Body Modification

Most people who know me, or have at least seen the left side of my head, probably have seen a shiny, silver stud sticking out of my ear. It is no secret I have my ear pierced. 

If you look closely, you can see I am also sleep deprived.

I have intentions to pierce the other one. 
Eventually.
I want to give blood and plasma a few times first because I can't give for six months after having something like that (piercing) stuck in my head.


I also have plans to NOT gauge my ears. I think if it's done well and people don't go outrageously large with them, they look cool, however, that being said, the opposite end of the spectrum is too large, which look ridiculous. I personally will not be partaking in such a sordid affair.


I am also planning on adding some ink to my flesh, making me permanently (unless I opt for surgery to remove it) branded.  Most of my ideas are quotes from books, songs, or other forms of media.  Three such tattoos include "Love," "memento mori," and "memento vivere." The last two are Latin and roughly mean, "Remember you will die," and "Remember to live," respectively (and roughly). I also found another wonderful quote I might consider adding to my collection.  Not quite sure where I'll put the Latin, but "Love" will more than likely be going on the inside of my wrist, as seen below.

There, where I wrote it on myself

 

I was thinking maybe this font. I like it so much. 

Other than that, I have no real plans to radically alter my appearance. The piercings and tattoos are a personal thing and have no impact on anyone else, provided that they aren't offended by such things. Which then, is not my problem.
I was raised in a household where tattoos and other such things were not discouraged or frowned upon. My mother alone has near twenty tattoos. Even my grandmother has a tattoo. My grandmother. My uncle has several as well, in addition to several piercings, including his septum. So, body art has more or less been a part of my life for a while now. In a sense. Yeah, but when I do get inked, I'll be sure to post pictures of said tattoos and what not. 

Silly little kids. Tattoos are for big kids.

Yeah, I'm going to be cool, just like these kids. Only not really.

Like this. Only not as skull-and-cross boney.


Yep, that's all I really have for this post. Tune in next week for more and what not.
 

Promises

Here it is. The post I promised. The one where I was honest and open. 


And away we go. 
Oh, and try and bear with me, if it sounds like I'm rambling, I probably am. This is roughly four years of my life that I'm covering nearly ten years later. 



So, as most people who know me know that I spent several years in Alabama. Not for any good reason, no, but because my mom's significant other at the time wanted to relocate us back to live with his family and for a few other reasons, but they're unimportant, for my sake anyway. This decision came after my little brother was born and we were down there before my mom married the man who fathered him 


I was not going to have it; I didn't want to move, and I was terrified at the idea of leaving everyone and everything I knew. I remember right before we were supposed to leave I hid under the kitchen table trying in vain to prevent my whole life being uprooted (Yes, at five, I didn't have much of a life, but what I had was important to me and I was not about to let that go). Suffice it to say, my efforts failed and I moved. 


1,318 miles. One thousand-three hundred and eighteen miles. From one part of the country to another. My little life was pretty much reset. Not the reset you do when you're failing epically on like, Mario or Zelda, my life was basically to be started over.  It sucked. 


As I settled into my new life, I discovered several things: 1) The South sucked, 2) people from the South are dumb and if you point it out, you are scolded, 3) the South sucked, 4) you have to be a liar and a biological member of the family to get anywhere, 5) there were favorites played amongst the grandchildren and 6) the South sucked. I also discovered that any little mistake I made, which tends to happen as a child, I was punished. Most of the time, I had something taken away from me. I also was accused of lying, frequently, which I'm sure I told some lies, I didn't tell as many as I was made to have been told, and that put me into even more trouble. Eventually the punishments went from just having things taken from me to more . . . how shall I put this, physical punishment.  It started out as just a swift swat on the rear, but before long that wasn't good enough.  


