*Sigh* So.  One of those... days.  *Sigh* I'm waiting for a call from Princeton. Or the local Princeton alumna.  *Gloomy* And I haven't worked.  *Sigh* I need some new icons...

Also, due to... something, which I will discuss later, more privately, and in far greater detail, I've been feeling broken/unhappy/weepy/betrayed all day.  And worthless. I mean, part of the latter is due to my failage. But seriously, the rest of it? TOTALLY not deserved and unfounded, and I KNOW THIS. But... *Sighs* Fuck it. People are shit. I forget why I try again.

LizGib said that "Mary Sues are the literary equivalent of a bad acid trip." I love her.

I'm thinking about making a separate journal for All Things Writing.  To be friended if you're interested. And I don't mean just posting stories or pieces--'cause honestly that ain't happenin' any time soon, unless it's extra/ontheside--but for my rambles on it.  Locked and stuff. I may use my old LJ that I had for about three days when I was too immature to keep up with one.  I dunno.  I'm just feeling this desperate need to separate my life and my writing.  Maybe 'cause last time I DIDN'T and look at my mental state now.

Part of this is PMS.  I know this. Doesn't make it less shit.

Another month and ten days. Argh.

I hate this week.  Just... for the record.  It's out to kill me.  *Sighs*

What I never posted, though, was that my Dad did something HILARIOUS the other night. So we watched P2 of P&P2 (look, I'm making visual puns!) and when Darcy said "You must allow me to tell you how much I admire and... love you," Dad SPAZZED. And then ORDERED me to go get the DVD so he could see the rest of it THAT NIGHT. AND SKIPPED WORKING FOR IT.  HAH, my father lurves JA.  Anyway, so then in the 4/6th part Caroline Bingley, AKA the Orange Duck Bitch, is insulting Elizabeth and being evil. "...Her teeth are tolerable, I suppose, but nothing out of the common way.  And as for her eyes, which I have sometimes heard called fine, I could never perceive anything extraordinary in them.  And in her air there is a self-sufficiency without fashion which I find intolerable." (I didn't need to look that up.)

And my father, during the break between that and the next line of the rant ("How amazed we all were..."), all but yells at the TV screen, "Well, at least she doesn't have a nose like yours!"

Yes, people. Give it up for the math nerd genius father, who bitch-slapped Caroline Bingley. (What's more amazing is... my father actling like a PERSON?!)

Anyway.  *Sighs* I'm just... very tired, very sad, and sort of want to go cry.  Dammit, I'm such an idiot.  and I hate it and I hate being me. (wonder if mum'd let me skip out on school tomorrow morning... and kantorei... i'd be legitimately sick, i'm so tired and i need the time...) Literally, 'snot even about the sleep anymore. I'm just... gods, I'm just so tired.  I just want it all to STOP.

And I really, really want to cry.

(As per my English honors project for this semester, I have three words: God is dead. If you don't know what that means I'm doing, then look it up.  In any event, my teacher--that would be Doc, AKA God--thinks the subject suits me. *Smirk*)

Meme below ganked from julyflame.  Whoot for me. EDIT: So apparently being optimistic about humanity's ability to better the human condition makes me less an athiest? WTF is up with that? Seriously, ah, NO wtf. The only reason I believe THAT is because if something's wrong, it's people's fault.  What's the quote? "It's in ourselves to rise or fall." Except I believe it a lot LESS on an individual scale--as come on, oppression can combat a LOT of will power--but very deeply on a species-wide scale.  Uh. I'm a bloody Atheist. Just 'cause I have deep set morals doesn't make me any less athiest. Savvy? Good.

Okay, so I was the loser sitting here writing stage!P&P-with-half-hispanic-Elisa Marina Bennet, and her mother Francesca Gutierrez Bennet. And the "Juanita, chica, tengo hablar con tigo! Donde estas! Tu mama esta llamando! Elisa, venga al telephono!" Yes, Hispanic Mrs. Bennet. Ph34r.

And I go in to mum's room.  And she shows me something.

An interview on spanish TV with an actor in a new movie that I think is in spanish.

And he is blond and rugged and speaks spanish BEAUTIFULLY and has this beautiful smile and his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

His name, btw, is Viggo Mortensen.

I am in love all over again. WHY IS HE SO AMAZING ZOMIGODAAAAAAH. I want him as a PB. For someone. But I don't know who.  'Cause... I've GOT my PB for my one blond guy, he's way too noble and debonair for the fire mage of Elemental!verse... I'm thinking permaybehaps Bren.  Viggo playing Bren.  ....Yummy....

I LOVE HIM!

EDIT: ...I knew I did something right. So very, very right.

Elisa Marina Bennet, right? Hispanic people all have like fifty names. (All the Bennet girls have another, I'm sure--I'll have to do that some time.)  And... well, mum's favorite was dropped by her mother (my fool grandmother) 'cause she was named for an aunt (father's sister) who my Abi hated. But it was my mom's favorite part of her name.

Marina.

I knew Elisa was my mum in disguise. Not me. Mummy. *Beam.*

 The strangest things make me want to cry. Romances and stuff, but... other things, too.

Like my dad. (Reminds me: I need a family tag)

So he calls up, and Mom's out at Pilates and stuff. And Dad just... calls up. He's always calling up randomly.  But... he doesn't have much to say this time, right? Just that he's working. He's always at school working.  And asks what I'm doing. (I say I'm working on math--BS, but whatever.)  And he just says, his voice rather quiet and tired and a little wistful, "Well, I just called to say hello, because I missed you all.  Talk to you later."

*Cries* I love my daddy. Really.  He's... just... yeah.

And now you know where the weird father relationships in my stories come from--and why usually the fathers of the main characters are devoted, or why the main characters themselves are devoted fathers.  I love my daddy. Really, I do.

EDIT: ...I'm reminded by watching The Secret Garden that I had a HORRIBLE, horrible nightmare last night and they killed everyone and I picked up this sweet little girl and she was, like, dying... and I was trying to protect her, and then I had to go look for a booster seat for this little carriage for her, and when I returned... Mum had been with me, and when I came back she was gone.  They just... took her away. And I knew she was dead, and I never knew how or why or got to say goodbye... and I woke up, and went back into my dream and kept trying to change it, by refusing to let go of my mother's hand or of the little girl's because I knew they'd take her from me too if I let go of her... and they wanted ME for some reason, and they wanted to take my little girl and my mother away from me...

I love my parents. I honestly do.