I grew up in an upper middle class suburb and went to a public school. I’d say I had a good education, but certain needs of mine weren’t met. I was very bright, but in certain subjects more than others. I was woefully socially inept. I rarely had friends, and when I did they were quick to abandon me when they realized how uncool I made them look. I was eventually put into a gifted program, but it took a while because no matter how well I did in verbal and spatial areas, in math I was just above average. And on every single report card, my teachers remarked that I didn’t apply myself, that I never did my homework.

It’s true — I never did my homework. I also preferred reading during class over actually paying attention. My teachers seemed to think this was completely voluntary. It never occurred to them that I didn’t pay attention because I couldn’t. The way I acted was a world apart from the kids with ADHD, how could I possibly have it?

As I recall, every kid I met in school that had ADHD was a boy. Most had classic hyperactivity, fidgeting and flailing and shouting and making fools of themselves. They made it hard for the class as a whole to concentrate, and I don’t recall any of them being very smart. Maybe by now the perception has changed, but I don’t think at the time anyone thought ADHD could present any differently between boys and girls. When these children didn’t do well, or didn’t do their homework, their ADHD was blamed. When I did the same things, I simply wasn’t applying myself.

I’m glad I had to take accountability, but sometimes I wonder how my childhood would be different had my teachers or my parents acknowledged that a quiet, well behaved, intelligent girl can find it just as hard to focus as a spastic little boy. I think sexism keeps many girls who are like I was from being diagnosed early. Everyone knows girls and boys are raised differently, that they behave differently. Why doesn’t this difference extend to behavioral problems and learning disabilities?

If you look at childhood disorders and their diagnostic criteria, many of them are based around typically masculine behaviors, without consideration. Yet girls are more overtly taught social skills, with an emphasis on social play and imaginary situations. This early focus on social skills makes it absurd to me that psychiatrists look for the exact same set of symptoms with the same severity in both girls and boys when diagnosing Autism and Asperger’s.

ADHD is the same way, albeit concerning acceptable behaviors in the classroom and energy levels. A boy with ADHD might cope by fidgeting and acting out, and many girls may do the same. But I feel there’s an expectation that a boy who does these things has ADHD and a girl who does the same will be able to sit down and concentrate if she just tries. I wasn’t particularly hyperactive, but looking back I doubt I was paying any more attention than the boys who were diagnosed with ADHD. Possibly less.

As a result of this sexism and selective blindness, I was subjected to countless talks about my lack of motivation and the homework I didn’t do. I don’t doubt it affected my self esteem. Sometimes I wonder if I’d be more confident now if I was diagnosed with ADHD earlier and taught coping mechanisms.

But why all the fuss? Why the insistence on diagnosis and treatment for something most people would call ‘kids being kids’ or, now that I’m an adult, ‘being a little spacey’?

Because it’s not that simple. Contrary to popular belief, having ADHD isn’t fun. I sit around tapping my feet endlessly, trying to think of something to do, but everything I think of seems boring as soon as I’ve thought about it. If I manage to start something, I’m usually bored and wishing it was just done already after a few minutes. I can’t hold meaningful conversations well because my train of thought gets derailed. Everything is frustrating, nothing gets finished. Attaining a sense of accomplishment is near impossible when your mind wanders before you can finish anything. And then I get frustrated with myself for not getting anything done. I get anxious. It’s a nasty, nasty cycle, and it makes me very unhappy. I’m sure for some people the experience is different, but I’m also sure that for many, it’s the same.

I guess the long and short of this is that people should believe in ADHD, and that while it’s diagnosed in more males than females, it probably exists in more girls than are diagnosed. Something to think about.

This post was inspired by me missing/forgetting to make a psychiatrist appointment, going without meds for 4 weeks, and driving myself and my girlfriend crazy while getting absolutely nothing done. It was a bad time and I don’t recommend it.

Anyhow, it made me think a little about government. I’ll list my thoughts on various topics in no particular order!

1. Electoral College – NO!

This system has been a shit system for years. It’s not going to stop being a shit system. It desperately needs to be tossed, particularly now that voting is largely an electronic process. This isn’t the only problem with the election of government officials in the U.S., but it’s a glaring one. Voting should be made more accessible, both in the process required of voters and the actual counting of votes.

