<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041</id><updated>2012-03-16T07:17:29.052-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Electric Fuschia Heart</title><subtitle type='html'>Creativity is the lightning bolt that strikes your mind, spirit, and heart. I've learned to embrace it.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>20</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-2151629376411131931</id><published>2011-02-25T16:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-25T16:29:41.728-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthday, VDay, Spring-ish Weather</title><content type='html'>Well, short entry but my birthday was nice. Went to Mohegan with my love and spent some mula, won some mula, lost some mula. That's the way the dough rolls... (Oh it's funny 'cause it's a play on words!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Valentine's Day is not a big deal for me, but I definitely wanted to do something nice for my sweet. (Oh it's funny 'cause Valentine's is filled with candy!) - ok..I'm done now hahaha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Made some lobster ravioli from scratch and it was a pain in the ass but it worked. Filling was great but the dough was too thick. Oh well. First time can't be perfect, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And today we cleaned the apartment like whoa. Ate some delicious delicious delicious supper of Aaron's creation. Friggin BANGIN meal. Chicken, cheese, pasta, sauce...yummmmmmmmm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all. Just wanted to update a lil.&lt;br /&gt;Workin two jobs still and trying to write again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-2151629376411131931?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/2151629376411131931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2011/02/birthday-vday-spring-ish-weather.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/2151629376411131931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/2151629376411131931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2011/02/birthday-vday-spring-ish-weather.html' title='Birthday, VDay, Spring-ish Weather'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-1731588228888586496</id><published>2010-12-10T17:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-10T17:24:16.593-08:00</updated><title type='text'>December Melancholy</title><content type='html'>Life is a darker hue than what it used to be. The sunshine still brings a smile to my face as it cracks through billowing clouds, but the rest of the world is covered in shadows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are very troubling times, and frankly, it sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I probably failed two of my four classes. I don't really care, though. I'm taking a semester off to work a little more and hopefully find my sanity again. Living with my boyfriend was the best choice for me. I love my family and do miss them. Yet, I'm growing up and that will not stop. Days will drown into nights, nights will evolve into days, and it will not stop for me. Or anyone. No matter how hard I wish I could pause my life and listen for Megan's voice, it's not going to happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I saw her at work yesterday. A man in a hat stood at the doors of the gas station, and for a split second, it was Meg. Her image is burned into my retinas as I saw her: half open eyes, look of sadness painted on her face, long brown hair clinging to her shoulders... but the man's hat was still there. He came in to buy some scratch tickets and I stared blankly at the door, then awe-struck at him. He acted a little weird at my expression. You know the one... Like you've seen a ghost. Not the Hollywood bullshit face that people slap on for a few hundred bucks an hour, but the realistic pale-white-moonlight shade that covers your face like a veil. Yeah, that one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, I sit here drinking a beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will go to work tomorrow, Sunday, Monday through Friday. Two jobs. I will step out of bed every day, even if my feet won't allow it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I know is looking back, nothing has ever made me cry like the day I found out about my sister.&lt;br /&gt;There's a song lyric that goes, "I'm not talking bout a few tears then I'm through. I'm talking bout screamin and wailin at the moon."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December is the hardest month this year. Christmas will come, snow will fall, and trees will be decorated. I know Megan will be nearby to help me hang ornaments on those too-high branches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merry Christmas everyone. God bless, and the like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One step at a time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-1731588228888586496?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/1731588228888586496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/12/december-melancholy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/1731588228888586496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/1731588228888586496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/12/december-melancholy.html' title='December Melancholy'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-4808382037187032940</id><published>2010-11-28T19:52:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-28T20:00:52.143-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Life After Death</title><content type='html'>On October 21st, my Mom called me at 8am. I was getting ready for work, but called her back outside where my phone gets reception.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then she told me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister Megan had been found on her floor the night before, lifeless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't seem to write details past this yet. All I know is my wailing and crying brought me to my knees on the muddy ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read at Meg's funeral, but everything went by in a blur. The twenty-hundred blurred faces attached to hands that shook mine cornered me in a void.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am still there - in the void. It is black and lonely. My other three siblings are in their own worlds, trying to find light. My parents are in a bottomless pit of fear, regrets, and sadness. Pure sadness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though I am here, depressed and wandering along an endless road, I have hope. My friends and family are there for support. Somehow their care is pushing me forward. My sweet, sweet Aaron is also the biggest support beam as my body and mind teeter on crumbling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know Megan is not suffering anymore. I know she is smiling at us somewhere we cannot imagine. I don't know about Heaven and Hell. I don't know about God. But I know about love. If we can continue loving someone even after death . . . it will keep them alive in our hearts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps we won't ever understand what is after life, but I'm sure it's something wonderful. And when the time comes, I will see my sister again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-4808382037187032940?