The Church of Saint Chimera

Hey Chimeras. Rabaroo here. Today, I want to talk to you about self-esteem and how your brain is a dick.

I thought I was doing okay on the self-esteem front for a while, but I guess the winter took a toll on my brain because before I even realized it, I had fallen into a spiral of self-hatred. I was thinking that I was unemployable and unloveable. That I’m clearly just doing it all wrong because I can’t get the guy I like to text me back regularly and the person at a freaking temp agency asked if I’ve ever worked before, despite the fact I regularly drive myself to exhaustion with the two non-paying jobs I do have.

March was an interesting month to realize that wasn’t true.

It started with seeing Pink. Now that was an amazing show all on it’s own, but there were things that got driven home during ‘Try’ and ‘Fucking Perfect’. That you can’t give up and that sometimes you have to change the voices in your head in order to stop hating yourself so much.

Of course, that can be easier said than done sometimes. My confidence has a track record of jumping from the window before I can get anything done.

The second thing was taking a class on the foundations of the Science of Mind. Now, Science of Mind is interesting. It’s a philosophy/belief system/whatever you want to call it that your thoughts shape your experience in life. Now, take that as you will, but there was a moment that definitely stuck out in the third week of class. It was when my teacher said that the person you spend the most time with is you. That means you pick apart everything about yourself, and before you know it, all you know about yourself are all the bad things. Or rather, all the things about you that you perceive as bad.

So where did these lessons all culminate for me?

At a fetish convention.

No, really. Keep following me, Chimeras. It’ll all make sense in the end.

I knew I was going to be working this convention, but I didn’t know what to expect at all. Were people going to be creepy? Was I going to be seen as undesirable because there are parts of me that always stand out when I look in a mirror? Would it be super obvious that I’m currently on the lower end of the scale in terms of sexual experience?

The answer? “No, Rabaroo, you weirdo.” 

While I did get a feel of creeper from a few people, the experience overall was a great way to culminate all the lessons I had learned from the class. I was complimented up and down the entire weekend, from my clothes to my looks. I had great conversations and quiet moments that didn’t make me feel like I was boring someone to death and that they were going to be ready to move on at any second.

But most importantly, someone that I thought didn’t want anything to do with me after I accidentally blew him off a couple of years ago kissed me many times and told me I was wonderful.

Well, I mean… among other things, but that’s besides the point.

The point being that all of that really sunk in when he said the words “You’re wonderful.” Because I’m so used to thinking I’m not. I’m so used to thinking in worse possible outcomes as a side effect of the panic disorder. That any slight I perceive about myself is not always obvious to others. No one notices the frizz in my hair or the marks on my body. That’s all just stuff I notice because I spend to much time with myself and my brain is a jerk that makes me want to feel bad.

Chimeras, we are our own worse critics. It’s not an easy lesson to learn. In fact, it’s a lesson I’m still learning and constantly reminding myself of. But it’s true. We pick ourselves apart to the point where all we can see about ourselves are the flaws we think are there. We forget about the things we’re good at or the things other people notice that we might not. We forget that there’s a real choice to wake up in the morning, look at ourselves and say, “Good morning, gorgeous!”

You can change the voices in your head. It’s a process, but you can do it.

And if you don’t have anyone to tell you how wonderful you are, let me be the first. (And believe me, if I could hug you while doing so, I would.)

You are wonderful. 

You are the most amazing and you’re so freaking good at everything you do.

There are people out there who love you, think you’re amazing, and want the best for you. Many of them you haven’t even met yet, but when they get to know you, they’re going to love you.

Everything is right and perfect for you, even if it doesn’t seem that way yet.

But most importantly, the mean things people say to you that you think are true are so not. Adam Savage popularized the quote “I reject your reality and substitute my own.” The reality others try to impose on you doesn’t have to be your reality. The sooner you realize that and start to create a reality that excludes them, the better your life is going to be. It’s hard work, but I know that you can do it.

