...

I really don't understand myself sometimes...

There's something really off in my brain. I spend so much time just thinking, you'd assume I had a game plan and all my dominoes in place. I don't. Sometimes I think about making a plan, but...I never go through with anything. Sigh.

I know I shouldn't be treating my blog like a journal, but I literally have no one to talk to. I spent several hours last night wallowing in self-pity because I was always too shy or too scared or too busy to do what I really wanted to do as a kid...and now as an adult, it feels like I'm lightyears behind everyone else.

I never took piano lessons. I never got a chance to play lacrosse. I never want to space camp or science camp. I never took up falconry. I stopped doing figure skating even though I had the talent for it. I gave up and I hate myself for it. What do I have to show for myself? Shitty grades in high school. I can play a little piano because I taught myself, but I can't even read sheet music.

Lately I've been overcome by a powerful urge to relive a stage in my childhood when I was obsessed with space. Planets, stars, black holes-it was all so fascinating and alien, and I couldn't get enough of it. If you had asked me then, I could have told you the distance from Earth to the moon and the average temperatures on every planet in our solar system. And now? I don't stand a chance at becoming an astronomer or an astronaut. I don't. I flunked math multiple times in high school. Although I loved science-physics, chem and bio, I didn't work hard enough for good grades.

I'm not stupid. I know that for a fact-but I know there's no proof of me being the opposite. I've failed myself. I've failed my friends...I've failed my family. I'm never going to contribute anything to society so I may as well not even try, right?

I should try to sleep now...

Planes, trains and auto-no, mostly just planes.

I'M IN LOVE, GUYS.

...

A new life enters the world as another exits.

Famous Aviators

Over the last few days, it seems the aviation bug has been gnawing away at me.

With the prospect of finally achieving flight on the horizon, I can't get enough. Videos, interviews, blog posts, television, movies-and most powerful of all, history.

I don't know if you've ever heard of Howard Hughes. What an inspiring individual- a man who didn't take no for an answer and made history breaking air speed records and building the largest plane the world saw until the Russian Antonov came along. Amelia Earhart, probably the most famous of all female aviators, inspired me as much as Joan of Arc did when I was a child.

Then there are the unsung heroes- Ari Fuji, the first woman in Japan to become an airline Captain- just last year. Yekaterina Zelenko, a Soviet WW2 pilot who died to destroy an enemy fighter. There are thousands of others, pilots and engineers alike, who made the dream a reality, who's names might never be known. Hundreds of thousands of souls like me, who dreamed of taking to the skies, who looked down at the clouds or the earth below with childlike wonder. Thousands who never could. Thousands who gave up. Thousands who turned their back on their desires.

That will never be me.

And it goes on, and on, and on....

Finally, my weekend has arrived. (Yes, I know it's Tuesday. Monday is my Friday. Fun fun fun fun.)

So, what do I have planned?

"Hm, well I think I'll finally rent a copy of Top Gun, and write about robots. And maybe I'll go buy new windshield wipers, since mine are terrible and the rainy weather has hit Ontario. And while I'm at it, I should wash my car-it's still covered in Toronto grime. Oh yeah, and I need to go to the bank, and get a police check, and send money to Algonquin to secure my spot and....oh no, I forgot about residence!"

Instead, I've been sitting at my laptop reading every last article on a blog written by an American Airlines 737-800 Captain and watching Gone with the Wind.

I instituted a minimum word count but I don't think I need to explain why I haven't been able to keep up with myself. Do you have a job? Work four-five days a week, surrounded by screaming children and bitchy adults in a hot and humid environment that sucks the very life out of you? Do you drive two hours total to work everyday? Are you forced to listen to not only seven Taylor Swift songs a day, but also Justin Bieber? What's next, Rebecca Black? Sigh. I think you get the picture.

I'm slowly getting the hang of this new job-so in good time, I hope I can learn to cope better and maybe I'll learn to juggle writing, work, my social life, and other pursuits (such as watching Top Gun) more effectively.

It really makes me wonder...how the heck am I going to adapt to college?!

OH SHI-

Six months and counting. Before I know it I'll be on my own for the first time in my life, in a city five hours away from the people I care about the most. I'll be getting up every morning probably around six a.m., I'll be taking classes again-and tough ones at that-and I'll have to actually force myself to do homework, something I struggled with in high school.