1. Age Limits on Substances, Military Service, Driving, Et Cetera! – CHANGE!

These are truly, legitimately fucked. They make no sense at all. The more impact any restricted activity has on others, the more seriously it should be taken, particularly if it can directly kill another human being. Military service and driving should be 21+. I feel that voting should be 21+ as well. As for marriage, the ‘parental consent’ thing doesn’t sit well with me – I doubt that most 18 year olds fully understand the potential legal and financial repercussions of marriage. 21+.

Smoking and drinking are both primarily matters of personal responsibility. No one should be forcibly subjected to second hand smoke or inebriated people, but with the exception of dependent minors and cohabitation scenarios that are usually escapable, this rarely happens. I think that setting consumption at 14+ with formal parental consent and purchase at 18+ would be reasonable.

Sex is a strange domain. I can’t decide if the sliding scale system really works. I can’t decide how much say the government should have in such matters. But I do think that sex must legally be defined as a consensual act between adults. I don’t know when people are suddenly adults, or when people can be considered sexually mature. The lack of sexual education and the decreasing age of sexually active minors is alarming in combination. If educated minors were having safe sex with their peers, I might feel differently. Still, if history, mythology and the collective human experience has taught us one thing, it’s that you can’t stop two willing individuals from having sex. 16+ does seem reasonable in most cases.

The dissonance between this and the age at which one can appear in pornography is something I’m of two minds about. On one hand, if a 16 year old can have sex, who is to tell him/her that they cannot do it on film? But what 16 year old will be thinking objectively about the potential repercussions, positive or negative? What 25 year old will be thinking objectively about the repercussions? It’s impossible to say. But, since pornography is an industry where your level of responsibility regarding safe sex protocol can determine the health and productivity of dozens of other people within months, I think a cap of 21+ would be wise.

A lot of this has to do with my opinions on the limits of the term ‘personal freedom’ as well as my knowledge of developmental psychology, which I would say is better than the current clusterfuck of ages the U.S. government has set.

3. TAXES! — Oh boy…

Let me state that I don’t think it’s unfair to tax the rich more than the poor. Let me also state my belief that what constitutes a legitimate non-profit tax exempt entity should be seriously reevaluated.

Anyhow, let’s evaluate a tax system that forces most people to hire a professional service at least once annually because they do not understand it. This is taxation without comprehension, which sounds almost as bad as taxation without representation. Maybe it is! I’d venture to say the current system is broken, and the IRS is not helpful to very many people.

There are many alternative tax systems, but I’m not sure which would be best. An ideal tax system would be simple to understand for most people as well as socially aware. It would also be effective in keeping the nation out of debt and deficit. The money would contribute primarily to infrastructures and programs to improve quality of life for all citizens. And a superduper-ideal tax system would ensure that taxpayers felt confident that their money was being spent by the government on things they agreed on or benefitted from.

Lately, you hear a lot of people talking about Fair Tax. Fair Tax is a very idealistic approach, because it works under the assumption that people would make wise choices about what they buy. The problem here is that ‘wise spending’ is part skill, part personality trait. I have a strong feeling that it wouldn’t have the radical effects some propose – those that spend wisely would continue to do so, while those that spend unwisely would incur even worse debt than they do now. This could be a Very Bad Thing – observe the mortgage crisis to understand what happens when poor investments and big debts are combined. Sure, Fair Tax sounds great to most people, and on a basic level, it is! But when you consider that its benefits are based on a broad assumption that people will behave a certain way, it starts to fall apart.

The current tax system is progressive, which is something I just learned! Thanks, Google! This means that ‘your tax bracket’ doesn’t mean what it sounds like it does. In fact, I made a chart. It’s sort of like a champagne fountain or trying to figure out how many measuring cups a given amount of flour fits into.

….yep. Taxes.

5. Separation of Church and State — YES!

I shouldn’t have to explain this. Also, using Photoshop really took it out of me. Essentially, ‘state’ is something with roots in logic, sociology, statistics, politics, and many more -logies and -ics. Clearly, it is a Greek invention. More importantly, it is defined by principles that are all encompassing – that is, they take all people in a given state into account to reach conclusions and make decisions.

Church is something with roots in emotion, psychology, faith, culture, history, et cetera. None of those areas take all people in a given tract of physical space into account, particularly in the U.S. You can’t make political decisions based on how people feel or what they believe because people in the geographic spans the decisions would affect are diverse – invariably, you would rob people of basic rights if you made legislation based on beliefs and feelings. This worked out really well during the Dark Ages, you guys. Seriously.

If the U.S. really feels the need to follow any ‘church’ or ‘creed’, it should be the one of personal freedom – a term that gets thrown around and abused rather grievously.

As Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. said best –

“The right to swing my fist ends where the other man’s nose begins.”

This wire is sleep. We have a very strange relationship lately. I sleep and wake with ease. Too much ease. It’s like a parody of the natural biological drive. Regardless of how tired or deprived or exhausted I am, I wake up after far too few hours. Usually 3 or 4, sometimes 5 or 6. The days I get 5 or 6 are successes and pass without much difference from the seemingly distant days where I would get 8 or more. They’re more pleasant than the other days, but they’re also the minority.

When the long days start dragging on is when I feel that wire. It’s a sharp thing that could cut a man to pieces, but there I am living and laughing on it. I do all the things normal people do, sometimes I even nap, but my mind feels very different. Maybe sleep deprivation is as addictive as the drugs that cause it. I have always fantasized about never having to sleep again without the mania and fatigue of insomnia. Why? Do I want to be more productive by forcing more hours into the day than other people? Not necessarily. But I also never feel like I have enough time. In this fantasy world without sleep, I’m capable of everything. Of doing everything and seeing everything and getting everything done. There isn’t that constant pressure on me to see/feel/live/do before the clock runs out and I’m dead for hours.

In reality, I’ll never be a sleepless superwoman that escapes time completely. I’m a girl who always smokes before she sleeps just so she can think for ten more minutes. I’m a girl who gets so tired she think she will cry, and when she wakes up she prays that the weather is affecting the light of the day – that it can’t possibly be that early. She looks at her phone or opens her laptop and yes, it is that early. She gives up, waits to be tired again, fears madness. She sleeps or she doesn’t, and spends the rest of the day reading or writing or thinking in a fatigued mania. Sometimes or usually she loves it.

Sometimes I just want to sleep dreamlessly for hours, because I know that sleep deprivation is a terrible beast. I consider sleeping pills, but I never take them.

I think, perhaps, the wire I see is between she (that fearful sleepless thing) and me. I wonder: Has it always been there, or has it cut us in half?

But the act of blogging seems a little more serious. I always want my blogs to be somewhere between personal and editorial, so they fit into the space occupied by “shit people would actually want to read about”. Which I think is a pretty good goal for blogging.

Back to the titular subject: writing troubles.

For quite a while now, I’ve been stuck in some sort of loop regarding my goals as a writer. The main question, for a long time, was whether I wanted to focus on collaborative writing or put that aside for solitary work – and if I did do that, how would I go about it? I hate disappointing people, but I know that my inattention and frustration with collaborative writing is frustrating as it is. So I’ve come to a temporary solution of mentally extricating certain characters from their collaborative settings and putting them in frames that are entirely my own. If I still happen to want to use them for RP, I can. If I want to use them for fiction, I can do so in freedom.

But now that I have that degree of flexibility, I’m having issues that require a lot more grit to work through. There are currently two novels (or perhaps novellas) that I’d like to write. One project is thematic, speculative, conceptual, and very organized. It has been consistently progressing since I conceived of it, and so far I’m pleased.

The other is this tangled nest of characters that have unwittingly become refugees, each from someplace different. When writing collaboratively, I try to give my characters plenty of distance from one another, so very few of these people are linked. I really would like to put them all into a cohesive work of fiction, but how do I decide things like central character (if any)? Plot (if any)? Overarching theme (this is the minimum necessary in my eyes)?

I really don’t know yet, and it worries me to think that I have all these psychologically beautiful little creations with no use to them. Hopefully that won’t be the case.

And of course, there’s the constant issue of style. Some days I love my style of writing, some days I hate it. Most days of late I think of it as something that can’t immediately be helped – like shitty plumbing or a summer that goes on too long. It’s definitely at an awkward point, but what can I do aside from stand back and let it grow? Keep writing. That’s about it.

“She says there’s something different about the old school. She says that’s where she can talk to them.”
“She said.”
“Says. I called her yesterday.”