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/4808382037187032940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/11/life-after-death.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/4808382037187032940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/4808382037187032940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/11/life-after-death.html' title='Life After Death'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-5799419895071857167</id><published>2010-09-13T20:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-13T20:52:48.090-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Serendipity</title><content type='html'>Today is September 13th and it has been a long while since I've actually sat down to write on this blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It starts with Brandon . . . We dated in high school and broke it off because he was an immature and disrespectful punk. Why did I think that would have changed six-plus years later?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in a car accident on July 20th. At the time, I could count on three people: Courtney, Brandon, and my newest best friend - Aaron. The car accident was terrible; Car bumped me into a tow truck which sent me into a spiral across three lane highway traffic, soon to be hit by a surprised woman and finally slamming my Hyundai into the concrete guard rail. Nothing broke except for my spirit and hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called Brandon in hopes that he could help me. He came to the hospital in Worcester only to tell me - first thing - when I got in the car that he, too was in an accident. His sports car had been cut off and he ended up running over a road sign which destroyed his headlight. . . and somehow broke his phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The entire week was about him. His headlight was more important than my emotional and possibly deadly experience. That's what opened my eyes to people around me. Courtney was there for me but I realized her and I were just drifting. That ended on a bad note on my side. I have things I should not have said, but nothing I regret. I stood up for myself for once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when it came down to Brandon time, I felt like I was in a movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaron and I had been best friends from day one and we both knew things were going horribly with my current relationship. I just wasn't happy anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We talked. He was there for support, never pushing for anything, never showing anything other than friendship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I decided I'd been fed up with being treated poorly by boys who found toys and accessories more important than their girlfriend's life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew I had to end it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaron hugged me the night I knew it had to happen. I planned on what I would say. I was never the one to break up with anyone. My heart always felt footsteps. It was time to prevent anymore from happening.&lt;br /&gt;So, the following morning I told Brandon how I felt. Immediately he thought it was wise to corner me by buying me flowers and writing sap after me telling him a few nights beforehand that I wasn't happy anymore with him. He also felt the need to tell me repeatedly that I cheated on him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ha. One thing I've never done is cheat. Brandon was a moron for saying that to me. It only got me angrier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We soon departed after having a horrible encounter with his Mother - who was trying to make it sound like I was giving up with no reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then the rest played out.&lt;br /&gt;That night held more romance and magic than I have ever imagined possible with one man and one kiss. Only one comforting kiss. And we watched Serendipity, laughing at all the moments that reminded Aaron and I of what I just went through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt bad for moving on so quickly, but my heart finally experienced true happiness. I have not been happier since I was in the eighth grade, learning a choreographed dance in my club for the first time. The same happy I also knew as a child . . . Carefree, honest, pure, and lovely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no regrets, as I said. I have become more mature since the car accident. Things happen for a reason. Love happens. Break ups happen. Accidents happen and even good accidents happen - That is serendipity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-5799419895071857167?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/5799419895071857167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/09/serendipity.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/5799419895071857167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/5799419895071857167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/09/serendipity.html' title='Serendipity'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-2858655911805739322</id><published>2010-04-27T14:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-27T14:52:30.592-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Movin Out</title><content type='html'>My boyfriend and I are planning to move into an apartment together within a year. I could possibly not think about it until the time comes, but planning a huge move like this deserves attention a ew times a month. I've lived with my parents my whole 22 years of life, so it really is going to be hard for me to say goodbye to childhood and adolescence and realize that I am a grown woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First off, I'm going to make a checklist in a notebook of things we'll need to sort through financially and even emotionally - I don't want to bring baggage into a new life, do I?&lt;br /&gt;Secondly, I'll need to figure out MY part of the deal and check off things I'll need to purchase and of course - decorate! We need a motif we can agree with for the apartment. Once we move in, I can help apply these things to make the best of our home.&lt;br /&gt;Thirdly, clean up all my shit and get ready for the move. Have a yard sale if possible and maybe make some extra dough to use for our adventure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yeah, I'm definitely excited. :)&lt;br /&gt;I love Brandon so much and I cannot see living without him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-2858655911805739322?