However, I will be FLYING- specifically, one of these:

A OFC Cessna 150, the previously mentioned Golf Foxtrot Tango Mike

And you know what, I've been dreaming of flying nearly my whole life (though by drastically different measures, but hey, it's still flying, ain't it?) and the moment is nearly here. By Fall 2012, I will have all my licenses, and I will be FLYING. Flying free as a bird, but hopefully getting paid to do so. D'OH.

I'm not going to lie to you to save face. I'm scared shitless. I'm scared I'll fuck up on an approach. I'm scared that I won't be able to understand ATC's instructions. I'm scared I won't remember to check everything before I go flying, or calculate the fuel I need corrrectly or-god forbid-crash the damn thing. I've never been good at math. I've never been good at parking my car or putting together cute outfits, or talking to people.

However, every flight school staff I've ever talked to has told me the same thing: "If you have the passion, the skill will come."

And hell, do I have a passion for it. So, will I turn out to be another Amelia? Time will tell, won't it?

Me!

In any case, I think I've found my heaven on Earth. And I've already logged 0.8 flight hours toward my future.

:D

Wrote way over 500 words in the last hour.

Now I can't stop, and I need to sleep. Got work tomorrow.

I have unleashed unspeakable horrors upon myself.

Finally got to Macy's introduction. She's so bitchy in the morning :)

Writing goals and other things

In the wake of my younger sister's writing success, I'm instituting a minimum word count.

I have been trying to write ZERO for two years. I am on chapter two.

Every day, effective tomorrow, I will write at least 500 words of either ZERO, The Ides of November, or Red Dawn. I will likely stick to ZERO, though.

My ultimate goal was, after all, to have written it before 2012.

In other news, I opened art commissions. How sad am I.

My face got tagged

Also I'm bored

Deal with it

List 10 (music) Artists you love, in no particular order, without looking at the questions below.
1. STYX
2. Ladytron
3. Royksopp
4. Daft Punk
5. Foo Fighters
6. Coldplay
7. Owl City
8. Kraftwerk
9. ABBA
10. Rammstein



Now for the questions!!!!!

1. What was the first song you've ever heard by 6?
Um, I feel like it was Yellow, or Speed of Sound.

2. What's your favourite song of 8?

Metropolis perhaps?

3. What kind of impact has 1 left on your life?
STYX gives me chills and reminds me of the Appalachian mountains. I listen to them when I'm sad, when I'm lonely, when I'm sick or frustrated and then I'm magically cured by their awesome.

4. What's your favourite lyric of 5's?

"Time will turn us into statues, eventually."

5. How many times have you seen 4 live?
Zero :c

6. What's your favourite song of 7?
Cave In :P

7. Is there any song of 3 that makes you sad?
What Else is There? haunts me, it brings me to a place I hope I'll never have to see :c

8. What's your favourite song by 9?
The Winner Takes It All <3

9. How did you first get into 2?
Oh goodness, through Last.fm searching artists similar to...Royksopp, I believe? I feel in love with them instantly. They're so talented.

10. How did you first get into 3?
Last.fm, searching artists similar to Daft Punk or Digitalism, can't remember.

11. What's your favourite song by 4?
Digital Love <3

12. How many times have you seen 9 live?

None, and I never will, for they broke up many eons ago before I was conceived.

13. What is a good memory concerning 10?
Rammstein takes me either: a) back to tenth grade when I was in a bad place or b) to the fictional world of one of my novels

14. Are there any songs of 8 that make you sad?
The Hall of Mirrors is really haunting, but most of their stuff is more upbeat.

15. What is your favourite song of 1's?

The Best of Times :D

16. How did you become a fan of 10?
Angry German music? Pffft, I have noooo idea...

Captain's Log, Golf Foxtrot Tango Mike

After some deliberation, some convenient timing, and some begging and pleading, I embarked on a road trip to my nation's capital, the glorious city of Ottawa.

The reasons behind this trip were clear, and duly outlined- to tour a prospective college, and to take an intro flight at the Ottawa Flying Club.

