I had a dream last night I was back in highschool, being bullied as I always was. I seemed to be a mutant however with the ability to change my body to the consistency of a marshmallow peep. Because the bullies couldn’t hurt me, they decided to attack two of my friends instead. They chased us from a convenience store at night to a dark alley.

My friends were defenseless, so I stood up for them. I changed from my marshmallow peepness and said “You want to hit me, so hit me.” And so they beat the crap out of me, but they didn’t get any satisfaction out of it because I still had the power to stop it. It only made them angrier that I let them hurt me. While they were beating me up, my friends ran off for help.

For some reason they brought back a Christian priest who proceeded to berate them into submission with religious examples of compassion and saying I was like Jesus for turning the other cheek. (heh, Pagan me- lol) Then the police came and took them away. Very odd.

**

Oh, and I bought a scratch-off lottery ticket this morning for $1 and won. My mom was buying a ticket, and I told her to get it, but she wanted a $2 ticket instead. I was going to leave, but I figured I had a dollar, why not. So I bought the one she refused and won $10. Next time maybe she’ll listen to me. She didn’t win anything for her $2 and neither did my brother for his $4. I picked some numbers for the lottery drawing and gave her some money to buy me a ticket when she goes for hers. Wish me luck.

Wouldn’t it be so nice if I won and could move out?

Thanks for the kind words Kat… my mood’s probably a combination of my headache (which has come back a third time now because of some maniac that freaked out on me over the phone at work) and problems at home. I’ve been thinking of going to the doctor for some prescription painkillers, but I have no money and there’s always the worry of addiction with most of their meds.

My mom’s bf spazzed the other day, and that had my mom asking if I’d like to move out even though I didn’t Do anything at all and I don’t go anywhere else in the house but my room. He actually spazzed over my brother who got sent home from jobcorps because of fighting. So while he was screaming and whining, I took my brother out on some errands I had to run. Two hours later we got back, and they were still arguing.

I just don’t know how I can avoid him any more than I do. She said he thinks I hate him, and I was like… duh? after how he criticizes me just for being a vegetarian (and brings up his past job at a slaughterhouse at any opportunity) and gripes if I have a different (social or political) opinion than him. No one’s allowed to say anything contrary to what he thinks or he gets all sulky and/or bitchy. And of course, there’re the penis incidents. Least he hasn’t been all touchy feely lately, mostly because I stay in my room I imagine… no opportunity.

I told my mom I don’t have the funds to get my own place, and she offered to help with money. Yeah, right. She already has to support my brother and sends monthly care packages to my sister. Like she could afford to help me get my own place. I think not. Nor would I ask. I’m not going to be one more drain on her.

By the time I’m done paying rent, paying my car, and my other bills, I don’t have that much money left. But I am not a freeloader like my siblings. It’s just so completely insulting that she would offer me money when I know she doesn’t have any. And it’s frustrating that I’m not paid for my abilities.

Everytime I think things are going my way, I get burned -like when I thought I had a publisher for my folklore manuscript and then that jerk at mediumrarebooks backed out on our contract. I may be a talented writer, but it’s certainly never going to make me enough money to get out of the house.

And it’s weird how people think of me. My brother and sister practically think I’m a saint. My mom thinks I’m “unhappy” because I stay in my room (but really that’s true only when she accuses me of being unhappy). My coworkers think I’m the nicest person in the world (doesn’t get me raises though! darn it!). Apparently the publishing world thinks I’m a nothing.

It’s frustrating to know who you are and what you’re capable of and still get no cooperation from the rest of the world. I should be published by now and kicking Stephen King’s bloated ego off the shelves.

Congrats to SilverRavenKat, the winner of last week’s word game. She got both points, one for defining the word and one for creative use.

A Confrere is a fellow member of a profession or fraternity; a colleague. Confrere comes from the merging of two Latin root words: “Con” meaning between or among, and “frater” meaning brother. Thus the two words together mean among brothers.

This means SilverRavenKat is in the lead with three points and Joyous, LasaGrl, and Jellybean71 each have one point.

This week’s word is : longueur (noun)

Hint: Most students believe this of their reading assignments.

Now remember, don’t look the word up, but try to come up with a definition. If you do know what it means all the better. Then use it in a sentence, paragraph, or short story. One-point for the closest definition and one for the most creative use. Post the solution on your blog, and I’ll link back to it when I choose the “winner.”

