Updates! Woohoo!

Well, here's what's up:

the sky
the sun
the stars
airplanes
helicopters

Sorry, here's what's ACTUALLY up:

• I thought of something absolutely SHOCKING (although probably someone has already used it) that will completely change Linda's Chronicles. I mean, like CRAZY. Something VERY interesting happens. There is an AMAZING internal conflict goin' on here. It's no longer character vs. character or character vs. society. It is now BOTH of those in addition to: *drumroll please* character vs. self! Woohoo! Yeah! Awesomeness! I will not reveal anymore. I mean, it'd be a really annoying plot spoiler!
  

• I am on vay-cay-SHUN. Which means, I will get a lot of wonderful work done, read book, lounge, and oh yeah, do those things that I should have done 5 weeks ago. :D

• I found out, to my disturbed horror (that makes no sense) that I have been, by definition, self-harming since I was four or five. I know, that's creepy. Little two year olds will hit themselves sometimes. Autistic kids will sometimes hurt themselves. But there are reasons for that. Two year olds are exploring their boundaries and stuff. But a four year old? No. When you're four, you know what touching a boo-boo (which when I was four I ALWAYS called a cut, no matter how it was created) hurts, and you put a Band-Aid on it and it heals up when Mommy kisses it. No way. With me, it was, put on ten Band-Aids (you shoulda seen my legs! I've had as many as five Band-Aids on each leg!), peel off all of them after a while, and open up them scabs. Yeah. Watch 'em bleed. I liked seeing the blood. When I was six, I dared find out what blood tasted like (I knew that it was a sin to consume blood, but I ignored it since it was a miniscule amount, I thought) and I discovered how tasty it was. I always knew that it smelled good, but I didn't think about that since recently. So, I have been a Self-Harmer for, let's see, nine to ten years! Wonderful. I have THAT to think about over vacation. I hope my guidance counselor will not try to talk to me. She doesn't help much. My other counselor is nice, though. I almost told him about my PTSD. I told him that I had it, what I thought, and why, but I couldn't say what it was. I made myself live through the entire Lamisil commercial. Every bit of it that I remembered. I am giving myself shakes now, thinking about it. In his office, I closed my eyes and made myself see it all, and it didn't hurt as much as it used to. It's still horrible, though. I can never think about it. I can never face it. I can never watch TV again and not be afraid of that commercial being played. God, I HATE computer-animation. I will never be able to watch it and feel safe.
  

And that's what's going on right now! My brother keeps taking away the internet, but he gets it back usually, so it's okay. I keep forgetting to update, too! *shame sign*