Tag Archive | 1984

I really don’t even know what this is for.

Hi. I’m bored.

I get bored a lot. I’ve tried to make blogs countless times to fill up my free time, but they usually get just one or two posts or none at all before I decide it’s silly and give up. In other words, whoever the hell is reading this at whatever point in time, don’t expect me to stick around too long. I won’t be surprised if this is the only post that goes up. Also, I don’t care what anyone refers to me as. I can be Detective Herpinderpin, Officer Herpderp, Banana Derpface, Jimmy, Tina, I really don’t care. I just want to be, rather than be someone.

So.. about me, I guess. I’m planning on writing for a living, currently working on my first real novel. I tend to write fiction, with a touch of poetry when I’m in the mood for it. I also do a lot of visual art, such as sketching, finished traditional pictures, digital paintings, photomanipulation… really, whatever I feel like doing. I love reading. I’ll read just about any genre if it appeals to me, although I tend to lean more towards paranormal fantasy, horror(preferably psychological), mystery, and historical fiction if it’s done in an appealing enough manner. My favourite book, as of the moment, is 1984 by George Orwell, which was recommended to me by a friend on WoW back when I played it.

I don’t watch movies much, mainly because there are never any that are recommended to me, so I never know what to watch, but my favourite movie is currently From Hell. I’ve been interested in Jack the Ripper-based fiction for quite a while now. The case itself and the over one-hundred suspects interest me. Growing up watching the ID channel in most all of my free time, doing a lot of research on serial killers and things of the like, the case really catches my attention. I’ve done loads, and by loads I mean shit-tons, of research on the case, right down to the point to where I know most of the sightings of Mary Kelly after her death, the famous pub that several of the victims were seen in before their deaths, and several of the suspects and theories behind them.

My family thinks that my love of researching brutal crimes and my interest in the psychology of those who commit them is unhealthy. Honestly, I’m just really interested in those types of things. Erzebet Bathory, Mary Bell, any serial killer I can find information on, I’ll research. I find the idea of people actually doing such things horrifying, and as the type of person who enjoys research and finding out as much about things as she can, I like to personally look into things that horrify me, like such. Why do people do it? What pushes them to? How did they do it? What was their reaction to it, emotionally? I just like to know these things–why, what, how…

I’ve currently taken an interest in antiques and every-day nick-nacks. I love music boxes, jewelry that I love having but never wear, figurines, paintings, clocks. My room is an absolute mess of these types of things, specifically my bookshelf, which is not only filled to the brim with books that I still need to read, but jewelry boxes, cup costers, figurines, music boxes, old biblical-based nightlights, snow globes, and.. well, a lot of shit.

My family has two puppies, as of now. After our other dog bit my grandma and got her sent to the hospital, we had to send him to a pit bull shelter, so when my mother’s cousin’s dog had puppies, we got one. My close cousin was unable to keep her’s due to not being able to get permission in time, so we took him, too. They’re sweet dogs, although they piss and shit all over the house at times.

Losing pets is something that’s been troubling me for a long time. We used to have a cocker spaniel. He was short, fat, and his fur always managed to become a knotty mess even when we had it cut, even when we brushed it, no matter what. When I was little, his eye got injured in a fight with another dog when we weren’t there, so it had to be.. removed, I guess? He ended up being one-eyed with stitches on the other. He died about two years ago. I still haven’t quite gotten over it. There were times when I was absolutely miserable and going through a lot emotion-wise, and when my family ignored me and wasn’t there, that dog was. His name was Sparky. I miss him so much.

After he died, when my cousin had her baby, she couldn’t keep her pit bull, Luka, anymore due to restrictions at the only place she was able to live. She was so upset that my parents agreed to take him in. He was a playful dog, very lovable, but for the longest time, I hated him. Eventually, though, he grew on me, too. He was fun to play with, always so affectionate, too. We didn’t have him very long–only about a year–before my grandma came over for the first time when he was here. He didn’t know her, and probably thought she was dangerous or something of the like, and in a manner that was very unlike him, bit her arm and injured it so badly that she had to be sent to the hospital. Although I had just recently started to love him like everyone else, his being taken to the pit bull center took the worst toll on me. I don’t know why.

I don’t know how I’ll take it if the puppies get hurt to any degree. I’ve always had an issue with losing people or animals, after losing so many family members and pets before(I’m not really going to go into much detail since it’s hard to remember any of the other pets that I haven’t mentioned except for one, but we used to have a ton of cats. They all died except one, Sniggles, who died plenty of years ago, so it’s still hard to remember him now), and I’ve already got stress and anxiety issues.

…On a brighter note, I think this blog might help me get my unneeded thoughts out to throw them away and just be able to work on my novel. That’d be nice.

I’m going to just go now. I’m probably going to put up some short stories I wrote during the summer up. By short, I mean, very fucking short, and used as experiments for writing style.