So I have been pretty incommunicado for the past few... months. Closer to a year, probably. And I am not really sorry about it.
You're probably thinking, oh, everything has probably been going great, that's why I've been neglecting pretty much everything.
Likely couldn't be more wrong.
Why is it that just because I am a nice person, doesn't make me a weak person?
Just because I can't stand up for myself, doesn't give anyone the right to impinge on my humanity. Just because I don't want to stand up for myself, gives no one the right to stomp all over me.
What happened with today's society? What is so fundamentally wrong with people that makes it okay to act (to quote Veronica Mars) obligatory psychotic jackasses?
What on earth are parents teaching their children? I know that my parents would be mortally offended if they knew only a half of the shit that people do nowadays, if I did any of them. But I don't because I was raised with good morals, with strong role models and to do onto others.
I wasn't raised with religion in mind. My parents raised me to be a good person, to love and respect others, but most importantly, my parents raised me care.
Why is it that so many people don't seem to care about others?
I recently learned about this concept in my Intro to Psychology class. The bystander effect: the more people who witness something, the less likely anyone will be to help? And I think to myself: how were these people raised? Who lets their children out into the world so selfish? So unwilling to respect another human being?
Maybe I am the anomaly. Maybe I am the one good person out here. (Well, no, that is quite a lie. My sister is a better person than I can even hope to become, and I am not even jealous. I am proud that I can say, "Hey, I share a good portion of my genetic code with this chick.") I know, also, that there are others. My best friend, Bex, is one of the best people I know (along with her boytoy. He's kosher).
But, because I am a good person, I can't really believe that. Yeah, I am pretty misanthropic, but I can't believe that I am one of only a few decent people out there. I can't believe that everyone out there doesn't care.
I just can't.
The possibility of that being true frightens me more than I can imagine.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Pear Tree
So, let's get ready for roommate rant number 3, I believe? Deep breath, and...
I have never in my life met such an arrogant, narcissistic, pain in the ass. Never before have I met another person that could so disregard another human's plight the way that my current roommate can. Oh, for months I deluded myself into thinking that everything was okay, that it was fine that she didn't get these social niceties, like being quiet, and letting another person sleep when they have only had an average of four hours per night for the past week and a half.
But she has lived in America now for six years, and I was just deluding myself. Never before have I met someone who just didn't get other humans on that basic instinctual level that she doesn't. Now, I am not the best person in the world to be speaking of people who don't understand other people - because, let's face it, I understand very little about human nature and human interactions that it isn't even funny. I do, however, know very well how to fake it. I know that when another person is angry, you don't antagonize them, unless I am really itching for a fight - and generally it isn't the verbal kind.
Let's list all the different ways that Current Roommate is on the verge of driving me to madness, shall we?
1. Disrespects, on a daily basis, my country. Bitch, you've been living here for six years; you are taking the citizens test soon. You are almost American so shut your fucking gob about how terrible America is. Go back to Bulgaria if you don't like it. Know your audience, obviously. When you are around someone who is an American, you don't go around bashing America for the way they treat their elderly, or how rude we are. Because, let's face it, you aren't exactly the epitome of common courtesy. Especially, as you are saying this, we are eating dinner and you will not look up from your phone. If that isn't rude, then I have no idea what is.
2. Does not know how to apologize. Keeps me up half the night, then wakes me early the next morning? No way is she going to apologize for that. And if I dare to be mad about that, then that is just me being a stupid American, isn't it? The few times she has apologized, it was condescending and mean. So you know what? Fuck you too.
3. No time management skills. This one really gets my blood boiling. She goes out, has a good time, is on Facebook every chance she gets, yet complains when she can't go to bed early because she hasn't started her work until 12 at night. And then, says things like, "Oh, I'm so jealous that you get to have fun!" or "You're so lucky you don't have as much work as I do." Seriously? I work all afternoon and evening to get things done early so I can have some free time. It isn't my fault you are a fucking idiot.
5. Got picked for the RA job that I desperately wanted. Now, this isn't really her fault - we are a liberal arts college and I am a white girl from Maine; obviously I'm not going to get the job when there are foreign students applying. What pisses me off, however, is that she will not let it go. She keeps making offhanded comments about all this stuff she has to do, and how excited she is about having a single, and whatnot. Especially when she told me, when she was applying, that she was going to spend very little of her time in the room and was not going to answer the door after 12 at night.
