This time, I’m not dying…

This blog has died and withered too many times. And this… this won’t be the last time, but it will be the last time, for quite some time. There will be no hibernated whimper. There won’t be a suicide note. There won’t be another fight and absence.

It has gone on for too long.

This is a stand, a rebellious declaration of defiance. At all of it. All of the unreadiness, the uncertainty, the fear, the pain. The Light is fated to end this.

We-me-myself-I-whateverfirstpersonpronouns have been training in secret over the past 8 months to plan a decisive and controlled change of the status quo. The next dawn will be a herald of our reckoning.

When the  flagship hoists its flag tomorrow, it marks the beginning in the Operation to Restore the Conglomerate. It marks the end of belligerence, it marks the end of unpurposeful living. It will be an honour and duty to ensure that these revisions and tactical strikes are performed with an exceptional manner. It will be my honour to chronicle it as advice, and to have hope that this could support others through their times of need.

The journey will be treacherous. But the Conglomerate is stronger, better, more prepared, more maneuverable, and proactively ready; and so, this farce ends – now.

ToDo list

https://twitter.com/#!/anolaana/status/105577984521547776

https://twitter.com/#!/anolaana/status/105578129371832320

Quality Control, Part 1, Fatigue and Minds

Sticking to plain simple names now. Too much puffing myself up this week.>.<

You’re too impulsive, woman!

You think you can do any-bloody-fucking-thing you damn well like in the space of a day by heating up a plasma reactor and biffing (ie, throwing very hard) it into your objective! Sorry to damn well say, the world don’t DAMN – WELL – WORK – like – THAT!  *the officer bangs fist into the table*

Ugh, sorry. Tired  as hell, ma’am. It’s just, nothing’s getting done like this. I mean, everyone is saying that, but they’ve got it wrong. It’s not your administration, ma’am. It’s just the lethargy and this fatigrunkeness that’s killing us all.

Smart officer he is too.

I am ridiculously sorry for how this week has turned out. It’s been even more hectically up and down. I set out to reduce spam, to improve people’s quality of life, and all I’ve done this week is flood your inboxes with spam and rickrolls. *sigh*

It, of course, all comes down to “leth” (so chosen at the time because it sounds like meth-amphetamine, or p, a dangerous drug with global prevalence). It truly is a problem very much like drinking. Of course, it wasn’t until @DiscoPriest and @Palmetto_Rose commented over the past few days that I had to draw the effects out into the open. One day I ended up noticing a student with a Drug and Alcohol booklet from his health class. That got me thinking. I filled in an ALAC questionnaire, and should I have been a drinker… I would have been in the danger zone. I sleep that little! *rolls eyes*

The current Field Psychological Manual for the Laanatic Conglomerate, provisional/tenative revision, states the following:

The leth stage, encompassing what’s currently/provisionally Phase 6a of the sleep cycle, is extremely dangerous. It is severe and not to be messed with, and should be removed as soon as possible by a return to Phase 7, while mitigation should occur immediately by shutting all social links and .

How much of my thoughts relate it, make it sound like, drinking? A lot. Sure, it’s a recent, untrustable attribution, but a major discovery and paradigm shift. A direct, not indirect, not implied, philosophy change. But what I didn’t do, is put that info back in to be re-parsed *sigh*.

Ever wondered why I don’t drink? Because I’m so goddamn fatigrunk that I don’t need to be. When I’m tired, I end up pretending to be Ava. Although not anywhere near as good. Yeah, I’m a try hard :(

Now this is going to be reasonably pseudoscientific since I don’t specialise in this sort of field. But, here goes.

With even minor amounts of fatigue, more consciousness-energy has to diverted (somehow) subconsciously suppressing it, much like a police state, meaning less of one’s consciousness is available for doing proper tasks. It hits a lot of the rational and abstraction facilities (how? IDFN, I don’t do neurosciences… you chuck people into giant vats of magnetic fields for me and tell ME how all their neurons signal companies are working) and depletes pretty much every single sensor that I have. A memory drop out of the floor occurs, meaning perception takes a short hari-kiri break, timespans don’t work and invalidate rational analysis, and abstraction – planning, judgement, most reason – all go splat, because there is simply no way to remember all the features at once without forgetting something.

