The lows are low, but the highs are home

Apparently his underwear fit like a glove.

        That’s pretty much the best thing I have to say about my white water rafting trip today. Literally I went white water rafting today and I’m just like yeah cool that happened. I went last year, and it was the same then.

        Get up for 6 am, pick up the other people who are going with us, drive an hour and a half over to where we’re meeting our guides and everyone else going rafting today. Hop on a bus with a guy from Switzerland named Martin, who has an amazing beard. Have a long bus ride to where we’re getting into the river. Sleep on bus, fake it for the camera and get myself a moment of glory in our $55 DVD of the day. I’ll share when I get it.

        Our guide, Matthew, was a pretty cool guy from South Africa. For the record, last year I was with a man named Kelly. He was here this year, according to our video, but I didn’t remember his name until it was too late. Anyway, our guide this year. He was the guy in charge of everything. So we left last, because he had to make sure everything was good to go.

        Then we had to be FIRST in line, meaning we had to paddle hard all the way up to the front. I forgot how to paddle over the last year, so my biceps were sore when we got there. Then he taught us how to paddle (leaning backwards as you paddle to use your weight) and it was all good.

        We went down some rapids, wee, we get wet, yay. It was supposedly 20 degrees (though at 9 am when we started, maybe not) but it was so cloudy you wouldn’t know it. The threat of rain has been very aggressive for the past few days, and it’s going to be bad when it finally starts. Not a very good choice of weekend, I guess. But by the time lunch time came around, my brother and I were freezing because we didn’t have wet suits or magic waterproof clothing like our father. We cultivated a fire, had hot chocolate and warm soup (as well as wraps and some other food stuffs) and just barely started to feel our fingers again and get dry when the call came to leave.

        Probably around 12:30, we have a 45 minute bus ride back to the beginning so that we can run a different channel of the river now that the water levels have risen a little. We make a tour of the bus, shouting out our name, where we’re from, and a joke/embarrassing story (can be about anyone on the bus!)/whatever. Many people had nothing. I spoke my name and location loudly, and shared a story about a bus full of awkward people who couldn’t come up with anything funny off the tops of their heads. Some awkward chuckles were had and then we moved on. Eventually people started yelling out jokes, and that’s where that gem comes from.

        Early in the afternoon, we begin the hard rapids. The ones where you have to paddle instead of hide in the boat. The ones where one side of the river is a bunch of pointy rocks and you don’t want to go over there. Starts off with one to get us nice and wet (great, now we’re cold again) and then a little bit later we get to The Butcher’s Knife. Inside The Butcher’s Knife is a wave called The Chopping Block. There are three options for proximity to The Chopping Block: far, medium, or close. My dad volunteered us for close. We went straight for it.

        The wave “hit [him] like a literal punch to the chest,” and the left side of the boat plus the guy in the front on the right were all pushed off of the raft. I was nearly pushed, from the middle right side, off of the left side. I caught myself on the side of the raft and managed to stay in, leaving myself, our guide, and an incredibly tiny, incredibly frightened woman from our group behind to manage a rapid aptly named The Butcher’s Knife. He handles it like a pro, while I react instantly and rescue people as they appear. My brother pops up first, then my father, then another from our group, then the guy from the front right is rescued by my dad as I rescue the third person. Scared woman, not so much on the reaction times. We managed to keep all of our paddles and recovered quite well. Life went on.

        The part where 4/7 passengers (guide included) fall out of our raft is on video, so you can see that in a couple of weeks. The rescue, not so much, because rescues are ugly and not good on film. But I’m proud of myself at least, both for staying in and being useful to the rescue. I paddled until there was no longer water beneath my paddle, and then I was almost dying and then I was rescuing. In the span of a few seconds. Some people might have been terrified, or felt an awesome adrenaline rush, or whatever. Nah, not me. I just liked the rescue part, from a strategic point of view.

        We did some more rafting in the afternoon and went back and I didn’t have a beer even though I’d be old enough there, so one was available for me. It was across the border of Quebec, not that most of you will understand that, but the important thing is that I was in another province and the drinking age is 18 there. I drove us home because my dad figured, sweet, I can have some since we have another driver.

        I drove us home, we had two bits of difficulty, but we got home safe and sound. White water rafting: completed. I’ve done my duty. The end.

        It’s not that I’m a boring person, but that I’m not a physical, adrenaline person. I don’t need something more exciting than rafting to get my blood pumping. It just doesn’t pump that way. I could jump out of an airplane, or go bungee jumping, or go on a crazy hiking trip. I could do all kinds of crazy adventurous things, I’m not afraid of it, because I’ve faced my fears before and I have yet to regret it. These people are mega safe. That’s their job. It would not be an option for you if there were any serious danger. I just wouldn’t enjoy it enough to justify the cost, or even the time. I wish I could go adventuring for a living (as some of the raft guides do, and I’m not kidding) but it’s just not my life. Mother Nature won’t keep me company at night, unlike some of those dudes.

        I’d love to do that stuff with a friend though. It’d be fun with someone else, especially if we’re both terrified. Or in the case of week long expeditions, starving and cold and devoured by tiny, tiny predators. Someone to keep me company, right? That’s more like my life.

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        So with a move to a place with actual facilities comes the questions about why I don’t take advantage of them. Why not come to the gym with me? Why don’t you go bungee jumping? Why don’t you go ride the public transit around, as if that’s important when I’m not going anywhere? The problem is that I would rather be me, than go out of my way to please other people.

        This is something that’s been on my mind recently, as my dad revs his Be Like Me Machine, and even more so the gym thing. My dad used to be tiny like I am. Then he gained a hundred pounds of muscle. Then his metabolism got old and he suddenly had a hundred and fifty pounds of fat instead. I don’t want that. I’m underweight, but I’m fit enough and I work on that in my own way. If I start going to the gym, and try to beef up like he did about ten years ago, I do fear that I’ll end up old and fat. My main issue comes back to preferring a leaner body for myself, and not feeling the need to go out and beef up at all. I don’t need fifty more pounds of muscle on my frame. I’ll do definition, so I look pretty, but I (me, as a person, Matt, Demi, the core of what is me) do not need to have muscles like my father, or even like a friend of mine with a similar build. He’s tall and lanky, but from all the physical labour and sports he’s done over the years, he’s lean and wiry. He doesn’t have bulging muscles, because of his height, but he has the strength. I’d be alright with that, but it’s not me. It’s not who I am. It’s not even something I need to be.

        I’ve just come off of an argument with my friend Max about whether or not I’m fit, where he judged me to be unfit because I’m underweight and my ribs stick out. Instead, I should be doing those triangle push-ups and gaining weight/muscle mass enough to cover all (most) of my protruding bones (har har), in his opinion. He’s an adventure guy. He’ll go biking for hours and just love it. Run so long and far that he pukes, and just shiver from excitement. Or dehydration, but don’t tell him the difference. The thing is, that’s not me. That’s who he is. His definition of fit is someone who feels fat if they sit around playing video games all day, and gets so sick after doing that for a while that they NEED physical activity.

        That’s not me. I will never, in my entire life, be able to cultivate a feeling like that in the core of my essence. I forget about not dong my crunches (didn’t have time for those today, but I don’t like to do it right before bed either because I have a hard enough time settling in to sleep as it is) far easier than I forget about all of the things I haven’t done yet when it comes to video games/anime/articles to read/whatever. Of course an hour or two each day, or even most days, is a paltry amount to dedicate to physical activity. Seven hours a week or something? There are plenty more in there. But how high is it on the priority scale? Do I sacrifice my workout (or gym time, which could be the same thing) or do I sacrifice whatever else I need the time for?

        For me, it’s quite low. Low enough that making a dedicated routine would be pointless as it wouldn’t last. Not because I’m incapable of getting off of my fat ass to do it, because I did it for a long time, every single day, when I wanted to impress a special someone. Eventually I slowed down because I realized I wasn’t even doing it for my benefit, and she wasn’t really looking anymore to begin with. I just end up doing other things that I value and it’s like eh I’ll write a nice tumblr post tonight instead of doing crunches and flicks. Even though the tumblr post takes longer. To illustrate what I mean about the priority thing: I couldn’t convert tumblr time into workout time. I couldn’t dedicate the same amount of time to it. I’d just end up doing other things with most of it.

        I spend, oh, half an hour to 45 minutes on the computer in the morning running through a routine of daily browser based games and a few news sites. Nothing super disruptive, and I can do it later in the day obviously. But if I stopped doing that, I doubt I’d convert the time into early morning workouts instead. I value the games for different reasons and I like to know stuff, but I value those on different levels than I value being fit when no one will even see nor will I need to apply the fitness. I can get by a day or two without working out. But how could I possibly miss a day in my daily games! That would be inefficient!

        Anyway I hope I made my point. I already knew what my point was. But I wanted to think out loud a little so I can respond better to the inevitable returns to this subject. The basic idea (me trying to be me) was there, but I hadn’t needed it yet so I never really expanded on it.

