I want to move to CINCINNATI. For mysterious reasons related to HATING MICHIGAN AND IT'S 15% UNEMPLOYMENT OH MY GOD.

There are no jobs. No jobs at all. Sadface now.

I am sort of doing this Have A Business thing, except that mine pater is going to handle the, you know, BUSINESS. I just make the artsssss. Apparently that means I have "sweat equity". I want to know if I can trade that in for "shiny equity" or "sparkle equity".

Ooooooh photography. So many photoshoots of little childrenssssss. They move so fast. So. Fast. SPRINT, LIGHTBULB-CHICK! CHASE THE KIDDIES!

That is all.

I know what you (mysterious, anonymous Internet-you) are thinking-- "oh gee, that lightbulb-chick hasn't been on in a while, she must be toddling off to college."

NO. THAT IS A LIE.

I did graduate from high school. Yesterday. I can at least say that.

I'm not going to college. I was accepted. I can't pay for it. I'm not going.

I'm going to start a business instead.

BECAUSE I'M A CRAZY DREAMER. AND I WAS BASHED IN THE HEAD WITH AN OPTIMISM STICK.

Or my bipolar is kicking in. Who the fuck knows. It's what I'm doing, anyway.
 

I was accepted at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

Pause. Let me repeat:

I was accepted at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

Needless to say, that high-pitched whine you hear is my distant shriek of joy.

Now the tricky part. Paying for it. D:

It is, apparently, my familial duty to watch the Superball. ...wait. That's not... Superbowl? Something like that. A football is involved. I hope to see interesting commercials, because that's what all of my TV-watching is really about. That, and sometimes NCIS. 

Discovery! Mixing Mountain Dew Voltage (the blue one) and Mountain Dew Code Red (the, uh, red one) will in fact NOT result in a fascinating purple beverage. No. It will result in something both stranger and less tasty. The blue, you see, will sink to the bottom of the glass while the red (sometimes faintly tinted purple, depending on your proportions) will rise to the top. Although this makes your beverage LOOK cool, it makes it TASTE much less cool. So, you know, only serve it to people you both hate and want to impress. Like your boss!

In theory, I will someday have a job, and then I'll know if everyone actually hates their boss, or if this is a myth that popular culture has embedded in my brain.

I SUBMITTED MY APPLICATIONS TO SAIC AND CORCORAN. On Monday I will send in my transcripts. Then they will hopefully get back to me with acceptance or rejections, and if one of them accepts me I can start freaking the hell out. Unfortunately, this will be less of a good-thing freaking and more of a finding-money freaking. I have decided not to be afraid of loans, because I have to do SOMETHING to keep from ripping my hair out.

My hair, in other news, is long now. I don't know what to do about that. For the moment, I have a hair tie.


( I offer this to the internet as proof that I do, indeed, produce art. )


And just so we're clear-- yes that's mine. No, you can't use it. It's called copyright protection.

See, so. So....

So, apparently there was all this madness on LJ while I was away. And I am tempted-- to just ignore it all, in favour of storing my writing here. Since that... is this journal's only purpose, and since I don't think anyone reads it anyway. So.

So have some!

----

Paint. Green. Paint.

Really, brain. Sometimes I wonder. I really do.

And yes, yet another random bit of original fiction, because my brain runs away with out me and brings home strays.  Written in the second-person present-tense, I think because of irisbleufic . Who probably wouldn't be pleased to hear that, this being what it is. But.

Who, me? That's easy. I have two words for you.

World.
Domination.

Also possibly I would bring my favourite comic book villains along for the ride, to keep things interesting. Because who doesn't need a psychotic clown around to try and off your entire populace, including you. A girl's gotta keep entertained somehow.

Quick little bit of fiction, originating no where and leading to some place I haven't been yet.

I don't relate music to my moods in the sense that music defines my mood or my mood is mitigated by my music. I can't take music at face value, among other things. When I listen to music, my mind immediately composes story elements connected to the lyrics and musical tone of the song, with action occurring in time to the music. It's not something I control or do consciously, just an instinctive creative reaction to hearing music. It is the story, produced by the music, that influences my mood. I often fail to emote when the occasion calls for it, instead repressing emotions (particularly negative or difficult emotions). While listening to music and mentally enacting the related story, I tap into the emotions required of the 'main character'. It becomes an emotional purge, as I finally accept and experience the emotions. My reactions while listening to music are intense and honest, they're just stitched on to a fictional representation of myself.

It's where most of my stories and art come from.

Not a healthy way to be, but the only way I know how to be.

Someone died.