They were knee high stockings and polished loafers, traipsing through detritus and creaking floorboards. The old school was exactly that – a place in disuse, abandoned for newer chalkboards and linoleum flooring. It had none of the modern trappings. No halogen lights, no ergonomic desks or economical lockers. All that remained were memories of generations long past, their youths locked away in empty desks and worn wood. Parts of the floor were missing. Parts of the ceiling too. In a sense, it was a place as sacred as Isabelle claimed it to be.
Victoria and Nessa saw only ruins. The mythology that their classmate had invented was an invisible lingering thing, and it was what they searched for. Exiting the classroom they camped in for a sort of picnic, they descended the long hallway leading to the stairs.
“She’s been out of school for what – two weeks now?,” said Victoria. She was a girl who hid her cynicism inside her sweaters, behind her long hair.
Nessa only nodded. She was a girl who hid behind nothing.
“Issy said it was all in the basement. That we’d figure it all out in the basement.”
Victoria exhaled a coil of wintery white air.
In timid steps, with occasional gasps at all the eery sounds that haunted them, they plodded on, as if their pretend mission was more important than the game they made of it.
“This place is creepy, Nessa. I don’t know why you wanted to come here.”
“That’s why I wanted to come here.”
“It’s going to be dark soon.”
“I know.”
The door to the staircase wasn’t locked – it was broken. Ages ago, someone tried to board it up, resulting in a mess of rotten wood and rusty nails. Splinters sunk into Nessa’s hands as she pulled at the boards, pushed at the door, and rust crept beneath her nails when she rattled the knob. It fell off. A yard or two behind her, Victoria shifted her weight from heel to heel.
“Can we go now?”
“Vic, don’t be such a spoilsport. Remember that crowbar we saw in the storage room?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Can you go get it?”
“Ugh… Do you actually expect me to go there alone?”
“I don’t expect you to, but I want you to.”
“Well I’m not. Not alone.” She bit her lip.
“Then we’ll go together.” Nessa turned on her heels, dusting her hands together.
They walked in silence, Victoria keeping a cautious distance from her classmate. Not too far, not too near. She didn’t know what she was so afraid of. Isabelle was mad and everyone knew it and there was absolutely nothing in the old school to fear. She repeated this to herself like a prayer before bed, over and over and over.
Nessa just walked faster, eager to reach the crowbar and break down the door and go down those unlit stairs. It was a game. The most entertaining little mystery she had encountered in quite some time. The door to the storage room flung open, and Nessa groped in the waxing darkness until she had the crowbar firmly in her dirty hands. Victoria stood in the doorway, again shifting her weight.
Even faster, Nessa made her way back to the end of the hall, to the broken door. The sounds the end of the crowbar made against the wood and nails and paint had Victoria biting her lips again, pressing her eyes closed and wishing desperately that they could leave. When the majority of the boards and the door itself gave way, there was a heavy thud and a giddy laugh.
At this point, Nessa wanted something to run from. Ghosts, monsters, cultists, anything. Isabelle said they were angels, but that was too easy to dismiss and not nearly as fun. Pitch black stairwells were Nessa’s idea of fun. The girls scampered down them – even Victoria was laughing that frightened laugh that rings from the mouths of young girls when they refuse to cry. The trip downward seemed to last forever, and when the stairs ended and the adrenaline rush wore off, all they were left with was the dead air of the underground and the blackness. Their heavy breathing filled the silence, though they both tried to catch it.
“God… Nessa. It’s so dark.”
“I can still see.”
Victoria mumbled that she was a liar.
She fumbled with the door – the basement door. Her knuckled rapped against the metal and everything shuddered with the echo. She found the handle, and with a kick, the door was open.
Pitch black. The depth of the room ate what little light there was.
“Nessa— The flashlight. Turn it on.” Her fear was turning into agitation.
Wild and guileless, the girl with the flashlight flung herself into the room backwards, closing her eyes and reveling in the darkness and the thought that maybe there was something there.
“Okay, Isabelle – I want to see these angels!” She laughed.
And with a click, the room was dimly illuminated.
The first thing Nessa saw was Victoria’s face – white. Still. The girl looked like a painting. Something about the starkness of her expression wiped the smile off Nessa’s face. Victoria was seeing something that she was not. Their hearts, once so foolhardy, stopped in unison for one beat. The scope of the flashlight turned slowly with the pivot of Nessa’s heel.
At first, the forms weren’t decipherable. Curled white shapes made of organic, imperfect lines. Small and inlaid in dirt. Nessa’s eyes adjusted.
Bones. The wall, the floor, the far side of the room – all bones. Bones that made the skeletal outlines of skeletal children, tucked into fetal position as though they had been left there to sleep. Some of them were broken and ruddy brown. Some enough were white enough to shine.
Behind her, Nessa heard Victoria scream and the sound stopped her breath. She ran. They ran. Up the stairs, tripping and sobbing. Through the broken doorway. Down the hall. Into the lobby. Out of the old school and into the surrounding field of dead grass. They couldn’t stop running – not until their lungs burned and their blood boiled in their scraped calves.
By the time their bodies gave up, they were at the tree-lined road they had taken to get to the old school. The road they had taken to see the angels in the basement. Nessa was bent double, her hands on her bleeding knees. She looked up for her companion, spotting the sweater clad girl as she walked backwards, away.
“I’m going home,” she choked out. Her face looked bright red through the spots in Nessa’s vision. And then Victoria turned and started away, walking in long strides. When she could think of nothing to say to lure the girl back, Nessa righted herself and started walking the opposite way – home. It was fully and truly dark.