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        Also I just quit Opus Deorum (probably only took a minute per day, but I wasn’t getting anything out of it - just grinding stats) and Freewar (idle grinding a passive skill in a game I don’t care for - simply because I could) but I can’t bear to part with any others. Billy Vs SNAKEMAN, Dragon Tavern, and The Ruins Of are all games I spent money on for a damn good reason. I’m about to spend $50 more on Billy Vs SNAKEMAN to get myself 17 months worth of tiny bonuses. Nearly three bucks a month. Nothing wrong with that, and the guy deserves my money. I love the game and I have a friend who loves the game and we spend twice as much time talking about it as we do playing it, if not more. The Ruins Of is just a cool little thing, and for that the money spent on it is far lower ($10 so far, and probably forever - I doubt the future involves spending on it) but the guy deserves that too. Dragon Tavern is raking in the cash, and it’s also the heaviest time investment, and it’s also where I’ve spent the most money. Jeez. More than a hundred and fifty dollars, for sure, but I have no definite number. It sounds really bad as a lump sum, but at one point it was 2x the credits, and in general I’ve built up bit by bit. I don’t regret it, though. Psychological tricks though they may be, I’m ok with spending that money. It is nothing when you consider all of the money I have held and spent in the last two years-ish of playing it?

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        Also my backspace and space bar keys are getting a little squeaky on my laptop already. Space bar, not sure about that one, probably just hitting it badly or something but it’s not like it’s been receiving heavy use. Backspace, though… Well… Just how I write, and this includes instant messaging.

        edit: also I included the square brackets thing like a proper journalist because I realized what they mean. It’s when you’re rephrasing someone to put the sentence into proper context. If they say it, you quote “[the wave] was like” instead of using something unspecified, or in the wrong person if they say I or whatever.

The point of that long explanation (last time, on my tumblr…) was to lead into my discussion of “worth” or “value” in terms of how free time is spent. As much as I try to do things like “relax” or “have fun,” the efficiency that has ruled my life so far can’t help but extend into my free time. It’s always a to do list of accomplishments, things to finish and then things to start after that. The two contributing factors to this are that the list grows far faster than I can work on it (12, 25, 40, 60, etc. hour games coming out before I’ve finished the last) and I’ve always been able to afford the next shiny game to release. Even then, I’ve looked for ways to make my money go further - efficient to the last - so that I can now download games for every system I own save the PS3. Well, and the Wii. So, theoretically, I have access to infinite video games, infinite books (assuming someone has uploaded them online), infinite amounts of manga, infinite episodes of anime to watch, infinite amounts of data and ideas to mentally digest… Never will I lack for entertainment, surely, but rarely am I truly entertained. The calculation of where to spend my time drains all of the fun from the media I consume voraciously, incessantly.

        I try to see the world, and especially all the digital worlds I experience, with a little sense of wonder to keep from getting too jaded. It’s difficult to do that when I’m rushing from one game to the next, almost always picking the game to play based on how guilty I feel over not finishing it yet, and secondarily how much is left to play. When I finished Portal a month or two ago, when it was free for a couple of weeks on Steam, all I could think was “finally, I can say I’ve done it.” Most people will tell you it’s something you “have” to play, and I’d gone a long time without playing it simply out of indifference. I’d already absorbed most of its content through osmosis anyway, it was just a technicality that I hadn’t actually put my hand on the mouse and done it myself. I did it, though, but for me it just wasn’t the amazing, joyous experience I know many others have had with it. It was just one thing crossed off an endless to-do list, another example that I’m eternally catching up on gaming history. I think the fact that I saw two or three hours invested in Portal as practically a waste because there would be nothing new there for me is bad enough, but the fact that I played it and didn’t enjoy doing so says everything about the problem I have with my free time.

        Portal is pretty much a sacred lamb of gaming at this point, but perhaps the worst offence I’ve committed as a gamer, in my mind, is to not like multiplayer gaming. Party games, yes. Local co-op with friends, yes. But competition against faceless strangers? Count me out. Not in an RTS, not in an FPS, not in an MMO, not in a flash game, not even in a browser-based game. Yet all of the most hardcore gamers thrive on these kinds of games. Final Fantasy XIII and Dragon Quest IX may be huge, expansive games, but when I finish them, that’s pretty much it. It might take 60 hours, or it might take 100. But StarCraft II, Modern Warfare 2, Team Fortress 2 - funny how they’re all sequels - as well as World of Warcraft and all the other MMOs, they’ll consume countless hours far beyond the sixty or one hundred hour mark. When the vast majority of the medium lives on the crushing - or being crushed by - your opponent, how could I possibly be allowed to simply “not like” multiplayer? It doesn’t help that I see very few people saying the same thing. It seems as though I must be wrong, spending my time finishing Persona 4 or actually playing through Final Fantasy X when I could be shooting people in the face day after day.

        Yet this ties into my problem with having too much media available, and the question of what it’s worth to spend my time on something. Perhaps some people will get far more time out of their $60 purchase of StarCraft II or Modern Warfare 2 than I ever could out of the games I buy. Perhaps they only had $60 and had to find a game that wouldn’t just end. It’s hard for me, with my rather large collection of games, to imagine playing a game because I have nothing else to play. But then, would I really want to spend all of that time just to feel as though I accept the largest portion of gaming today? Would it be “worth” my time to be a master of unscoped headshots, or would I just be “wasting” my time when there are so many other things to experience? I wanted to write this as a way to find the answer to that, and yet I still don’t know. It seems almost rude to dismiss something as a “waste,” to say that a form of entertainment is completely invalid because I don’t enjoy it or don’t partake in it. In theory, to spend my time doing the same thing over and over again would be inefficient when I could be working on something shiny and new. In practice, fun is fun, and there’s really nothing wrong about finding fun in a different place.

        If I hadn’t just rediscovered some small measure of why I love single player games and why I love playing through the beautifully crafted environments and stories that my $60 unlocked for me, I might still be worried about all of that. But now I’ve got things to do, and I have a stack of games in front of me that I could, if I’m lucky, finish before going back to university. It’ll take some dedication to righting my wrongs - how could I stop playing Persona 4 in the middle of the last dungeon in the entire game?! - but I don’t know when I’ll find the time again. So I’m going to use it properly and remind myself why I go hunting for PS2 games in the bargain bins in the first place. Why, you might ask? They’re games I can’t imagine I’d regret playing, and I want to give my money to anyone who will take it in exchange for them. I want more of these games to exist, and so even if I never even play this instalment, perhaps I’ll play the next. It would be a shame if we ever lost Atlus or Grasshopper Manufacture, or even Insomniac, so I will gladly throw my money at them. And I will gladly throw my time into their churning machines of glorious entertainment.

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        On an entirely different level, but loosely related by the main “theme” of this post is the matter of writing, and this tumblr itself. Its value. The time I spend on it. I’m above a hundred posts now, at least a dozen of those long, rambling trains of thought much like this one. I’ve spent hours writing for a few close friends and a handful of their friends. Yet I don’t feel that it’s been wasted time. Perhaps it’s a legacy of my ADHD, but I don’t often sustain trains of thought as long as posts like this would have you believe. Writing makes the foundation solid enough for me to keep building, to keep writing and communicating and thinking instead of running in circles all the time. If I forget where I was going, I just scroll up. If that doesn’t help, either I stop or I forge ahead and let the words take their own course. But the act of sharing all of this, making it public and available for anyone who cares to read it, is a marked improvement in transparency for me. It used to be that I had few close friends, only as many as necessary to stave off loneliness and disappointment, and only they could know what really went on inside my head. Even then, I couldn’t always force myself to express what I wanted to tell them, and plenty of half-formed conversations went forgotten because I wasn’t satisfied that they would be… well, good enough. That by starting them in truth I would end up exposing something wrong or displeasing about myself and sour my few solid relationships.

        So to write and share everything about myself is thrilling, terrifying, and satisfying all at the same time. I feel perfectly content saying that this tumblr is all of what I am. That it’s available to all, if they want to read it. I used to hide behind a plethora of personas, and now they’re unified across all of the content I put here. All of the facets of me, converging in one little part of the internet. If I try to put on an act of being “just” a gamer, or “just” a metalhead, or otherwise put the spotlight on any one of those facets - all it takes is this tumblr to shatter that illusion. I like the idea of forcing myself to change for the better. I like the idea of bringing more people into my Precious Little Life. If they don’t deserve to be here, chances are they won’t bother to read any of this, and the point is moot in the end.

        I would bring up the matter of writing fiction, but then I do it so rarely that it would be… yes, a waste of time. I’ve only written two letters so far, and I’m supposed to be writing again, but I have yet to start. I haven’t been able to figure out what time in my schedule to dedicate to it. Soon, I’ll start. When I run out of things to write about for my tumblr, I think. But then I won’t have anything to put into the letter, so it may have to wait until the excitement level rises a little here in my new home. But then I already know that’s a worth investment of time, so long as I have something to write about.

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        Like most of my posts, this one would be “selfish” if I believed you would all feel compelled to actually read it. Thankfully, I know that you’re a human being and will happily stop reading if you find it too long and boring. Like every other post I’ve written for my own benefit and shared for yours (at least if you want to learn more about me), I’m glad that I’ve written it. It comes as a result of several conversations with vael about multiplayer gaming (something he enjoys a lot), which tended to go in circles as he stated his case and I proceeded to ignore it and say what I really wanted to say. For the benefit of us all, then, I hope that I’ve managed to put that to rest for now. If you’ll excuse me, I have some beautiful ruins to explore.

Hey there kids! It’s Demi, back again for writing tips! It’s almost time for school to start, so you know what that means - essays! Oh boy! Here are my very own notes on writing essays, for my own reference while writing and compiled through experience and by express instruction of my amazing AP English teacher. You can look at them and try to keep them in mind, or alternatively print them out and keep them around for reference while writing and editing. I have more for my own reference in my handy-dandy file folder, like essay rubrics and commentary on other essays so I wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. Most of the key elements from those things have been used in my essay writing tips. Moving on, first the tips if you’re confident in your method, and then I’ll outline some steps for writing a literary essay. If you’re writing a research paper, you’ll want to do things a little differently, but that’s not too hard when you know your way around a good essay.