That’s why social reassurance is, rather ironically, the way to move back into Phase 7; because you feel like absolute SHIT. You will struggle to concentrate. Your consciousness will flicker between several threads, and this aint fucking hyperthreading, I give up on every new thing. As you realise what you’re doing, hopelessness, fear and remembrance will phase in and give you crap until you sleep. And when you wake up, you realise how futile they were and shallow; and flick them away with a single gesture.

Weird, isn’t it?

Alcohol also makes some quite drastic changes to tone. That drain to stay awake, to keep moving or get frozen up, and the almost physical fatigue it causes, shunts my brain to its back seat. I can barely type a post like this, in fact, I have no bloody idea how I’ve been doing them (writing like a tipsy person) all week… Priority one is actually going to be making sure that sleep stability is ensured by understanding the cycle, not by external psych. That’s probably going to end up being 1a, actually. How much things change… And you know what? Some smartass PhD has probably done all this work for me and I could have Google-f-searched it. That makes me sad, but that’s why I’m writing the blog, so I become the person you get from Google who explains it all! :D

I don’t feel like a girl at all when I’m tipsy. I revert into hyperscientific rational factual cold ruthlessly calculating. I don’t like that lack of control. I prefer my old, more vibrant-feeling self. I prefer its flow. And as I try and work towards that, while drunk, I get nothing done. Bare fragments last night streamed towards this post… but it was like, “oh shit, what have you done, look at the bigger picture”.

Is it proof?

It can return at any moment. Drunkeness can too. All you need to do is run out of sleep. All you need to do is imbibe alcohol. Both get you temporarily impaired in thinking, in some fashion (alcohol being a suppressant, likely has very similar actions on your neurons. I believe it’s physically harder to make connections). Both take a while to clear. Both make you do things you don’t want to. And so, even if both aren’t given the exact same treatment, they are extremely similar impairments.

All very well and good then, hypothesise that “Sleep=ImpairedAsDrunk“. Yeah, yeah, how can we objectively measure these results? How do we see them? How can we measure this? Experimentalism and scientific method have to lead to casuality; without proof, you’re nothing.

I actually had a great idea for a fatigue index. I forgot it promptly last night, but spelling and maths skills. You’re not quite as bad as drunk, but it makes a noticeable difference. I can personally tell when it’s time to shut it down; that’s typically 75% of any sleep I’ve had over the last 48 hours, with less than 16h total sleep, and about 90% with about 20h of sleep (but then I go into the explosive, mental-boom cycle which I need to cover).

 

What I’m picking at here, is that fatigue is as much a problem as drunkeness, and for dividends to pay off, it needs to be treated like one. Sleepless nights have the same social-communicative effects as binge drinking (not as much on the health side; mental health is more severly impacted here). To achieve mobilisation proper, it has to be the first to go, because these little mental terrorists like driving my mind to insanity and killing all my strategists. And they’ve risen by my inaction; so too, will they be quashed by my actions.

Scouting report: Skirting “The Cycle”

It’s no secret. My problems are flooding into the open like thousands of gallons of pollutant sewage – that is, every negative swing.

I finally understood; people don’t hate people; they either hate what they say, or have no idea who they are. I’m misinterpreting a lot of social signs.

And when you do hate me, it’s not me. It’s what I’ve said, stupidly, that has offended or chided you. The immaturity is what gets you. And you’d be right to imply scoffing (but not to do :P ).

Why do I get these mood swings? It’s like cutting off the power. Run out of stored sleep; run out of fuel; run out of electricity. Plain and simple.

I don’t like admitting mistakes. I particularly would like to believe that I would have never done it, or never done it while I was awake. But one measure of a person is by their worst, not best; not to mention if I never face these problems, they’re going to come back. So I – I, not the brain, not we “brain-and-I” – need to break the fear of these problems temporarily.

So I need to find the problems (I like to call them terrorists, so I can blow them up). Then, I need to find the causes of each – typically a worry, a fear or habit, and find arguements to remove them. Each worry removed means more time at efficiency, less time in mood swings, and less stupid.

I hate stupid. I hate hate hate hate hate it. I can’t see why I’d ever allow myself to do it; but that means beating myself up in worry over it. I can’t see how the hell I allowed myself to run out of discipline to start swearing or horny on the damn internet, get so fatigued I was good as drunk, or believed that I could get away from sleep all the time. I’ve got to start making major policy changes, as soon as I can.

