I'm new at this sort of thing, so pardon any technical difficulties or mistakes! I'll be posting art and writing of mine and things that catch my interest. I do techically have an instagram, so check it out at the link below if you want. I don't update it much because I hate social media. Thanks for stopping by, and have a pleasant day. Click here for my Insta;message me here for art commisions!
Appologies for anyone who wanted to see some of my writing yesterday. I got home and was so tired and sore that I laid down for a short nap and woke up at 8:30pm. This morning was still feeling it and had to come into work late. IJ feel fine now, thankfully.
I may try to post some of my writng this evening, energy permitting.
The last few days have been pleasant but somewhat uneventful. I did try out hammer curls the last time I went to the gym, and I think like them better than regular bicep curls, so I'm going to be incorporating them into my workout. It's also been raining alot lately, which I'm happy about. It was too dry last year, and that was very bad for the plants. This morning I noticed a weird green ring around my neck. I think it might have something to do with the necklace I wear. I might need to get the chain replaced. I also might post some more of my writing when I get home later.
I remembered I can log into this thing in other places, so here I am. I'm sorry I haven't been updating as much as I would like, I just haven't had the time. I've been very, very busy. I think some the things I've been trying in order to balance out my routine have finally been working. I'm getting better sleep lately too.
I've decided for dinner tonight that I'm going to try to make chicken paprikash, because it's the time year to start reading Dracula again. If it goes well, I may post the recipe. I've also decided that I'm finally going to post my workout routine, like I said I would awhile ago:
Ok, so I tend to do a full body workout when I go to the gym. I used to have an at home routine, but I need some new weights in order to make that doable again. I'm thinking of asking for a set of adjustable dumbbells for the Holidays this year. I usually do rest day in between the days I work out.
I usually start with at least 25 minutes of cardio. I like to switch it up between the tredmill and the elipical, and sometimes if the weather is nice, I'll just walk before I go the gym. I use this as warmup, and I'm probably going to be incorporating more of it into my routine, because cardio is great for building endurance.
I start the main part of the workout with free weights, mainly dumbbells. I usually begin with bicep curls, then bent over rows, and then finsih with overhead dumbell extensions. I superset these all together for three sets. The first for 12 reps, the second for 10 reps, and the last set for 8 reps. I start light and then go heavier. I'm thinking lately that I may start incorporating hammer curls instead of regular bicep curls. Variation is important for general fitness. Then I usuall move on to the barbell, but since I only do overhead presses, I may just start doing this with dumbbells too. The whole point of my routine is to challenge myself, so If I make it a litte harder for myself, that's how it's supposed to be.
Sometimes, if I don't feel like doing squats later, I do leg presses next. But I usually move on to stretches and then working out my core with some floor excersizes. There's really nothing better for your core than situps. I usually weight mine to make then trickier for me to do, but that isn't really necessary for most people. I usually do about 20 of those and some bicycle kicks, but I have a hard time with keeping the rythm for those sometimes.
After that I usually move on to doing somethings in the smith machine, usually bench presses and squats. I set these in the same way to how I do my free weight excersizes. After that, I usually finish with pull-ups and the hip abductor. For those curious, here's the routine in list form:
That's it. :-)
It's been a few days. I've been busy again, but that's alright, I guess. I'll write some more tomorrow, but I see you, looking at this page. I just want you to know that I'm still here
Updating breifly to wish you all a Merry Weedmas eve! Don't forget to leave milk and cookies out for Snoop Dogg ;-)
Haven't updated in couple of days because it's been busy, again. But I finally got decent sleep last night. Not enough of it, but good sleep. I have some ideas that I'm going to try out over the next coming days about balancing out my routine, so hopefully I'll be able to update more often and for longer.
So, like a lot neurodivergent people, I've had alot of trouble finding a decent therapist. They don't seem to listen to what I have to say; or if they do, they can't, won't, or don't understand what I'm trying to tell them. They tell me my problems are too complicated for them, or they misdiagnose me, or give me weird contractictory advice. As an example, they'll tell me to "process" my feelings and feel them at the same time, as if thoses aren't two completely separate things. Feeling them for me just means putting everything else aside and just letting whatever it is I'm feeling emotionally wash over me, and I really don't like that. It's unpleasant and weird and I can't really make myself think. It's very overwhelming and it makes me think I'm losing my mind. I do have emotions; I just don't like letting them do that because it knocks me off balance and it can take me hours or more to fully recover myself. They have to be vented like heat and steam from a machine; if you just let all of it out, you'll burn yourself and there's no steam left to do anything with. If you let them build up, things either break down or explode.