- Start with a strong thesis. Don’t use something obvious; try to have a little creativity and insight. Don’t go overboard (Ross from MacBeth is secretly a witch!) but look for a way to make your own interesting conclusions. Your thesis should also be very clear and extremely well written. Your thesis should be the strongest sentence of your entire essay. It is the most important one, so pay attention to it. Rewrite it as many times as necessary.

- Start your paragraphs with topic sentences. These are basically a mini-thesis that introduce the subject of your paragraph. To test your topic sentences, combine them with your thesis to create a small paragraph. If this paragraph works well and sums up the major points of your essay, congrats! You’ve got nice, strong arguments to support your original thesis.

        Example from a short essay I wrote comparing Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennet, from Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice respectively: While the author’s styles of writing may differ, the protagonists of Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice share many common features. First and foremost, Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennet are strong female characters, both self-assured and determined to be the equal of the men in their lives. After initially rejecting the advances of their future soul mates, Jane and Elizabeth are unable to forget the chances they were given. When they are finally married to their respective husbands, both characters are sublimely happy.

        There’s a slight jump between the second topic sentence and the third, but overall I think that’s a pretty decent paragraph to sum up the main points of my essay. It flows well enough, and it establishes what I’m going to write about, and then elaborates my key arguments. If you have something like this, you know for sure that you’ve got good topic sentences. Then you just need to add good paragraphs onto them!

- Have textual support for your arguments - plainly put, use direct quotes to prove you aren’t pulling things out of your butt. You can use quotes from your source material (book, play, whatever you may be writing about) or quotes from things you’ve researched - as long as it’s related to what you’re trying to prove. Being able to back up your argument with real references will make you look smart, and smart people are sexy.

- Analyze the quotes you’ve sprinkled throughout your essay. Don’t just throw them in there - explain why you picked them, or what they mean and whether or not you agree with them. That’s a little secret - you can quote someone making the opposite argument that you are, and then proceed to prove them wrong. You don’t need to, and in fact shouldn’t, just research things that go along with your argument. Providing a counterpoint, and why it’s wrong, will improve the overall argument of your essay. It’s very easy to make a biased essay, so researching the opposite point of view will help tie things together. You’ll be able to refer to every other point you’ve made, and then make a few new ones.

        Secret PROTIP: You don’t need to quote an entire block of text, or even an entire sentence. You can grab pieces of a quote and integrate them into a sentence just to avoid having to think and sound like you know your stuff.

        Example from the introduction of my Animal Farm essay: The other animals believe that “with their superior knowledge it was natural that the pigs assume leadership” (17), yet they never question the decisions made by the pigs. By following the pigs like figurative (and literal) sheep, the residents of Animal Farm allow the totalitarian regime to flourish unquestioned and unopposed.

        First sentence: Quote integration. See how I got out of actually writing a sentence by quoting the novel? Shows I know the book well enough to incorporate it, and just sounds nicer than whatever I would have written. Also sets up an argument for later.

        Second sentence: Thesis. The topic was the importance of questioning leadership. Important things to note: literary devices. Always a plus for making a shiny thesis statement. Your thesis statement should be catchy and flashy, enough to stand out in your reader’s mind. They should know it’s your thesis, and remember it too.

- Use transitions. Don’t just go straight into a new topic without any kind of obvious connection between the two. This will also help your essay’s organization - if you can’t connect two topics, don’t put them beside one another. Your essay should flow naturally from one thing to another. The final sentence of your paragraph should end things in a way that brings it into the first of your next paragraph. Sentences should also have transitions - however, yet, honestly, moving on, things like that. Google it if you don’t know what they are. Don’t overuse the same transitions repeatedly - every second sentence shouldn’t start with “however, …”, so have a bit of variation. Google a list of transitions if you want to add some variety.

- There are two components to the “sound” of your essay: the style, and the voice. The voice is simple enough, and something to be determined by the purpose of your essay: there is the academic voice, the jovial voice, the sarcastic voice, etc. Your audience determines your voice. This should stay the same throughout your entire essay, and you’ll notice that any time you stray from that it will be very strange for your readers. If you’re writing a serious, academic paper, don’t try to make a joke like you would with your friends. If you’re writing a funny internet article for your funny internet friends, don’t try to sound like a genius.

        Style, however, is something that can vary from sentence to sentence. A short sentence with simple words, or a long, overly wordy sentence. You can use both in your essays, and in fact, you should, because if you have a three page essay with only twenty sentences, you’ve done something wrong. Likewise, you shouldn’t split each of your sentences into three tiny ones because you think it looks cooler to have that many periods. Mix it up and show that you’re capable of writing the way you need to, rather than just the way you want to. Sometimes, a long, flowery sentence is perfectly called for. Other times, tiny, choppy sentences are the way to go. Experiment enough and you’ll find the proper times for both.

- Avoid hyperbole. Should be pretty obvious; don’t exaggerate. Don’t claim that the book you’re writing about is the best book ever, or that Shakespeare is the “most famous playwright of all time” (actually Shakespeare I’m really happy for you and Imma let you finish but x was greatest playwright of all time - OF ALL TIME) or whatever. This is something most people do by default to kiss their teacher’s bum and try to get a good grade, or at least increase their word count. But it sounds better if you rewrite it realistically, I swear.

- Avoid clichés. You may think that it sounds cool to say something your dad says, like “it’s better than a kick in the butt with a frozen boot, you know!” but it doesn’t really add anything to your essay. Usually you can take them out and replace them with something shorter and clearer, which will be better for your essay in the long run. Trust me on this one.

- Take out extra adjectives/adverbs. You don’t need to fully describe the darkness of Grimdark Depthless Land of Eternally Black and Sunless Darkness. Something is not both large and huge. Few things are hugely large. See what I’m getting at? Don’t repeat yourself for the sake of word count or emphasis, at least in this way. Repetition is still a literary device and you can use it that way if you want. But extra adjectives aren’t really a good way to write and make a point, rather you’re over-emphasizing a point you’ve already made.

- Take out extra prepositions. At, under, on, in, of, in the, etc. “In the bedroom under the bed that’s on the floor in the house of the murder.” It makes it very hard to understand what exactly is going on, so try to rewrite your sentence and avoid having multiple prepositions unless you absolutely have to.

- Avoid using a “passive voice.” Try not to use words such as: am, are, was, were, be, been, being. Typically, words like that are used to make a sentence overly formal and make your point sound weak. “The poetry of the 18th century was typically written by aristocrats, but now it is being written by people who are far less well off, many of whom have never even been waited on hand and foot.” What, exactly, am I trying to say there? Who knows? You may not want to go to this level of nitpicking over your vocabulary, but removing these words and rewriting the sentence will be a rewarding challenge if you can find a better way. It makes your arguments tighter and just… it’s something you only notice as a complete overhaul. Entirely passive to none at all.

- Some word nitpicking. Much like passive voice, these are words to avoid using if you can. Much like passive voice, you can use them if you can’t possibly rewrite the sentence. Much like passive voice, your entire essay will sound better if you can avoid using them. Words to avoid forever: is, has, there, it, this, thing, have, had. It can be really hard to avoid them, and especially at first you will find them EVERYWHERE. But the more you work at removing them the less they’ll even work their way in. You will, in all honesty, become a better writer in the course of a few essays if you can rewrite your sentences to avoid them. Much like passive voice. Compare your passive, it this thing have had, essays to your ultra essays and you’ll be so happy inside.

- Something you can always add is literary devices. Some choice ones that won’t be out of place are parallel syntax (that whole “much like passive voice” thing up there), metaphors, allusions. Actually that’s pretty much it on the list of literary devices that aren’t too literary for an essay. So use those if you can.

        1. Pick a topic without being too broad or too narrow in your focus. If you aren’t very particular on your subject, you’ll get too much useless information. if you’re too specific, you won’t find enough information to make good arguments. Use your own judgement.

        2. Do a small amount of preliminary research, enough to have a slight idea of your subject. Chances are you already know something about it. Use this to create a very rough initial outline. First, create a basic thesis, with a little originality. Then give three example supporting arguments you could use for that thesis. Having an idea of what you can write about will help you pick out key information when you do your research.

        3. Armed with your outline, do in-depth research on your topic. There are two strategies here, depending on your time management skills and how early you’ve started to work on your essay. The long-term strategy is to find a lot of sources of information, without reading them until you believe you have enough to pull you through your essay. The short-term strategy is to check out each source and then find another as soon as you’ve finished with what you’ve found. With the long-term strategy, you won’t actually look like you’ve accomplished much until you start working on your information. With the short-term strategy, you know exactly how much information you have and how much you’ve accomplished at any given point in time. The main difference is that with the long-term strategy your essay will come together all at once, while the short-term essay will be a work-in-progress at all times.

        Regardless of what order you plan to gather your information in, when you do start looking into your sources, you will have to take extremely good notes so that you can actually use them to write with. Read through the article (or section in a book, or whatever) and jot down some small notes, then on your second pass write down everything that could possibly be useful in your essay. Copy down quotes that could be useful in your essay, and small phrases that could fit easily into what you write. Repeat the process with all the sources you’ve found. The basic structure of your essay should revolve around these notes. You will be relaying and explaining the information you find, so look at it like a painted Easter egg or something. The squishy insides are the information you’ve found, while the pretty shell around it is what you’ve written using that information. Nothing in your essay should come without information to back it up, and there should be some sort of reference to your research quite frequently. You didn’t make this stuff up, so your writing shouldn’t be the most important part of the essay. All you’re doing is collecting it and putting it in a nice little package, so make sure you wrap it up nice and neat.