I’ve touched all too briefly on the base causes, but not actually what happens. Let me describe these fluctuations and mood swings, because it’s not actually as apparent as I think (and the fact that I, myself, am not actually sure, which means I don’t actually know the concept as well as I need to):

  1. Neutral. This is actually more like a 60-70% of capacity due to sleep, but meh. Awake. This was the middle of the day yesterday, when the posts were rolling out.
  2. Mistakes. Fury. Arguements. Something I have disdain for. Something I need to change.
  3. Get really enraged that it happened (a whole “Have to fight it! CHARGE!” and cavalier thing) and not sleep.
  4. As I move to fight it, my mood warps as headaches roll in, my mind becomes apathetic and I cannot concentrate. Personality starts to disintegrate as focus gets strained. I should probably be sleeping anyways.
  5. Say something really-really stupid, because I’m running out of sleep. Alternatively, get horny (sigh). Typically the stupid happens midweek, and the latter occurs during the weekend.
    1. This is typically due to a loss of logical reason. I can usually prevent most of this by reasoning that I’d be better off by not saying that. The hot stove extrapolation goes as I lose abstract thought. It essentially becomes a big BFS.
  6. Do the whole OMG thing… but this time, have a cry about it :\
    1. This is the danger zone. It causes very, very strange distortions of logic. However, it causes 7 to kick in – that is, as a countermeasure to 6a. 6a causes isolation, panic and fear, and commonly points fingers that nothing is working.
  7. This forces logic to kick back in. Everything shuts down and is under mental comfort-triage.  I have an early night, and get pushed back into 1.

Starting from just before my first proper post, written as I was on a plane home…

[Possible 5 – saucily provoke @Velidra and @Formerlychaotic?]

3. Wrote post on fear.

4. Stayed up too late when I was already tired. Energy levels were already starting to level off by the early afternoon.

5. As we moved into the evening, I started talking horribly dirty. The last time I did this, I was awfully drunk. I’m typically a prude, and hardly ever talk about sex. Even saying it is weird. I still couldn’t sleep, and by morning, I snapped at two men in a rather unnecessary (and rather territorial) way.

6. As I started to realise what had happened, I immediately scrambled a response.

“4.” In my pushing fury to resolve the situation in a proper, professional way I burnt out. Went back to sleep until 2pm.

6-a. By then I started picking up on how awful I was being and how little I could do about it.

What happens is that by following anything, I worry, and this actually pulls me closer towards my mum.

Logically this exposes worrying as the key issue.

This exposes chronology as a subsequent sub issue, and a revisit to time, rates and habits will be required to keep the almost divine supply lane of sleep open.

Thing is, we’ve the whole no-sleep thing is over rated. I’ve reached the limits of an all-awake system. I’ve had this realisation that this was the limit of the current habit-architecture for a while. And the time will come that at this limit will no longer be enough to meet daily needs. Fate is letting time push you along into anything it likes; and to be proactive, to have that ability to dare and respond to life, to wield that power of speed and mental grace is to get the largest tactical advantage in life.

A most disappointing affair

I got my ass kicked real well by drunkenness. I didn’t think it’d ever bloody happen again. *sigh*

It’s just so bloody stupid. It ends up as a farsical affair, because the public eye watches everywhere. You’re expected not to make these mistakes, because they’re really fucking dumb. For everyone. Accused, acusee, and bystander, everyone’s honour gets hit by the shrapnel of these sorts of things.
I didn’t think that would ever happen, either.
And that’s exactly how it kicked my arse.

I’m shutting down for a few; blog posting will be halted and sealed until I can get a proper investigation carried out into this. This is not something I ever expected to happen twice and it won’t happen thrice. A proper apology is due at that time.

“25” and Fear’s Bane

I ended up listening to my other pop culture song. It’s Taylor Swift’s 15, and although I’m a long way past it, coming up on 9000 days alive (OMG POWER LEVEL), I sure don’t feel much like one. When I call myself a /girl/ as opposed to /lady/, I mean it. Nothing much has changed since then. I’ve moved from passive-agressive, to sporadic activism, to full war declaration, but that’s it really. At the end of the day, I’m still the rebellious bitch to her. And my issues still live on, so I train and fight smarter. I was the quiet girl who kept at the side of the class, and now I’m the teacher. Well, on that front it definitely changed. The backend, not so much. I live like Hermione-fucking-Granger, for goodness sake. Thankfully that got-gets you respect and keeps stupid at bay.