My mom's (now ex) husband began to use other objects to punish me. These ranged from wooden or plastic spoons, with or without air holes, switches, belts, and his hand, on my bare bottom. Occasionally I had the spoon used on my hands, most often time it was the rear. What's even worse was the fact that I had to go and get said implements myself.  It was unnerving having to go and retrieve the thing that would soon be used to inflict punishment onto me, but it would be worse if I hadn't gotten the thing he would use to beat (yes, beat) me with. 

Now with that being said, I'll just come out and say it: I was abused as a child. Nobody deserves that. Not a single man, woman, or child deserves to be abused.  Most of the abuse I was subjected to was emotional or mental abuse with the occasional bout of being physically abused. It wasn't just me that that monster abused either, he abused my mother, my brother, and my sisters and he continues to abuse my siblings to this day, but that's another story for, not likely ever. 


Being abused and witnessing abuse had a profound effect on my developing young psyche. I was always an introvert, but would open up and be extroverted around people I knew, but the abuse brought out my tendencies as an introvert.  I also developed this trait that is more pronounced now that I am older. I am more likely to listen to people talk to me about their problems, acting as a rock and confidant for them while I bottle up and stifle my emotions and problems, preferring to handle them myself. I think I developed this as a response to seeing those around me being hurt and I did what I could to help them and at 7, 8, 9 years old all I could really do was just be there for them. 


This has proven to be a problem in recent months as I've felt alone and isolated from people and I have to say I have had a few breakdowns, crying more in one semester alone than I normally do in an entire year.  All because I won't willingly communicate my problems. I also have an odd paranoia with even communicating my problems because I don't want people to think I'm . . . what's the word I'm looking for . . . weak? Incapable of handling my own problems? Pitiful? All of the above?


I discovered a way to escape from my situation. I turned to books; books were my sanctuary. As was my bedroom . . . and music, but I didn't turn to it as frequently as I do now. The only real time I had any peace and quiet time to myself when I wasn't being terrorized was when I was in school, I was in bed, when he was at work, or when I came back home (home being Minnesota, Alabama never felt like home to me). 


Probably the worst part about the abuse was the fact that it wasn't constant. You may be saying "But Andrew, wouldn't that would be the best part!" Well, no. The fact that it wasn't constant was made it so much more awful when it did happen; I was never expecting it to happen. Ever. When it did happen it would be passed off as trying to "teach me a lesson," and "that is was for my own good." It was difficult living with someone who would switch from "loving step-parent" to "abusive monster."


My mom, whom I love dearly, did what she could. She had uprooted our little family (for a multitude of reasons other than my brother) and she was now trapped - she had three children with him, had no real way of leaving the state, couldn't leave because he could easily claim my mother was kidnapping my siblings if she tried and she was pretty much alone.
As I grew up and became more mature, my mother began to come to me and I provided her with emotional stability and support that she needed. I became her rock and she became mine. Odd as it sounds, it worked for us. To this day, we have a unique sort of relationship.  

Anyway, my mom had had enough of that nonsense and tried to make efforts to repair the significantly damaged marriage she found herself in. We moved back to Minnesota soon after the school year ended, it was roughly four years after we moved down there. My mother (which is what I generally call her when we greet each other on the phone) and the guy she married were together for about two more years after we moved back. It went quickly downhill from there. It ended badly and he made the situation go from bad to worse. They separated and eventually divorced, but he still finds ways to hurt us. Most of the hurt comes from him trying to take custody of my siblings away from my mother and that deeply affects her. But that story isn't ready to be told; it still hasn't ended yet. 

*************************************************

Okay kids. This post turned out to be way more than I thought it would be. Like, I never figured that it would grow to be this long. 

In short, what I was trying to do was share a little bit about myself that I have never really done so in great detail. I have nothing to hide about it, it happened, it's nothing for me to be ashamed of as I did nothing wrong. I just told the truth.  If people have a problem with that, well, that's their problem. Not mine. 

If there is anything I hope you picked up on from this post is that you shouldn't abuse anyone. Really. 

With that note, I'd like to leave you with a funny picture* I've Stumbled Upon.