        If you’re writing an essay about a book, your process should be slightly different. You probably won’t have time to read the book twice, and even if you do you probably won’t feel like writing afterwards. Your goal then should be to identify and isolate as much useful information as possible on your first read. Use highlighters, post-it notes, write chapter summaries, whatever works for you, so long as you can find the information you need. The more you identify as being useful, the easier it will be to write your essay. So take your time reading, and even if you don’t know what your essay will be about, pick out things that could be useful. You may end up needing it, or you may not. But the more attention you pay, the better your essay will be.

        4. After you’ve finished your research, you will likely have several pages filled with notes and scribbles on your various sources. That’s good. Now, you should have all the information you’ll need for your essay. All that’s left is to put it together. So, now that you have all your information, go back to your outline and evaluate the information you found. If you have a better thesis, start with that. Then look at your arguments and build as many as you need, based on the information you have to work with. If you can’t prove a point, don’t make it. This may not be your final outline, because you may start writing and find it doesn’t make sense, or you can’t argue a point as well as you might like. If you do decide to change your outline again, congrats, you know what you’re doing. Don’t try to fluff up a paragraph just because you need to write a certain amount, because it’s only going to bring your mark down. If 5% of your essay is based on having x paragraphs, you’d be better off losing some of those marks than writing a crappy essay. Of course, you shouldn’t need to worry about that, but what I’m trying to say is that you should write a good essay, whether it’s too short or too long. If it’s good enough, your teacher shouldn’t care whether you met the proper criteria.

        5. Now that you know what you’re going to write, it’s time to decide how you like to write. There are two different strategies here, and I would suggest trying them both to see what works for you, but if you have a gut feeling about it, go for what you like best. One strategy is to write your body paragraphs first, and then complete an introduction and conclusion afterwards. The other is to start with your introduction and write your essay in the order it will be read. I’ve done both, and each has its own benefits and drawbacks. I’ve had good and bad essays with each: waiting to write your introduction and conclusion can mean you have a really strong intro and conclusion that go well with your body paragraphs, or it can mean you have amazing body paragraphs but no strong thesis or conclusion to tie them together. If you get tired when you finish writing your essay, or run out of time, you don’t really want your intro and conclusion to suffer for it. If you write your introduction first and your conclusion last, you may end up having to change your introduction or having a weak conclusion that doesn’t fit what you’ve written. On the other hand, it may help to direct you when you’re writing your body paragraphs. It’s honestly up to you based on your writing style, so try them both and see what you like.

        6. When writing your introduction, your thesis should be absolutely clear to the reader as it should make an obvious point and establish the goal of your essay. The rest of your introduction should briefly outline your body paragraphs, and make a few observation that you’ll revisit in your conclusion. You want to get people interested in what you’re writing, so be interesting.

        The basic format for your body paragraphs should be: topic sentence, lead in to some kind of proof or example, your proof/example, then an explanation and analysis of your quote or reference. Add more proof as needed. The analysis is important, because it’s what your essay is really about; it’s you explaining what you’re actually talking about, and why you included the information you’ve included. Organize your body paragraphs in a way so that they flow nicely into eachother.

        Your conclusion is like a modified version of the introduction, now that you’ve tried to prove your point. Restate your thesis in a slightly different format, and explain the observations you’ve drawn from the information presented. This is where you make everything click, if it hasn’t explained itself yet. By reading your intro and conclusion, someone should get the key points even if they don’t really have all the information. If you think it’s incredibly important, mention it in both the introduction and conclusion.

        7. Now, your essay is done! This final step is optional, but highly recommended. You could just call it a day and hand it in, but I would recommend reading through it yourself and editing it as you see fit, then passing it around to anyone you know who might be able to help you proof-read it before handing it in. If your teacher will do this for you, get them to do so as well before you finalize your essay. The more input you get on your essay, the better it will be. When you have a finished product, the heavy lifting is basically done. Edit and revise as you see fit. Then hand it in and wait for the good news!

        Some other things you could research to improve your arguments in your essays are logical fallacies, annotation strategies (for writing essays on books or other long material), poetic devices (for literary essays), writing style problems (for adjusting your style based on your needs; one example is that passive voice is good for writing lab reports, while not so good for an english essay) and, well, anything you find your lose marks for repeatedly. Your goal should be to identify problems in your writing and correct them in the future. That’s why I’ve kept all my essays from this past year, to compare my original, less-than-stellar attempts to my later essays. Examining my older essays shows the problems with my writing style and mistakes I make repeatedly, so now I know to avoid them in the future. When you can do the same, well, you no longer need anyone else’s help to improve your writing.

I didn’t get around to it last night, but I meant to write a post about my day yesterday including the dream I had that morning. Seeing as I probably didn’t go to bed until after midnight, although I forget when it was. So read on while I tell you of the amazing dream that I had, and don’t forget that as cool as it sounds with me writing out what I remember, it was ten times as cool originally.

        The basis of the dream was that an extremely advanced alien race was slowly abducting random humans, and most of us didn’t remember anything about it. So who knows what kind of experiments they were running. However, every person they abducted gained at least a basic telepathic power, depending on their natural aptitudes. We all became connected to a telepathic sort of hive mind, allowing us to communicate with eachother by thought as well as hear eachother’s thoughts. Not many people knew about it, though, because they were too absorbed in their own thoughts to listen in on the thoughts of others. For most people, we would need to consciously tune out of ourselves in order to hear other people’s thoughts. People who don’t tend to think much, though, spent all of their time unconsciously listening in on the thoughts of anyone and everyone who happened to get abducted.

        So in my dream, I was unaware of what powers I might have because I didn’t know I had been abducted. I’d heard stories about it, though, so it wasn’t a crazy abstract concept that would make me go crazy if someone sent me a telepathic message. So the start of what I remember about my dream is that I was laying in bed, and apparently fantasizing about someone or another. Then, in my head, I hear my brother’s voice telling me that T-Snap (a stupid guy I used to know) was enjoying my thoughts. So I was like damn, I don’t want him hearing my thoughts! I hate that guy! So then I started trying to censor my thoughts and think about unimportant stuff, though I don’t remember anymore what I was thinking about. My brother sent me some more messages to explain why I hadn’t seen him in a long time, and somehow managed to communicate to me that he had gained the ability to teleport to places the alien race had set up thought harvesting devices for their own teleportation, including their grand library of infinite knowledge. So he went there and learned all kinds of crazy stuff and developed, like, every telekinetic power ever.

        At some point during all of that I actually woke up and continued laying in bed trying to censor my thoughts and seriously debating the idea of speaking all of my thoughts out loud. While anyone nearby would be able to hear them, that would probably mean fewer people than all the people who could listen to it if I thought it in my head.

        Then eventually I rolled over or something and realized I was no longer dreaming.

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        My grandparents brought our dog to us this past weekend, and so far she’s working on settling in. Because I’ve been outside working with my grandfather, and she loves him to bits, and because I hang out with her a lot (I leave blankets or clothes on the floor, and she makes herself a nice little bed out of them) she loves me a little less than him, so when we’re outside working she wants to be outside with us. Unfortunately, this means that she’s barked at and scared a few people who got too closer to our property. First it was our neighbour, as he was going into his house, and the thing about my dog is that she sounds like an attack dog twice her size in terms of weight. So he was pretty much terrified and didn’t stick around long enough for me to apologize after I brought her back home. This was her first act as the new Neighbourhood Menace.

        Yesterday, though, she was even worse. Back home, we left her out front on her leash for a couple of months when we were at school, and she was bestest buddies with the lady who delivered our mail. When we moved her leash out back, our mail lady asked us where she went, lol. So I know she’s not a vicious beast, you just have to acknowledge her as opposed to running off in fear. If you stop and say hi, she’ll warm up to you. If you run away as fast as you can, she’ll think she did a good job of defending her family and mark you as a target for the future.

        Unfortunately for our new mailman, he chose the second option. I had her on her leash under the carport, where we were hiding from the sun, and he walked by on the way to our neighbour’s house. She started barking and made a mad dash for him, and I pulled her back. Then she tried to go under the table we were sitting beside and nearly knocked it over, nearly pulling me over it in the process, which probably only scared the mailman more. So we’re definitely going on his mental list of crappy houses to deliver to, and if it happens again we might end up on the list of houses with dogs to look out for. But we’re working on fencing the back yard (it already has a hedge and a fence around most of it, so we just need to close it off) so she’ll be pretty harmless when we finish with that. Either she’ll be inside or have no way to get out of the back yard, so she shouldn’t scare anyone too badly.

        So that’s how my dog has become the Neighbourhood Menace within less than a week. Nobody around here has a big scary dog, so it’s somewhat new to these people to have her around. At least we’ll be protected from the big scary criminals here in the big scary city. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with something that sounds like her.