**

Do you ever get so disatisfied with things you just don’t want to do anything at all? It’s not boredom exactly or depression. Maybe it’s more like dissolution of energies or a kind of annoyed disinterest. You can keep going for a while, before it becomes apparent you’re not really going anywhere. Then the bottom falls out, and it’s like you’ve become bound up in everyone else’s world rather than you own. When is there ever time for your own?

I don’t know. That’s what I feel like right now. Maybe I am depressed because of keenspace being down (again). Maybe because I still haven’t heard back from Lindisfarne about my short story. I’ll have to email them soon. I promised myself I’d do it at the end of January because that would be exactly two months. Fear of rejection is the only thing that holds me back from being a pest.

I think maybe I just have too much time on my hands because I’m unable to update my comic. I hate not being able to do things when they are expected. People expect my comic on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I do not like to disappoint (even if I never get any fan mail or fan art). I know people read because I can check the stats, but if the comic is down for months (like it was the last time keenspace was down) how many readers will I retain? I mean, if they can’t even send me a short note or draw me a stick figure fanart, are they really “fans” of my work? Nobody notices me anyway. It makes me feel like what’s the point?

Can anyone tell me what the point is? Cause I’d really like to know. I feel pretty useless most of the time. A lot of folks seem to think I’ve got it “all together” and I’m well-balanced, but really I’m like a top spinning. Every once in a while, I start to wobble because I’m slowing down again, and I need a good twist to get me started faster again so I don’t fall down and stop.

     Those who read my comic should know that most of keenspace, including my comic, is down. There’s no ETA on when it might come back up. So I guess until I hear otherwise, consider the comic on hiatus.  

     In other news, I got my DeviantArt account, so some of my drawings are up there, including the non-colored version of the raven-girl (which is much better than the colored version up in the corner there). I just got access to the account today, so expect more pictures to follow.

For those of you who thought yesterday’s dream was weird…

             …you ain’t seen nothing yet.

Last night I had two more very odd dreams. The first was kind of silly, but the second was a nightmare. It was also much longer than the other.

I dreamed an organized crime syndicate wanted to buy the rights to my webcomic. lol  Actually, I and four other webcomic creators climbed a rickety fire escpape up the side of an abandoned warehouse. When we got to the top though, the “office” was very clean, if a bit Spartan. Once we were all settled, the crime-boss began making us offers on our comics. None of us would accept them though. To show there were no hard feelings, they gave us all pie!  I chose a raspberry pie, but I was tempted by the blueberry crumb pie. yumm. hehe

And following in the food theme…

The second dream was set in the depression. This man and his large family of siblings, neices, and nephews were starving, even though he was a chef at a swanky restaraunt. He would steal chunks of reject meat from work and bring it home to his family in his pockets, but his elderly mother was never satisfied. He’d pull these linty junks of meat and bone out, and she’d spit and say they needed fresh meat, not meat no one else would eat.

This man had a friend at work, and one day she suggest that he should bring his friend home for dinner. He thought this was strange, since they didn’t even have enough to eat themselves, but the following night, he brought his friend home just as he had been told. As he stood introducing his friend to his mother, one of his brothers snuck up behind his friend and whacked him in the head with a shovel.

Then (you probably guessed it), they proceeded to cut his friend up and made the man cook his own friend! They carried what was left of the man’s friend to a nearby cave which was filled with the bleached bones of other victims (which apparently the man had not known about).

The dead friend transformed into a wendigo. (For those who don’t know, a wendigo is usually someone who has engaged in canabalism -which makes dreaming that the victim of cannabalism became a wendigo very odd.) For some reason, as the corpse changed into a wendigo, my gaze was drawn to it feet which grew larger than its head with prominent purple and red veins. The wendigo killed every one of the family it could catch, with the exception of its former friend.

At first the man thought that he was spared because he didn’t eat any of his friend’s flesh. But as time passed, he realized he wasn’t getting any older and the wendigo kept on killing people. These were mostly descendants of members of the family who had escaped it.

He tried to kill the wendigo a few times, just to stop the slaughter. It wouldn’t attack him, and tended to avoid him, but when he did manage to kill it, it always came back. The first time it came back, he thought it would kill him, but it killed his girlfriend instead. Every time he managed to kill it, it would come back and kill someone close to him. So after a while, he just went off by himself.