And did I mention that you’re wonderful?

I love you, Chimeras. Know that we’re here for you. <3

Hey, chimeras, Mapie here.

I know it’s been a long time. I’m sorry for that. We’ve had a lot of changes going on around here, including some changes of who’s involved, but you can expect to see a couple new faces (sort of, I guess you don’t really see us at all, do you?) around here as we move towards summer. 

Today, I want to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind for a few months now. It’s half me giving you advice, half me venting something I’ve needed to say for a while. 

There’s this mentality, I think, that some people— girls especially— get into, usually in high school, where there’s a really big focus on drama, and who’s cool and who isn’t, and being on top in social situations. There’s a lot of backbiting and gossip, a lot of hoarding little bits of information as weapons, and thinking that somehow, someone else’s unhappiness can make you happier. 

I have spent the last six months living with someone who used to be my best friend. When we were friends, she was sweet and supportive, but she was also a total mess in her own life. Our relationship was a combination of me worrying about things while she reassured me and her making comically terrible life decisions and then me reassuring her and helping her get them under control. That was fine, because we were friends, and friends do shit for each other. 

But then we had a fight. That’s also fine, because people fight. And sometimes they fight so badly that they can’t be friends anymore. And that’s okay. That’s normal, and it will happen more than once in most people’s lives. She did things I’m fundamentally not okay with, and I said things she wasn’t okay with, and as adults, we’re allowed to decide we don’t want to associate with each other anymore. We still have to live together until the end of the year, but that’s a thing that can be worked around. The adult thing is to be civil, if not friendly, and try to invade each other’s space and comfort zones as little as possible, because that’s mature and sensible and means no one gets hurt any more than they already have been. I’ve tried to adhere to that, and hoped that she would, too— I used to be kind of a massive bitch in high school, mostly in self defense, and I know how that can turn into an ugly cycle of bullshit, and I didn’t want that. 

Instead of that whole mature-leaving-each-other-alone thing, she has spent the past several months passive aggressively bullying me. She’s refused to speak to me out loud. She’s left snarky, passive aggressive notes on the whiteboard and made snarky, passive aggressive comments about me where I would have to overhear them. She’s brought her friends over and bitched about my general living habits right outside my door, without ever having approached me about the things she’s complaining about. She’s made me feel out of place and uncomfortable in my own home, my own living space, and generally acted like I’m a freak and a loser and she’s this cool popular kid. 

Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I was pretty eager to leave that shit behind in high school. This is college. Getting wasted and going to parties and having a group of dudes following you around doesn’t mean shit anymore. Hell, it didn’t mean anything in high school, really— I did it, and I was still a geek and a freak and that was just how it was. Either way, there are no cool kids or losers here. We go to the second biggest school in the state. Every single social group has their own standards. We’re not friends anymore, not even one portion of our social group overlaps anymore. It’s college. It’s a HUGE COLLEGE. No one has to hang out with anyone that they don’t actively think is cool. There is literally no reason for us to ever have to interact again outside of the next month, and even then, the only actual necessary interaction is stuff like “do you need to pee before I use the shower?” and “I need the oven for the next six hours, so if you want taquitos, make them now.” There is no reason to be a petty dick to anyone. But she’s made my own home so unwelcoming that I hesitate to leave my bedroom to go to the bathroom because it means I might have to see her. She’s catty and underhanded and I worry constantly that she’s going to try to frame me for something or spread lies about me or anything, really. I’m not a bitch anymore; that was a big, difficult change for me, and it was worth it, but it also means I live vulnerable, and frankly, she has a bunch of sketch as fuck friends and I don’t feel *safe*. I bolt my bedroom door when I leave to take a shower. 

