The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request a drabble of any pairing/character of their choosing from me. In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level.

I have always been a fighter.

Bullies at school? I dealt with it.

Getting the shit kicked out of me at home? I dealt with it.

Unwanted sexual advances in a bar? I dealt with it.

A huge part of my identity has always been the fact that I have never EVER been made into a victim. Victims are people who have been defeated. They don't leave their homes because they are too scared, they blame all the poor decisions they have made and their crappy lives on  the events that have happened to them in the past.

My half-brother is a victim. His mother spent his whole life telling him he was useless and dumb and fat. Today, he is useless and dumb and fat - and he blames her. He eats and eats and eats cause it makes him feel better, and he flunks out of school cause he just can't be bothered to do his homework. And he blames her. Somewhere along the lines he let that bitch take control of his life and decide what he was and was not capable of - and all she had to do was call him names. He doesn't realize that he is 18 years old and fully capable of leaving that shit hole, he doesn't realize that HE is the only one who knows what he is capable of. All he sees is what my stepmother wants him to see. I hate him because he let it happen. He used to have dreams. Now, he sits at home and he cries, and he gives up on everything before he even tries. He is a victim, he told me as much when he was fishing around for my pity.

I hate victims; sniveling, self-pitying wastes of skin.


And yet, today, I feel like a victim. I am losing pieces of myself in a battle I cannot even begin to know how to fight. Every time I think I am happy a switch flips and I am engulfed by sorrow.

I can't breathe. I can't see. All I can do is lay there and pray to god that when it passes what little is left of me is still there. I don't know what to do. I don't know who I can go to for help, or even if there is any help. I don't even know if I would want the help if it is out there.

How do I fight myself?

I am becoming something I hate. I am sleeping in and making excuses to not go out. I am not going to class and procrastinating on my homework. I don't even care when I don't get it done. I loathe myself a little more each day.

I am afraid that I will come under siege in public. That I will crumple to the ground and never get up. I am afraid that all I hold dear will leave me. I am not the person they grew to love anymore. That vibrant woman is dying, choking, clawing at the walls of a cage that I don't know how to get to. I want to save her. I so desperately want to save her.

But I can't lift a finger.

If I could ask my cat ONE question and she could answer that question. It would be this:

"Are you okay with the move?"

.....followed closely by "Why are you scratching my stairs?" You know, in case I could sneak one in.

Yep, the title pretty much says it all.

• Monday - Prototype Manual
• Tuesday - Style Exercise
• Thursday - Essay #2 for Applied Editing
• Friday - Professional Prose Proposal

On top of all that, I have to get my bears ready for a Craft show on Friday as well as design some business cards, put together a sample page of  available materials, and a binder of select patterns.

By far, one of my most favorite web comics is Dominic Deegan: Oracle for Hire. This comic features well-developed characters, an involved plot, and a unique humor that focuses on eye rolling puns and tongue-tying alliteration.It was first launched in 2002 by the artist and writer, Michael Terracciano (Mookie).

Some features this comic has to offer are:

• a daily updating schedule
• donation wallpapers
• pictures and commentary on conventions Mookie has attended
• and, in-depth reviews of newly released comic books by Mookie

Dominic Deegan: Oracle for Hire is an enjoyable and addictive read and I highly recommend it for those who enjoy a little a lot of light humor in their drama.

Enigma

What is this word?
It's definition eludes me. I hear it in educated conversation, spoken in awe, spoken in confusion.
It is an explanation, an accusation, and defies all rationalization.
My word is sexy and mysterious, sleek and imperious.

Enigma is a woman with all the grace and ambiguity that entails.
She is the heroine of a movie, a femme fatal in a beige trench coat and dark sunglasses.

Enigma is a dancer.
She enthralls her audience, twisting and spinning a hypnotic dance.
She vanishes into thin air once the curtains go down.

I see her in billboards, a name on a restaurant as I drive by on a bus.
She is the blonde on the corner, looking at her watch.
She is the brunette behind the counter and the redhead buying milk at the convenience store wearing three-inch black high heels.

Enigma is a feminist burning dirty magazines, a housewife chasing after her toddler and a prostitute on the streets.

Enigma is the girl you never had, the girl you had but never understood, the girl you never knew you could have had.

Enigma will leave you dazed and confused, exhilarated yet exhausted. She will come into your life a whirlwind on a clear, calm day. She will tempt you and reject you, use you and adore you.

Enigma will be gone before she comes and should you reach out to keep her; you will find she was never really there.