Aaand, breathe. I need to gather my thoughts a little more for the rest, and I just really needed to bitch about it because I was getting a little manic, unfortunately. And there is still a month left to the term. This will be interesting.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
This Year's A Party
So I have a tentative idea for this year's NaNo. It will be a humour/romance story, that plays with modern religion. There will also be the undertones of how people believe only what they want to believe, or trust millennial year old people who aren't the best role models.
Like I said, its tentative. But it is interesting, and new for me. If I can just come up with a plot, now, things will be good!
(This is just a short post because I am working on posting once a week. And I didn't really have a topic in mind as life is quite quiet right now. Though I celebrated my 19th birthday this week, which is both cool and scary as hell.)
(One last thing - If I didn't like my current roommate right now, I would be planning her murder. As such, I am just fantasizing her loss of limb. Or two.)
Like I said, its tentative. But it is interesting, and new for me. If I can just come up with a plot, now, things will be good!
(This is just a short post because I am working on posting once a week. And I didn't really have a topic in mind as life is quite quiet right now. Though I celebrated my 19th birthday this week, which is both cool and scary as hell.)
(One last thing - If I didn't like my current roommate right now, I would be planning her murder. As such, I am just fantasizing her loss of limb. Or two.)
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Heavy, It's so Heavy
I know I rag on all these self-diagnosers and hypochondriacs (which my newest roommate is - please do not even get me started on that), but I have recently decided to figure what, exactly, is wrong with me.
Truthfully, too much to count. And it's best if you don't comment on that, either.
But for the longest time I have had this pretty serious problem with social awkwardness. Now, this isn't the root of my problems, but it is the most damaging. I have a hard time making eye contact with people I have known for a while now. I can't just go over and say hi to someone because I have convinced myself that they don't care. In class, even though I know the answer, the thought of raising my hand to give it makes me break out in a sweat. I can't even make eye contact with my professors, I am so afraid that they will pick me and I'll make a fool out of myself. I even get mini-panic attacks thinking about having to do something social. I will try my absolute hardest to get out of it, though I know that is just making it worse.
Take note - this is some stuff that I have never actually told anyone. But I am working through it.
So I was assigned this personal essay for my writing class this semester, and one of the topics was "Something (a disease or ailment) that has persisted throughout your life." So I chose anxiety. I always knew I had some forms of anxiety - you can't have consistent panic attacks and not have an anxiety disorder. So I researched it.
And found the two disorders that are related, yet not. Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Social Anxiety Disorder. And they just clicked within me. This is after, of course, my denial (there is nothing wrong with me!) and I had calmed enough to realize they made a lot of sense. (I will later post my essay, once it is revised a few more times. I really like it though!)
Then I found what is called the Liebowitz Social Anxiety Scale. So I trolled over it for a few minutes, taking the little test. Lo and behold, I score a 112. When a 92 snaps you into the "very severe social phobia", scoring such a high number kind of frightened me. I hadn't realized it was that bad.
But then I thought about it. And how many opportunities I have missed over the years, how many grades I sacrificed, because even thinking about them made my heart pound and my muscles ache. I realized it really wasn't too far-fetched.
So as of now, I don't know what I will do. I will attempt to conquer this on my own - and I know I can. Because that is who I am, and now that I really get that something is wrong, I can't just leave it alone. I have to at least try.
(I would, however, like to note that I still have never said any of these words out loud - admitting them sounds like defeat, not to mention how I am afraid any one I tell won't believe me. Its irrational, I get it. Its supposed to be.)
Truthfully, too much to count. And it's best if you don't comment on that, either.
But for the longest time I have had this pretty serious problem with social awkwardness. Now, this isn't the root of my problems, but it is the most damaging. I have a hard time making eye contact with people I have known for a while now. I can't just go over and say hi to someone because I have convinced myself that they don't care. In class, even though I know the answer, the thought of raising my hand to give it makes me break out in a sweat. I can't even make eye contact with my professors, I am so afraid that they will pick me and I'll make a fool out of myself. I even get mini-panic attacks thinking about having to do something social. I will try my absolute hardest to get out of it, though I know that is just making it worse.
Take note - this is some stuff that I have never actually told anyone. But I am working through it.
So I was assigned this personal essay for my writing class this semester, and one of the topics was "Something (a disease or ailment) that has persisted throughout your life." So I chose anxiety. I always knew I had some forms of anxiety - you can't have consistent panic attacks and not have an anxiety disorder. So I researched it.