Like, seriously. I’ve avoided doing anything douchey back because I don’t want to have to worry about Mean Girls style pranks and drama— suffering them OR having to come up with my own. I want to go to class, I want to hang out with my friends, I want to bake delicious cakes and scroll through Tumblr and watch Sherlock too many times and have my boyfriend over for movie nights. I have a full life. I don’t need drama. Yeah, I think she’s a totally irresponsible, flaky, vapid bag of dicks, and I’m done putting up with her shit on a personal basis, but I also don’t think that making her more angry and uncomfortable is going to make my life better. I just don’t want her in my life. Since she has to be until May, I just want it to be as painless as possible for everyone for as long as it’s going on. 

Yeah, okay, but where am I going with this? 

She doesn’t really have hobbies. Mostly she stalks people on Facebook and judges them cattily and is bizarrely aware of the details of the lives of everyone she hates. She also sleeps with underage dudes or dates questionable guys (not that safe, well-thought-out sex is a problem in general), gets drunk a lot, goes to parties, and takes drugs with strangers in unfamiliar places when no one she knows is around. There are a couple ways to take that, and believe me, I’ve been on both sides of the thought coin on that one— “She’s had a lot of shit in her life and she’s doing things that make her feel in control/validated/alive,” and “Jesus Christ, she’s a giant moron.” Both are pretty much true, as far as I can tell, but she’s not my friend anymore, and it’s not my business what the hell she does with her time. She can be hyper-aware of her ex’s class schedule. She can break up her other ex and his girlfriend/her old best friend because she’s too petty and jealous to handle it. Whatever. When I was her friend I overlooked it, and now that I’m not, I mostly don’t give a fuck.People have a right to be as petty as they want. Hell, I’ve been plenty petty in my time, and if it makes her feel validated, I don’t need to take that away from her. 

But now it’s encroaching on my life. The guy I’m dating now? I dated him a few years ago, and she dated his best friend. She hates him. Like, she didn’t like him when we were dating before, and she didn’t like him after. But a couple of days ago, she sent him a friend request on FB. She doesn’t like him; it’s not a weird, misguided attempt at friendship. There’s literally no motivation I can come up with that isn’t tediously petty and catty and kind of evil.

He told me about it immediately, of course, and there’s nothing I’m keeping from him, so there’s nothing actually true that she can tell him that he doesn’t know already, but it’s still a dick thing to do. I’ve been really sad without him, and I’ve spent months rebuilding drama-free, angst-free trust and goodness between us, and for the first time in years, I’m genuinely happy and content. I mean, I still have stress from family and school and everything, but I got my Prince Charming and I’ve got good friends and I’m passing all my classes, and I’m happy. And she’s poking at the edges of that. For no reason. We haven’t exchanged verbal words in six months. It’s over, it’s done, and I’ve been being good and leaving her alone because there’s no point to being a bitch. If she had something to say, something she wanted to get out, she’s had months to say it. We only have one month left to go. Why is she doing it?

Like, that’s what all this comes down to. I’m kind of pissed that she’s trying to dig her claws into my life to try to control it or interfere in it in some way, yeah, and at first I was really concerned about a Moriarty-style, Reichenbach Falls type thing from her, but I trust him and I love him and if we can be as terrible as we were to each other and come back to each other, I can trust him not to believe her if she makes up convincing-sounding shit about me.

And what that leaves me with is, my god, her life must be really pathetically empty if she needs to mess with mine to feel valid and relevant. If she’s the “cool girl”, with her boyfriend of several months and all her friends, all her parties and drinking and sex or whatever, why on earth does she feel the need— how does she have the time— to mess with my life? If someone is happy and loves themselves, they don’t need to try to make other people unhappy. They go about their lives and live in the moment and do what they can to fulfill themselves. It’s not about taking anything away from anyone. That’s not how being happy, or being a good person, works. 