So, after staying overnight halfway, we made it to Ottawa at almost exactly noon today, and proceeded to fetch lunch at a local Subway. I was starting to get jittery after so much driving in a new city and the apprehension was starting to kick in. It's been three whole years since I last flew, but I'd planned my entire future on flight. Scary shit.

Anyways, I got to the flight school, and got a really stupid grin on my face watching a couple big jets thunder overhead. The building itself was small and looked very tidy, tucked behind two large buildings right on the edge of the airport itself. After calling my dad and taking a deep breath, we entered the building, armed with questions.

After-naturally-having 90% of our questions answered (doubtless, more will turn up later) I was introduced to the flight instructor who would take me flying, a young guy named Cory, who won the Webster's award for being literally the best private pilot in the country. We took off the Cessna's coat (apparently they have engine blankets to help keep the oil warmer, who knew!) and walked around a little to check on its status. Then-after fetching some cushions, since we were both a little short to see out- I strapped myself in, slammed the door shut, and prepared myself. I had too much trouble getting the door on the old aircraft to shut, to which the pilot let me know sometimes they like to swing open during flight. Yikes.

After some chat and going through a very long list of checks and getting clearances from ATC, we taxied close to the bottom of the runway. One thing I never knew about those planes is that you control the yaw (traditional left to right motion, like driving) with two pedals. Left pedal, veer left. Right, veer right. Hit the top of either with your toe, it's the brake. So, I got to explore this very odd steering, and I wasn't bad at it. Apparently, it's one of the most challenging things to learn about flying. That's a bit of a relief.

Finally, after another engine and brake check, and getting clearance for take off, we taxied to the end of the runway, set engines to full power, and shot forward, taking off into the air.

You could really feel the wind once you got up there. It was like going over the Skyway bridge in my little car on a bad day, except I was in a tin can of a plane two thousand feet above Parliament. He showed me the basic controls, and I took over.

It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Not knowing whether the wind is what caused that big bump or your lack of experience is a thrill, and not in the good way. After some time I got the hang of fighting the wind. It's nearly the same as driving, just angling toward the wind. Simple enough.

So, I flew over Harper's house, over Parliament, over the Rideau canal and the Scotia Bank centre where the Sens play, and returned to the airport with a smile still on my face and feeling glad I hadn't crashed the plane, he noticed my mom video taping us, haha. Taxied back to the flight centre, shut off the engine and all the controls, and de-planed, took some pictures, bought my first log book.

I'm hell bent on coming back here for the fall.

Rant.

What is it with people these days?

Listen, and listen well. Er, read well. Whatever.

When you come as a guest to a park, a store, a hotel-anything-keep in mind that, in 90% of cases, the employees happen to know what they're doing. They know the prices of merchandise, opening and closing times, what cable packages include what, how much everything costs...the whole she-bang.

For the record, I've just started a new job at a waterpark in Niagara Falls. Yes, I DID just get the job, but before I started I got to read FOUR booklets on how to deal with every possible situation I might ever come across, and my first two shifts were spent with seasoned employees who passed on their knowledge to me. There are even signs EVERYWHERE stating the obvious rules of the park.

At Marineland, I had to deal with a LOT of complaints and stupid guests, but I haven't been so infuriated by a guest in a very long time.

Okay, so, keeping in mind that I know in theory AND in practice how to do my job, let me share a nice little story with you. I was guarding the dry playground area of the waterpark, which is like the play areas you used to find in McDonald's around the States. It had different rules from the other parts of the park-you have to be dry to go in, and UNDER 48 inches tall.

The slightly too-tall kids were being good and there were few toddlers in the area, so I didn't enforce the height too much, but somehow an adult woman slipped past and appeared at the top of the middle slide. I'd really like there to be a minimum height for that slide-it's about 10 feet up, and kids come shooting off it like rockets. Anyways, she sat her 15-month old baby in her lap and, DOING MY JOB, blew my whistle. "One at a time," I said firmly. Usually people just listen to me, since they can't go down otherwise at all. However, this lady said, just as firmly, "he's too little to go by himself."

"No, that's the rule. One at a time."

"But he's too little!"

"Sorry, one at a time or you don't come down at all. That's the rule for everybody."

