Backlog Posts // Dreaded Mornings

I'm not a morning person. I'm a night owl. So mornings were already not my favorite part of the day but when my mind went on strike they became dreadful. I hated mornings, I hated waking up, I hated that I hated waking up. I felt I had no reason to get up anymore, the earth would keep turning whether I got out of bed or not. I wanted to just sleep through the day and live a night life. In my opinion the moon perfect company. And I needed company.

Stella

Backlog Posts // Every New Day

I am a mystery to myself. There are some parts of me I'm excited to discover and others...well I'd rather they stay in the dark corners of my mind. 

There are some mysteries that beg to be solved. Your mind sort of goes on strike until you choose/are forced to handle the situation at hand. 

That's what happened to me. My mind went on strike, that's the best example I can think of. I got very depressed, I couldn't think straight or focus very well and that caused problems all around. I lost interest in many things I once loved. I started dreading every new day.

Stella

Backlog posts // A mystery of a person.

I'm sorry for my absence. I do have  a good reason for it but sorry nevertheless.

You know how when you can't think of something to say so you don't say anything at all? Well that's not me, I can think of EVERYTHING I've ever wanted to say; actually saying it though is the problem. And that's been an even bigger problem over the last few months than usual. 

You see I've learned that in all the world there is nothing more mysterious than a person. Scientists can go on and on about studies and give statistics and such about groups of people, but when it comes to just one person they get lost. They've got nothing. But forget scientists, we're mysteries to ourselves!

Stella

Backlog Posts // Past Tense

I'm writing these next few posts over the next few days as a kind of backlog of what I've been going through in my blogging absence. For that reason they are written in past tense. But some of these feelings are still alive and strong in me, not all of them are in the past yet.

And anyways, I like to write my current feelings in past tense. I'm not sure why. I wish I had a reason why.

Stella

Ohh her.

Lately(past few months) I just...I don't know. I've been so confused, about everything. More confused than I've ever been. I really need things to clear up. Cause like I barely know who I am anymore, I'm a stranger to myself. Well, pieces of me here and there are recognizable, but like over all I'm just...yeah...not recognizable. If I were to walk past myself on a sidewalk in a park I probably wouldn't even notice me. And what makes it worse is that people who know me would notice me. They'd see the outside version of me and say "hey, there goes you!" and I'd be all like "uhh, where?" And then they'd point, and I would say "ohh, you mean her. Sorry I didn't recognize her, umm I mean me." And then I would look over this person that they say I am. I would see little snippets here and there that remind me of me, and I'd begin to believe that this person is actually me! Then I would lock eyes and see right through to the inside of her. And immediately I'd say "nope, that is totally not me, not at all!" 

Fairy Lover

I love fairies. I really don't know why though. I don't even believe they exist, I just love the idea of them existing. Is that what a myth is? When you know something isn't true but you like the idea of it being true, so you hold it as the truth anyway? Or is that just believing a lie? What's the difference between a myth and a lie? I don't know, anyway, back to the fairies... So yeah, I'm intrigued my fairies and the history surrounding them and their powers. Like this one fairy, my favorite, called a Leanan Sídhe, (pronounced LAN-AN SHE) meaning fairy lover. Here's an excerpt from the Wikipedia page on them.

             The leannán sídhe is generally depicted as a beautiful muse who offers inspiration to an artist in exchange for their love and devotion; however, this frequently results in madness for the artist, as well as premature death. W. B. Yeats popularized a slightly different perspective on these spirits with emphasis on their vampiric tendencies:^[2]

The Leanhaun Shee (fairy mistress) seeks the love of mortals. If they refuse, she must be their slave; if they consent, they are hers, and can only escape by finding another to take their place. The fairy lives on their life, and they waste away. Death is no escape from her. She is the Gaelic muse, for she gives inspiration to those she persecutes. The Gaelic poets die young, for she is restless, and will not let them remain long on earth—this malignant phantom. 

Source: Wikipedia®

Sorries

I've been quite bitchy this past week. I don't know what's wrong with me lately, I've been acting like the world revolves around me and my plans. I've been very inconsiderate and oblivious to everyone else's feelings. I'm just realizing it now. I need to go say some sorries.