Yeah, I guess I'm back for the time being. Feelin' the need to whine.

Life update (since y'all care so very much): some time ago, 'round the end of October, something happened. (Way to go with the vagueness, ne?) I didn't think much of it, until it happened again, a few days later. Doctor's appointment was scheduled. Was poked, prodded, and clinically 'examined' and was told that there didn't seem to be anything wrong with me. Had blood sample taken. Discovered intense, trembling-tears-running-down-face-staring-at-ceiling-oh-god-get-it-over-with fear of needles. (Ironic, since the blood drive was yesterday, and it is now no longer necessary to have a parental consent form for seventeen year olds. I did not donate. I'm a horrible person, I know, but having a nervous breakdown in school was not on my list of happy things yesterday.) Had another appointment set up with a specialist. Thing happened a total of three more times, in the course of a week and a half. (That's five total, if you were keeping track.)

Saw specialist yesterday. Poking and prodding was, thankfully, kept to a minimum. Blood pressure still ridiculously good (betcha it won't stay that way when I'm thirty...), have gained four pounds since first appointment, less than two weeks ago. This was immediately after eating the better part of a box and a half of girl scout cookies, mind. Was told that I probably wasn't dying, so should stop painting face with ashes. No, really. *rolls eyes* Was actually told that the one episode probably wasn't serious, but if it happened again, they'd have to do serious poking and prodding, most likely accompanied by sedation and a hospital bed. Unless, of course, I wanted to endure that now. The vote was a unanimous 'no'. (Mind, were the circumstances different, I might have said yes. Maybe. Doubtful.)

Am now keeping fingers permanently crossed that it will not happen again. There are some things that I just don't want to deal with.

Further life updates: I am a Latin geek. I've moved out of dorkdom and into the realm of geekiness. I am gradually coming to accept this fact...it amuses me greatly, actually. I have also decided that if a friend ever tells me not to read something, I will respect that. Minor revelation. I will suffer the bane of my eternal curiosity quietly, but I will respect the fact that I probably don't want to know, anyway.

The current depression is most likely an early attack of the hormones, set off by the fact that dad is in Vegas and mom is in NYC and I'm at home with my computer. That, however, is a minor rant for a less public forum...and I'm not in the mood to write in my Scribble. I am fine. I should take a nap. I might.

In other news, I'm suffering from a very minor, very silly (as in, "I'm marrying Kenneth Brannaugh" kind of silly) crush on my creative writing teacher. All because of The Great Gatsby, naturally. And kickball. But speaking of Kenneth Brannaugh (I'm sure I'm spelling that wrong), Harry Potter is out today! (Why yes, my alter ego is Captain Obvious! How clever of you to see through my disguise!) And the very short clip of the wizard duel that they show in the ads on tv shows just the barest, most scintillating glimpse of not only our favorite over-acting Shakespearian god, but also of the one, the only, the deliciously eeeveeel Alan Rickman, wearing those sexy sexy robes.

Not a word out of any of you. My propensity for crushing on aging British actors is not subject to criticism. (Now, if only Ian McKellan weren't gay...kidding! kidding! Though if he were about eight years younger...)

Non sequitur- I've been saying many very stupid, very rash things lately. I'm to be ignored every time I open my mouth, especially if I've been caught sketching twisted looking people with things sprouting out of their backs. I may take up doing literary collages- I do wish I had a working scanner, if only because it was so very, very disturbing. Pretty, in an Edvard Munch meets Americanism meets Yoshitaka Amano, but nowhere near as cool or talented as such a mixing would be. (This is where I pretend to know what I'm talking about, by the way. I don't, really. The picture was fairly crappy, but there was something about it that I liked. And it was disturbing, unless you really read the words very carefully. Then it was still disturbing, but at least it wasn't about me anymore. Unless I was talking to myself, which I wasn't.)

Finally watched Masters of the Universe. Prince Adam amuses me. So does Skeletor, but not nearly as much. *nostalgic sigh* Why, I remember, back in the day- way back in the day, mind you- wishing I were She-Ra. Come on, what girl didn't? Oh, right. More or less all of them. Still. It would pester the boys horribly, having to put up with my whining until the parents rented She-Ra episodes from the video store- but never nearly as much as when I wanted to rent My Little Pony videos. *evil laugh*

Aw, damn. I still can't believe all my old My Little Pony dolls were thrown out. *sigh* And now I'm depressed again. Rarrg.

Too cold to get up and find something to munch on, though...but perhaps I can rouse my carcass enough to put the kettle on for tea. That's tea, not tea, mind you. *grin* Oh, I'm so cheesy sometimes. And that was horribly obscure and pointless.

This whole thing was, actually, but hey, it's been a while.