The problem is when I try to process my feelings the way I process them, I get told that I'm intellectualizing my feelings. This is apparently bad, because I'm "not really feeling my feelings" and also that me breaking down and crying and feeling like I need to lie down for several hours afterwards as result is good actually. That what I had wasn't a mental breakdown where I lost complete control of myself in front of a person who's practically a stranger to me, that's just what having feelings is and there's something wrong with me and it should aparently be medicated away so no else has to listen to you be like that. Have you tried working out and breathing exersizes and getting more sleep and focusing and mindfulness meditation and a billion other things that you either already do, don't work well for you, or that you struggle with? Are you sure??? Fuck off. I'm a grown man. I know what I'm doing. I have emotions, and get how they work for me. You, a person who is supposed to be an expert the feild of mental health, seem unable to comprehend the idea that someone might feel things in different way than you do and I find that disturbing.
This is the bit where Spock comes in. Since my aparment building doesn't have a washing machine that isn't coin-opperated and isn't in the creepy part of the basement, (sidenote, the whole basement is the creepy part.) I do my laundry at a friend's house. Said friend found out that I had never seen Star Trek, so we started watching the original series. I like Mr. Spock. He's very relateable. Why is he the only person on the Enterprise who acts like a normal person? Who knows. I don't get why everyone acts like he doesn't have emotions, they're pretty plain and obvious to me. (secondary sidenote, just what is Dr. McCoy's problem? Did a Vulkan fuck his mom or something?? Why is he so needlessly hostile towards Spock??? What did he do to you sir????) I had been having a bad day earlier this week. I had lot going on and I felt really overwhelmed. For seemingly no reason, I thought to myself, "What would Spock do? He'd probably to try to think about the situation logically." So I did. This is pretty much how I've been told I shouldn't try to process my emotions: Think logically about what I'm feeling and why in order to try and explain it and therefore do something about it. It actually worked. I felt better than I have in weeks. And that's how Mr. Spock from Star Trek ending up doing more for me than several therapists. I kind of felt pathetic about it, but I also know that it's not really logical to feel bad about something that helps you and doesn't do anything to others, so I don't care that.
In slightly more pleasant news, the peppers I planted are starting to grow. I'm excited for this year's batch. I've got some black pearls that I'm really looking forward to seeing. Also the apple trees across the street have their leaves and some blooms. I'm looking foreward to apples come august/september. I'll talk more about my job tomorrow since it's late.
Got too busy with chores today for a properly long update. But at least I had some time to make cinnamon bread. Lately I've had a few ideas for that WIP of mine with Perseus. I'm probably also going to try to post some of my art on here sometime soon. I would have been on here more earlier, but it was honestly too pretty of a day to waste indoors. The dogwoods are blooming this time of year. The cherry trees all bloomed early this year and have mostly finished. I think if the weather is this nice again tommorrow, I'm going to see if the apple tree across the street has any leaves or blossoms yet. In the meantime, have this meme I made that I thought people would like but didn't.
Took a day off from updating to relax a bit. Went to the gym again today, this time with a friend. Hoping to post a larger update tomorrow.
Today was quiet. I've been tired lately, but at least today was nice. I went to the gym tonight and it went well. If I have some time over the weekend or maybe tomorrow, I might post my routine. In the meantime, as promised, here's the Not-Deer story:
This is a real story. This actually happened to me. I have told it to several people on several different occasions and they will all tell you that it's always the same. I'm finally writing down because I feel like this is as good a time as any to do that. As a bit of a warning, this story has a lot of preamble; the actual encounter isn't very long at all.
To understand this story and why what happened frightened me so much, you must understand my circumstances at the time. I was living in my father's house and going to college. At the time, I was on summer break. I worked part time at a grocery store, where I usually worked the closing shift at the deli counter. Since the store closed rather late, I wasn't usually home until after dark, usually a bit after 10:30 pm. This obviously meant I had to drive home in the dark.
I should also explain some things about my father's neighborhood and how it's laid out. My father's house is on what either a very small mountain or a very big hill, near-ish the top. The house is one of several on that side of mountain in a suburb. The houses are laid out in streets that run more or less parallel to each other, though the gaps between streets widens significantly as you go further up the mountain. These gaps are filled by patches of woodland, which we will come back to momentarily.
