Bunny loves!

I WANT A RABBIT SO BAD IT HURTS MY SOUL.

I can't stop watching videos of rabbits and bunnies doing ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING AND THINKING "omg I want that." Fucking small paws, wiggly noses, and floppy ears.

So anyway. I want you guys to watch this video of a disabled rabbit. Because we've all seen disabled dogs and cats, but a rabbit? I can't... I just can't take this anymore.

BRB while I watch this 1000 more times and cry tears of happy and sad./sleep because I am super really tired and need to dream of this.

EDIT:

Now I want a pygmy goat. Damn you, Youtube! Damn you and your suggested videos!
(Watch them frolic and be overall not disabled)

Time for a serious talk, guys...

This is gross but you all need to know, because it is SERIOUS. Deadly so.

I... I have ...

Sigh. I have an ingrown toenail. Not one of these:

But one of these:

I couldn't find any pictures, so let me tell you what happened.

I cut my toenails about 3 weeks ago, a piece broke off in the corner and I just yanked it off. I do this all the time, no big deal! Except that in a couple days a throbbing pain made itself present. After a week it became unbearable so I asked a retired podiatrist what was going on. I honestly thought a piece of broken glass was stuck someplace. He glanced at it for a second and was all, "Yep, ingrown toenail."

"NOOOOO!!!!!!!!" I screamed. Lightning cracked through the clouds and rain fell in a wave over my head. "Only gross and dirty people get those!"

That is when I learned that tragedy of this proportion can and WILL affect anyone. ANYONE. Not just gross and dirty people.

Basically ripping of the nail made a crack along the edge. Small, but enough to separate a small part of the nail from the rest of it. It is still growing though, steadily and into my toe flesh. This type of ingrown toenail is common when personal trimming or getting a pedicure. So... only go to places you know you can trust or cut straight across (never at an angle) and NEVER PULL YOUR NAIL OFF HOLY SHIT JUST DON'T DO IT.

He told me to get it fixed, but instead I took matters in my own hands and dug in there with a tweezers and pulled everything out. Fixed enough, right?

For a week or two maybe. Now it is back in full force and no amount of digging and pulling could get it to come out. After being woken up all through the night from the pain of hitting the toe wrong, I gave in. I called around to find someone to do the deed.

The cheapest I could find for this HIGHLY DANGEROUS OPERATION* was $100 for the consultation and removal... $50 extra if I don't want to feel it. It's free if I get it done at the ER but then I risk them pulling a perfectly good nail off instead of just fixing the very small problem. If I do nothing it could eventually get infected (huge worry of mine if I don't get it fixed soon) or it could push itself through my toe flesh like Ahab's harpoon.

I don't want this to happen to anyone else. Ever again. EVER. So, I need ya'll to dig through your junk drawers and find your LIVESTRONG bracelets and flip them inside out. Next, write in a green (purple is fine too) sharpie: "NAILSTRONG".

This is imperative to the fight. Without these bracelets, how will people know there is a problem? Inform and teach!!



Photos!!!:
Ew, toes.
Yellow rubber circle thing


*Okay, not really.

Chicken shit

This is late, but who cares.

Beyond my obvious resolution of blogging more (I seriously have some good ones!) this is it:

Live in the goddamn moment! (it is more serious if large and in charge)

I am always too fucking scared to speak my mind, of not doing things that sound fun because it doesn't sound like something "I'd do". So many things I've passed on because I'm too scared to do something!! So lame. SO OVER, boyfriend.

I've already started speaking up in Math... which is extremely hard for me. I try to answer questions, I help out people who aren't understanding something we're doing, and I even ask for help. I know this sounds like chicken shit stuff, but that is what I am - chicken shit.

Also, I've been trying to get in contact with people I haven't talked to in a long time (years?) so we can hang out. I want to be that cool spontaneous girl that never says die!

GOONIES NEVER SAY DIE!!

I want to be a Goonie.

Now please be my friend. Please? :'(


Picture source:
Goonies

I was going to write a beautiful blog entry, but after only half a glass of wine I am already kind of drunk and unable to think of anything to say.

No, no... I have a lot to say, but I can't remember it.

Have a good night, and I love you :)

(I obviously need to drink more so this doesn't happen again.)