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        So the basic thing you need to understand about my grandfather is that he does whatever the hell he wants. If he doesn’t know how to do it, he’ll learn. He’s an electrician by trade, and he’s been working since he was six years old. He’s now 73. Skills I can confirm that he has: carpentry, car mechanic, boat mechanic, plumbing. Who knows what else he’s taught himself to do. I have stories to confirm all of those things, like how he built the house he and my grandmother STILL live in to convince her to marry him, or how he helped build a $400,000 modified hydraulic dump truck out of $30,000 worth of parts. But the moral of the story is that he’s basically the handiest handyman ever, and he’ll drop by to fix whatever problems you might have without any question of repayment. They live in New Brunswick, but he plans on coming back here (a 12 hour drive) after he collects some supplies back home, so he can redo a lot of our ancient and terrible electrical work. Chances are he won’t be back as soon as he thinks he will be, but I expect next time I see him I’ll learn how to install a new circuit in my house and which tools to use to drill through a concrete foundation.

        Yesterday, after finishing the construction of a handmade sliding gate for our deck, he began work on new handrails for the steps going off the back of the deck. Underneath one of the old rotted ones was a small hornet’s nest. Rather than think “bleh hornets better work around those” like a mere mortal, he smashed it open with a hammer and crushed three of the hornets that were inside one by one. There may have been a fourth, but again, it was a small nest. Then he wiped the dead hornets off the deck and got to work putting that new handrail on.

        This is the man who inspired my middle name, and I’d feel like such a badass if I built a house to convince a girl to marry me. If only it was the late 1950’s and there was land basically everywhere for people to spontaneously build on.

Things I learned at my orientation today:

• they have a Womyn’s Institute
• there’s a fee inside your tuition that gives you a complete public transit pass for Ottawa during the school year - something like half of what you’d have to pay going to school and coming home, except you can go anywhere ever, whenever you want
• there’s a fee inside your tuition that gives you complete access to all their sports facilities, including yoga, pilates, and martial arts classes, as well as two gyms, a dedicated cardio room, a large pool, squash courts, etc.
• they have like 7 places to eat, including a food court (A&W, Subway, Pizza Pizza, stuff like that), at least one dining service area - I’m under the impression that there is at least one other - where chefs stand in front of you and prepare everything from grilled cheese sandwiches to stir fry to pizzas to whatever your favourite ethnic specialty food happens to be - Chinese and Indian style meals were on offer today, a cafe inside the library (kinda like the Starbucks in Chapters, only on steroids), and a full service restaurant (waiters, menus, the whole deal)
• they have a book store that will not only buy back your books, but is now offering book rentals for about 50% of new retail price - you sign a contract promising to return the book a few days after your final - which may be a loss if you’re a good used book salesman, but otherwise everyone wins
• they have lecture theatres that… you may not believe this… STILL HAVE CHALKBOARDS IN THEM. I realize that with a much larger facility than my high school, it would be very expensive to update them, but like, chalkboards… and then slideshows… SmartBoards were invented specifically to combine these things into one beauteous creature
• they recycle pretty much everything for you, from batteries to empty printer cartridges, and then they actually use these things - I saw an LCD monitor made from what must have been the recycled remains of an old white CRT monitor, because there’s no way it was originally made that way
• after two years there, you can go on an exchange for one (or both) semester(s) to pretty much everywhere ever - perhaps I shall go see the world
• our school colours are red with black, which is unfortunate because I actually own no red clothing, but I own plenty of black - as far as I can tell red is the social stuff and black is the serious academic stuff? seemed to me like the fun things were red and the academic stuff was black, anyhow, so I guess that’s appropriate
• they have a computer science degree focusing on social networking and social games

Things I experienced worth noting:

• there will be a lot of exchange/international/whatever students, like seriously a lot
• there will be a crazy large amount of people in general, which is to say that people with all kinds of interests will be available to agree with you or simply be attractive
• I shared the empty spots at my table with a girl and her mom, the latter of which joked that she would e-mail my mom to say I had met at least one person
• I met an ex-Polish guy wearing a Rush t-shirt named Conred (pronounced Conrad of course) who assured me that the Polish are terrible, embarrassing people
• I really wanted some pizza for lunch but like there was nothing disgusting and unhealthy like that, although I did manage to find some french fries and had some cookies for desert

Yeah so I dunno that’s what I did today. I’m not trying to promote stuff or say my university is better than yours, like I’m not some super excited school spirit guy or anything. I guess I accidentally promised (more like sarcastically humoured the request) to go do Fall Orientation, for a cost of $75, which is called C U (Carleton University, get it) At The Circus and I have zero interest in that, especially since I live off-campus. And so my mom paid for that already and now I feel guiltily obligated to go and not enjoy myself. Allegedly it’s all non-drinking, which is to say they won’t be providing drinks, but that’s not much of a guarantee that nobody will be drunk. As far as I can tell I accidentally made my mom pay $75 for these things (go to the events thing) and like I might go see a good movie if they were going to something good. I don’t really want to go to the beach and not be with anybody or go to a concert if there’s nobody I want to see, and the rest is so un-noteworthy to my mind I won’t even declare my non-interest in them.

        Academic orientation will be useful, although I would have assumed that was for everyone? Carleton Complete may or may not also be informative, likewise with Expo Carleton. According to their “why should I bother” section of the FAQ Carleton Complete will make me a brilliant success so it had better be worth $75 alongside the academic orientation. Actually, I don’t care about the money even if I have to give my own money to my mom. Expo Carleton could possibly be a showcase of thing people from the university have done, as I know for example that we have our own art gallery somewhere.

        I’m not hellbent on being boring and not meeting anyone, don’t get me wrong, I just look at this list of events and feel very disinterested. Turned off, even, and I’m sure I don’t need to explain that. Of course I’ll go out and do things that interest me, if I know they exist and can find my way there. That’s why I’m going to go see The Holly Springs Disaster next saturday. I’m not worried about being awkward and out of place there, because I’ll enjoy the event regardless of my locally friendless state. I can only hope that my charmingly polite attitude and witty banter will charm people taking the same classes as I am, though they may not necessarily share all of my classes because of my wonky degree. Thus far, this is the only way I know how to meet people. Its effectiveness is yet to be determined.

        Oh, slight caveat: each of our classes seems to have a discussion board or something for the students in the class to get information from their teacher and make plans to study together and discuss material and whatever, where I know all kinds of things about being awesome and befriending people. I knew my years of lurking would be good for something in university!

Before me, gears and cogs and parts for which I have no name turn and click into place as they have every day since I stumbled onto this abandoned warehouse. I haven’t explored every nook and cranny of my newfound sanctuary, but every day I find myself drawn to this room simply to observe this strange machine. I haven’t figured out what it does yet, but so far it’s the only… “living” thing I’ve found here. No people, no animals, nothing but this tireless machine. Maybe the people who live here are hiding in one of the rooms I haven’t found yet. There are supplies enough for a dozen people to live here for months, so it must have been inhabited once. The layer of dust covering those cartons of food and bottled water makes me think it’s been a while since anything  in this building ate or drank, but I’m holding out hope to find some survivors. It’s been a very long time since I last lived with sane human beings.

        It was purely luck that I found this place at all, and damned good luck at that. In the middle of a sandstorm, halfway to dead already, I saw a shape out of the corner of my eye and ran for it. The building has held up pretty well over the years since it was built, and I haven’t found anything that needs repair. Most buildings I find are little more than boards nailed together, shelters built hastily in the last few years since the weather got worse. This place is pre-war, maybe even older. Older than I am, at any rate. No one in my lifetime could possibly have found this much food and water. Nobody I’ve met could built a building this sturdy, since anyone with access to concrete and steel would have to be incredibly rich. Not really my social circle. Not to mention that machine. Few people bother creating actual machines now. Creating tools and re-inventing things to make life easier, sure, but never a machine that works on its own. Such machines are too complicated and time-consuming, and the resources too hard to find. Not to mention that many pre-war machines were designed to take the place of good, old-fashioned human beings. We do most of our own labour now.

        The more I think on it, the more I dislike that machine. Whoever once lived here seems to be long gone, and yet it’s still working for whatever unknown purpose. It has outlived its original purpose, outlived its true masters. Outlived the people who knew what it really did. I wonder if it might be the last of its kind, even more alone than I am. At least I know there are others somewhere. Does it find comfort knowing that it may still have brethren elsewhere, working towards the same strange goal? Or does it relish being one of a kind? Perhaps it doesn’t think at all. Perhaps it was built before thinking machines, or maybe it was built afterwards and specifically designed to avoid the pitfalls of those unholy creations. At any rate, it tolerates my presence here, and for that I’m grudgingly thankful. Or perhaps it can do nothing to stop the only intruder it has seen in years. Maybe the defense mechanisms only start when I steal from the supplies. My own supplies have held up so far, but if I stay here much longer I will have to take from the unused supplies of whoever once lived here.

        The sun is going down now, so I’ve returning to the machine room to see if I can understand it with closer examination. Looking around now, there’s a large wrench behind the machine itself. None of the parts I can see signify any particular purpose, and in fact the machine is contained solely in this room. If it were important for the survival of whoever lived here, there would be pipes connecting it to the other rooms  to transfer whatever it was creating. If there had been pipes, I might have thought it was a furnace or a carbon dioxide processor for maintaining the air supply. As far as I can tell, whatever it does is limited to this room. Except there’s nothing else in this room. Not even a power supply. What makes it run? There’s no electricity in this building that I can see, and it emits nothing to suggest fossil fuels or steam as its power source. The more I examine it, the more I think there’s no reason for this machine to run at all. I’ve never seen anything similar, and I don’t believe I’ve ever needed one. Whatever it once did must have been a luxury affordable only by someone who could afford all the food stored here.

