we came to the decision to go to a different unit with a ranger guide program (for the age group of about 15 to 18).

At first we liked it, the activities were better suited to our maturity, but then there came a major hurdle in our guiding life; social issues. The girls already there had a very much established friendship group, and for the whole time we are there, we were clearly the outsiders. It was very hard to enjoy the activities as the outsiders who were never made to feel welcome. So after a while, we just stopped going and didn’t renew our membership.

It was probably about a year later that we got a call from our previous leader (from the girl guide unit we loved), telling us their junior guide unit (which Ashlee was close to moving up to girl guides from) had over 30 girls and they needed more supervision and help to maintain legality. We both stepped up for the night, helping to run activities. After that night, we were talking to the leaders, and they asked if we would be interested in helping regularly. Katie declined (having recently started at the circus, which I will talk about in a later post), but I agreed and became a unit helper.

I began to help run nights, and even organise one myself, but the biggest moment that made me love this group, and being a leader, was the first camp I went on as a leader. It was a weekend sleepover in another units guide hall, I believe in Redhead. As was the tradition, at camps, leaders were given a different name to their normal one (for example, at a later camp with an under the sea theme, I had the name Nemo), and at this first camp, I was late. So I had to choose from the Australian animal badges they had that hadn’t already been taken. None really caught my eye, all the good and cute ones had been picked, but then I spied the badge with a lyrebird. I loved the name, and the girls loved it, so it stuck even afterwards. Normally in a unit, a leader doesn’t get their “guiding name” until they become a fully qualified leader, but the name stuck, and I have had the name all throughout my time as a unit helper.

It was later, when the numbers dwindled in this unit, that one of the leaders told me that a different unit was in desperate need of more leaders. At this point I was feeling redundant there, one of 5 leaders in a unit of no more than 10 girls. So I agreed to move to this unit to help them out. I have been at this new unit for, probably close to 3 years, giving me a total of about 5 years experience as a unit helper. It is only now, after finishing high school that I am going to complete the training, so I have the skills to better lead, help and bear the responsibility.

Now some of you may realise, “but wait, don’t you have anxiety issues? Isn’t being a leader really stressful? How can you be a leader like that?” The truth is, it is very stressful. After every night, I’m stressed and slightly cranky, and I’m always grumbling about how much work it is, and how bad it is for my anxiety. But the truth is, I love it anyway. I happily take on the stress and panic attacks, because I love doing it. I love giving these girls a safe, fun place to learn life skills they can use.

I still remember one night (the last night of that year, a Christmas party) after all the girls had gone, one girl stayed behind. She had a small gift for each leader, and she hugged us all and thanked us for running the unit.  That moment was truly special. This little girl, without any prompting from parents, went out of her way, even using her own pocket money to buy the gifts, to simply thank us. It is moments like that, or watching the girls leave every night laughing and smiling, excitedly telling their parents what they did.

This is why I take on the stress of being a leader. I love those girls dearly, and I want them to continue to grow and mature into beautiful young women, knowing that my small part may help them in their future life.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have guides tonight 🙂

Twice in one day!

So it took me a bit longer than normal to write today’s post, as it’s been kinda busy. I also got really excited, because today I got to go to church twice. I have a lot of christian friends, and many of you will be thinking, “oh hey, that’s great”. But to me it is absolutely amazing.

Some of you may not even be aware that you take going to church for granted, it is probably just a fact of life; Sunday means go to church. For me, it has been completely different. I come from a non-Christian family (not to mention a twin sister who almost hated God due to “being forced into” scripture at an early age by school), and for most of my life, Sundays has meant something completely different.

When I was little (probably about 6 to 8 years old), every Sunday, dad got up really early, packed his remote control model ships into the car and went into town to the foreshore. There was a whole group of them who met in at the pond and drove their ships round. Sometimes, if mum wanted to go, we would get to go as well. It was so exciting, we could run around this huge area (or if we were lucky, dad brought our bikes as well and we could happily stay all day), and watch the boats chug around. 

It was these early sunday mornings that really helped me to bond with my dad, and learn about him through the friends he had. I specifically remember Robin, quite possibly the silliest guy I know. He and dad literally met when Robon stole one of dad’s boat out of the water- he just walked in and picked it up. When dad told some of the other guys, they laughed and said, “don’t worry, that’s just Robin. He’ll give it back”. They’ve been best friends ever since.

What I remember most about Robin, was his big yellow boat. It was his favourite model ship, and I can totally understand why; as it pootled around the pond, it would suck up water, and he would spray it at the kids watching along the edge of the pond. The first time he got me with it, me and Katie shrieked and ran to dad, giggling and slightly dripping. Even to this day, that pond in the foreshore has special memories for me (especially when Robin let me drive the yellow boat and I got Katie).

As I grew older, dad wasn’t able to keep going due to his health, and Sunday became the only day of the week we could sleep in. By this point, the only knowledge I had of Christians and church was the Flanders family from The Simpsons (I’m not even kidding, it was what I thought all Christians were like).

But now, it’s far from a certain thing, whether I go to church or not, but it actually happens from time to time (mostly depending on whether or not my boss actually remembers that I start later on Sundays, specifically so I can go to church). Someday soon, I hope to be a regular church goer, so I can get to know the many lovely people I’ve been introduced to briefly by Cheryl*. 