And found the two disorders that are related, yet not. Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Social Anxiety Disorder. And they just clicked within me. This is after, of course, my denial (there is nothing wrong with me!) and I had calmed enough to realize they made a lot of sense. (I will later post my essay, once it is revised a few more times. I really like it though!)
Then I found what is called the Liebowitz Social Anxiety Scale. So I trolled over it for a few minutes, taking the little test. Lo and behold, I score a 112. When a 92 snaps you into the "very severe social phobia", scoring such a high number kind of frightened me. I hadn't realized it was that bad.
But then I thought about it. And how many opportunities I have missed over the years, how many grades I sacrificed, because even thinking about them made my heart pound and my muscles ache. I realized it really wasn't too far-fetched.
So as of now, I don't know what I will do. I will attempt to conquer this on my own - and I know I can. Because that is who I am, and now that I really get that something is wrong, I can't just leave it alone. I have to at least try.
(I would, however, like to note that I still have never said any of these words out loud - admitting them sounds like defeat, not to mention how I am afraid any one I tell won't believe me. Its irrational, I get it. Its supposed to be.)
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Update: Roommates
Roommate number two could very well be worse than roommate number one.
First and foremost - she's foreign. Not that I have anything at all against foreign students, my best friend on campus is foreign. Its just that this particular foreign kid seems to not understand social niceties or common courtesy. At all.
At first, it was cute. This little Asian kid giggling and making quiet fun. But then her little quirks began to add up. She's ask me to carry back an obserd amount of food, daily. She stays in the room all day. Every day. She only ever leaves to go to class, then she's right back up in her bed. I can't bear it, I'm going crazy. She has her computer on all day - loudly - and she is up until 4 in the morning making these really awful cough-nose-exhale thing, every three minutes like clockwork. Then she takes naps all afternoon, so I can't make any noise, or turn on the lights. Because I have common courtesy, I go to the library, or the common room, or anything, really, just to be nice. But does she afford the same concessions on me, when I got to bed at like 1 or 2 in the morning?
She doesn't shower often - its been at least three days now, and she doesn't appear to realize she has acquired a stench. She wears the same clothes everyday and hasn't changed in weeks I believe. She even wears the same outfit to bed - without doing laundry. That's the same clothes in the day and at night. And I can't say anything, because obviously I need to make this one work.
But it isn't working. She turns the heat way up, without consulting me at all - even though I have flammable things on the heater and the air becomes so dry that I can't even breathe. Its already seriously dry here. You don't need to make it any more so.
This one isn't so socially unacceptable so much as annoying as hell. When I am sitting at my desk, obviously trying to study, with headphones in, she asks me a question. Every five or so minutes, she asks me a grammar question, or she says something about how "she's so confused". So I can't get into a rhythm in my work, having to stop every few minutes. And she likes to play music. Loudly. From crappy speakers that sound awful.
And the creme de crop, the icing on the cake, is what she decides is proper guest etiquette. Apparently it is okay for her to invite people over - guys, mostly, people she is trying to get something from - at any time of night, even if I am in my pajamas, even if I am in bed, sick. And apparently it is okay that they just stay there, not even fucking talking.
Apologies. I am still a little sore over thing one.
Continuing, she also seems to think it is proper etiquette to invite someone over, with whom I have a very rocky past with, and with whom I get VERY annoyed with, VERY quickly. And yet she seems to think it is completely fine.
So I HAVE to leave, at least every two weeks to go home, or I will probably kill her.
Unfortunately, I am seeing no other alternative.
I shall endeavour to survive till midterms are over, and will be able to go home for a long, relaxing, roommate-free week.
First and foremost - she's foreign. Not that I have anything at all against foreign students, my best friend on campus is foreign. Its just that this particular foreign kid seems to not understand social niceties or common courtesy. At all.
At first, it was cute. This little Asian kid giggling and making quiet fun. But then her little quirks began to add up. She's ask me to carry back an obserd amount of food, daily. She stays in the room all day. Every day. She only ever leaves to go to class, then she's right back up in her bed. I can't bear it, I'm going crazy. She has her computer on all day - loudly - and she is up until 4 in the morning making these really awful cough-nose-exhale thing, every three minutes like clockwork. Then she takes naps all afternoon, so I can't make any noise, or turn on the lights. Because I have common courtesy, I go to the library, or the common room, or anything, really, just to be nice. But does she afford the same concessions on me, when I got to bed at like 1 or 2 in the morning?