Another feature that is important here is that all these parallel streets are connected via series of small back roads, which will connect these streets to the one next to them, but not always the one next to the other. The reason for this was the main connecting feature, a long street that intersected all the paralleled streets. This made these little back roads only occasionally useful. The final feature I must discuss here is a small creek. I am unsure if this was a natural creek or some manmade contrivance, but it ran around the foot of the mountain and for some its length under the big connecting road between two of the parallel streets, in the little patch of wood between them.
These little patches of woodland meant that wildlife was a very common sight. There were birds, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, possums, the very occasional and rare coyote, and deer; dozens and dozens of deer. They were by far the most common large herbivore in the area, probably by merit of being the only ones. With few natural predators, they were almost absurd in their abundance and variety. I had the luck once of seeing a little white fawn with its mother, but most of my more unusual sightings weren't quite so magical. Most of the more unusual deer sightings I had were very old, very injured, or very sick. In a crueler but much healthier ecosystem, wolves or other predators would have eaten these poor animals a long time ago, and it would have been a mercy to them. These were animals with tumors, infested with ticks to the point of severe disease, or with injuries so bad they could barely walk. Any sensible predator would see this and think lunch. But with none around, there was nothing to be done about it. The worst was the ones with CWD.
If you've ever seen a deer with CWD, it's an awful thing. First and foremost, since it's a prion disease, it only becomes obvious once the poor creature is close to dying anyway. Their brain, which isn't terribly big to start with, becomes riddled with holes and they start behaving strangely. They forget to eat, they walk in the same circle for hours. They try to drown themselves, they forget they're meant to be afraid of people and cars and roads. And if you see one of them, the worst thing is the eyes.
Deer aren't very smart animals. You look into the eyes of a normal deer and you see very little behind them. There's not much in the way of real thought in there, no real understanding. They're just deer. But if you see one with CWD and you look them in the eye, you'll see something in there. They're afraid. You'll see this injured, drooling, skeleton of an animal stumbling around in the same circle they've been walking in for hours; if you look them in the eye, you'll see that something in there understands that something is wrong. They don't understand what it is, but they know something is wrong and they're afraid. It's a horrible, familiar animal fear. Something unknowable is happening to you, and you are afraid. There's nothing that can be done but to wait to die. CWD has no cure but death. And even in death, the prions spread from the body and into the environment.
I say all this so that you understand something: What I saw was NOT a deer with CWD. I know what those act and look like. I don't think it was a deer with a severe deformity or disease either. I also know what those look and act like. I understand how biology works; I have a degree in it. This thing wasn't a deer. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't a deer.
The summer I saw it, I was driving home from work one night. The little creek under the big connecting road had run high in recent rains and taken out part of the road. In order to get home, I had to take one of the little back roads. I stopped at stop sign in front of someone's house. I saw what I thought was a deer standing front of the door and acting very strangely.
Its back was to me, and it was moving its head and neck like it was trying to get a good look at the inside of the house through the glass part of the door. That was why I lingered at the stop sign; deer don't normally act like that. Something didn't seem right about its proportions. The legs were a little wrong, and something about the shape of the torso felt off to me. It wasn't underweight or anything, I didn't notice any ribs. But the torso had a leaner taper to it than a deer, and the legs looked just barely too long. The ears were off too, just a bit too small. Then it turned around.
The face was wrong. Deeply, horribly wrong. The eyes were in the wrong place. They weren't quite completely on the front of the face, but weren't all the way on the side either, where they should have been. The mouth wasn't really right either. Something about the proportions of it just didn't fit with the face. But those eyes, those red eyes were so much worse. There was an intelligent malevolence behind them. It looked at me, MADE EYE CONTACT WITH ME. It looked into my eyes like it not only knew what a car was, but that it was angry that I was in one and therefore couldn't get to me. And it maintained that same, horrible malevolent glare as it crept along the side of the house and into the backyard. It moved like you took a big cat and put it on stilts. It wasn't awkward and slow but graceful the way deer are. It was swift and deliberate; it moved like a predator that knew where best to step to make the least amount of noise. And in a few seconds, It was gone behind the house. I had kept eye contact with it as long as I could. I felt like I just couldn't look away from the sheer wrongness of it.