*Caution - Contains adult language that may be unsuitable for the younger set. Don't say I didn't warn you. I did. I really did. I gave you plenty of warning. 

Oh, and I apologize for the weird formatting with the space between my paragraphs. I don't know quite went wrong there. I did try fixing it a few times, but it still looks weird.

Rambling

I originally planned to do this epic, sprawling five part blog about my life, but I figured that was overkill and took some of my mystique away (if what I have could be called mystique). I scrapped that idea and now have no real ideas for anything worthy to post as a blog.

But since I denied you the epic five part series of my life, I suppose I can give a brief synopsis of what it was all about. 

Warning: Time travel is about occur. If you are pregnant, have high blood pressure, pre-existing heart conditions, are prone to nausea on rapidly spinning objects, or are just afraid to go back to my past, I recommend you stop here.

Trippy, huh? Okay, not really. 

Welcome to my past!

I was born in Vegas on an Air Force Base, moved to Minnesota, mom discovered she was with another child, moved us to Alabama with the fool who fathered my brother (and later my sisters), things happened, we moved back to Minnesota, they divorced, and I moved around Minnesota (all within a 30 mile radius) a few more times. All the while I was growing up (somewhat faster than I needed to, for reasons that shall not be discussed just yet) and working my way through life the best I could, given the circumstances. I found and lost friendships through my life, like everyone, until I found a set of close friends who I can depend on. Elementary school was awesome, middle school sucked, and high school, except for Freshman year, was great. I am currently in college on the opposite side of Minnesota and have found and made many more friendships. 

And that my friends, is my life in a nutshell. More or less. There are a bunch of finer details left out, for brevity, but other than that, that is my past.

There are new things all over the place for me . . . okay, not really, but there are a few new things floating around in my life. One new thing is how my blog looks. I'm currently in the process of redecorating and what not, so things may change over the next few visits to my little blog. Bear with me as I go forth in that venture. 
Another new thing for me is . . . well, a clean fish bowl! Okay, that's for Faustus (and if you don't know who that is, for shame. Go back a post and educate yourself). But there was a fish bowl cleaning party . . . which was totally a good time. I discovered my fish is either asexual or just wasn't interested in the female fish that was nearby. The others at the fish bowl cleaning party didn't use those exact words, but it was something along the lines of Faustus being a gay fish. Which is absurd . . . okay, maybe less than absurd and a bit more outlandish.


Okay, so I hyped this post up a bit much . . . and will just have to give it the old college try next post. I really don't know what to write about. Plus, I'm exhausted. So, there's that. 


Until next time, when I will have a legitimate post for you to read. Promise.  And trust me, I have it worked out in my head. I just don't want to scrap another post. So, next week, there will be a definite post in which I will be completely open about a part of myself that I am open about, just not into any great detail. 

 Promise.

I don't break pinky promises.

UPDATE: Faustus isn't gay. He built himself a bubble nest, something the male betta fish do for breeding purposes . . . or something along those lines. All it took was some time. Also, my next post is coming along nicely, although it does feel a bit, jilted and unorganized in spots. So, we'll see how it goes. 

Break (Lost Post) and A New Resident

Ahoy there, mateys!

See, pirate.

You can also see that I am need of a haircut . . . at least a trim. That is on my to-do list for the remaining four days I have at home. Did I just say four?

Where did break go?

Excellent question!

Not enough of it went to sleep. I've developed a new sleeping pattern: fall asleep at around 9 o'clock, wake up at 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning. It's nice and all, just not really what I was hoping for during break. I was hoping to spend much more time sleeping and making up for semester. That hasn't happened yet. Another thing that hasn't happened yet is any reading that I planned to do. I need to get on that. Tonight, I promise myself to start A Clockwork Orange. 

In my remaining time at home, I will be spending two days out and about in the snow with people and as for the other days, well, probably at home. Doing whatever.

