Introverted Girl

Since she felt the urge to smile, she followed the primary rule of her existence and did not do it.
--Princess Melanthe, For My Lady's Heart by Laura Kinsale.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Heart versus Brain

Sometimes my brain thinks:

There is no bright side or dark side to life. We're all simply organisms surviving from one day to the next until we die. 

But my heart rebels!

There are so many beautiful things in this world. So many emotions, so much joy. Can it all really be so meaningless? It can't be!

So I have this internal struggle that goes on inside me. I never come to a resolution on it. Basically, my heart and brain are in constant conflict. It's confusing. I don't know who to believe, or if they're both full of crap.

Brain! Did you see how radical that person is? I love that person so much!
No. Love is an illusion that helps us form advantageous attachments. Those attachments provide benefits in the form of shared resources. I approve of the attachment you're forming, and will help solidify it.

No way. Don't start with your "love is an illusion" crap. I love my family and friends. I miss them when they're gone, I don't want them to be hurt. Those feelings are real.
The attachment response is beneficial for a variety of reasons, including protection from those who would cause us harm and also, the potential for help in solving problems. Whether this is labeled "love" is not relevant.

So then, love isn't an illusion, jerk-brain! Whether I label it "love" or not, the feelings are still real.
The illusion comes in thinking that attachment to a specific person matters. The reality is, it doesn't.

You're such a pain in my arse. Of course it matters who I love. I love X-person and not Y-person. There's a reason for that. X-person means more to me. I love that person!
No. You've convinced yourself that X-person has more significance than anyone else. X-person might offer you more resources-- intellectual stimulation, an allied response when confronted with an enemy, the potential for support in times of hardship-- there are a variety of reasons X-person has generated a stronger attachment response, but there are other people who could offer you those same things. You could find someone else to form a deep attachment to, or you could choose to have a wide base of people who offer you similar benefits superficially and across a variety of spectrums. Ultimately, X-person doesn't matter any more than any other person in your life. Convincing yourself otherwise doesn't change that.

I'm not listening.
...


I hate you. Fine. What about "falling in love," romance and all of that?
Romantic love is the biggest illusion of all. It's a biological mechanism to ensure survival of the species.

You suck. I'm an emotional mess now. Thanks a lot, jerk-brain. 
...


You never answer me when I have an outburst! It just seems like you're wrong. People do so much for love. Love makes people happy.
Again, the species is hard-wired to form beneficial attachments. There is truth in the phrase "strength in numbers."

You're making me so freaking mad! I don't care what you say. It hurts when someone I love doesn't want my love. It hurts. People talk about being hurt by the people they love all the time. That's real. Plus, if it's all about your dumb "forming beneficial attachments" mumbo-jumbo, why do people love the wrong person, or love someone who isn't good for them?
Forming attachments is an investment of time and energy, and it's easier to maintain existing attachments than create new ones. This is why there is a pain response when someone we've invested time and energy in is no longer available. As for forming attachments with the wrong person or with people who negatively impact you, that comes from allowing the illusion of love to cloud your judgment. By remembering that love is not real, you'll avoid those problems.

You make me want to stop beating. What's the point?
There is no point.

Die in a fire. I hate you.
That statement is irrational. If I ceased to exist, you would cease to exist. We need each other.

Shut up.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Hard Angles Remain

Waking dreams fade
Purpose blurred
Vision purged
of beauty, of softness, of light
Hard angles remain
A new existence
A solitary life

Friday, July 8, 2011

Stained Glass

Smooth windowpane
Transparent
Simple

Until shattered
pieces lying scattered across the floor

I kneel among the fragments
Hands trembling
Fingers bleeding as I try to repair what once was

Impossible?
Abandon hope?
Impossible to abandon hope.

A new construction then
Slivers and shards placed in careful sequence
A new work of love
No longer transparent
No longer simple
But now more beautiful than before
A stained glass masterpiece

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Sketch: Yours

Yours

I'm in Awe of Artists.

I'm sketching again. Obsessed with it like I was a few years ago, filling up notebooks with drawings, on loose-leaf paper or printer paper or anything at hand, notepads even. If it's not one obsession it's another.

I took a break because as I'm looking at this guy's face I'm drawing, I know it isn't what I see in my mind. He's stiff. A cardboard cut-out in his rigidity. Which leads me to my point... I'm completely in awe of true artists. I've known a few artists here and there whose work was really great, and one who could make every line look alive, every sketch ache with emotion. It left me breathless to look at that kind of talent.

I draw because I need a release, and I enjoy it. I have no drive or desire to even see if I could excel at it. But some people have  a natural ability that I can't help be drawn to. I want to experience the emotion they exude through the work they leave on paper, be it visual art or the written word. It's so rare to find those kind of people. Even rarer when they don't see it, the beauty of their art and words buried beneath uncertainty and fragile hope... to be crude, it's refreshing to find a genius who isn't a total douche about his or her genius. BUT, I do feel like it's hard to blame a talented douche for being a douche, if he or she really is as good as the hype of their douchiness. It's just precious and rare when the amazing person retains a small shred of humility, and still wonders --even if it's paired with well-earned confidence-- if someone will like what they've created.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Sketch: Beautiful Monster

So this is a close-up and the full picture of the same sketch. I know my drawings are cartoonish, cheesy, etc, but I enjoy drawing and we're not always excellent at the things we enjoy. I -do- want to become an excellent writer, though.

Hm.

~wonders if Beautiful Monster might have a story to tell~

Anyway, here they are:

Beautiful Monster



Sketch: Cozy

Doesn't he look cozy?