I drove rest of the way home, slow at first and not daring to look in my mirrors in case it was still there. Then as fast as possible once I had made the turn up on to the road towards my father's house. Because of the way my father's neighborhood is structured, it meant that when that thing entered the back yard behind the house I first saw it in front of, it was only a short walk up the mountain and through the patchy woods towards my father's house. It might have taken someone at most 20 minutes to walk through the uneven terrain, but something like that thing could have easy made it in a bit more than five. I got there in three. I sprinted inside, locked the doors, closed the curtains and made an effort to stay away from the windows. I tried to calm myself down and get ready for bed. I ate a bowl of cereal. I reasoned to myself that what I had seen was a deer with some kind of disease or deformity. But as a brushed my teeth that night, I realized something that I had overlooked. Deer don't have blood red eye shine like that thing did.
I came home from work early today because I wasn't feeling well mentally. I think that thing about overthinking making you tired that I read a few days ago might be true after all. I felt fine when I first woke up, but I kept forgetting little things and I just didn't feel like myself at all. Imagine you walk into your house one day and someone has re-arranged all the furniture exactly one inch to the left of where it normally is while you were out. That's kind of how I felt. I feel mostly fine now, but I did come home and almost immediately fall alseep for four hours. I think I need to work a little harder on getting my sleep schedule in order. Or maybe I need to figure out how to relax.
Sometimes I wish I was one of those cheetahs in that one zoo that lets them have a dog around as an emotional support buddy. I think that having someone around to help out would make me feel a bit less anxious. I do have a roomate, and we get along very well, but I worry that sometimes I ask too much from him. Maybe we should just talk about it? I always feel bad asking for things from other people. I might feel a little better about some things if, for instance, I wasn't the only one who cooks. I do like cooking, but some nights I'm really tired and it would be nice if someone else made the dinner.
I decided to just talk to my roomate about what was bothering me and I feel a lot better. I think I really was just overthinking things and it was wearing me out. I've also decided that I'll post the Not-Deer story here tomorrow. Today I'm just going to post some thoughts I had about some things.
So, with reguard to the first thing, I'll be posting the next part sometime after I post the Not-Deer story. I think what I'd eventually like to do is set up some kind of link tree at the top of the page so you can find all my stuff easily. I guess in the meantime cnrtl+F works if you want to find something specific. I'll be continuing to post "The Meeting" in parts as it's already really long. The document I'm working from is already 30 pages and isn't finished. When it's done I'll probably find somewhere to post a PDF for people to download. I don't know that I'll post all the parts here.
Second, you ever notice how's like pulling teeth sometimes to get people to want to do stuff? Like even it's fun. I get being tired or something, but at the same time, it gets really boring when all people want to do is hang out, and hanging out consists of being in a room and being on your phones without much talking. I'd literally rather just play a board game or something, and at least a third of board games kind of suck. At least then we're doing something instead the thing I do to waste time at work when orders are slow.
And the thing is, when you go to do something or suggest something to do, people just don't seem interested. It's so weird. You'll go out to some sort local event like a festival or something and it's all these older people there and maybe some families and about half of them are complaining about why they don't want to be there. It's bizzare to me. Why are you here if you didn't want to come? Why don't people want to do stuff?
Third, I think the biggest reason I dislike social media is just how it seems to bring out the worst in some people. I like posting here, because even if there are people who follow my page, they can't comment on anything. There's no one to impress. No one to leave weird comments or harrass people for no reason. There's no overcomplicated etiquette to follow; there's no one waiting in the wings to take what you said in bad faith and torment you about it. I just say what I like and no one is going to bother me. There's no one trying to make money off of anything, no drama, no bait, and no discourse;I can just say what's on my mind without risking becoming a "Public Figure." Which is a silly thing for some one who posts the things they make to become, in my opinion. Imagine if we applied that sort of logic to other things.
"Oh, you didn't want to step in dog poo; yet you left your house today! Curious..." That's how people sound to me when they say that a person who posts art or memes or something is a "Public Figure" and needs to be "responsible" or "accountable". This is of course not to say that people shouldn't be those things; it's just that I think that that's kind of an odd thing to expect out of someone who you've never met and who has no social control over you or anyone else or relevancy in your personal life or influence over world events. Why are you, some guy on a social media website, expecting a higher standard of morality out of anonymous greg, the guy who draws wolf toes, than you are of anyone you actually know in real life? Are you just mad about something and need an excuse to be mad at someone? Because while that is understandable, and it's perfectly human to be upset about things, that's no reason to take out on someone else. You're just being mean to a stranger for no reason. And because this type of behavior drives engagement, social media encourages people to act like this; to just be the worst versions of themselves. No thank you.