        As I pick up the wrench from the far corner, I’m looking for obvious weak points in the machine. Places vulnerable enough to be smashed or cracked. One glass or plastic tube in particular loops from the crown of the machine to its base, and this is my first target. After a couple of swings, it shatters. Nothing comes from the broken end of the tube, as if nothing circulated through it at all. There was small burst of light when it broke, but nothing else. Looking around the machine now, the exposed gears seem to be the most vulnerable places. An old phrase my father heard from his grandfather comes to mind, and yes, I will be placing a literal wrench in the gears. I’m hoping to pry one loose or perhaps stop it long enough for pressure to build and destroy one of the many parts depending on its motion. After fitting the head of the wrench around an appropriately sized gear, I use all of my weight to try to dislodge the gear. With a grinding, sickening crack, the gear comes flying into the room and only narrowly avoids taking off my right ear. The flash of light nearly blind me this time, but somehow the machine seems to function without that piece. The walls around me look alien and strange in the flickering light that must be coming from within the machine, but I don’t feel threatened by it. I don’t think this is a fragile machine about to self-destruct. Circling the machine again, I see a plume of smoke rising from a crack in the side. It looks vulnerable enough to smash with my wrench.

        Upon breaking through the outer shell of the machine, there was a flash of light so bright that I was blinded for over a minute. When I open my eyes, I’m no longer in a room on the left side of a warehouse. The walls, so strange a moment ago, have disappeared completely. I’m in a bare room with white-washed walls, and before me is a ruined machine nothing like the one I just destroyed. I leave the room, but the warehouse is no longer a sturdy sanctuary. It’s much smaller than what I remember, and rather than concrete and steel, I see only white-washed wooden walls. The crates of food and water have been replaced by empty cardboard boxes. In many of the rooms dead bodies lie abandoned, dead from starvation or thirst. The other victims of this cruel oasis. It would seem that machine was integral to the building I saw after all. As if it provides any comfort, no other travellers will fall prey to this holographic stronghold. Perhaps my damned luck will help others more than it helped me, when they pass this building in search of better shelter.

        After a while, I found a room with no other unfortunate fools inside. I closed the door and sat down to finish off my supplies of food and water and wait for the inevitable.

So I realize that perhaps I’ve barely mentioned my current real life status here on tumblr. Since people I talk to all the time were unaware of why I was absent. Perhaps those of you who know nothing but what I post on my tumblr worried that I was dead, or that I had abandoned you. No, I was just in the middle of moving fifteen hours away from the city (more like overblown town) in which I was born and raised. From peaceful little Summerside, Prince Edward Island, where you could have found my house if I told you the slightest bit about me, I have just finished moving to Ottawa, Ontario, where I could give you my full name and you could never find me. Prince Edward Island had a provincial phone book. Ottawa has two, or maybe three, phone books to itself. And each of those is at least twice the size of the PEI phone book. Yep, it’s a change of pace.

        We’ve been all moved in and everything for a little over a week now, and it’s kinda weird taking all of the *stuff* from your house and putting it into a new building, where you will be living from now on. We didn’t get internet because we were trying to find a good deal, and we ended up with Rogers because Bell was hardly an option. Their good service wasn’t available here, and we wanted good. So Rogers it was, and so far I’m not exactly happy. But I’ll live. Life goes on. I have a lot of catching up to do, but I’m alive! Hooray! And I’m so bored that I could post every day if I felt like it! I even have posts pre-written to post, but I’ll try to space things out. Honest. I’m going to post one now, and then another tomorrow or the day after. Sound like a plan? Yes? Great!

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        If Serial Experiments Lain, Welcome to the N.H.K, and Inception had a threesome, Chaos;Head would be born. I can’t speak for the visual novel it’s based on because I didn’t want to change my language settings just to play it, but holy crap, what an entertaining show. Those of you who don’t like subs (hi vael) won’t be able to watch it for a little while yet, but it has been licensed, so yay.

        It starts with a series of unexplained events dubbed the New Generation Madness by @Chan (it’s full of less-than subtle references like that, but some are funny), starting with a group suicide and a man becoming pregnant. The hero of our story, Takumi Nishijou, lives in a storage container on top of a tall building, where he spends his time watching anime, being the best at an archaic MMO (why would the data for his character be stored on his harddrive, and furthermore, how could he play in an internet cafe that way…) and jerking off to plastic figurines. Takumi has no friends, goes to school only as often as he needs to graduate, and hallucinates that one of his figurines is alive and talks to him. His sister occasionally comes to his “base” to make sure he’s still alive.

        Then he stumbles upon the third event of the New Generation Madness, the slaying of a professor studying a phenomenon called GE-Rate. The killer is… a cute high school girl. Who suddenly appears at Takumi’s school the next day and claims to be one of his only friends. The plot thickens!

        Takumi’s pretty much nuts and the whole idea is that half the time you don’t know if anything is actually happening. He hallucinates pretty frequently, often erotically, only to hear someone say his name and realize it wasn’t real. Then these hallucinations start becoming reality, simply because he imagined them. Then girls with swords no one else can see start paying a whole lot of attention to him. Then he becomes a suspect in the murder of the professor, and then stuff gets really crazy.

        It’s only twelve episodes long, and honestly it’s pretty well paced. There really aren’t any boring sections where nothing really happens. It’s one mystery after another, and as the pieces start to come together it all works pretty well. Off the top of my head, I don’t think there are any loose plot threads. It just clicks in a really satisfying way, and I think it would be as interesting to watch in one sitting as it would be to watch it slowly and give yourself time to think about it. In the last few episodes, there were a few times where I stopped for a second to connect little details and figure things out. One thing it doesn’t do is patronize you - no big villainous reveal followed by “yes indeed, I AM the villain!” Rather, you’ll see a chat screen left open, and then a confrontation. No need to tell you what you already know. So I like that about it.

        One of the characters was tortured as a young child and developed some serious psychological issues, as well as her special powers. She sees the world through mystical fantasy terms, like Black Nights and Demon Kings rather than people with special powers and mind control machines. She makes several references to Cocytus, the River of Grief  in Hades, only one of several horrible and depressing rivers to be crossed. At the end of the series, she realizes that the rivers past Cocytus don’t make passing it meaningless; rather, they validate the effort as a proof of strength to surpass further trials. Having passed one challenge, one can clearly pass the next, and the next, if only through willpower alone.

        Meanwhile, in Synthetic Worlds, the author compares the endless grind in an MMO to the trial of Sisyphus, who was sentenced to roll a boulder up the side of an impossibly tall mountain. Only at the end of the day, as he neared the top, his strength would fail and the boulder would fall to the base of the mountain. The reason people enjoy the grind in an MMO, however, is because they aren’t simply crawling up one large mountain. They’re crossing an entire mountain range, getting the reward for each milestone they pass rather than only being rewarded at the very end.

        Greek mythology aside, the two philosophies are similar at their core. Having climbed one mountain, you don’t admit defeat because there’s a taller mountain ahead. Nor should you expect a grassy plain on the other side, because there will always be challenges to be met and problems to be solved. No amount of success will guarantee a worry-free life forevermore. However, we need to take pride in our accomplishments and relish the joy of success to get us over the next mountain. If you disregard what you’ve accomplished, then every further challenge will be a source of despair, one more reason to be miserable.

        That’s the way I see my life when I look back. With every challenge I’ve overcome, I’ve become a better, stronger person. In the face of every challenge to come, I’ll take what I’ve learned and I’ll work until I succeed. Forward motion. Constant progress. I’m not looking for a grand reward at the end of the road to validate my efforts. The results are validation enough. It’s just a question of how you measure progress. Every little step is worth something, even if you need to take a thousand more. Don’t stop moving just because you aren’t there yet. Run faster if you’re that anxious to arrive.

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        Hey there kids! Are you really tired of writing, and completely forget the point you were originally trying to make? Don’t worry about it! Here’s a fool-proof guide to making nice fluffy arguments that barely form a cohesive thesis but give you an opportunity to mention all kinds of neato things.

1. Think of something that, in some small way, relate whatever your last paragraph was about.

2. Mix far too many metaphors and sound fancy without being completely clear what you mean. Don’t worry, nobody will notice except your english teacher.

3. Repeat steps one and two until you run out of neato things to bring in.

4. Repeat yourself, either with the same or different metaphors, and maybe add something personal. Just to make sure people reading the rest of what you wrote think of the things you wanted them to think about. Also, if you get a little lost yourself while writing this part, that’s ok. It’s all about the personal discovery they have reading what you’ve written. Let them draw their own conclusions! It’s like Writing 2.0 - involve your readers!

        I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again, because I start writing late or I just get frustrated with what I’ve written but plow ahead because I want to get it out. I’m not going to rewrite this, and I totally want to plug Choas;Head, and I’ve acknowledged the failure so now it’s a learning experience for everyone. Also, plan your essays. Having a thesis is important. Having supporting points is a nice touch.

