okay this is done in Germany i guess from the language it was yelling at me to switch my bitmap photos to jpgs (i’ll do it eventually if nothing else to show off my bright green hair LOL) but it’s actually 632 am right now not 1032 or whatever. (oh! und danke schon. das ist sehr shon! uhm technically yes, but i can’t spell for shit and my grammar is iffy)
i have trouble starting journals. that seems pretty silly since i’m an obsessive journaler with a shelf full of full composition books, but something akin to stagefright (which i always got very badly on a 1st night no matter how long i performed. they used to keep a bucket with a bin liner in it by whatever stage entrance would be my 1st with a bottle of water and packet of peppermints. i disappointed a few understudies back in the late 80’s early 90’s when they saw the engenue crouched on a ladder step retching into a bucket during the overture only to be told, she’ll be fine, that’s what the water and mints are for she never misses curtain.) especially in a situation like this. where to begin? how much to divulge?
okay. let’s get the basics out of the way. Leopara or Parah for short (it’s PEARah not par-uj and the full version? emphasis on the 3rd syllable) about 177cms (5’10” ish)180 and built like an escaped Valkyrie. (singing ‘women with big thighs, picking up dead guys, go and get Helga, this one’s not dead!’ i will not apologize for that and yes, i just filked Wagner LOL) EXTREMELY celibate. as in don’t even think about hitting on me or you’llfind out the forearm crutches don’t even slow me down.
yup. ya read that right, folks. crutches, forearm. or as i like to call the damn things ‘official gimp sticks’. i’m a cripple. nope. i am not handicapped. my central nervous system used to work correctly and now it ain’t. that’s crippled. the only PC thing around here is the device i’m typing this on (because really, why the fuck should my internet device be more mobile than I am, right?) politically correct jumped the fucking shark about 10 years ago and so help me Goddess, if you call me ‘handi-capable’ <wince/shudder/retch> i will shove my crutch so far up your ass you’re going to be able to taste the pavement the bumper-foot was pressed to the moment before, capische? 😉
okay. now that we have that shit out of the way… let’s answer the ‘why an online public journal?’ My doc. Dr. Murkarrum Khan -love ya, buddy. i told you i’d set something up, though i think he meant something more popular venue wise like a video blog or something hehehehe i never quite do things like people expect. get over it. i’m a chaotican for Gods’ sakes-the tricksters of the world’s pantheon in this case! if you think about it, this will probably be a better fit. i’m told my quirky no-net sense of humour is more euro-trash debutant than american princess anyway LOL (yeah, i’m a rich kid that told my whole family to go fuck themselves. i’ll get to that story eventually but NOT TODAY)
i’m sort of the female cross between George Carlin and Robin Williams in the way i see and react to things. except i have about 30 years of various martial arts training and am NOT shy about backing up my loud mouth with a boot to head if necessary. oh? really. remember the crutches i mentioned? i can vault shoulder height on a 6′ plus person. right. bully beater too. i catch someone picking on someone else, i step in up to and including sopping muggings in progress. i have no patience with idiots and i see them EVERYWHERE.
the most important factoid to get out in this jumble of the predawn, painkillers-haven’t-kicked-in-yet and i haven’t even put the kettle on yet introduction post?
i’m dying. i have something called RSD (look it up. but don’t eat before hand and if you’re soft hearted, have tissues on hand. its heart and gut wrenching) my central nervous system crapped out on me. the big baddy warning signs for the beginning of the end have started (i’ll get more into this in future posts and probably most multiple times again now that i’ve popped the proverbial cork after staring at a blank page for 2 days) that tell me it’s only a matter of time before involuntary muscle control glitches and shuts down the wrong damn process at the wrong damn time. (breathing and heartbeat for example are involuntary muscle control. right. nodnod now you’ve got it.)
so. hello, i must be going. (yes. of course. massive Marx Bro’s fan. i adore Harpo but Groucho is a close 2nd i like Chico’s piano playing but his personality off screen as well as on grates on me) my goal right now is to get as many of the novels in my head at LEAST written out longhand (as i do for 1st drafts. this? naw. free-flow journaling) get as many of the drawings and paintings and craft projects in my head out of it as i can before it’s over. as bad as it is, i might only have months.
so. (fires a metaphorical starting gun) we’re off. let’s see how much i’ll get done.