What am I going to do about it? Probably nothing. If she doesn’t do anything else, I’m mostly happy to ignore her and finish out my semester. I have really hard classes and very little free time and a new boyfriend and great friends and I want to fucking live my life like a human being. I did the drama thing. I’ve had enough. I mean, yes, there are fundamental social rules— don’t mess with mutual friends, boyfriends, parents, or the law— and if she breaks them and keeps on with it and actively tries to make my life harder than it already is, you can absolutely believe that my friends in law enforcement will be made aware of her extracurriculars, and my super-terrifying mother will be brought in (I might not be willing to be a vicious bitch anymore, but my mother is from Jersey, okay, you do not fuck with her or her kids), and I will finish whatever she thinks she’s starting. But I don’t want that. I want to enjoy my fucking college experience. 

So let’s sum up, here.

There are no cool kids or losers. Even in high school. There are people who like different shit and dress differently and look differently. Don’t be a dick about it. You are not inherently better than anyone else because of what you do with your time or who your friends are. 

Starting a bitchfight cycle with someone will not end well for either of you. You might win, but you will be a casualty, too. Ending a bitchfight is sometimes necessary, but do it with grace and totally above board. Dirty fighting will only make things worse when higher powers eventually step in, and both of you having dirty hands doesn’t make yours look any cleaner. 

Good always wins. Don’t be a bag of dicks. 

Hello, darlings! Magpie here. It keeps being appallingly long between my posts, and I apologize. I’m home for the holiday break, currently sitting in a cafe with our new compatriot, Bishop. We decided that it felt like a writing sort of day, and writing to you all is one of my favorite things. <3

I want to talk to you today about the importance of acting like you aren’t real.

So, Bishop likes to tell me that I don’t follow the rules of real life, I follow the conventions of fiction. One of her favorite things to say is that my life is, “an indie film inspired by Jane Austen, with anime influences,” the thing is, okay, the thing is, and this is what’s important— she’s not wrong.

My life is ridiculous. It’s less wild than it used to be, and that’s on purpose, because I do what makes me happy, not what other people find entertaining, but the point is that it is that my life doesn’t have stuff that happens, it has a plot, and a soundtrack, and major and minor characters, and I think that’s an important part of living your life well. If you live like a protagonist instead of like a person, you’re less likely to let yourself be ruled by fear, and you’re more likely to think you deserve (and therefore accept) the good things that come your way. As a protagonist, you’re more likely to make choices from a place of integrity rather than “oh, well, it’s my life…” and you’re more likely to live a life that you’ll look back on, when you’re old and wrinkly and curmudgeonly, and say, “Damn, I had a really freaking good run.”

Live your life like you’ll write it as a book later. Sit with a book in the park. Sit with a sketchbook in the coffee shop. Walk instead of drive. Put yourself out in the world where you can meet new characters, where the plot can move forward. When a plot twist comes, jump on it and let it carry you forward. Most of all, have faith that wherever you are is exactly where you need to be, and that there’s a good resolution to everything at the end. 

Good luck, chimeras. <3 I love you. 

Hey, chimeras. Magpie here. I know it’s been a little while. I’m sorry for that; I’m a fourth year college student, and if you can imagine what would happen if every bit of homework you’ve ever had got together with PURE EVIL and had a bunch of babies…well, that’s pretty much been keeping me busy. Slaughtering the demonspawn that is endless university homework takes up a lot of time.

I want to talk to you today about being the kind of person that you’d be proud to know. The kinds of friendships you read about in your favorite books, that you see in movies, whatever, wherever. You can’t have that unless you’re willing to be part of it—you can’t be part of a pair, friendly or romantic, that’s epic, that would run into the end of the world together and not be afraid, unless you always have each other’s backs, always look after each other and listen to each other, even if it isn’t always what you want to do or hear. And that starts with you.

You have to be the sort of person who always has the backs of the people who are good to you, always answers the phone at three am when they call you crying, always says that thing that nobody else wants to say, even when it’s hard, always tries to listen when people tell you things, even of you don’t love everything they’re saying. Because, when it comes down to it, it’s not about how nice you are, or about how good you look, or that grade you got on your last science test. It’s about being the kind of person whose friends always pick first for dodgeball, and in the freaking zombie apocalypse or whatever,  because they know that a) you’ll have their backs to the fucking end, and b) you’re a terror to anyone who goes against them.