That said, this is mostly a post covering a few dolls of mine. One is a very recent addition, and one is a doll I got in January but didn’t have time to work on until now. I’m very happy with both. First, we have Noelle:

Volks SD13 Elena. Default faceup and eyes, Dollheart wig.

Acquiring this girl had a bit of drama to it. For months, I wanted a Kun. Or rather, debated wanting a Kun. Sometimes she looked perfect and sometimes she just looked bland. When the time came to order, I discovered she was out of stock. I started considering Elena instead. When I emailed Volks to ask them about their restocking schedule, they gave me a vague but helpful answer. Elena started looking more and more like what I wanted. Plucky, cute, playful, a little more mature. The dilemma was then how to get one. Volks USA wasn’t going to restock until March, and they would only be getting the leftover non-UVcut Elenas, it seemed.

So! I ended up ordering her from Volks International, where they had them in stock (don’t ask me why they didn’t just ship a few to L.A.). As per usual, they shipped promptly. I was apprehensive about her while she was in transit, but seeing her in person sealed the deal. She’s a keeper. Expect more pictures sooner or later (depending on when I get her wardrobe and my motivation together).

Now, we have L.:

Unoa Chibi Lilin. Faceup by yours truly, clothes by Dollmore for Narsha, default Glasstic eyes.

Yes, I preordered both of the Chibi Unoas. Yes, they are adorable. No, I don’t have them both assembled. Yes, they are to be modeled after my girlfriend and myself. Yes, I am Lilin, because I have huge knockers. And no eyebrows.

There’s not really much more to say about this girl – the cuteness of Araki’s work speaks for itself. I did, however, mod her face slightly to look more mature. This mostly entailed sanding of the cheeks and the area around the mouth. Little minute details. I like her much better and I’m glad I had the cajones to do it.

My next doll project will probably be giving a faceup to Nana or Noelle – they’re both in their defaults and it makes me sad.

Writing wise: WSSP! I’ve completed the first part of it, and I’ll probably complete the second part tonight so I can fit into a nice tight “due on Monday” schedule for them all. Here’s a teaser – the keywords/themes I have down in Scrivener this very moment:

• Adolescence
• Religion
• Abandoned places
• Sainthood
• Girls
• School
• Psychiatry

Do you like these things? Then you should probably read the story I will hopefully post tomorrow. It’s called “A Saint Among Us”.

Okay, Blog. You were good this morning. But I really gotta go – I need breakfast and a cig. Oh, Blog, I know you shouldn’t smoke when you’re sick. You’re so sweet for caring. See you around, Blog.

And of course, I’m not really sure how to proceed. I have several projects going on right now, the most recently conceived of which is my Weekly Short Story Project. It’s basically what it sounds like – every week I will write and eventually post a short story based around a few pieces of inspiration I choose for the week. Sometimes images, sometimes songs, usually a smattering of things. And this project was inspired by me downloading and trying out Scrivener. So far I can’t really recommend it more – it’s like someone looked into my brain, saw my creative process, and based a program on it. No longer do I need 12 text documents, 16 Firefox tabs, and 6 images open to complete one short story! Scrivener, you guys. Try it if you haven’t.

As for what else I’m doing lately, I’ll make it short and sweet -

• Dolls. My collection is coming together and I feel like I’m in the home stretch of having them all and having them all be what I want.
• Videogames. WoW is taking a backburner, Dragon Age is at the forefront. So far I’ve slept with Zevran and Leliana, for those wondering. Silent Hill: Shattered Memories is providing my roomies and I with plenty of mindless waggletainment.
• Writing! That’s what hopefully at least some of you are here for, right?! Along with the Weekly Short Story Project (WSSP for short) I’m roleplaying in some private story lines and public games and it’s plenty fun.

Well… That’s all for now. An idea of what to expect, I guess? I guess so!