Some days, I just want to curl up and fucking die. I’m so tired I can barely think straight, I’ll have piles of work to do. Endless piles… I’ll probably have just dearly insulted somebody like a drunk – and subsequently… have nobody to talk to. After that many cycles of awakeness-fatigue-awakeness-fatigue… again… again… again… again… again…

It just feels like it will never end.

That hope has run out.

The mortal blow has been struck.

WHY? Why, why why why why why WHY WHY FUCKING WHY?

My damn tears start to flow. It feels so fucking hopeless.

I want a hug. Dearly, dearly want one. Chances are there just isn’t somebody who I’ve entrusted about this to care. And I’m alone.

I write this post in and because of fear, yet again. I can’t sleep. I feel alone again.

Fucking why?

This phenomenon runs a very close parallel to Tiger parents. I’ve explained last time how much of a knack for concept understanding I have; and pushing it doesn’t fucking work any better, I tried, I worried, I cursed and I mentally beat myself over it. Sooner or later the child becomes too much of a social cripple. It’s like politics, you don’t invest in your businesses and spam flailing welfare, a decade later your economy flips over and recesses. It doesn’t work. The best nation on Earth cannot remain the best with a crippled living standard, nor can it be productive.

Simply put, you can’t artificially push on a person. A child, while not as fully developed as you and I, is like a lowbie. She (or he, I can’t be androgynistic, that would probably be bad for PR) has the same emotional needs as any other, and while excessive discipline is one way of achieving that, parenting doesn’t have to be endless chastising. If it is, they’ll come out on the other end and probably commit matricide. You don’t want that… it’s the fancy way of saying “killing your mum”…

The other part of my experiences with this stretch deeper, and have been more recently revealed. They run deeper, these wounds, and even the newfound spirit cannot quash them.

It’s the need for approval and the superlativity, the leading superiority and the absolute requirement of staying ahead. Not alpha. Just ahead. The why aren’t you doing your best  – why didn’t you apply yourself practically moping? All from shit parenting. Let me explain before you become a demonstration of what I mean.

I am reliant on my skill and worth to stay ahead of the pack, out of mocking and failure. I have always been here. It’s ridiculously hard to so much as emulate their thought processes, as I dismiss them as ridiculously inefficient and stupid. Then again, they’d describe mental harm, like this, in the same way as I am now. Plus, it’s the IB mindset that counts when you teach it to others, even those who go around blowing stuff up. It demands that I be the best, always, strive for it, and if there is a problem, resolve it quicksnap.

The problem is not a problem, it’s a political issue about the sourcing of passion, a derivative product of emotional stability. No, you’re not social tools! I refuse manipulation like the devil reincarnate! I’m simplifying your emotional impact for the sake of medical-psychology… and so tired I’m practically dyslexic. I don’t know the symptom of switching the letters, so I can’t say I’m that.

Passion is the single most strong pervasive force in the universe. Not compound interest. It’s the equivalent of gravity – it never runs out, ok, maybe Hawking Radiation, but it’s not like the Earth evaporates… – and as strong as, well, the weak force (misnomer, this thing is nuclear fusion). Now that’s why marriages last a long time… or burn within a couple of months.

Yes, that IS one thing I learnt, like Taylor Swift.

The reason why my job wasn’t going so well was because of the fluctuation of supplies. I can’t remember what economics is supposed to call this, materials or somesort, but without these, my mental economy was buggered. I got there in the end of course, but it was slow. It was chaotic. And there were many, many, many riots in this brain.

Going back to what this sleep-loss and instability was doing, it was causing panic and fear.

Sorry. Didn’t explain the source of the original sleep loss. It was what we would typically class as an addiction. It was gaming in general, of which the history stretches back about 9 years to when I first got a laptop. A couple of years before that I had heard about the Sims from my… uh… father’s colleague’s daughters. I couldn’t understand it, tbqh. I installed it, played the tutorial, and dumped it (like I hear everyone whining about RuneScape at school)… wait, no, actually it was Pokemon Sapphire the year before…

Er, sorry again. I ended up playing into the night to fill a void gaming couldn’t fill. I was worried, and I said that gaming would soothe it. It didn’t. The only thing that did work was making a personality clone of RP-Laana and imagining she was my stepmother. Truefax.

No, I’m honestly not joking. I made an imaginary stepmother. I started crying once I realised how much shit this was. There’s something seriously fucked up about that. Dear friends, that is what the fear is in a short-paraphrased clippity version. That is what happens when you force a person to walk to exhaustion without moral care for them. That is why you only have 1 shot at a marriage. Well, more on that later.