So. When you make your choices? Make them with that in mind. 

Hey chimeras, Zenith here. I’m finally posting something again, so you should be proud, because I’m anything but good at actually doing homework, especially since college started happening for the second time for me back in August. Anyways, right, here’s a thing to read:

I want you all to do something for me. Now, before you go thinking to yourself, “fuck, I don’t want to do that, let me find another tumblr page to look at,” wait one second—I promise it isn’t anything crazy, and you won’t regret it if you keep reading, for just another moment.

I always try to have a smile on my face, and that can be hard at times, I know, but trust me, you can do it. I want you all to find that one thing that will always make you smile, no matter what. Find something you love doing, something that makes your heart fill with joy, and just go for it. It could be anything—drawing, writing, making art, singing really loudly in your car with the windows rolled down so everyone can hear how off-key your version of Call Me Maybe is, baking, listening to old people talk about the “good old days”, doing cartwheels, painting your nails, cuddling a small animal, throwing things in the air, going for a run, planting some flowers, eating spicy as fuck foods—seriously, it can be anything.

The point is, try to find the one thing that you know doing will always cheer you up. For me, during high school, it was color guard. It was the one thing that I knew I would be able to just forget about everything else that was on my mind while doing it. I’m not really sure what it is now, because I’m no longer on color guard now that I’m in college and have no free time whatsoever, but I’m trying to figure it out. Which is why I think you should try to, too.

So go out and find your go-to smile-making thing, and if you’re ever having a crappy day, do that thing and smile.

((Also, a note from Magpie— Friends and significant others are great. They’re amazing. But sometimes, they go away, or they’re busy, and even if you have a friend who can always make you smile, it’s really, really important to do the thing Zenith is talking about here— have a thing that’s just yours, that doesn’t require someone outside of yourself to hold you up, that when you’re doing it, it makes you happy without someone else needing to be the thing that keeps you afloat. People can go away; your joy in something is a lot more constant.))

Hello, all! Magpie here— as usual, apparently. My chimera crew is pretty busy of late— Zenith, Dustangel, and I have just started back to school, Rabaroo is out in the real world, doing real world stuff, and Violetta is…wandering around her foreign homeland doing…stuff. Also, it’s about to be the biggest event of the year for those of us in the Southern portion of the US— Dragon*Con— so we’re all torn between buckling down on classwork and getting our costumes finished. 

Anyways. Today, I want to talk to you about my absolute lack of conviction about my personal future. 

I’m a little bit good at a lot of things. You’d think that would be awesome, but it mostly just means that I’m not great at any one thing. My old high school counselor/English teacher likes to reassure me that people who combine a lot of eclectic skills are usually the most successful, but mostly it just sort of feels like I’m flailing around in the dark, groping for stuff in the hope that I’ll accidentally grab that thing I want to make my focus. It’s not that I think you can only have one direction in life— god forbid— but rather, that I’d like something to kind of… direct my eclectic skills with. A passion, if you will, though I generally detest that word. Something analogous to a passion. Something to push me to extend a little farther in one direction than another. 

Basically, there’s stuff I sort-of-sometimes-usually-tend-to-do. Or, alternately, stuff that came easily to me, and I’m lazily/tangentially into. That list looks like this: 
-art (which I’m vaguely serious about? maybe?)
-lyric writing (but not music writing)
-fashion (but not sewing)
-embroidery (but not often)
-general arts’n’crafting (mostly functionally, for decorative purposes)
-anthropology (my major, and I’m good at it)
-photography (but not like a photographer)
-history (it’s exciting, but I’m not motivated enough to actively study it in a particularly organized way)
-cooking/baking (but only for people I’m fond of, and only gluten free)
-writing (but I never have the motivation to finish anything that’s not pornographic fanfiction, and I hardly ever have ideas that work for short stories)