        Now it’s time for the bonus quote, yay! From Dust of Dreams by Steven Erikson, the ninth book of the Malazan Book of the Fallen series. It’s a completely ridiculous series, and not for the faint of heart. I started when book 6 was new, and they only get longer. I think the entire series reaches my hip or higher now. I wouldn’t know, because I donated them to my high school library because I knew I wouldn’t have enough space to take them with me to Ottawa. Sad, because now I don’t know what to do with this book and the next, which will be the final volume. I can’t just keep volumes 9 and 10 on the shelf, but who could I ever give them to? They’re basically useless on their own T.T

        Also as for the quote specifically I absolutely love it and it was like the most amazing thing ever to read and it makes so much sense in context and the reference is obvious (in the book I mean) but it still makes me think of a badass person going around fixing everything and knowing the world is horrible and they can’t change that, but doing their own small part rather than giving up. Kinda like Scott Shelby in Heavy Rain appearing out of nowhere to solve problems and then just disappearing without needing any thanks. Kinda like what I aspire to be too. I want a fist full of tears T.T

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Somewhere, out there, you will find the purest essence of that philosophy. Perhaps in one person, perhaps in ten thousand. Looking to no other entity, no other force, no other will. Bound solely in comradeship, in loyalty honed absolute. Yet devoid of all arrogance. Wise in humility. And that one, or ten thousand, is on a path. Unerring, it readies itself, not to shake a fist at the heavens. But to lift a lone hand, a hand filled with tears. You want a faith? You want someone or something to believe in? No, do not worship the one or the ten thousand. Worship the sacrifice they will make, for they make it in the name of compassion - the only cause worth fighting and dying for.

I remember the other thing I’d noticed about Ottawa now. Air conditioning. In PEI, nobody has air conditioning in their homes. Businesses have it to at least keep things at a decent temperature. Here, everything is COLD. Way, way too much AC. Everywhere. Houses, hotels, everything is air conditioned to death. It’s terrible.

Also, slight correction: the burka is just the kind that completely covers the face. I haven’t seen any of those. Sorry for my failure at Islam.

There hasn’t been much to talk about at my grandparents’ cottage, and I’m not sure the drive to Ottawa will be crazy and exciting either, so this will probably be my only tumblr post until we get settled in sometime on tuesday. We’ll have the keys on monday, but we won’t have any furniture or pillows or anything - so we’re just going to stay in a hotel again that night.

        The only really interesting thing is that I worked on writing a letter last night, by which I mean an actual letter that will be mailed with stamps and everything. I know that must seem ridiculous, so rather than explain that to every single one of you individually, I’ll just tumbl the story and save myself some time.
Two years ago, I had two jobs and a girlfriend during the summer between tenth grade and eleventh. One job was a year-round part time job at a convenience store down the street, which I kept for two years straight. Generally I worked every saturday and sunday, with occasional shifts during the week. The second job was a summer job, working part-time at a summer camp for Canadian Parents for French. I had worked there the year before, and it was lots of fun, so I figured it would be alright this year as well. I had to work 7:30-12:30 every weekday, which meant going to bed early so I wouldn’t be tired. I ended up staying late most of the time to make sure none of the kids mysteriously disappeared, but that’s neither here nor there.

        Thanks to my two jobs, I had plenty of money that summer. I ordered a ton of crap online, namely a bunch of t-shirts and a dozen PS2 games I got on eBay for around $20 each. Having to wait a few weeks to get any of it kinda sucked, but then knowing it could arrive soon was always exciting and I was always really happy when I got stuff in the mail. After getting a particularly large bundle of stuff (I think I got a package of shirts and four games on the same day - they had arrived over the weekend or something and were all delivered on monday) and being super excited about it, my girlfriend at the time said that she wished she could get stuff in the mail, because nothing ever arrives in the mail for her. Simple solution for that: I would write her a letter! I ended up writing a second one afterwards, and that was all well and good because she got something in the mail and everyone won forever at mailboxes.

        Skipping forward about two years (minus a couple of weeks, probably), here I am again writing a letter to her. First of all, I have no reliable internet until we get everything hooked up at the new house, so writing a letter and mailing it is a fine way to keep busy and stay in touch. Second of all, it’s slightly more personal than writing an e-mail, so it’s a good way to let someone know you haven’t forgotten about them. I’m throwing a sheet of stamps in with this first letter to make sure I get letters back, so I can guarantee we’re both still alive for at least ten letters worth of time. I’m not sure how often we’ll write to eachother, really; I wouldn’t want to run through my initial stamp investment before the end of the summer. On the other hand, it’s not 1708 anymore, so it’s not like it will take months for our letters to arrive. Maybe we’ll send them when they’re a specific length, so if life has been terribly exciting it won’t cover much time, but if it’s been horribly boring it might cover a couple of weeks.

        Would you like me to write you a letter!? I can probably do that, but I make no guarantees about sending them regularly. It does take a bit of time to write a proper letter, and if I’m writing seven letters every week, I may run out of things to talk about because I’m spending all of my time writing letters. I can probably send you one or two, though, but only if you send one back! I have to know it got there, and I have to know I didn’t waste my time writing a letter to someone who doesn’t care enough to reciprocate D:

1. My history of depression

I don’t know when I became depressed, but it likely had something to do with taking Ritalin to help with my ADHD. I also forget exactly when I began that, but it was at least before third grade. So I was very young. My parents had done a good job of educating me before I began school, so my early years in school were extremely boring. I already knew everything except cursive writing, except I was shy and afraid of looking like a nerd, so I didn’t speak up in class or show off how smart I was. Yet people still teased me, and over the course of few years their bullying paid off as I began to hate myself and blame myself for everything, rather than blaming others.

        It peaked when I was ten years old, in fourth grade, after my parents decided I was mature enough to stay home by myself. One day, while home alone, I decided that I was tired of ruining everything, and I was going to make the world a better place by removing myself from it. I went downstairs and grabbed the biggest, sharpest, knife that we owned, and brought it upstairs to my bed. Psychologists will tell you a ten year old brain hasn’t developed enough to think in the way I did that day, but apparently there are exceptions. I stared at my reflection in the knife and thought about my life, all the people I knew, and all of the things that bothered me. I realized that most of what I blamed on myself had nothing to do with me, but most importantly, I realized that as miserable as I was, removing my pain and misery from the world would create even more pain and misery to take its place. The pain I would create in the people who cared about me by killing myself would be greater than what I was removing. This is almost universally true. You may or may not care about them, but there will always be people who are glad that you are alive. Remember that.

        I decided I couldn’t kill myself until the day I was completely and totally alone, but I was still depressed. Nothing changed for about four years, until I met a girl who made me feel good for the first time in a long time. To make a long story short, I cared about her, and that was a new experience for me. We became close, eventually dated on and off for a little over two years, and along the way I became happy and realized I wasn’t as terrible as I always thought. It’s been a little over a year and a half since we broke up, but we’re still friends. She helped me overcome my depression, likely for good, and having done it myself I know it’s entirely possible.

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2. The purpose of this post

My goal here is to explain what it’s like to be depressed to people who haven’t been depressed, or who are so used to living with their depression that they’ve never recognized it for what it is. For those who are depressed, or who have been in the past, I also hope to offer some kind of solace.

        Depression is a touchy issue, so I’m going to end up subdividing and classifying things all over the place, but I’m only trying to include everyone and alienate as few people as possible. I don’t want a poor choice of words or absent-minded exclusion to hurt anyone, or disregard their experiences. Depression is an extremely personal thing, and something many people keep to themselves and talk about only with their closest friends. I’ll never be able to cover every single possibility. There are things I simply have no experience with. If you understand what I’ve said, but it doesn’t apply to you or someone you know, then the best way to understand their situation is to ask them.

        I also want to stress that this isn’t an instruction manual or a how-to guide for curing depression. I am not equipped to say “if you are depressed because of x, then do y”. Professional help is very easy to find, and if the situation calls for it, you would be foolish not to seek it out.

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3. What is depression, and why does it happen?

Some people think depression is simply a feeling, a way of feeling sad. That’s true, and most people get that from time to time, and it might last for a few days but eventually it goes away. That sucks, but it’s not really what I’m talking about. I’m more interested in the psychological disorder kind of depression, which sounds scary, but it’s an easy choice of words to distinguish between the two. This is the depression that stays for months, years, even decades. It’s a constant state of that depressed mood, and even when things are going well, it doesn’t magically disappear. You might cheer up for a week or two, but then it slams you back down. This kind of depression sticks around until your life improves drastically, to the point where you’ve solved the initial issue and many more. That’s important, because depression doesn’t just happen; something has to set it off.

        Generally, everyone who becomes depressed has a problem in their life. These are extremely varied, but essentially, depression won’t go away unless that problem is solved. It doesn’t just disappear. If insecurities and poor self-esteem caused the depression, then fixing those will be the only way to get rid of the depression. If abuse or relationship troubles are the issue, then that needs to be taken care of. Basically, you can’t fix the effect while ignoring the cause.

        There is the possibility that depression runs in the family, as it runs in mine through my maternal grandmother, but I don’t believe that means you’re doomed to be depressed forever. My mother told me that it’s just an imbalance of chemicals, and there’s nothing wrong with taking pills to correct that, and to a certain degree that is true. There’s nothing wrong with someone taking anti-depressants. There is everything wrong with the belief that pills and prescriptions will solve everyone’s problems. Again, the most important thing involved in overcoming depression is eliminating the catalyst. Anti-depressants will not help someone in an abusive relationship improve their life. Leaving the abuser and dealing with the emotional scars must have priority. I cannot make this any clearer.

        The other key thing is that depression cannot be cured like a fever or a cold, and it can’t be removed with a good pep talk. You can’t force it out of someone simply by caring about them and supporting them. A personal impetus to be happy and have a better life is the only way to completely overcome it. Maybe that comes from an inspiring event in your life, maybe it comes from an inspiring person who comes along to save the day. I know that simply meeting a wonderful girl did not cure my depression, because I was still depressed for a time when we were together. It was through the gradual process of deciding I wanted to be happy and accept myself that I got through it, and I couldn’t have done it without her. I also know that it didn’t depend entirely on her, because it hasn’t come back now that things have changed between us. Of course, I get sad and “depressed” every once in a while, and that’s a legacy of my years of depression that will never stop completely. Now, however, I know how to cope, and I know that it will pass. For a day or two I might isolate myself and alienate a few friends, but inevitably I cheer myself up and life goes on.