She doesn't shower often - its been at least three days now, and she doesn't appear to realize she has acquired a stench. She wears the same clothes everyday and hasn't changed in weeks I believe. She even wears the same outfit to bed - without doing laundry. That's the same clothes in the day and at night. And I can't say anything, because obviously I need to make this one work.
But it isn't working. She turns the heat way up, without consulting me at all - even though I have flammable things on the heater and the air becomes so dry that I can't even breathe. Its already seriously dry here. You don't need to make it any more so.
This one isn't so socially unacceptable so much as annoying as hell. When I am sitting at my desk, obviously trying to study, with headphones in, she asks me a question. Every five or so minutes, she asks me a grammar question, or she says something about how "she's so confused". So I can't get into a rhythm in my work, having to stop every few minutes. And she likes to play music. Loudly. From crappy speakers that sound awful.
And the creme de crop, the icing on the cake, is what she decides is proper guest etiquette. Apparently it is okay for her to invite people over - guys, mostly, people she is trying to get something from - at any time of night, even if I am in my pajamas, even if I am in bed, sick. And apparently it is okay that they just stay there, not even fucking talking.
Apologies. I am still a little sore over thing one.
Continuing, she also seems to think it is proper etiquette to invite someone over, with whom I have a very rocky past with, and with whom I get VERY annoyed with, VERY quickly. And yet she seems to think it is completely fine.
So I HAVE to leave, at least every two weeks to go home, or I will probably kill her.
Unfortunately, I am seeing no other alternative.
I shall endeavour to survive till midterms are over, and will be able to go home for a long, relaxing, roommate-free week.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
First Rant: Roommates
This shall probably be the first of many, many rants. But before I get into it, I "won" NaNoWriMo, with 50,106 words, though I'm not nearly done with it. Finished a day early, even.
Begin Rant: Roommates
Betrayal is a funny thing - it comes when you are least expecting it, like a knife gliding smoothly through the cartilage between the ribs.
I hadn't really had a problem with my roommate (let's call her Maya), and I never really thought she had much of a problem with me. I mean, we didn't really talk a lot, but that was how I was with everyone, so I didn't see it as anything new. Here's the thing about me - I'm pants at reading social cues, or more particularly, I can't read social cues. I just don't understand them at all.
So, we never really hung out or anything, but we were relatively friendly with each other, so I didn't really think anything about it. We had our moments, watching TV or discussing awful teachers, but apparently that isn't good enough.
I was off campus for a weekend, just needing to get away, so I traveled down to Boston to chill with my sister. Sunday morning rolls around, and I get this text, a text, telling me what an awesome idea switching roommates was. Maya was all excited, saying how great it would be for me, and her, and the other two girls. Because apparently these other girls were having trouble (one likes to "study" when it's loud, the other needs quiet), and since Maya thinks I need it quite (which I can't do), so offered my room. Without consulting me.
Oh, and I should mention that Maya, and this girl she would be rooming with (Harriet), are best friends. So obviously there are some ulterior motives there.
But I don't text her back for a few hours, otherwise I would have either been really nasty, or said something I would regret - and I don't like having regrets. So when she texts again, probably around 5, asking if I got it, I was sufficiently calmed down. And I replied with a sane and rational argument - it was two days before we were leaving for Thanksgiving break and just another two weeks until finals. I should also mention that I said I didn't feel comfortable with changing the situation, so late in the semester, with a girl I barely know, and don't particularly like.
She jets me back with a message saying that we should really talk about it - asking me when I'd be coming back - "because I thought you would have been okay with it so I started to move a little".
And that sets me off, just a little bit. How could she have honestly thought I - or anyone - would be okay with it? Was she really so selfish that she thought that her wants were the only wants that mattered? I mean, theoretically, I could have grown accustomed to it, had I had a bit more time to think about it. But seven hours after the first text message, I was arriving back at school, and my anger was bubbling at the surface.
Walking into the room, my room, was painful. It didn't matter what I felt - every single thing was packed up in boxes, and she was sitting there, with Harriet. I never knew she was so manipulative. And I hate myself for what happened, but I was peer pressured.
The entire thing was orchestrated perfectly, and she played me so well. She knew I wouldn't challenge it with someone else there. So I said yes, and they got to work.
I could not stay in that room a second longer, so I left, went to the library, had a nice walk around the campus to clear my mind in the cold. And then I talk to my friend, Missy, and she's telling me these horror stories about this girl that was going to be moved into my room. How, my best friend on campus, wasn't about to step foot in my room anymore, even if she wasn't in there.