I’m actually into a lot of things, so I’m going to stop now, but the point I was trying to get at is that there are a whole crapton of parenthetical “but’s” going on right here. I’m not in love with any of these things. If I pretend that they’re somehow going to lead to a lifetime of thrilling adventure or something, they make me think that I might “be” one (or two, or three, or all) of the following things: 
-graphic novelist (even though I don’t do computer art and coloring is not my strong suit, and my usual style of art— pointillism— wouldn’t really be easy to do graphic novels in)
-high school art teacher (even— well, actually, mostly because high school is a horrible place, and people deserve to have a teacher who gets that and wants to make it less appalling to experience, and also because my high school art teacher was terrible, and if she’d been good to me, high school probably could have been really awesome for me)
-anthropology…related…thing…(like, um, I don’t even know? Cultural Anthropologist? Museum curator? I could work in restoration, or museum replicas? I DON’T KNOW OKAY BUT IT’S MY MAJOR AND I LIKE IT.)
-tattoo artist (even though apparently no one in my city is taking on apprentices, because we have an insanely high concentration of tattoo artists here and they don’t want the competition…they’re a weird oligarchical group of artists, but I get it)
-owner of a coffee shop/bakery (even though that’s terrifying in this economy and involves a lot of math)
-musician (even if I’m not a super awesome singer) 
-world domination (but that sounds like work, and people will constantly trying to kill me)

Hey, look! MORE PARENTHETICAL “BUT’S”. The thing is, if there were something I were passionate (I still hate that word) about, I think I’d feel like it was worth  ignoring my parenthetical crap. But I’m not. I don’t have that deep, burning drive to be a— well, to be anything. I have vague inklings to be a lot of things. Which is frustrating, for me at least. Maybe, if you’re otherwise in my boat (which you probably are, if you’re still reading this post, because I’m appallingly longwinded, and it takes personal investment to slog through that) you enjoy that. But I don’t. I want to be like every heroine in every fantasy young adult novel that I chewed my way through in high school. I want a sense of driving purpose! Of certainty, the kind that will push me to fight through the odds! The kind that inspires me, and those around me! And in reality, I, like… sit around my apartment and eat takeout and pretend that I actually ever finish everything. People are like, “Oh, you’re an Anthro major? What do you want to do?” And there I am, forkful of Szechuan tofu halfway to my mouth, bottle of Sriracha in hand, and I’m all, “Uh. You know. Stuff?”

The solution that I’m getting to seems to boil down to this, and you should at least pay attention to this part: Try craptons of stuff until something clicks.

That sounds easy. Exciting, even! But I know you’re sitting there, like I did, visualizing an 80’s movie montage (I wasn’t alive in the 80’s, but I pretend) of yourself, like, going to kickboxing class and learning to weave baskets and shit. And after that thrilling sequence (which is paired with the Dark Side of the Moon song from Mulan, don’t even lie), you remember that all of that takes work. And sometimes money. To take that kickboxing class, you need to find a place that teaches kickboxing! For less than insane amounts of money! And then you need to find a way to get there! And then you have to decide that going to kickboxing class is more worthwhile than, say, watching Teen Wolf or eating Cheetos and playing WoW or even, heck, washing your sheets for the first time all year. And also, you could get injured. Kickboxing sounds painful. You read, somewhere on the internet, that kickboxing is responsible for 9 zillion lazy young person deaths in the nation each year! Probably. And so you never go to kickboxing. And the thing is, you could be destined to be a world class kickboxer! You have no idea! You’ve never tried! But it’s work. And it’s money. And that sucks. 

You think I’m getting to a point here. Like, “That sucks, but the solution is…THIS THING!” I’m not. It just sucks. Trying new things is work and money and time and you’re short on motivation, cash, and free time, or at least one of those things, because you’re a person, and if you had piles of all three of those things, you’d be Mitt Romney instead. 