After some more pointless arguing, and instead of taking the logical route and climbing back down the stairs (DUH!) this lady decides she's going to spider-crawl down the slide with the kid in her lap. Okay, whatever, I'm at the bottom of the slide, can't stop her anyways, can I? And then- I couldn't believe this- she stops at the top of the big drop, and DROPS HER KID.

Threw him like a bowling ball.

Anyways, this kid is barely a toddler, and he was fucking TINY, and it's a big slide even for older kids AND adults- and he tumbles down over and over to the bottom.

I watched this in silence, thinking all the time..."you've got to be fucking kidding me...."

Then this bitch has the gall to blame ME for it. Keep in mind I assumed she was going to crawl the ENTIRE way down the slide with the kid.

"I shouldn't have listened to you! Look what happened! You're such an idiot! *grumble mumble mumble*"

I kept my cool, muttering: "It wasn't my choice to take a baby down a slide he was too small for."

(The kid was perfectly fine, by the way. I don't even think he had enough brain power to realize he was ON a slide in the first place)

Anyways, the bitch stormed off, and I rolled my eyes and continued with my job.

So, why, WHY IN THE WORLD, would she blame ME for HER tossing HER child down a huge slide? I didn't tell you to spider-crawl down, I told you to go down one at a time or get the fuck out, but she didn't listen to me. Guess what happens when you don't listen to staff? You fail as a parent.

I'm by no means an idiot because YOU decided not to listen to the park rules. It is very clearly stated on ALL signs that staff instructions must be obeyed. Don't hate me for being in charge of the welfare of your child and hundreds of other children and adults alike in the park. Just suck it up, obey the rules, and try to be a decent human being next time.

Planes

I can't believe I only have three pictures of airplanes on my hard drive...

Lanc, Boeing 747, Boeing Dreamliner.

Dream Home

Being the nerdling that I am, I have already found several designs I want in my future home. Being a future freak, they are all, of course, futuristic. Here's some of my inspirational pictures:

My house is going to SO COOL.

I want a 60's house so bad. Can you imagine the architecture of a trendy house from the 60's, gutted and renovated with chrome, black granite, and futuristic furniture? Yes, please!

Airships

Some of my favourite airship pictures. I wish they had never gone out of style, it must have been an amazing feeling to look up and see a 600-foot or longer airship hovering overhead.

Such marvels of engineering.

Blimps just don't cut it, do they?

Bring back rigid airships!

...I wish.

For the record, these are NOT my photos and I do NOT remember where I got them from. Sorry.

Music and Memories

Everytime I hear that stupid Taio Cruz song on the radio, I can't help but smile.

Dynamite was THE song of the summer while I worked at Marineland. Every morning on the way to work, I'd hear it on the radio. On the way home, again. Perhaps even during hours I'd hear bits and pieces of it. Now, two seasons later, whenever I think of the light blue water or hear the SWOOSH of the rides, I smile and remember that song. It has woven itself into my memories of working at the park.

My senses have always interwoven themselves with memories, as I'm sure everyone else's does. Smelling a lip balm I used to use brings me right back to the days I spent fawning over my then-boyfriend and the trips to Toronto I used to take, and of the carefree school life I seemed to live, of flip-flops and cool grass under my feet, even the grey jacket I never seemed to take off during that time. Simply thinking about past vacations in South Carolina and Florida, I can very nearly smell the salty-sweet air of the Atlantic ocean. Hearing the screech of metal on metal- specifically that of a subway, and the rush of the wind past your face from the monstrous machine invokes in me a nervous reaction of shaking hands and a rush of blood to the head.

Music, however, has always been infinitely more effective at this than a mere smell or even a touch. Sometimes it's wonderful, everytime I hear the song Mr. Blue Sky by ELO I am reminded instantly of success, simply because the first time I ever heard it was when I got in the car after getting hired for my first job. The song What Else Is There by Royksopp reminds me of a web comic I consumed whilst listening to the band obsessively. However, sometimes it brings heavier thoughts to my mind.

Te Amo, a beautiful song by Rihanna, now gives me the creeps because I first opened my eyes to the MK Ultra mind control horror while listening to it. I cannot even stomach any of Lady Gaga's new material after reading about everything for over a year. For a long time, my very favourite song- Digital Love, by Daft Punk- became taboo because I had dedicated it to my ex-boyfriend.