I've been a bit tired today. But the writer's group went well. I read them my not-deer story and it seemed to give everyone a good scare, which I'm happy about. I also sent someone my WIP with Perseus in it that I posted part of the other day. I haven't had time to do much reserch into the other thing I've been thinking about. For anyone interested, I may post the not-deer story tomorrow. It's strange to know other people are looking a this. All those veiws aren't from me, and I only gave the link to one friend, so I wonder where they're coming from? Much to think about.
The eclipse was today. It was weird to see a cresent sun. Here are some more images of Crik for no reason wahatsoever.
I talked with some friends and I think the thing I read about the other day might be right, but I still have some actual reserch to do. More on this and the other things I mentioned later. Tomorrow I'm going to a writer's group thing at the local library, and I'm also expecting a book in the mail soon. I hope the group thing goes well.
Part One: "What's your name?"
They called him "Percy" when he was a boy. It made things easier. In fact, apart from that strange and singular misadventure with the Westenra girl, her friends, and the vampire; Dr. Quincy Perseus Morris II had never gone by his first name at all. It felt like it didn't belong to him, not really.
The name had been his father's first, doctoral prefix and all. He'd never had the chance to meet the man; he'd died before he was born. An accident during a dig, his grandfather had told him. He was six then. He had been nine and his mother quite dead when he found out his father's coffin was empty. They hadn't been able to recover the body. They couldn't find it. That was what his grandmother told him. She had also always remarked on just how much he looked like his father. He didn't care for it, but he couldn't blame her then, and he didn't now. He'd only seen the man in photographs, but the resemblance was unmistakable, and it had only grown to be closer with age. The same square jaw line, the same large, round eyes, the same nose with the same bump in the bridge; they were all there. There were some differences, he reassured himself. His freckles were in different spots. He wore his facial hair differently. His messy, sandy colored hair stayed put when he put it under a hat. Not even that was his originally. It had been the only bit of his father that had been recovered from that terrible accident.
How do you not find a body at the bottom of a pit? He had thought that often as a youth. It didn't make sense. A lot about his life and his father's death didn't make sense at that age, leaving boyhood and not yet entering being a man. He had seen his father only in photographs. There was the big one of him and mother on their wedding day. The man in the photo, messy pale hair and all, had a wide, almost comical grin on his face, his bushy mustache hardly concealing it at all. He wore a similar grin in every other picture. It was like a cruel joke to Percy. His father had been a good humored man, people said; a friend to everyone, not an enemy in the world. He couldn't hate his father, not really. It didn't make sense.
That grin felt mocking as the boy's ascent to manhood wore on. He began to truly resemble his father. Not just his father, but his father as he had been when he died. When the old hat actually fit his head, around the age of sixteen, he had tried to put the whole thing out of his mind. He had by then asked his family about it. His grandfather had told him it was probably for the best. His grandmother had told him it would be better for him to leave unhappy memories behind. His other grandmother, the one who had been his father's mother, the one who had told him how he looked just like his father, had felt differently.
She'd known something. She had to have. She had this way of sensing when things weren't right, when they didn't make sense. He'd gotten that same way from her, and his father must have too. Perhaps if he'd heeded it that rainy night in east Texas, he would have gotten to meet him. All his grandmother had told him was this:
"It's a terrible thing to ignore when something is wrong. It's even worse to forget when something is right."
She had been right, of course. He tried to ignore it. He went travelling. He wanted to see the world, to go on an adventure before he settled down and went to school. He wasn't sure what he wanted to study, and it would be a good diversion.
Misadventure seemed to find the young man wherever he went, but he always made it out alright. First to South America, then to Europe, and finally England. He was eighteen by then, and he could grow a real mustache, and looked more like his father than ever.
But it was different in England than it was at home. No mocking, Cheshire grin in a dead man's photograph here. Here, his face felt like it belonged to him. Here, he could just be Quincy Morris. Not Percy, which he had outgrown by then. Not Mr. Morris, unless he had to be formal about things. Quincy was what the Westenra girl had called him. He'd even seen her blush a time or two at the mention of his name. It had been what her friends had called him too; Mina, Jonathan and the others. It felt nice. He'd been their friend and they'd been his friends too. It was like a shadow had gone from his life.