So as it turns out, it’s pretty good for my mood to go to church, so you can imagine I’m pretty happy right now, having been to 2 services in one day. for once, I have had a pretty good day (it also helps that I’m now imagining people from church talking like Ned Flanders). I just hope this mood will last a while, and not get utterly destroyed by having to go to work tomorrow.

p.s. Now you guys are all thinking like Ned, you’re welcome.

*Cheryl is the mother of my best friend, but I’m pretty sure most of you know her.

 

 

As many of you know, (I promise I’ll stop starting all my posts with that) I struggle with anxiety and stress, which makes a pretty bad combo with depression. It can be quite embarrassing, as it makes me flustered, and suddenly I’m crying because I’m embarrassed and everyone is looking at me, which makes it worse. It’s a pretty vicious cycle, especially for someone like me who becomes very self-conscious when I’m upset.

What really sucks, is that it hasn’t gotten better as I’ve gotten older. To this day, if I’m stressed or flustered, I start to cry, and people think I’m taking it too personally, especially if it is a relatively trivial thing that set me off. Unfortunately, it’s how I react to stress, so I do everything I can to avoid or reduce stress.

in many cases, its pretty strange things that help. For example, when I go to work, (being a checkout chick is pretty stressful, even in one of the nicer stores) I get there sometimes as much as 2 hours before I start, and I read. I have no idea why it helps, so I do it anyway, and it makes a huge difference. So I always have a book with me, without fail.

Another thing (which at least makes a bit more sense) that helps is tea. And yes I find it quite funny that the girl with the English accent needs tea to calm down. I have no idea if it is a chemical in the tea, or just having a hot drink that does it, but hey, any excuse for a cuppa will do. It also probably helps that I really like the taste (unless it’s from really cheap tea bags, in which case hot dishwater would probably be better), and evokes fond memories of making a cup of tea for dad when I was little, and how happy I felt when I didn’t spill it everywhere.

My proneness (is proneness a word? It is now :P) to stress is probably why I love jigsaws so much. There’s no time limit, no rules (aside from not using scissors to make the piece fit), no quest, and no stupid team member trying to get free stuff from you (the curse of every MMO player, at least in my experience). It’s peaceful, keeps me from going stir crazy, and I can watch something else while doing them (can you guess what I watch? Yes! The correct answer is Doctor Who. You win).

and as it turns out, this blog actually helps. I actually don’t know how to be angry, so most of my thoughts get bottled up, so this is a good way for me to express them. Also, I daresay my blog will feature a lot of silly comments in brackets, so get used to it, it’s the commentary my brain is giving me, so you may as well hear it as well (hehe… Brain commentary is totally a thing now).

I’ll stop ranting now and go and do some puzzles on my iPad (I’m really craving tea now).

Later guys

The simple things in life

There are times when I feel that the world is actively trying to make me miserable. When it feels like everything is designed to frustrate and annoy you, and you just can’t avoid it’s thankfully, I know the world isn’t really like that, it is just my mind that convinces me. It’s one of the many horrible things about depression. As some of you know, depression is still a major issue in my life, and in the worst possible way; there is absolutely no reason for me to be depressed.

But I am.

i have a pretty good life, if I do say so myself, I have my (reasonable, if sometimes annoying) health, I have a handful of good friends, I have my family (I’m pretty sure the Hancocks count as my second family) and I have a pretty decent job while I study to be a library assistant.

Regardless of all that, there are still plenty of days where I feel like utter crap; I feel stupid, useless, and worthless. Some people don’t even realise when I’m having one of those days. This is because when my mind hates me, it also manages to convince me that it is unfair of me to put my trivial concerns on others. It can make me feel cripplingly lonely.

It is a painful thing, depression. I’m sure some of you battle it, and I know people have a pretty hard time of it. It’s also pretty hard to explain why some people can deal with it better than others. in no way does it mean that those who struggle with it more are weaker, in many cases, it comes down to body Chemistry; some people are more prone to the chemical imbalance that just makes any depression so much worse. So don’t say that someone has worse depression, it never works that way, and is a result of many variables that effect how a person reacts to it- not “how depressed they are”.

Unfortunately, today has been one of those days again. I think it was triggered by a small disagreement with someone at TAFE today. All it takes is one thing, a switch gets flipped in my brain, and suddenly the world actively hates me. It’s a horrible feeling, knowing that such small things shouldn’t bother you, but they still do.

When I am depressed, it doesn’t mean I just feel sad. depression makes it seems like you are feeling emotions through a thick layer of cotton wool; sensations are muffled, the world is dull, and feeling positive is nigh on impossible. unfortunately, this “cotton wool” acts as an amplifier for negative emotions. Feelings of sadness, loneliness, being misunderstood. It even brings back grief you thought you had gotten over years ago.

what’s strange is that it doesn’t make me more angry; I don’t get angry in the first place. I get upset, and exasperated, but I can honestly say I have never been angry. In some ways it’s a blessing; it means I’m not angry at the world, but rather, it means I feel disappointed that the world can be so horrible.

Being depressed really sucks at times, but I’ve learned a pretty good trick that works for me. It doesn’t make me feel better, but it distracts me for a while; I sit down for a while with my little dog, Domino.

There is something comforting about the feel of his chest rising and falling as he leans against me, and he seems to know when I need him, because they are the times when he won’t even leave me for mum (which is a shock as he is mums boy). He just sits with me, and patiently puts up with me playing with his ears (I can’t help it, they’re so soft, and one is slightly crinkled).

i probable would have gone crazy without that little guy.