It broke me, just a little. I was having this slight panic attack as I go back to my room, maybe talk to Maya, tell her it was going to quick. But when I get there, everything is moved. Completely and utterly moved, in the time-span of two hours. Then other, personal stuff crowded me, and I had a full on panic attack.
Gut churning sobbing, that I am famous for, and I couldn't breath for a number of minutes. I made my way to my quasi-older sister, and told her and her roommate about all that happened.
The most heart warming thing that happened, was how both their hackles raised, and they went all up in arms. They alternated between bitching out Maya and bitching about the RA who allowed such a move to occur. The thing that made me feel most comforted, ironically enough, was when they offered to "cut that bitch". I was amused and my sobbing tapered off into a few watery chuckles.
Then they bullied me into talking to the RD - which I really didn't want to do, because then everyone would be so pissed at me. But that wasn't a good enough excuse, so we traversed across campus, for the third time for me, in the cold, and banged on the RD's door.
It was just shy of eleven, I believe, and she was outraged that they had moved already - no paper work was done! So she stomped up three flights of stairs, myself and this quasi-sister in tow. And the RD let it rip; she bitched the two girls out for nearly ten minutes, making them move everything back at 11 at night. So I cleared out, again, while they did that, because the looks they gave me when they passed were deadly poisonous.
Maya then displayed an intelligence far beyond any she had shown thus far and progressed to guerrilla warfare. She'd come in early in the morning, make a racket, turn on the fucking lights, and generally disallow me to get any semblance of sleep after seven in the morning.
Now she's gone, paperwork filled out and I will never have to deal with her again.
Maybe roommate number two will be a better success.
Begin Rant: Roommates
Betrayal is a funny thing - it comes when you are least expecting it, like a knife gliding smoothly through the cartilage between the ribs.
I hadn't really had a problem with my roommate (let's call her Maya), and I never really thought she had much of a problem with me. I mean, we didn't really talk a lot, but that was how I was with everyone, so I didn't see it as anything new. Here's the thing about me - I'm pants at reading social cues, or more particularly, I can't read social cues. I just don't understand them at all.
So, we never really hung out or anything, but we were relatively friendly with each other, so I didn't really think anything about it. We had our moments, watching TV or discussing awful teachers, but apparently that isn't good enough.
I was off campus for a weekend, just needing to get away, so I traveled down to Boston to chill with my sister. Sunday morning rolls around, and I get this text, a text, telling me what an awesome idea switching roommates was. Maya was all excited, saying how great it would be for me, and her, and the other two girls. Because apparently these other girls were having trouble (one likes to "study" when it's loud, the other needs quiet), and since Maya thinks I need it quite (which I can't do), so offered my room. Without consulting me.
Oh, and I should mention that Maya, and this girl she would be rooming with (Harriet), are best friends. So obviously there are some ulterior motives there.
But I don't text her back for a few hours, otherwise I would have either been really nasty, or said something I would regret - and I don't like having regrets. So when she texts again, probably around 5, asking if I got it, I was sufficiently calmed down. And I replied with a sane and rational argument - it was two days before we were leaving for Thanksgiving break and just another two weeks until finals. I should also mention that I said I didn't feel comfortable with changing the situation, so late in the semester, with a girl I barely know, and don't particularly like.
She jets me back with a message saying that we should really talk about it - asking me when I'd be coming back - "because I thought you would have been okay with it so I started to move a little".
And that sets me off, just a little bit. How could she have honestly thought I - or anyone - would be okay with it? Was she really so selfish that she thought that her wants were the only wants that mattered? I mean, theoretically, I could have grown accustomed to it, had I had a bit more time to think about it. But seven hours after the first text message, I was arriving back at school, and my anger was bubbling at the surface.
Walking into the room, my room, was painful. It didn't matter what I felt - every single thing was packed up in boxes, and she was sitting there, with Harriet. I never knew she was so manipulative. And I hate myself for what happened, but I was peer pressured.
The entire thing was orchestrated perfectly, and she played me so well. She knew I wouldn't challenge it with someone else there. So I said yes, and they got to work.
I could not stay in that room a second longer, so I left, went to the library, had a nice walk around the campus to clear my mind in the cold. And then I talk to my friend, Missy, and she's telling me these horror stories about this girl that was going to be moved into my room. How, my best friend on campus, wasn't about to step foot in my room anymore, even if she wasn't in there.