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/2858655911805739322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/04/movin-out.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/2858655911805739322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/2858655911805739322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/04/movin-out.html' title='Movin Out'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-3072126120927834980</id><published>2010-03-30T08:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-30T08:14:25.900-07:00</updated><title type='text'>blah</title><content type='html'>feeling sick today&lt;br /&gt;Brandon's bday is today!! :D YAY&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow, Boston awaits my boyfriend and I.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-3072126120927834980?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/3072126120927834980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/03/blah.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/3072126120927834980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/3072126120927834980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/03/blah.html' title='blah'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-3943927347492138239</id><published>2010-03-25T08:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-25T08:09:22.318-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sick</title><content type='html'>I don't know what's wrong with me.&lt;br /&gt;I'm so exhausted, sore, been having headaches all week, along with my normal manic depression and anxiety. I really need a doctor soon. I can't stand this anymore. I feel like an old lady.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways,&lt;br /&gt;I think my next project for writing will revolve around college. First Person POV, comedy/drama, and a plot I've not found yet. No one really writes about college for novels, so I think it would be a nice change.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-3943927347492138239?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/3943927347492138239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/03/sick.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/3943927347492138239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/3943927347492138239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/03/sick.html' title='Sick'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-1468339008079852651</id><published>2010-03-09T07:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T08:00:25.753-08:00</updated><title type='text'>to the end of time?</title><content type='html'>Apparently, I'm in college forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Student Information effective from Spring 2009 to The End of Time&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;wtf&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-1468339008079852651?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/1468339008079852651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/03/to-end-of-time.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/1468339008079852651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/1468339008079852651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/03/to-end-of-time.html' title='to the end of time?'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-6448219290511706581</id><published>2010-03-01T23:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-01T23:53:03.293-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Writing Prompts...weee.</title><content type='html'>I was reading &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Writer's Digest&lt;/span&gt; and there is a little quiz where you're given the topic and have to write a number between 1-10. On the next page are the lists of words, quotes, etc you need to use from the number you chose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My topic was: Your date does not show up. I have to include the line, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A stitch in time saves nine. &lt;/span&gt;and begin the short blurb with, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No matter what I do&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;ahem. (fictional, of course.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;No matter what I do, I always seem to attract the jerks. You know, those guys who feed off of bad moods, disappointed lipstick frowns, and possible annoyed tapping of a stiletto on concrete - in the pouring rain on a Monday? Well, it had gone on since high school for me. I don't know what color my aura changed to draw in such losers. Date after date, boyfriend after boyfriend, I was left with pieces of my shattered heart falling to the muddy ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, this boy, Davie, was the light of my life . . . for about four seconds. We met in my Psychology class and instantly became friends. By friends I mean two people who could laugh at the professor's bent glasses and obvious hairpiece. Still, he was a cute, round-faced male with golden hair and eyes the color of the ocean after a storm. I should have immediately recognized his devious smile when I nearly fell off of my seat laughing at one of his jokes. You know, the look someone shoots at you when they know you are finally entwined in their cheap compliments and debonair smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I was a fool rushing in. If my mother were around, she would have said, "A stitch in time saves nine, Deary."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's when I would have responded with, "But we just clicked like nothing. No one has ever clicked like that with me before."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I would be lying. Plenty of boys had gotten me all flutter-stomached on our first conversation or first glance. But did I ever learn? No. Simply for the fact that I knew life was short and I had to somehow break this spell of bad seeds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat on my floral-empowered couch and flipped impatiently through the television. The clock on the t.v. guide channel read eight-thirty-two, exactly a full two minutes after the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;he's-a-half-hour-late&lt;/span&gt; mark. This kid, Davie, was definitely not coming. For a college senior, he sure acted like a kindergartner. I mean seriously, who just &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;doesn't &lt;/span&gt;show up anymore? Nobody. Ditching a date is like shooting spit-wads at chalkboards at my age; This stuff is not supposed to happen anymore. How old are we?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I digress. This jerk decided not to come, so instead of crying over a waste of time, I decided to call his cell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It rang once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Voicemail. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Yo ho's, it is Davie G. You know what to do. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Beeeeep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I called again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hello?" Davie's rough voice answered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said confidently, "Hey, it's me. We were supposed to go on a date tonight."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, yeah sorry. I've been meaning to call. But I couldn't make it because my ex is having a really bad night and she needs a shoulder."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was the final straw. I was sick of spending time trying to find good guys. I knew, at that moment, I needed a break from the dating scene. Perhaps someone would search for me instead of the other way around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," I continued with an attitude. "I'm fine with it. In fact, I'm breaking up with you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What? We haven't even gone on one date yet. This makes no sense. We can reschedule." Davie sounded horny, not concerned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nah. It's fine. I'd rather do this now. Like my Mom says, a stitch in time . . . Bye, Davie."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hung up. And that's how I wanted it to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-6448219290511706581?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/6448219290511706581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/03/writing-promptsweee.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/6448219290511706581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/6448219290511706581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/03/writing-promptsweee.html' title='Writing Prompts...weee.'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-9196421632091096833</id><published>2010-02-18T07:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-18T07:56:24.188-08:00</updated><title type='text'>...and by the way</title><content type='html'>You ever have those mornings when you see someone you really don't want to see? I mean, despise seeing, for one reason or another? And all you can think as you hide your face in cell-phone use, cascading hair, or a morning coffee is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;shit, shit, shit, shiiiitttt!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;? Yeah, that was my morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked through one of the college buildings, just leaving class, and I spotted Mr. Conceited. (I'll have an entry about him later.) His hair was a mess, headphones on, and his face was being sucked in by a laptop screen. At least I had that to my advantage as I booked it to the door and ran across the walkway to my next destination. It's not that I meant to be melodramatic, but&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; I really did not want to see him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;...and by the way,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; I love again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brandon, my new - well, not quite new but that story is for later as well - boyfriend is the subject of my love. My shattered heart has been able to pick itself up again and love a man I've known for seven years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, what the hell..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;High school was generally not a good era of life. I met some people who introduced me to Brandon, and we were a couple for a few months. But being silly teens and so young, he decided to break it off and not be so serious about a girl. I was hurt, especially since we were each other's first loves. Although we were not on good terms for quite some time, he has always been a friend to me in and out of my life for seven years. And now, after all the heartache and drama we had both been dragged through, we are together again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I don't think anyone has ever treated me so well with such sincerity. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt; am so happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-9196421632091096833?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/9196421632091096833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/02/and-by-way.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/9196421632091096833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/9196421632091096833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/02/and-by-way.html' title='...and by the way'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-1216008099702873309</id><published>2010-01-20T00:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-20T00:27:15.268-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mr. Big</title><content type='html'>In Sex and the City, (popular book and tv show) there is a character named Mr. Big.&lt;br /&gt;He appears in the main character, Carrie's life and they have on again off again relationships. They ended up confessing their love to one another, and ladeeda.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm afraid to admit who my own Mr. Big is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only time will tell.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-1216008099702873309?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/1216008099702873309/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/01/mr-big.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/1216008099702873309'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/1216008099702873309'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/01/mr-big.html' title='Mr. Big'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-1533712424261523779</id><published>2010-01-18T23:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T23:49:46.678-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Manic Mara's Adventures</title><content type='html'>What an awkwardly good week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lost my hearing in my right ear for a few days..and got no sleep.. but..&lt;br /&gt;I have overtime this week at work. $$$&lt;br /&gt;I got a few numbers in my phone ;)&lt;br /&gt;I'm going out for a drink tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;I have my best friend back. (Yay courtney)&lt;br /&gt;I have my shift leader interview tomorrow. $$$&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good stuff.&lt;br /&gt;Good night.&lt;br /&gt;:D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-1533712424261523779?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/1533712424261523779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/01/manic-maras-adventures.