********************

So, this post is actually an old one and was never posted because I never finished it. I sort of kind of may have lost my train of thought with this one when I was working on it. Whoops? But anyway, I did get a haircut. It looks good and all that jazz.

Seeing as how I didn't want to post this one and another entirely different one because that would be too much, I just consolidated the two into one! Huzzah! Anyway, as of the this weekend, my room has a new resident and no, I didn't get a new roommate, I purchased a fish; a betta fish!!!

See, look? My fish. His name is Faustus, because Faustus is a legit name.

The weekend overall has been awesome. We, and by we, I mean my comrades of Hoyum 5-7, partook in various activities such as going to West Acres, where I bought Faustus, and movie nights, playing spoons, and other shenanigans. It was great.

But that is really all I have to put in this post that is worth mentioning, but tomorrow is the beginning of a new week (well, technically a new week of classes). I'll see what this week will bring and go from there.

New Beginnings

Oh, hey there.

It has been almost a full week since second semester has started and boy have I missed the craziness, and by craziness, I mean awesome, and all the antics Hoyum 6 and 7 can and will most likely do. To be totally honest, I really did miss all of the people on these two floors of what is easily the coolest dorm on Earth. As much as I loved, and needed, that break where I did nothing, I began to grow restless and anxious to return back to Concordia and just hang out with everyone again.

All of the inside jokes, the thick Minnesoootan accents we all slip into from time to time, the landing, oh the landing, and floor dinners too! I missed people, specifically the people I am beginning to consider a family, as overstated and cliche as that sounds. (I know, I know, there's no accent over the "e" in "cliche." Well, I'm sorry.) I missed what is essentially my home and I know it isn't legitimately my home, it feels like one and I've missed it.

Okay, enough gushing about that. Now on to new beginnings and a fresh start! I am incredibly excited for my semester this time around; I signed up for all the classes I wanted to take and not just stuck into (ahem, Inquiry Seminar, Oral Communications). I mean, I love all the people in those classes, it's the classes themselves that sucked. And by sucked, I mean sucked. I don't mind public speaking, in fact I'm frequently found on a stage speaking, however, a slight difference there, but when I am told I have to follow these guidelines and do it this way and on and on and on and to finally have to be graded on it, it sucked for me. As for Inquiry Seminar, well, I just didn't care for the course. Simple as that.

But anyway, I am really excited for all of my classes. I also really like my schedule - it's really nice. Just a few gaps here and there that I could do without, but whatever. I'm really hopeful about all of them and I know everything will go so much better than last semester. Aside from my sleeping habits getting in the way again, *Refers reader to two posts ago*, everything should go well. I predict a bright and shining semester, but I don't want to get ahead of myself, so I'll stick with all of living in the moment and just going with the flow, feeling the flowage and what not.

Seeing as how I have yet to put a random picture somewhere in the middle of the post, here it is at the end. Something I've stumbled upon and thoroughly enjoy for a multitude of reasons.

Okay, so I put two up. I . . . just want you to have a doubly pleasant conclusion to reading this post . . . yeah, that's it, let's go with that. Enjoy the TWO pictures on your way out.






*UPDATE* Facebook is corrupting my ability to write about myself in the first person, so I've edited this post as such.
*ANOTHER UPDATE* I caught another instance of me talking in third person. Again, I place significant blame upon Facebook. I also modified it a smidgeon and have decide to reward you with another picture. 

And there you have it.

Rules

Ahoy there, skippy.

Don't be offended, I call everyone that at some point in me knowing them.

Anyway, now that second semester is nipping at my heels, attempting to start consuming me and my sanity . . . or something like that . . . I have requested some rules that my best pal and her roommate established for their dorm room which I believe could work nicely for my dorm room.