Eventually, there was only one descendant left, a little girl. She and her female guardian moved back into the area, looking for answers. The woman was a tactile psychic -if she touched someone, she’d know everything there was to know about them. That’s why she tended to avoid touching people, but it was also how she knew the little girl needed help.

Unfortunately, coming back into the area brought the little girl right back into the wendigo’s radar. The wendigo came hunting the little girl as soon as night fell, but the woman and little girl ran right to the home of the wendigo’s former friend.

So the man didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, he figured, if the little girl died, the wendigo might go away too and maybe he’d finally die as well. On the other, he was a nice guy and he didn’t want the little girl to die, or anyone else for that matter. Besides, he liked the girl’s guardian. Considering he’d tried to avoid contact with people for several years, he was pretty lonely.

As soon as it was light out (and apparently the wendigo went to sleep), he led them to the cave where his family had kept the bodies of the people they had eaten. There were no bodies there now of course. He was ashamed to tell them what had happened and why the wendigo was hunting the little girl, but he figured it was the last place the wendigo would look for them.

So they all curled up together and went to sleep. For some reason, the little girl got up and went outside. The man woke up and didn’t even seem to notice the little girl was gone. So he reaches down and touches the woman’s cheek. Whammo! She instantly wakes up, knowing everything about the wendigo and how it came to exist.

At this point, she notices the little girl is gone and freaks out. She tells the man he is sadly mistaken about the wendigo disappearing if the little girl dies. The only reason the wendigo is still around is because he is still alive. That’s why the wendigo wouldn’t touch him… because it was his guilty feelings over the fate of his friend that had created it.

So in order for the wendigo to be destroyed, the man had to die. Otherwise, the wendigo would just go on killing people whether they were related to him or not.

And of course, this is when I woke up, so I don’t know if the little girl survived or they killed the wendigo.

And I wasn’t hungry at all, no matter what theme my dreams seem to have been following.

Ah, my head still hurts a bit, but at least I don’t feel like I’m going to hurl any more (just ate a big breakfast in fact). I really envy people who tell me they’ve never had a headache. Am I being selfish in thinking everyone should have headaches??? yeah, I guess so, but it just seems surreal that not everyone has chronic pain.

I love the bookstore, really I do, but I hate the mall. Darn people don’t know how to drive. Lunatics. Word to the wise… green means go the speed limit (or a little less, not 10-15 miles faster than the limit), yellow means slow down and prepare to stop (not go really super fast), and red means stop (or be rundown by opposing traffic). People, these are essential rules of driving. Did you get your license from a crackerjack box? You know… there’s never a cop when you want one.

Now, as promised, yesterday’s dream… it took place in that bizarre world of shops where I sometimes find myself. Unlike some sections of the bizarre, this was a permanent structure.

This time I was in an ‘antique shop,’ that is a junk shop with delusions of granduer. There was so much clutter and the windows were so obscurred that no light could get in.

The first floor was full of relatively normal junk shop clutter, but the second floor had several odd figures. Unfortunately, I only remember two of them, though I know there were others. There was a large suit of armor, for instance, that did something odd, but I don’t remember what.

The first figure I remember clearly was a Dorothy Gayle-type girl in a tapestry. At first she just winked at you if you looked at her. Then she made goofy faces which got progressively nastier. Then when you would start to turn away, she’d pull out a pitchfork as if to jab you (though she couldn’t obviously because she was in a tapestry). When you’d turn back, she’d tuck it behind her back and start winking again.

The other figure was a mannikin dressed as a golfer. It wore those goofy argyle socks and pants buttoned just bellow the knee, and of course the golf hat with a bright red pompom on top… what’s that called, a tam? The mannikin carried a golfbag on its back with golfclubs, but in its hands, it had a seal which was stretched out straight and solid. It would jab the seal out in front of itself, and the seal would yelp and say, “Hey man, it’s wet out there.”

Yup, I’m definitely nutters. No doubt about it.

Moan… I have a headache. I can’t focus on anything. Work is going to suck tonight. I’ve had six tylenol and three sodas in a matter of six hours and it didn’t do me any good. Nor did my peppermint oil. Of all the aches and pains and various illnesses I have had and still get upon occassion, headaches are the worst.