[TL;DR]

For goodness sake, treat your child with a bit of dignity and respect! They’re people too, even if they’re gingers (PC note, I don’t have anything against them personally, but after hearing “GINGER ALERT!”, believe me, I’m worried). Be open to them. Let them spill their troubles on you;  because if not, the results and consequences will be worse. And if you can’t? SORT YOUR SHIT OUT FIRST, M**F*KER.

We’re now underway, Miss!

Sorry! This is heavily fragmented from ! I’m just too tired to edit it thoroughly and re-edit the re-edits for flow… tentatively, this is the draft of the Second Statute of the Blogistution to uphold the tenets of the Light and provide legal and visionary basis for writing content here.

It’s been an interesting day. One of my most productive, most youthful, and most provisional to the next. Thoroughly amazing pieces of info have been rolled through to patch (ok, become experience) and been collected.

Yes, that was a cliché. You’ll have to excuse me.

Thanks for making it an interesting one. I’m too tired to explain it… :P but, you know I truly mean it. Hopefully.

The first mobilisation has begun, and the formal crusade against parenting will be in logistical and strategic preparations over the next few days. In the meantime, basic operational patrol has begun and data is being collected. I’ll explain why I’m doing so as soon as I can, and how I intend to achieve this. Veeery soon. In the meantime, I’m going to write this, and enjoy my girlishness by letting my fingers run around madly. No, don’t even think about me in a damn bikini. Goodness you’d be a piece of **** if you were. You don’t even know what I look like. I could weight 270lbs for all YOU know (I don’t, but still). Don’t be such a bloody pervert.

To the rest of you, sorry.

The second mobilisation is the original blogistution.

Blogs are interesting voices of mind. They are publishing spaces, for free. They let fierce words and strong arguement prevail; truly a medium of modern free speech. And that’s why it’s important that my communication and expression is concisely precise.

Granted, it’s not going to be perfect. This is a chaotic, random universe, with so many moving parts something’s bound to come wrong or float into the gears of it. But I feel I could do a whole lot better.

I endeavour to change. I endeavour, dear reader, to change the status quo of my expression. The best people, of all categories are always stand out- and always unique. It is my intent to strive for this.

Ever since I made the first battle a year ago as a rebel force against the oppressions of crap parents and discovering the source of why I was so lost and childlike, I’ve wished to help others. (I found it. It was provisions of sleep. It was, indeed, fear. Coupled with going back to high schools. I also intend to express the followed source – and this time (ugh, villiany!) it won’t escape.)

It is thus, in the combination of the two, that my intents are stated as blatantly as ****ing possible, in the highest quality of expressional writing possible. The best writers let you see through their eyes. That is my vision. Is it possible? Maybe. Am I vain? … certainly!!!!!!!!11!!!! Well, ok. I am a bit, but it’s good to strive, right? I won’t ever become as good as them, but I want to come damned close.

Bad expression is just… muddled, undeveloped, unexplained, unclear, uncohesive, verbose crap you shouldn’t need to read in paticular. It’s good as a capture of the time it’s written, like a photo… but it has no artistic value. It doesn’t communicate anything, but what the tone does.

Bad expression was the first post in which I denounced a member of my server for leading a PuG and then biting my ass for kicking him. Reasonable and un-reasonable to bite me.

The tone of these words is important. As soon as the first battles and “terrorism” (snicker, rebellion is sweet) had been won by late 2010, it became apparent that I would have to double-push for this to become a better teacher. Hmm, I’ve said it many times on my blogposts and such… should I publicly post this? The moving of experience and thus, knowledge in dealing with situations, is best moved with clear and precise writing. Which was sporadic under the oppression, and limited to passive-voice objectivity. It took me back to the years of efficiency back then. Yes, I did get very high marks (At the time, both NZ High Schools and the Uni I went to had just switched certification systems). Previously, from 9-15 years old, I had been within the top 2% of my cohort in every EAA exam (we call them ICAS these days) I did. If I had been healthy, I imagine that would have gone on to 18 years old.

Sorry, blabbing about my history (important to understand and study, not to recite. Goes for the subject too). The important part about one’s tone is it changes the entire context. People say you can’t get tone in writing, and I say BS, because the word choice is everything. It is true that it is diminished without an actual voice-tone, which has full modulation. This is why I preserve swear words at current. Usually because I’m angry or really tired. I don’t typically, but if I would I will. You can bypass certain blanket filter-proxies using https: for any WordPress site or GReader, which has a https service. Search cache, where not blocked as a proxy itself, also works. Don’t tell my boss/IT managers I’m telling you this.