The not-point I’m maybe meandering towards is this, though. Do it. Like, make a list of fifteen things you want to try doing. And then pick three. And do the legwork— find a way to make them happen. And then pick ONE. And actually do it. Look for money between the couch cushions, start a silly fundraiser with your friends, whatever. Bribe your older sibling to drive you, take the bus (my town had no buses), ride a bus, smile creepily at people in your class who have cars until they agree to drive you if you’ll just freaking stop staring at them like that. 

My list looks like this: 

-martial arts (not kickboxing, oh god)
-actually finish a graphic novel (this requires a lot of expensive materials)
-write a book (so much time and brain-requiring, oh man, but then again, someone published 50 Shades of Gray and I know I can do better than that shit)
-submit my one recent short story somewhere (that’s scary, okay, and it’s a really specific niche)
-start a webshow with my roommate that’s actually funny (that requires skills I don’t have, which means acquiring skills)
-talk to strangers (I only do this when with my roommate or feeling especially attractive)
-beg/bribe a tattoo artist into letting me apprentice with them (I keep trying this one, it just hasn’t worked yet) 

So yeah. I just stopped writing there for a minute because I’m looking up martial art schools in my city. It’s spectacularly poorly organized. Anyways. My not-point is to just…make yourself do it. You could secretly be awesome at something. If you’re low on cash…Practice roller skating and then go try out for roller derby. Learn to whittle. Go volunteer with a school, a library, or something else in your area. I’m trying to do it, to. 

Trying is still the operative word, here. I’ll let you know how that goes. 
 

Love you all, chimeras. <3 

Hello, all, Magpie here! 

I’m packing up to head down and move back into my dorm— this year with Zenith as my roommate, rather than Rabaroo. It’s gonna be weird, not having Rabaroo around all the time— I’ll still see her, but she and I are kind of hermit-y together, and most of our interaction was in our pajamas, at four am, giggling over fanfiction or drinking coffee with ice cream in it. I’m a little nervous about not having her there, grounding me, but at the same time, I’m really excited to live with Z. I’ve got a bunch of new shit for the dorm, and packing, while arduous and apparently endless, is also sort of weirdly thrilling. I can feel the excitement building up in the pit of my stomach— school starts, then there’s a big Sci Fi convention, then my birthday, then my birthday party, then a festival, then my mom’s birthday, then Halloween, then another festival, then Thanksgiving, and then the semester’s over. Fall semester is always this insane whirlwind of adventures for me, and I’m getting to do them with my best friend of 4 years at my side, who I’ve never gotten to live with before, who went to a high school really far away from me— it’s exciting. I’m excited. I’m tempted to use an exclamation point right there. I’m excited! 

This post isn’t to like, teach you thrilling life lessons or anything. It’s me showing you that thing that this whole blog was based on— we got through stuff, and we’re doing a little better now. I got through high school with almost no friends, and now I’m about to move in with my best friend, who was never able to stand next to me and face people down in school, because she lived too far away. I had three awesome years living with a brand new best friend, and now she’s graduated, and is out living in the world, working for a band and writing for a webzine and kicking ass at life. 

So yeah. Every day isn’t perfect, but stuff gets better, and I’m enjoying being excited about it. 

<3 you all, chimeras. Find something to be excited about today, for me, yeah? 

Hey there, chimeras, Magpie here! I wanted to talk to you today about making hard choices. 

I stayed up all night last night with an old friend who knows me better than almost anyone, and loves me anyway. 

Actually, no. I don’t actually want to talk to you about hard choices, or tell you my I-made-a-hard-choice-last-night-story. I just wanted you to know that we all have to make them, and just because you choose the right thing doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt like crazy and make your chest ache. Because it does. Half the time, that’s how you can tell the choice you made is the right one.