I was going to post about a weird dream I had last night in the “bizarre” world, but I’ve taken up so much time reading everyone’s blogs for the last twenty-four hours (busy bunch, aren’t ya), and focusing enough to reply to a few, that I’ve run out of time. Guess I’ll have to post it tomorrow. I’m so tired… I need more caffeine. I’m sure I’m not going to be in any shape to come online tonight to post.

What do you guys think of my new raven-girl picture? I was going to join Elfwood so I’d finally have somewhere to post my non-webcomic related art, but they’re not taking new members at the moments. :: grumble :: Anyway, I think it was better before I colored it. You could still see all the detail in the feathers.

Anyone want to join my blog-ring?

And I still manage a semi-long rambling post…

:: sigh ::

Congrats to Jellybean71, the winner of last week’s word game.

Vexillology is indeed the study of flags. This word is simply the melding of the Latin word “vexillum,” meaning flag, and the Greek “logo” meaning discourse or study.

This means Joyous, SilverRavenKat, LasaGrl, and Jellybean71 each have one point.

This week’s word is:  confrere (noun)

Hint: You would probably meet one at work.

Now remember, don’t look the word up, but try to come up with a definition. If you do know what it means all the better. Then use it in a sentence, paragraph, or short story. One-point for the closest definition and one for the most creative use. Post the solution on your blog, and I’ll link back to it when I choose the “winner.”

**

Now for something that irritates me to no end, and that is the identification of Pagans as witches and witches as Wicca. Even my own grandmother is guilty of this generalization, assuming witch means Wicca and telling all her friends that I am Wicca. I see this generalization as nothing less than the majority’s attempt to classify and thus dismiss Witches as safely defined.

This is why I hate the media despite any good it may have done the Pagan and witch community. Pagan does not mean you practice witchcraft; being a witch does not mean you are a wicca, and wicca only means that you follow a particular branch of Paganism. Witches, or rather those who are capable of magickal acts, are found in All religions. There are Christian witches, Jewish, Pagan, etc.

Perhaps I am just too nit-picky, but I refused to be called Wicca. I am no more a Wicca than I am a Christian or an alien from outerspace (though some might question that last one ). I have nothing against Wicca or any other religion, but I’m not Wicca. I don’t want to be called something I’m not.

If we’re discussing religion, I’m an eclectic pantheist. I’d call myself a shaman, but I’ve had no formal training, so I don’t feel entitled. The world is swathed in spiritual energies. From the rocks and trees to animals and people, all things have a spirit worthy of respect. This is Pantheism, and one among many Pagan faiths.

I’m not saying I’m not a Witch. I can cast spells (quite successfully), though I seldom do. I feel it is better to at least try to do things on your own before “asking for help” by casting a spell. The universe doesn’t reward whiners. The gods help those who help themselves. Besides, if you never even try to do anything on your own, how will you ever know that you can?

But the fact that I practice Magick has nothing to do with being Pagan. Practicing Magick only makes me a Witch. Witchcraft has nothing to do with Pagans, though Witches will often gravitate to Pagan religions for the simple fact that they find acceptance among them.

Witchcraft aside, it is quite possible to be a Pagan of any tradition and have no Magickal ability whatsoever. No one’s going to kick you out if you can’t cast a spell or practice divination. All Pagan paths are religious. And religion serves no purpose but to make you feel better about yourself and your place in the world.

I guess it would be helpful for me to give the details of my past lives as I know them rather than refering to them piecemeal whenever the mood strikes me.

Just to be clear, I don’t believe that we are reborn as punishment, and I don’t believe karma dictates how we are born. The “time” in-between lives is changeless, and we can get pretty bored. So a lot of souls choose to come back. Sometimes they want to work through some problem/idea (prove some theory), sometimes they want to help others solve their problems, and sometimes they’re just bored. If you want, you can look at it like a tree putting out a new shoot. It changes the entire tree. That’s the way reincarnation works. Each life we live changes our “shape” in-between lives. The time in-between isn’t better than physical life, it’s just different.

Any way, so far, I’ve recalled ten lives. I can only guess at the chronology of most of these lives. I really can’t know the exact time period of the earliest lives, and actually, I’m not sure of the approximate years for any of them until Scotland. It’s not until that point that I can compare “modern” historical records to what I remember.

The first two lives were as animals. I think these came first because I never saw any people, and I don’t recall any concept of humanity. In the first I was a (male) janguar and in the second I was a (female) dolphin. As a jaguar, I fell from a tree and broke my leg. I starved to death before it healed. This life I think explains my love of jumping and stretching.