1. No dance parties while Jenna is gone (Jenna is NOT my roommate, she's five hours away)
2. Door = LOCKED when we have our pants around our ankles (. . . Yeah. Don't want to be caught in a compromising situation, but my roommate walks loudly enough I can hear him coming.)
3. No taking naps instead of doing homework (TV instead of homework is okay) (I'm highly likely to break this one.)
4. No dying! (I make no promises)
5. Don’t turn down Combos (Obvious. It's free food, you never turn down free food. Ever.)
6. No murdering with spoons (Again, I make no promises.)
7. Jenna must bring her keys (I tend to leave my keys in my room, all the time, unless I leave the building)
8. Don’t panic! (This one may be an issue toward Finals)
9. No Yankees fans (Also obvious. This is Twins Territory, deal with it.)
10. No expired food . . . in the fridge. (I will go on an axe murdering rampage if this happens. Okay, not really, I'm not violent at all. I will however put in my angry eyes)

Most of these have exceptions and are plenty self explanatory. If there are any questions, please don't hesitate to ask. However, I feel obligated to tell you that if you ask an obvious question, I will be forced to mock you. If we can abide by these rules, I truly believe we can have a successful and pleasant second semester. 

P.S. This post is not what I originally had in mind. This is simply a whole lot easier than trying to reign in my train of thought on the other one I had planned on posting. Just throwing that out there.

Sleep

As defined by Dictionary.com, sleep is a verb which means "to take the rest afforded by a suspension of voluntary bodily functions and the natural suspension, complete or partial, of consciousness; cease being awake."

I am particularly bad, downright suckish at doing this verb at normal human hours. Because of this, I have developed what some people call "night owl tendencies."  Which is somewhat redundant . . . I mean, you only ever see owls at night. When was the last time you saw an owl at two in the afternoon? 
 

 Okay, you win.

However, generally, owls are nocturnal and unfortunately, so am I, sort of. 

I did a little researching as to why I was having such trouble at falling asleep at regular hours to fit societal norms. I came across a specific condition that fit me pretty much to a T. A big capital T, like those last two Ts you just read. I believe I have Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome. 

DSPS Overview, Incidence and Prevalence - Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome - Sleep Channel

Oh, hey look! A magical link you can click! I almost went with Wikipedia, but some people like to question its reliability. Wikipedia can be a useful source if you follow the citations given at the bottom of the page. 


The sad thing is that I've been like this for, like, ever. According to my parental and grandparental units anyway. When I was a wee little babe I had a difficult time going to sleep. Clicking around on that link will show people out there going through the same or similar situation. Huzzah! I'm not alone. 

However, being a night owl has put me in awful situations: Missing several classes and my grades being affected by it. I also have been called lazy, told I have a poor work ethic, and a variety of other things that are completely untrue and hurtful. I don't mean to miss classes. I don't mean to sleep till 12 on the weekends (or weekdays). I don't mean to be anything other than me (I feel like that is a song lyric/line of poetry). I am a night owl. I can't change that. As much as I would like to try and change that, there is no changing that. If I've been like this for 18 years, why and how would I change now? Someone, give me an answer. 

That's what I thought. 

I don't appreciate being told to be more pro-active with sleeping and waking up on time. I do try. Nothing works. I don't appreciate being condescended to because of my sleeping habits. Just because I don't pop out of bed like a Pop-Tart every morning like some people I know [cough cough], doesn't mean I'm a bad person who has no future. Society can suck it.

Okay, society already has been sucking at, well, everything for a while now. 

I am also making generalizations, something I try to avoid doing, but every so often they slip out.

So basically, sleep and I are on really good terms, specifically, its terms. Meaning, no sleeping before one in the morning, two sometimes. If I choose to rebel against it and just say hey, I'm not going to do the whole sleep thing tonight (which happened way too many times first semester), sleep will come up from nowhere and beat me into submission till I'm sleeping, which makes our relationship abusive. (Sidenote: I know abusive relationships are real and aren't a joking matter) Sleep is pretty much the dominant partner here and no matter how much I try to take control, sleep lulls me into a false sense of security and pounces on me later, effectively taking control back. 

And that's all that I'm going to say about my relationship with sleep.