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/1533712424261523779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/1533712424261523779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/01/manic-maras-adventures.html' title='Manic Mara&apos;s Adventures'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-223328495619630454</id><published>2010-01-12T23:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-12T23:44:11.956-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cake and Eat it Too</title><content type='html'>I was thinking about relationships tonight while at dinner with my best friend. We were talking about some serious topics and eventually fell upon our current single situations. It caused the gears in my mind to turn abruptly and start thinking about adulthood and how complex relationships have become. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot of people I know are going through situations where they either have great love-making and no relationship, or a great relationship with no love-making. (I know, Maranda is a big girl and can write the word sex, right?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are some women stuck in limbo with great guys who make them feel so good. When it comes to labels though, they are still single. Other women are in full-blown relationships with guys who would rather check their email than touch silky skin of their woman. Guys always want what they can't have, and women do this too. But is there a line to draw when emotions begin stirring? Is it safe to stay in a non-relationship relationship with all the sweet frosting? or should everyone grow up and realize you can't always skip the spongy, compromising, and complex base?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We aren't children anymore, and sex has been added to the equation for most. You'd think people would mature and consider eating the meal before the desert. Relationships are sometimes overwhelming when your plate is full of real-world drama. But how can we keep starving ourselves of love?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-223328495619630454?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/223328495619630454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/01/cake-and-eat-it-too.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/223328495619630454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/223328495619630454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/01/cake-and-eat-it-too.html' title='Cake and Eat it Too'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-1326408455357620041</id><published>2010-01-07T19:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T20:19:14.992-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Past, Present, and Future</title><content type='html'>So Jason and I have broken up, but we're still friends. For real. He's helped me through a lot this past semester and I thank him for it greatly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now I've decided to list my plans...because you all care. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This and next year I want to stay away from caring so much about relationships. I need to focus on myself and school, raise my gpa. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After graduation, I want to move to New York City and either try finding a job immediately or go to graduate school for writing and editing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There, that's it. :) I want to be a New Yorker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-1326408455357620041?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/1326408455357620041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/01/past-present-and-future.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/1326408455357620041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/1326408455357620041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2010/01/past-present-and-future.html' title='Past, Present, and Future'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-8561484634375987879</id><published>2009-12-15T16:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-15T16:37:28.594-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Finals Week</title><content type='html'>So, this week is finals week at school. I had my Music Theory one today and it only took a half an hour. I feel like I did semi-alright on it, but I know my weak spots were prominent on the test. Damn.&lt;br /&gt;I finished the explicit scene of my novel. Hoorah. Chapter 19 is undergo and hopefully by New Year's Day the whole novel will be finished.&lt;br /&gt;YAY&lt;br /&gt;And I will take a break from it, start something new, and go back to edit Vivian later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vivian, Falling? More like Vivian, Baaaallllin!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The end.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-8561484634375987879?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/8561484634375987879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/12/finals-week.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/8561484634375987879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/8561484634375987879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/12/finals-week.html' title='Finals Week'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-5754616957025784343</id><published>2009-11-30T08:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T08:30:01.132-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Off-Roading</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I worked 7am-12pm, then went back from 4:30pm to midnight-(quarter after). Now, I had a full day and was tired, but I didn't think it would affect me this bad. &lt;br /&gt;This morning I left my house at 9am to go to class. I fell asleep on my road for a good 7 seconds. I pulled over, lit a cigarette, and went on my way. But my body did not want to steer, step on pedals, and cooperate. I got some coffee and ended up safely at school. Thank God I didn't go off-roading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not happy. And people who are about to say, "You don't know what tired is," kiss my ass. I know what tired is. I know pain. I know stress and depression and anxiety. So kiss my ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm tired. My body aches and rebels against me to sleep. It makes my anxiety/depression worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This month I'll be looking into therapy. I'd rather not take pills of any sort until I can try to resolve this without it. Usually, I'm an optimistic person. But when I'm depressed...There's no talking me out of it. An all time low of emotions sweeps over me in waves I cannot swim through. And it's time to change it.&lt;br /&gt;I love my life. I need to stop this insanity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, back to class.&lt;br /&gt;-Me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-5754616957025784343?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/5754616957025784343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/11/off-roading.