As a dolphin, I lived to a relatively old age and drowned when I became too infirm to reach the surface for air. When I was very young and just learning to swim, I used to swim like a dolphin (with my whole body) and practiced holding my breath. Both of these lives as animals might also explain the odd, um, noises I can make… like purring, growling, and dolphin-like noises. Really, you’d have to hear them to know what I mean. lol

The next life was in South America. I was a “princess” of the noble caste. I’m not sure what people I belonged to, but I think it was a Olmec or pre-Olmec group. I was about thirteen or fourteen when I died. There was a drought, and the high priest chose me to be sacrificed in order to end it. I think I was chosen because he and my father were at odds, and he wanted to hurt him. He took me to a snake pit and when I hesitated to jump, he pushed me. Being sacrificed for the good of the people was really a high honor, and I would have jumped on my own. I was just working up the nerve. I think this is why one of my spirit animals is the snake.

The fourth and fifth lives were in Egypt. I only remembered the fourth life last year, and I have very little details so far. I know I was woman and about the same I age I am now when I died. I’m pretty sure I was married, but I was having an affair. I went to the river to meet with my lover, but he never showed up and somehow I died. That part’s kind of blur, but I know I never left the river. I think I was eaten by a crocodile. This life and the seventh might be why I’m a bit hesitant about having relationships.

In the fifth life, I was an Egyptian boy. I only lived to be about eleven or twelve before I was killed by a thief as I went for water for my elderly teacher. Long before I recalled this life, I was almost compelled to study heiroglyphics and ancient alphabets. I still have notebooks full of heiroglyphs that I copied from books as I found them.

The sixth life occurred in the Middle East. I was an outspoken woman in favor of social reform. I was very philosophical and obstinate. People didn’t like that and one day at the market I was accused of Witchcraft and stoned unconscious. Then I was dragged to the “dump” where I was set on fire. Perhaps they thought I was dead from being stoned, but I doubt it. This is the first life I remembered after I was attacked at school. The stoning I received in this past life and the way I was attacked by my fellow students at school was just so similar, I think it opened the floodgates of my memory. This explains my dislike of crowds and my passionate refusal to bend to anyone else’s will.

Sometime in the 1100s I lived as a bard in Scotland or the extreme north of England. I’d grown up with the lord of the castle, so we were very much like brothers. He was Pagan, but had accepted a Christian priest into his court in order to keep peace with his neighbors. At the time, most of his neighbors were playing at being Christian too. Any one of them would have used Paganism as an excuse to attack and take control of their neighbors’ lands. Unfortunately, the priest the Church sent to us was a slimey, whiney little weasel, and maybe I was just a bit too vocal in publically mocking him. One night while I was heading back to my room (a little drunk I admit), he snuck up in the dark and stabbed me in the back. This life (and my third) explains my mistrust for clergy and my artistic leanings. This might also explain why I won’t do anything to dull my sense and I don’t like to leave my back exposed.

In the early 1800s I was hanged for horse rustling in the West. As a young Native American man, I was a convenient scapegoat, but I wasn’t guilty. I think this life contributes very much to my sense of right and wrong, having been so badly treated when I was innocent.

The last two lives before this one also occurred in America in the 20th century. In the first, I was male and lived into the thirties, eventually dying of stomach cancer. I have some idea of who I may have been due to certain details of what I remember, what I have read, and personal habits (which I won’t mention). Since it’s someone semi-famous however, I’m not going to get into it. I hate when people claim to have been someone famous. lol

And in the final life before this one, I was a girl in the sixties. I was about fifteen or so when I was abducted by someone. I think I knew my abductor in passing. Anyway, we were in a car in the mountains somewhere, and I knew that I’d probably die anyway, so I decided to take my life into my own hands so-to-speak. As the car went around a turn, I opened the door and jumped to my death. I didn’t recall this life in chronology with the time of my death, but from about the age of thirteen till I was sixteen, I had this horrible urge to open the car door and jump whenever I was in the passenger seat. At its worst, I used to lock the door just in case I wouldn’t be able to control my urge. I think this life explains my dislike of cars in general.

Since I only just remembered another life last year, I think it’s safe to say that there are probably more that I haven’t recalled yet. You’ll also note that I’ve been murdered an inordinate number of times. I’m trying not to get murdering in this life! lol