Every day at work, a particular song comes on, and every time it does my stomach drops and it feels like the world is bearing down on my chest. I can't stand it. To be honest, I didn't like the song when I first heard it, but a certain someone decided it would be our song anyways. He played it for me a few times, and those memories make me want to be sick. It's a sweet song, but it had nothing to do with us. He was disgusting. I've had to excuse myself from situations if the song came on because I can't handle all those memories of him that come with one stupid four minute song. Even now I feel sick.

Right now, I'm obsessed with Ke$ha and Daft Punk's TRON soundtrack. Let's see if any of these songs stick to any memories in the future.

Is There Anybody Out There?

March 3rd, 2052

Tonight I'm leaving this place.

I know it's taken me four years to make up my mind, and I'm scared shitless, but I have to get out or I'll go crazy.

The world has to know. They have to. Right now they're as good as dead- walking corpses. If the world doesn't have time to prepare, everything we've worked so hard to create will destroyed. I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about how little time we have left. Life is short to begin with...no one deserves this. Not a single soul on this planet, save for the three men who started this mess. I don't even believe in God but every night I pray to him.

It seems like such a simple thing, to walk straight out the door and just never look back, but it isn't. The guards stand constant like sentinels, their eyes veiled behind dark sunglasses. You don't even know if they're actually watching you, or if they're even breathing. It scares the hell out of me. I want to go home so badly. I haven't seen William in three years. I don't even know if he's still waiting for me. For all I know he could be dead, laying 6-feet under with so many other spouses and family of some who work here.

I don't even know if anyone will ever find this letter...there's such a small chance it will make it into the hands of someone who can DO something about all this, but it's worth taking. For the future.

Death is the only escape. I refuse to work for these monsters any longer.

Enclosed are detailed records and blueprints about everything they're doing here. Please, please, share them with the world. I'm counting on you. I have no idea who you are, where you're from, or what you do, but it doesn't matter. Thank you. Thank you for everything.

William, if you're out there, I'm sorry.

Leah Evans

Silly things

For some reason I'm certain this is the first internet meme. However, I haven't been on the internet long enough to know. I am on a quest to find out the answer.

L4D2 Joke. Never played? Try it, even if you suck it's super fun and deliciously addicting.

Yup, this bird exists. There's a neat documentary out there everyone and their mother has watched in Bio at some point, featuring a wacky troupe of tropical birds.

Finally got her damn uniform right. Now I don't have you draw you in random girly dresses anymore!

Helen Austerlitz, the polizeikommandant of Berlin's midnight police.

I AM

I feel so much better about myself than I have in years. What brought about this, you may ask? Well, I had a bit of break through. Believe it or not, I'm socially retarded, meek, and shy. I dislike new things because I'm afraid of failure to the point where it's crippling. I'm tired of being a negative Nellie about everything in my life and I'm going to turn every "no" into a "FUCK YES!" This is the beginning of the Monica who has been hiding in the corner waiting for her moment. I'm forcing her out into the world, because whether she likes it or not, I AM, and I'm going to BE.

Don't like it? That's fine. You'll break free someday too.

Don't do drugs, kids.

I was bored the other day so I wrote this.

If you want to know what the song is, here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eo3Mhy6zuW0

YES, it's sort of a song-fic, but also not really. The music is actually THERE, so does it still count? Yeah. I was going to jazz it up more but I have a novel to write, damn it! So enjoy this crap.

The night air chilled her lungs, taken in by sharp breaths, her feet pounding on the wet pavement, ringing out in the night. All around her the music seemed to pound, the ground shaking from the bass lines, trembling synths soaring through her flesh.

'Cause tonight I'm gonna start a fire

I'm gonna lose my self-control

You know what I want

Nothing's gonna stop me now

Her heart pounded in her chest wildly, her breath nearly catching. Around her the world spun, the flashing lights from the concert chasing her, beams of green and blue playing on the pavement ahead of her. Still running, her eyes flicked up to the sky above, feeling the cold rain on her skin, the moon barely visible from behind a veil of clouds.

'Cause in the heat of the night

I feel the hunger burning me inside

In the heat of the night

I see the starlight shining in your eyes

She longed to spread her arms wide and lift off the pavement, to close her eyes and defy gravity. The cool wind and rain flew past her face, and the pounding bass driving into her soul, throwing her foreward like a pair of mighty engines. Her feet raced the wind, wet hair trailing after her as she pushed herself to the limit, every muscle in her body numb to all but the music.