My sister told me last night that somewhere around 60,000 died in Haiti's large earthquake. I was having a major idiot moment and said "That's like... half of Oregon." I was thinking the other half as Eastern Oregon, the sparse and often forgotten sister to the Western half. In my brain I thought there were only 3 cities there: Pendleton, Hermiston, and La Grande. After looking this up I've learned Ontario is a rather large one, and Baker City isn't too bad.

Anyway. I woke up thinking about what a stupid thing I had said and looked it up. There is like 3 million people in Oregon, which I remember clearly now learning in 3rd grade geography. Go me!! The population of the only three cities I thought were stationed in the East is around 47 thousand, sooooo.... But you know, you add the rest up and you're probably closer to like... nevermind. Doesn't matter.

---

It's been a while since I blogged. Maybe you've noticed. My last post was a poem about dying, which I posted while working on three separate essays for two separate classes. So no, I did not die. I am happy you've been so worried though!!

I am however late to improv now, so bye! :D

Oh - I had planned on making a blog about the differences/similarities between the Vampire Diaries and Buffy the Vampire Slayer but stopped watching VD (teehee) and am now watching Once Upon a Time and American Horror Story. There may be a blog on AHS... mostly about the nightmares it gives me. OKAY BYE

Gravy

My teacher sent this to me today. It was published right after Raymond Carver died. Check out Cathedral and A Small, Good Thing. And his biography. They are all worth it.


Gravy
Raymond Carver

No other word will do.  For that’s what it was.
Gravy.
Gravy, these past ten years.
Alive, sober, working, loving, and
being loved by a good woman.  Eleven years
ago he was told he had six months to live
at the rate he was going.  And he was going
nowhere but down.  So he changed his ways
somehow.  He quit drinking!  And the rest?
After that it was all gravy, every minute
of it, up to and including when he was told about,
well, some things that were breaking down and
building up inside his head.  "Don’t weep for me,"
he said to his friends.  "I’m a lucky man.
I’ve had ten years longer than I or anyone
expected.  Pure Gravy.  And don’t forget it."

Do what you love

The Oatmeal posted this comic somewhat recently about ... I'm not going to tell you. I want you to read it!

Done?

Okay. Yes, it is a little tl;dr. I do think there is a lot of truth in it though. Actually, I think it is all true. Everything he says in the comic I have felt at sometime if not all the time. I don't just mean for the blog, because honestly we know I don't blog enough for it to really count (yet). I mean for my writing in general. Someday's I can lock myself in my room and get nothing done, someday's I can go for a walk in a new neighborhood and still nothing. I can sit at a coffee shop, a bus stop, a drug den... and still nothing! It is these weird moments of clarity when I realize what I should be writing.

Sometimes it works, most times it doesn't. I have written pages of complete and utter shit just to get one paragraph out of it in the end. And it's worth trudging through that crap to get a gem.

I think the part I like the most is asking for help on what to write. Someone could tell me they think I should write about a trip going to grandma's and I end up writing about a fifty-year-old suffering with a fear of Jell-o. I love the baffled looks I get when someone reads a story they know started from something else. The bounds of imagination are much looser than you'd think.

(Homework - give me a prompt or sentence on what to write about. Maybe I'll post what I can come up with!)

No, I'm not a "writer". I don't get paid for it - I'm not even well known. But perhaps one day I will be. That is really all the matters to me - the 'maybe'. 

Related/Unrelated - 

My teacher read us a poem in class the other day that I have been meaning to show you guys. 

Failing and Flying

By Jack Gilbert

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew. It's the same when love comes to an end, or the marriage fails and people say they knew it was a mistake, that everybody said it would never work. That she was old enough to know better. But anything worth doing is worth doing badly. Like being there by that summer ocean on the other side of the island while love was fading out of her, the stars burning so extravagantly those nights that anyone could tell you they would never last. Every morning she was asleep in my bed like a visitation, the gentleness in her like antelope standing in the dawn mist. Each afternoon I watched her coming back through the hot stony field after swimming, the sea light behind her and the huge sky on the other side of that. Listened to her while we ate lunch. How can they say the marriage failed? Like the people who came back from Provence (when it was Provence) and said it was pretty but the food was greasy. I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell, but just coming to the end of his triumph. Remember to always do what you love - even if you're bad at it. You can always get better.