        The reason I’m addressing the idea of treating depression like a normal  is twofold: first, if you are depressed, you must know how to deal with it. It’s hard, and I would honestly put anyone who overcomes their depression far above the average in terms of emotional strength, but you will have to want it and work for it to get there. Second, if you know someone who is depressed, you have to choose between helping them cope and helping them get better. I’ve learned first hand that you can’t compliment someone so much that they gain self-esteem, nor can you cheer them up to the point where their depression goes away. A depressed person in a good mood is still depressed, and they will be depressed when you aren’t there to cheer them up. You have to support anything they do to contribute towards getting better and give them as much solid advice as you can to solve the problems in their life. It comes to a point where you must accept that no amount of love and care will lead someone to change their life, and if you can’t convince them by yourself, you have to find some other strategy to work with. I can’t tell you what you will have to do, but it falls to your best judgment to decide how to proceed.

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4. Why is depression such a problem?

The main problem with recognizing depression is that it’s not like “woe is me, I am so depressed and miserable and sad!” It’s not as direct as that, and you don’t really tell yourself that you’re depressed. If it’s something that comes and goes, maybe you recognize it, but if it’s something you’ve had persistently, it’s not often that our brains identify it for what it is. You just don’t feel things properly, but if you’re used to it, you’ll never know the difference. Your joy is muted, your excitement for things you would otherwise care about disappears, and life becomes a chore as all pleasure seems to disappear. It becomes hard to care about anything positive, and very easy to care too much about everything negative. The worst part is that you don’t care that things aren’t right in your life, and it’s extremely hard to want to change and to work steadily towards helping yourself. With most types of depression, people feel as though THEY are the problem in their life, so it makes it even harder to care about helping themselves.

        To be clear, this is not fun. There’s no pleasure involved in being depressed. It doesn’t make you feel any better that people who want to help you are frustrated by the fact that you won’t help yourself. I don’t really need to list the symptoms of depression, but they all work together to create a constant mental, physical, and emotional fatigue. Overcoming all of that is one of the most emotionally strenuous tasks many people will ever undertake.

        The difficulties people face such as the loss of family and loved ones, dealing with illness, and other emotionally painful things, require a different kind of strength to surpass. Other people can help you deal with grief, but no one can give you the strength to feel genuine happiness again. After you’ve survived depression, there’s not much that can bring you down as low as you once were. After you learn to cope with minor setbacks, and figure out the things that help you preemptively stop bouts of depression - sleeping well, exercising, listening to upbeat music, writing, whatever works for you really - you’re basically set. Even when things go bad, it’s business as usual rather than the end of the world.

        Not only do people who are already depressed have a hard time wanting to work towards helping themselves, but they don’t usually feel like doing a whole lot of other things either. By procrastinating and spending time thinking about everything that’s wrong with your life, things inevitably pile up or don’t get done and make everything worse. It’s a bad cycle to get caught in. Just like overcoming depression, overcoming this cycle means not only taking care of all the work you didn’t do, but going ahead and doing the work you’re supposed to be doing right now so you don’t get stuck in it again. It’s a big productivity waster, and with extreme depression it’s a struggle to get anything done at all. You simply don’t care.

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5. What’s it like to be depressed?

You may know the symptoms in theory, but that really doesn’t tell you anything about what it’s like to be depressed. You’ll hardly ever feel happy and you won’t enjoy much, you’ll sleep too little (or too much), you won’t eat enough (or you’ll each too much), you might have inexplicable headaches and you’ll spend most of your time tired. Sure, none of those things sound pleasant, but the broad symptoms like that are the least of your worries. Most of those symptoms are physical, and the only emotional ones (no joy or pleasure) doesn’t sound very intimidating. Basically, reading that doesn’t give you any idea of the mental and emotional effect it has when it becomes a “normal” part of your life.

        When I was in junior high, one of the ways I visualized my depression was a filter separating me from everything and everyone else. When life was going well, it was a light grey filter. When the depression got worse, it was a darker grey. The filter coloured my perception of everything in life, from my interactions with others to my thoughts and emotions. A dark grey filter led to pessimism and paranoia, and I would assume the worst of everyone. I felt emotionless, like a robot or a psychopath. Things I used to love became soulless routines, and things I should have enjoyed meant nothing to me.

        Being depressed was the emotional equivalent of needing glasses to see or a hearing aid to hear. Things that should be there are nowhere to be found, and it’s very difficult to function normally with the kind of dampening you get from not seeing, hearing, or feeling everything you should. If you continue the charade and act like nothing is wrong, you’ll only aggravate the symptoms and make the problem worse. Lying and acting adds further stress to your life as you try to convince others that nothing is wrong.

        Imagine, then, looking out at a beautiful sunset. It’s amazing, it’s beautiful, and to simply experience it once would be to live a better life. Except when you look out, the sun is colourless and drained of any potential beauty. Birds are chirping and the radio in your car is playing your favourite song, but these sounds are far away and distorted as if your head were submerged in a foot of water. That’s a bleak version of an incredibly beautiful moment, which is sad on its own, but it doesn’t stop there. Apply that same dampening effect to daily tasks, which are far less beautiful than a gorgeous sunset, and imagine living with that every single day. Nobody really enjoys those things, so imagine being depressed and having to force yourself through them. Sounds… depressing, doesn’t it?

I didn’t feel like writing at all yesterday afternoon, so I played Lost Planet instead. After watching Letters to Juliet and Eclipse last night, both of which are love stories, I feel like writing! I’ll discuss them briefly here, so that they don’t get in the way of the post I’m going to write about being depressed. If you see this before I finish writing it and would like to proof-read/review/discuss/whatever it with me, I have xfire, MSN, and AIM listed at the bottom of my tumblr. If you don’t use any of those, well, tumbl your alternative or e-mail either the hotmail or AOL account.

        So, Letters to Juliet. Startling similarities, such as the main character being a perfectionist about her writing and dealing with a fiancé who eventually chooses his work over her. Notable only for a conversation where the girl admits to being a perfectionist about her writing, and her future-fiancé-replacement accuses her of simply being afraid to be imperfect. It’s not far from the truth, and it’s a noble sentiment (your writing is great, stop worrying about it), but I would instead say that perfectionism comes from insecurity rather than fear. Fear would mean fear of failure, fear of being imperfect or not good enough. You would look at what you’ve accomplished and think “I hope this is good, I hope people like it, I worked so hard on this so it had better do well.”

        Unfortunately, perfectionists don’t really think about that. Rather, they tend to look at what they’ve accomplished and think “this is nothing, this is terrible, I worked so hard on this and it was a complete waste of time.” It’s not so much a fear of anything as it is not believing in yourself. You NEED those perfect marks/job/whatever you happen to be working for, but you don’t think you’re good enough, and ultimately time runs out or you get frustrated and you take something you aren’t personally happy with and hand it in anyway. Maybe it goes well, maybe it doesn’t. Even worse, when it’s something without a deadline, is when it goes unfinished because you simply don’t believe the finished product will be any good. I’ve got so many half-formed ideas for writing floating around, it’s more about deciding which to write about than actually writing. I wouldn’t be writing a number of posts I’m going to make if I wasn’t relaxing and avoiding “real life” at all costs.

        One huge caveat: This is simply the kind of perfectionism I see often in myself and others in my academic classes. The people who take Advanced English and every science course available. I accept the existence of positive perfectionism, in the sense of someone who simply does their best all of the time and makes sure everything is perfect. There’s also neurotic forms of perfectionism, where there’s an obsessive compulsion towards working far too hard and never thinking anything is done. I’m simply writing based on personal experience, and likely for everyone person who feels perfectionism differently there will be several who nod and recognize the feelings I’ve described.

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        Now, Eclispe is a complicated monster simply because it has a complicated place in an already complicated history of my complicated relationship. Essentially, it was chock full of similarities to myself and others, both in terms of character and situations. It’s not as clear cut as I’m x character and they’re y character, though, as there are bits of each of us in all of them. At any rate, these similarities were present situations rather than old-ish history when my girlfriend at the time was reading the books, and this created all sorts of depressing experiences. It was just a bad coincidence that the books came to her attention at the absolute worst time possible. Though I suppose reading them beforehand, or afterwards, would have been just as bad… It was just entirely unfortunate.

        Oh, and as far as the characters in Eclipse go… I feel no empathy towards the horrifically beautiful things presented on that screen. They’ve taken humans and air brushed and sparkled them to nearly disgusting levels. Maybe that’s how some people imagined the characters in the books (I doubt it?) but it certainly doesn’t evoke anything in me.

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        Anyway, I’m going to go work on that post about being depressed. It probably won’t be finished tonight, so you have plenty of time to contact me and offer your editing services or whatever help you feel you can give. Oh, and I suppose I should be clear, it’s based on being depressed in the past. It’s not meant to be my life’s story, either, but instead some exposition on something people either understand too little or understand far too well. For those who do not understand it, I’ll try to explain.

        I can’t help but quote As I Am by Dream Theater here, because it’s basically what I would have said anyway, only I can attribute it to someone else and sound snazzy. Ho ho ho.

To those who understand, I extend my hand