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/5754616957025784343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/5754616957025784343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/11/off-roading.html' title='Off-Roading'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-2776249458432662485</id><published>2009-11-22T17:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-22T17:56:03.570-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Breathe.</title><content type='html'>What a week! &lt;br /&gt;Had a minor car accident on..Thursday. I was in a parking lot at school and looked behind, to the sides, and behind me again. Nothing was there. Started slowly backing up and some guy came around the corner. Needless to say, it's my fault. Little scratch on the back of my car and his was dented a little on the side.&lt;br /&gt;My insurance will most likely go up now. Damn. I'm poor enough as it is.&lt;br /&gt;Also, I am done letting people walk all over me. Done. All my life I have bent over backwards for family, friends, and even people I barely know. I'm done. I've been depressed for a long time and it's not being helped by being so passive.&lt;br /&gt;So, that's the end of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lalalala... time to write.&lt;br /&gt;-me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-2776249458432662485?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/2776249458432662485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/11/breathe.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/2776249458432662485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/2776249458432662485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/11/breathe.html' title='Breathe.'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-195923120595257751</id><published>2009-11-19T08:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T08:08:01.664-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Collapse</title><content type='html'>I was in music class today. At the end of class, we sign the sign-in sheet. My friend tapped my back and I looked over. Before they said anything, I dropped my pencil and went to pick it up.. and I collapsed to the floor. Didn't fall..it was a graceful collapse. Because I am so tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow.&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, work tonight so I'll probably go take a nap when I get home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-195923120595257751?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/195923120595257751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/11/collapse.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/195923120595257751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/195923120595257751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/11/collapse.html' title='Collapse'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-3014741106984874925</id><published>2009-11-16T10:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T10:57:47.082-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sitting in Logic</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: times new roman;"&gt;I'm in logic right now and I'd rather be taking a nap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So as I sit here, finishing up a very-long-awaited chapter 14 of my novel, I think about my motivations to keep going. When I finish the first draft, I will be editing the shit out of it. Hopefully, by the end of 2010, I will have enough money to find a literary agent to help me  find a publisher.&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, after I finish &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Vivian, Falling&lt;/span&gt;, I'll be starting another story. I'm not sure which project I want to begin with yet, but here's a few genre ideas I want to play around with:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Children's fantasy&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Teen Romance&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Adult fantasy/sci-fi&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;(and yes.. maybe someday..) Crime/horror&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;There might be others I haven't thought of yet. But I do know I want to write short stories and poetry in subjects I don't usually write in. You never know.. I might find a genre perfect for my style of writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alright, time for class.&lt;br /&gt;Feeling better now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Mara&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-3014741106984874925?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/3014741106984874925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/11/sitting-in-logic.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/3014741106984874925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/3014741106984874925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/11/sitting-in-logic.html' title='Sitting in Logic'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3082377007777619041.post-6632746982022151650</id><published>2009-11-16T07:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T07:24:13.022-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Soul is Tearing Apart</title><content type='html'>My new blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I woke up with a panic attack because I was late for class. I've been waking up on my belly lately, and I never sleep on it. My belly ring fell off and I could only find the ring itself, not the stud to connect it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to my depression.. It was unpleasant and I ended up skipping class altogether. My soul felt like it was dying this morning. Everything was bothering me and upsetting me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took up smoking. It calms my anxiety to some degree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This entry is not very well written. As I said, not in a happy mood. I'm not in a bad mood either.. I just don't care about anything right now.&lt;br /&gt;I need to take a vacation. By myself for two days just to collect myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to plan one. Maybe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3082377007777619041-6632746982022151650?l=manicmara.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/feeds/6632746982022151650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/11/soul-is-tearing-apart.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/6632746982022151650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3082377007777619041/posts/default/6632746982022151650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://manicmara.blogspot.com/2009/11/soul-is-tearing-apart.html' title='Soul is Tearing Apart'/><author><name>Manic Mara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01327734465695628443</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WU09WGaKMGk/TI7tyfZBYZI/AAAAAAAAABc/MkB1NwQdxt0/S220/41644_608957122_3674_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