Maybe he'd marry the girl; go to college, settle down with her somewhere far away from Texas, or at least far enough away from Austin and Waco that no one would know about him or his family history. Maybe he wouldn't; maybe he'd just keep travelling. His family had the money for it. Become one of those gentleman adventurer types and write books about it when he got old and tired. Those had seemed like good ideas when he put them down in his mind.
The incident with the vampire had changed that. The girl was dead; and technically, so was he. They'd all seen him die.
When he woke, injured and in pain but very much alive, he felt different. His last thought had been how he wasn't going to just give up and die; and here he was. He had somehow cheated death. The injuries the vampire had inflicted on him would have killed almost any man from the blood loss alone. He should have died. Quincy Morris should be dead. Quincy Morris had given his life to kill Dracula and to save his friends. Quincy Morris was dead. But he was still right there. He thought of what his grandmother had said.
He realized his friends had sent his body to a hospital after he "died". Meant for it be embalmed and cleaned up, he guessed. He informed a nearby nurse, who had initially panicked at the sight of an allegedly dead man sitting up on the slab, that there had been a mistake. He only had a few cuts, some nasty bruises and a broken rib, he wasn't dead at all. She said he had been dead for three days. He said she could feel his pulse if she wanted to for proof, and there it was. They soon gave him his things and sent him on his way. His waistcoat and the shirt underneath had been ruined by a baseball-sized bloodstain, and there were tears in his trousers, but that hat, that damnable hat that had once been his father's was just fine. It didn't make sense.
He let them think he was dead, and went home to Texas. He didn't tell anyone about the vampire, or the girl. It was easier that way. He needed answers. He began looking into it, all of it. It became his pet obsession in college. His father's death, the disappearing body, his mother's death from a sickness no one could explain, all the little coincidences in his life that didn't quite add up. It would have been a wonder that he graduated, and a miracle that he got his doctorate, if those same such little coincidences didn't keep piling up.
Things just had a way of going his way. Assignments seemed to materialize out of thin air that he didn't remember writing; tests and quizzes seemed written just for him to get a perfect grade on. When he ran track for a year, he won almost every meet, and recalled almost none of it. He couldn't even remember writing his thesis. Friends told him later he'd written the whole thing in just three hours, barely edited it, and then defended it a day later. That was how he earned his doctorate.
It wasn't just in school either. Women just seemed drawn to him in a way they weren't before. He'd think of how he'd like to get to know a girl and a perfect opportunity would suddenly present itself. It all just seemed to fall at his feet, and he did well. Even so, there were things that didn't work as well as they should have; none of the girls stayed for long, and neither did he. It didn't make sense. It wasn't just that it all felt easy; it felt improbable, impossible, and unnatural. Like a miracle that was also a lie, or at least only half of a truth. But then there was one night where things finally made perfect sense.
He'd been walking home, halfway between tipsy and disappointed from a rendezvous with a beautiful young lady who turned out to only be interested in his money, when he heard the unmistakable sound of her scream. He did, of course, what was expected of a proper southern gentleman, and got out his gun as he ran toward the noise. He found the poor maiden in the clawed grasp of a vile creature, that from his experience, he knew unmistakably was a vampire. Claws, fangs, and glowing red eyes told him as much. The bloodsucker stopped and stared. Then it looked at him with a sense of horrible recognition. Everything was still, save for the shaking girl.
"Mad Morris has a son?" it said. He hadn't known what to say. Neither did it. He pointed his gun at the thing. It pushed the girl in front of itself, taunting him. "What's the matter Morris?! You not man enough?!"
The girl begged and pleaded for him not to shoot. There was no way the bullet wouldn't hit the wretched leech without hitting her too, not unless he became the best marksman in Texas in the span of five seconds. He wasn't sure what to do.
"Please, Percy! Don't shoot!" she cried, closing her eyes and trembling in terror. The vampire jeered at him from behind her, laughing through pointed teeth at his name. And with those words, his nerves turned to steel. The gun felt warm in his hand. The night air seemed to slow.