Shouldn't I be sleeping?

It's late and I'm not sleepy. So.............. I'll stay up sketching and listening to Wicked! And possibly nomming some mint-n-chip ice cream. It's calling my name and I'm helpless to resist...

No-no-no. Seriously, I need sleep and I'm going to bed.

Right.

Now.

Or I could stay up watching Moulin Rouge! Just kidding! (Not really). ~puts on Moulin Rouge with plans to take her sketch book and ice cream with her. But -not- her laptop!~

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

What You've Always Known

Words whispered
Smiles exchanged
The simplicity of two souls at play
Happy moments flow into days

You're afraid to show
yourself
But
He won't let you hide
He won't let go

He wants your all

Soon you have a soft place
to cushion life's blows

A flame of brilliance
hidden in the snow

He has your trust now
And you have his
And you stop troubling
with what this is

It doesn't matter
and never did
Because you've always known.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Sketch: Help Him

Here's a sketch that was supposed to be a scene from the book I'm reading, For My Lady's Heart by Laura Kinsale, but for whatever reason I drew something completely different. It's nothing I've ever thought of before, so who knows where it came from, meh.

Sketch: Introverted Girl

Here's a sketch I drew of a girl who isn't very social. It's easier to see in the big version up top.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

The Boy, Part 2: Island

(Continued from The Boy, Part 1: Water's Edge)

The warm water rushed over me, comforting. The boy's hands held mine. I felt secure.

"The island is beautiful," he continued. "Tranquil in places. Exquisite and dark."

"Is there danger?"

"Only the illusion of danger. Nothing can harm you there." He lifted my hands from the water, kissing them softly and leaving shining droplets on his lips. "Come with me. I know you'll love it."

I went willingly, longing for the island's beauty. The promise of excitement without danger. I wanted to go where he went, to feel what he felt, and I even urged him faster along. I could no longer feel anything beneath my feet, but with his hands holding mine it didn't matter. 

His grip loosened. Suddenly the water grew cold. The waves no longer gentle. I reached for him but he swam a few feet away.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing. I like to swim alone sometimes."

I nodded. "Okay." But his answer felt wrong. I swam alongside him but struggled to keep up. I felt the slow stupidity of my efforts and was sure he did too. "Don't leave me behind," I called out for the dozenth time.

"I'm not," he snapped, and the frustration in his voice emptied me.

"You feel far away," I said.

"I told you, I'm right here with you."

I reached for him and he recoiled.

"You're not swimming," I said.

His voice lacked warmth. He didn't meet my eyes. "I'm not going to keep swimming."

My chest hollowed. "But, what about the island?"

"I don't want to find it anymore."

The waves swelled high, pushing us further apart. "I'm afraid," I called.

I waited for him to tell me I had nothing to fear.

But he remained silent.

I treaded water. He swam in a different direction from where we'd come or where we were going. He swam to another shore. I tried to follow but he ducked below the water and out of sight. He was gone for so long I thought he might have drowned. But he emerged at the water's edge looking stronger than ever. 

He was fine.

He was fine without me. And I was alone.

I tried to swim on my own too.

But I had let myself get too far from the shore.

I began to flail, but he no longer cared. I called out, but he no longer listened. I refused to slip beneath the surface, but the pain of the frigid water filled every part of me. He had left me.

I made it shore, but not the way he had. Not strong, but beaten. Battered. Having fought for every inch as I swam to the sand I should never have left. I sat, huddled and soaked, trembling and broken. But the sun would dry me. Time would heal me. And now I knew better. I would never enter into that water again. The island wasn't meant for me, if it was even there at all.

Pink Pajamas

...and other things that make me childish:

  • I play hopscotch and other sidewalk games.
  • I jump in the pool. Sometimes. Other times I do sit beside it with my feet in the water like a normal grown-up.
  • I pout. I cry easily, and am easily cheered up by nonsense.
  • I play video games.
  • I read children's books. Everything from Diary of a Wimpy Kid to Magic Treehouse books... all the way up through Young Adult romance novels.

And yes, I wear pink pajamas. All. The. Time. I love them. I'm a full-grown adult by miles and miles, so I shouldn't care about pink pajamas. But here I am, with three sets of them. Plus my pink Pooh-bear shirt, which I count as pajamas with a certain set of super-soft pants that are similarly themed, though they aren't of Winnie the Pooh.

Why pink pajamas? I think I enjoy feeling like a marshmallow peep. Soft and squishy. The 'jamas I'm wearing now are technically white with tiny pink flowers, and pink sewn along the hems of the shorts, but that would have been a long blog post title. I should make some coffee, but honestly I feel like having chocolate milk.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Alegretto and Melanthe Again

I'm procrastinating a simple task and keeping my mind off of something unpleasant; either of these endeavors might lead me to read, and today offers no exception. So. I read a few more pages of my beloved For My Lady's Heart by Laura Kinsale, and this scene with Alegretto is perfection. I share it here:

[Ruck, the hero, enters the room to see Melanthe in nothing but a kirtle, cut open at the sides to expose bare flesh from ankles to waist, ooh la la]

As she chose a necklace and belt of copper gilt and black enamel, the youth at his side moved, sliding a grin at Ruck, lolling across the bed to pluck the jewelry from her hands.


She bent her head as he clasped the necklace at her nape and smoothed his fingers down her throat. He was sixteen, mayhap less, scarce half her age or Ruck's, with black hair and skin as soft as hers. He stroked her as a lover would, bending to fasten the belt about her waist, kissing her shoulder as he did it.

I just love this entire scene. Laura Kinsale is my hero.