Sorry! Tone has to be clear, and uncondescending. To be blatant – or implying – is to get your tone across. To flavour your text using words and passion is to enhance it further. And that’s reasonable, right?

{TL;DR}

I suppose the thing that sums this all up is, to get knowledge, we must express, and we must dare when we do so.

And much daring I shall provide for. Plenty of sleep, plenty of hope, plenty of anti-fear munitions and (hopefully some anti-parental-soundproofing).

Info-supply status/tomorrow/previewing the future/somethingcoolIcan’tthinkofrightnow/postwriting comments/other nonsense/nothisisnotapermanentnameforthispossiblefooter/an infopipeline, damnit

I might leave up a copy of my OLD about post tomorrow. And I am indeed tracking the ToDo list very closely:

The third statute and its reasoning-explanation of the blogistution and vision will be up tomorrow, along with the about pages… and, sorry, my scholar’s memory has dropped, I’m too tired… I’ll check later and put it into the mindmap…

The arbitrations on privacy as a professional are ongoing and the information will be processed and pushed through as soon as I reach a decision on revealing anything. Don’t hold your breath,  – my first name is publicly available if you dig, as is my city (no stalkers, I’m picking up martial arts ASAP) and my profession will be placed on my bio/about pages sometime soon. Voice is still a long way off, because that’s actually me, not just information about me, and I’m pretty paranoid.

Yes, I love the people who bold the important parts of their posts.

The Fate of Fear

We have nothing to fear but fear itself.

It’s been an extremely hectic week. I can barely keep track of the information flooding through (hmm, note typesorting…) my mind. And it’s… scary. Frightening.

The topic in question is the planning for mental stability; a verbose way of saying “calming wild emotions”. Straining stuff, really. It comprises a total rethink of…

sorry, means I completely change what I think of social intera… talking, communicating and stuff. How I come across.

It’s a volatile issue, even within a solitary feminine mind, which is further exacerbated by the fact that being tired is no better off than being drunk… down to the lazy eye. I’m still surprised I don’t get drunk (… 99% of the time). Thing is, fatigue warps my perception a hell of a lot, and with an existing sleep deficit, the psych investment mandate demands a secure supplier of rest.

So. I’m working on it, with increasing efficiency by the day. And yet… there is no value in what was meant to be said.

Fear is indeed my biggest enemy. The way I was brought up… well… I had a strange childhood. It makes me distrustful. I wouldn’t have said shy until 2011: but quietly reclusive aptly describes me. Let’s say I don’t talk much ;)

With few people to turn to, I find it very, very important that my intentions are clear and… real. Every thought, every opinion, must be as close as effectively possible completely and absolutely sincere. IRL and on the web (while IRL I have a polite, mild mannered reputation at current, it’s not eternal… especially if you’re fatig-runk) I hold myself to eliminate my arguing, condescence, greed and absolutely quash misunderstanding. Why? Seeing my family’s actions karma-ing their social standing blows the benefits of lying, backstabbing and libellious slander completely out of the Universe. Forever.
I don’t intend to repeat their mistakes.

And that means to do so, I’m stamping my entire family’s arguing right out. The buck stops with me, and while I’m at it, I’m after their blame-games too.

That means saying what I mean, not what my fatigue-drunk brain’s hands want. Which means I’m in for a fight… one I can’t win with the mistrust of my own hands that I’ll say something stupid (hence, staying away from alcohol) or creepy (ew, stalkers and awkward nerds).

This stage is typically where parents step – (sorry for the nerdery and babbling rant…) – parents should step in with support, but this all happened because I didn’t trust them in the first place, so I am/was SOO. F*ED.

Ok, so not /really/. I do realise I’m a perfectly capable young lady, but the problem has dated roots, so to speak, which took me a couple weeks to find after that realisation… leading me to make a new one. An oh-so tiny one…

Oh… well… actually… It’s you :)

That’s something I won’t forget. I adamantly refuse to forget it. Your hospitality and kindness are something I am unable to forget.

I can only hope when this is all over, that – [sorry, due to privacy concerns I’ve decided to stem this until later decisions can be made more decisively…] can repay the favour.