"My name ain't Percy!" He said, and as he pulled the trigger, a flash of brilliant, white light shot soundlessly out from the barrel of his gun. It passed through the girl, harmless as a summer breeze. Her assailant, on the other hand, fell to the ground, disintegrating into ash. "It's Perseus. Professor Perseus."
She ran to him, clung onto his shoulders, and thanked him profusely. Saying "Perseus, oh Perseus!" over and over as she showered him in praise and kisses in equal measure. All he could think of was the fresh realization that he hadn't loaded the gun earlier. There were no bullets in there.
After adjourning to somewhere decidedly more private than an alleyway for a very passionate exchange that lasted nearly an hour, he escorted her home. When they had arrived, she asked him for some way of expressing her gratitude. He told her to think nothing of it; that the evening they had spent was thanks enough and that by tomorrow, the night's incident would be like a strange dream to her. He knew somehow it would be. When she'd gone inside, he looked at the gun. The chambers were empty, as he had thought. He looked around for an empty place, and found a nearby field. Seeing no one, he fired off a single shot. The same silent light shot out and through a nearby tree before dissipating. Upon examination, the tree was unharmed.
He stood there for a minute, mind racing. Thoughts of his childhood, his grandmother's words, the adventure with the vampire, the Westenra girl, and all those strange coincidences ran through his mind like currents in a great river of mental overload that he found himself presently drowning in. He looked up at the moon, trying to focus on something other than his frantic thoughts and the oppressive night air. He counted the craters on its cold, impassive face. An icy shock of weird clarity ran right through him.
"Clearly, this gun is magic, and I must be some kind of wizard." He thought. It seemed like a joke at first, but then it all finally clicked. It all made sense. He was a wizard, magic was real, and vampires had killed his parents. His father had made an enemy of some powerful vampire or another and gotten himself killed. The accident hadn't been an accident. They'd gone after his mother to ensure that no one would find out what they did. He'd only been spared by magic, luck, and the fact that his father had never said a word to anyone about his supernatural enemies. It all made sense.
He was not little Percy Morris, the sad orphan with only his grandparents and some old photographs for a family. He was not Quincy Morris, a parody reflection of his father with a name and face that didn't even feel like his own. He was Professor Perseus, a reincarnation of Mad Morris's vengeance. And he knew what he had to do.
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Look at this thing I made. It's my horrible son that I made in Body Visualizer. I named him Crik. He's awful in every possible way. He's like this because his heart is full of hatred and the gods hate him. Look upon his wretched image and dispair.
The weather here is nice today. I hear the birds outside my window. I like mourning doves the best because their calls are easy to identify. i hope the weather stays nice for a bit because there's an eclipse happening tomorrow. I hear that kind of thing can be very frightening for animals. I hope they'll be ok.
I've been wanting to paint somehting lately, but I don't really know what. I'm not even sure if it should be something that goes on my wall or if I should give it my friedn Kyle, Who I haven't heard from in awhile. He painted me something very nice as a present once and I want to return the favor. We haven't spoken in so long I don't know if he'd be interested.
I read somewhere online that overthinking tires you out. I don't know if that's true, but if it is, that explains a lot. I'll ask a friend tonight and do some reserch tomorrow.
I always thought that was a dumb joke. I think it's because it's this specific sort of insincere that I just can't stand. It's the sort of thing that fits too well on a t-shirt. I enjoy a goofy t-shirt as much the next guy, but I also don't really like it when you can boil down a person's whole personality to a quip. It's also the exact type of thing that sounds like it belongs in a marvel movie, and I'm real tired of those. I wish they'd just make something original for a change already. I know part of it's just marketing, but I think some of it's just people being scared to be genuine about stuff. People wanna act cool and tough without really having to grapple with what that entails. In order to be cool, you have to be weird in a confident sort of way. In order to do that, you need to be open and vulerable and be able to not care when someone says. You need to be able to hear someone say that you're cringe and just keep going on with your business. Most people just can't do that. So they buy into what a market reserch executive (a job title in the running for being the lamest one possible every year since it was created) says is cool. They act all detached and sarcastic and mean for no reason. They suck to be around, especially because they aren't really aware of how much of a jerk they're being. Being who are actually cool to be around aren't like that.
I've been a bit stuck on a story that I think I'll post the first chapter of here tomorrow. I meant to work on it today but got caught up doing this, amongother things. I just hope it comes out good.
I'll say more about the article tomorrow too, it's a good one.