You could be my destiny

In the heat of the night

I'll find a place, a place in time

Beneath the city lights

Her eyes squeezed shut, her arms spreading to catch the wind. The soaring synth sent shockwaves through her body, an electrical impulse that forced her body on. There was no turning back now that she had come this far. The sky was so close. Finally, her eyes snapped open and she was flying.

'Cause tonight I'm gonna start the fire

I'm gonna lose my self-control

You know what I want

Nothing's gonna stop me now

The pavement dropped from behind her feet, and her stomach dropped as her body lifted from the confines of Earth, if ever so briefly before it rose before her again like a shifting ocean wave, crashing into her body. Her mind reeled, tasting coppery blood in her mouth.

'Cause in the heat of the night

I feel the hunger burning me inside

In the heat of the night

I see the starlight shining in your eyes

The music poured into her as her life poured out, a bird with a broken wing still wishing to fly. Her eyes cast up into the sky again, the beautiful, silvery orb that was the moon smiling down as if to mock her.

Greetings / Skybourne

So, here I am, writing my first post on this blog.

Rather than bore you with false promises of what I'll be posting on here and how often I'll update, have something different.

SKYBOURNE

The helicopter's twin rotors fought the storm as best they could, the tremendous sound nearly beaten out by the crash of thunder and the howling of the north wind. On board, the pilot fought to keep the aircraft stable and on course. Around him, the slew of buttons and controls blinked and buzzed in an order only someone in his position could understand. The radio signal had long since died, leaving in its wake an eerie static that seemed to whisper to him- don't bother fighting this. It's a wasted endeavour, and you're well aware of that.

The pilot gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the joystick, trying to keep on course. Now wasn't the time to give up. He had a mission to accomplish, and he was hell bent on getting there.

The aircraft was old but strong; and she braced herself against the storm with a ferverous passion to complete what was likely to be her last journey. The ocean frothed beneath her, waves reaching out to stroke her maliciously, begging her to become one with the ocean. She pointed her nose toward the sky and trucked on, ignoring the ever-present pull of the ocean.

The tropical storms of the Pacific islands were well-documented, but the pilot had never found the time to worry about the weather so far from his home in Portland. Right now, fighting against the wind and the rain for his life, he wished he had. His chopper wasn't fit for this kind of beating. She was once a military convoy, shipping soldiers back and forth from home to the middle east. With that war a passing memory, she had found a new life, and now it figured that the seemingly less dangerous one would be the end of them both.

Struggling in the cockpit, the pilot called out for help again, but there was no tower in range to pick up his signal. With a choking sob, he dropped the radio to the floor of the copter. I'm going to die here. I'm going to die, totally alone, in the middle of some god-forsaken ocean, he thought with another racking sob. He was not yet thirty, still young. He had a beautiful girlfriend waiting for him back home, parents who had bright hopes for his future, a little brother who looked up to him. What would they think? He was once the best helicopter pilot in his state, what would he be if he failed?

He shook his head, squeezing the joystick tighter. Negative thoughts weren't going to get the job done. With determination brewing in his heart, he set the engines to full power-something he never did, for fear the craft wouldn't be able to take it-and angled forward dangerously.

She did as he bade, cutting through the treacherous gale force winds like a ship cutting through the tumultuous waves of the ocean. Behind the controls, the pilot felt like the captain of some ancient ship, fighting for his life and the safety of his vessel; braving time after time whatever the world threw at him if it meant the slightest chance of a better life.

He didn't feel anything when the helicopter started to plummet to the ground. He didn't feel the wind and the rain on his face, nor the shards of glass that bit into his skin. His head simply lolled on his chest as the aircraft fell through the air, her rotors still trying their best to keep skybourne. When the impact came, he couldn't smell the smoke, or hear the frenzied cries of the village people. The hands grabbing at him might as well have been those of ghosts. Ghosts that breathed into him, pumped on his chest, crying out to him in desperation. Above him lay the broken silhouette of his best partner, his former friend, laden with the food, water and medicine Borneo so desperately needed in wake of the tsunami.

The job was done.