It broke me, just a little. I was having this slight panic attack as I go back to my room, maybe talk to Maya, tell her it was going to quick. But when I get there, everything is moved. Completely and utterly moved, in the time-span of two hours. Then other, personal stuff crowded me, and I had a full on panic attack.
Gut churning sobbing, that I am famous for, and I couldn't breath for a number of minutes. I made my way to my quasi-older sister, and told her and her roommate about all that happened.
The most heart warming thing that happened, was how both their hackles raised, and they went all up in arms. They alternated between bitching out Maya and bitching about the RA who allowed such a move to occur. The thing that made me feel most comforted, ironically enough, was when they offered to "cut that bitch". I was amused and my sobbing tapered off into a few watery chuckles.
Then they bullied me into talking to the RD - which I really didn't want to do, because then everyone would be so pissed at me. But that wasn't a good enough excuse, so we traversed across campus, for the third time for me, in the cold, and banged on the RD's door.
It was just shy of eleven, I believe, and she was outraged that they had moved already - no paper work was done! So she stomped up three flights of stairs, myself and this quasi-sister in tow. And the RD let it rip; she bitched the two girls out for nearly ten minutes, making them move everything back at 11 at night. So I cleared out, again, while they did that, because the looks they gave me when they passed were deadly poisonous.
Maya then displayed an intelligence far beyond any she had shown thus far and progressed to guerrilla warfare. She'd come in early in the morning, make a racket, turn on the fucking lights, and generally disallow me to get any semblance of sleep after seven in the morning.
Now she's gone, paperwork filled out and I will never have to deal with her again.
Maybe roommate number two will be a better success.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Check It
A second post not two months after the first. If that isn't dedication, I do not know what it.
That was sarcasm, by the way.
Anyway, I thought, on top of my college school work, that I could participate in NaNoWriMo. It was great for the first week and a half. Then I had three papers due, a presentation to prepare for, and two books to read. And so I fell behind. And when you fall behind, you get fucked over up the ass. Hard. I'm down by 6,000 words, but I can't just not finish now - I'm already 19,000 in the hole and that's hours of my life I'll never get back.
And I like my story, as well as my characters.
Like Detective Sammy Wolfe, who has a bit of a major depressive, alcohol problem - while she's trying to catch the most notorious serial killer the Bay City region has ever seen. Post-traumatic stress from the death of her husband leaves her cold and heartless to the outside world, as well as her inner world where she no longer feels emotions. She's deathly afraid of psychiatrists - especially the one who works with the department from time to time - because she is afraid they can see through her and know how damaged she really is.
Her partner, a whipped married man, Henry Kempis, tries to help all he can - but he never really knew what happened, as it happened before Wolfe came to the Bay City area. Laid back and genial, he is the calm to her manic.
Then there is the psychiatrist, Thomas Zucker, who is a genius of almost incredible proportions. He gets along with very few of the police, and surprisingly enough, he likes Wolfe in a purely platonic way. He likes that she doesn't treat him with kid gloves - and actually listens when he has a smart idea.
Thats it for now, but maybe later.
Can't wait for thanksgiving break and sleeping.
That was sarcasm, by the way.
Anyway, I thought, on top of my college school work, that I could participate in NaNoWriMo. It was great for the first week and a half. Then I had three papers due, a presentation to prepare for, and two books to read. And so I fell behind. And when you fall behind, you get fucked over up the ass. Hard. I'm down by 6,000 words, but I can't just not finish now - I'm already 19,000 in the hole and that's hours of my life I'll never get back.
And I like my story, as well as my characters.
Like Detective Sammy Wolfe, who has a bit of a major depressive, alcohol problem - while she's trying to catch the most notorious serial killer the Bay City region has ever seen. Post-traumatic stress from the death of her husband leaves her cold and heartless to the outside world, as well as her inner world where she no longer feels emotions. She's deathly afraid of psychiatrists - especially the one who works with the department from time to time - because she is afraid they can see through her and know how damaged she really is.
Her partner, a whipped married man, Henry Kempis, tries to help all he can - but he never really knew what happened, as it happened before Wolfe came to the Bay City area. Laid back and genial, he is the calm to her manic.
Then there is the psychiatrist, Thomas Zucker, who is a genius of almost incredible proportions. He gets along with very few of the police, and surprisingly enough, he likes Wolfe in a purely platonic way. He likes that she doesn't treat him with kid gloves - and actually listens when he has a smart idea.
Thats it for now, but maybe later.
Can't wait for thanksgiving break and sleeping.
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