Ramblings of the Mildly Insane

What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3

Since it’s almost Valentine’s Day and since I haven’t changed the header on this site in a very very long time, I’ve decided that it would be the perfect opportunity to dust off my sketch book.

The header image is actually my first Photoshop painting using my new Wacom Intuos3 Special Edition graphics tablet. I scanned a sketch I made, then worked in over until it had the feel I was going for. It’s not exactly as I want it, but I’m happy with what I have so far.

In time, painting with the tablet will become more natural (I’m already in love) and I’ll probably start showcasing my sketches and painting here. It’s the perfect place and a perfect way to revive my long neglected blog.

For the last week, I’ve been traveling through Europe with my sister, niece, and cousin. Very late last night, we finally returned home and it feels good. The places we specifically went to were Frankfurt, Germany for one day, Prague, Czech Republic for a day before venturing to Milan, Italy for a whole day before jumping back to Prague for the remainder of our holiday. We had our problems and off days, but I try to focus on the positive; to say the trip was amazing would be an understatement. Pictures will probably be up the day after tomorrow considering that tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I won’t be spending much time on the computer.

Lynn tagged me and I’ve run out of excuses.
Here goes…this meme is all about why I blog. The idea is to post 5 reasons why I blog and then tag 5 other people to do the same.

1. So I can post positively adorable pictures of my niece.
2. It’s a way to collect my thoughts and get feedback at the same time.
3. Networking with other bloggers and meeting new people.
4. Helping others by sharing things I’ve learned.
5. The money, of course. (Blogging can be very lucrative.)

Actually, there are quite a few more reasons why I blog, but those are the superficial ones.

Now, to tag some people…

1. Belle Wong
2. Linda Buquet
3. Andre Chaperon
4. Splork
5. Darren Rowse

You’re all it. (Wonder who’ll actually participate.)

As if I really needed an excuse to eat oatmeal raisin cookies and drink apple juice, I was finally able to donate blood. After the last incident I had, both the donation lady and myself were holding our breath as she tested my blood’s iron levels and wouldn’t you know it, my iron pill kicked in.

Here are some fun facts for you…

My blood type is O+, my blood pressure is 114/80, my temperature is 98.8°F, and my resting pulse is 60 beats per minute (which, oddly, is higher than usual).

If you’re squeamish about blood, you may want to stop reading now. Here’s what the process looks like:

I gave the lady a chuckle when I finally opened my eyes roughly half-way through. I really can’t stand watching the needle go in.

I have a couple other entries I want to write, but damn I’m tired. I truly didn’t think I’d feel this flushed afterwards, so, I’m going to eat a big meal (read: order a very large pizza) and take a nap.

P.S. If anyone wants a couple free passes to the Florida Marlins game on Oct. 1, please let me know. I’m not a huge baseball fan.

On a completely unrelated note, I’m really having fun taking pictures of random stuff with my cell phone.

I like reminiscing with my daddy. He always tells me the most lovely stories about my childhood.

If you’ve never met me in person, or been close enough to inspect my lips, you may not notice the small scar on my lower one. But, I see it everyday when I look in the mirror and was curious about how I got it.

It seems, it’s a result of my two year old heroism — I wanted to save my mom from a hot stove. You see, she was holding me with one hand and cooking something with the other. The stove had caught fire (or something) and I instinctively jumped out of her arms to protect her from it. (At least, that’s how my dad tells it.) It resulted in me hitting my mouth on the stove and slicing it open. Then I cried and my mom needed to save me.

Growing up, I spent a lot of time wishing my parents had enrolled me in piano lessons when I was two or taught me a second (or even, third) language when I was three. In fact, I resented them.

Despite being on the dean’s list, in honour society, and first chair in the top band, I always felt inadequate, especially when the other kids were bragging about playing an instrument for ten years when they were only 12 years old. They started me in everything too late. How could my parents curse me like this? I’d often wonder.

Then, sitting in my bedroom and looking around, I realized that I am fortunate and my parents didn’t curse me — they gave me a fighting chance.

Jamaica, the country where I was born, is akin to a third world country (though not as bad as some third world countries). There are two main classes: the very rich and the very poor. Flipping through my photo album, it’s fairly obvious which class we were in, but it didn’t deter my parents — more specifically, my mom.

My mother traveled to the states for a single purpose, to bring her family here because, after all, America is the land of opportunity. She worked for a year to bring me, my dad, and my two sisters here (and she had to do it individually over a period of another year). She single-handedly plucked us from a destitute future and gave me and my sisters a head start.

I only had to live in a metal shack (yea, like the ones you see in those feed the children commercials) for the first three years of my life instead of the first twenty-something. For that alone, I forgive my parents for not starting me in everything early. Instead, I’d like to thank them for the opportunities they made available to me.

They did the very best they could with what they had, and I have everything I do because of them.

Addendum: Actually, after speaking to my daddy, I only had to live in a metal shack for roughly the first 6 months. The rest of my life, we did live in a real house (I actually do remember it, too).

This may not come as a surprise to those who know me IRL, but I have more than one blog. Let me clarify, I have more than one personal blog.

For nearly 2 years, Mild Insanity has been the place where I vented and raged and laughed and learned. It was fun (and still is). Then I realized people beyond my friends and family were actually reading my blog and suddenly, it began to feel strange. Because of this strangeness, Mild Insanity became self-censored.

When I found out my ex-boyfriend read this blog, I chose not to speak specifically of our relationship or my new relationships or anything I felt might upset him. Because many people only see me as bubbly/happy/goofy, I have a lot of difficulty speaking about my bad days, my pain, my fears, or anything that would paint me in a different light.

A lot of who I am is lost on this blog and I spend a great deal of time biting my tongue and choosing my words as not to upset the wrong people at the wrong time. While I stand by my words (let’s face it, they show everyone that I’m human too…), there are some words I’d prefer others not read. I’ve tried password protecting posts, but my blog isn’t a high school cafeteria, and I don’t like excluding people like that.

And therein lies my dilema. What should I do with the insanity? Should I mothball it? Should I continue writing about various topics I find floating around the web? Or should I bite the bullet, get over my fear of being completely open in the public eye and just go for broke?

If I’m quiet here for a little while, you’ll know what I’m contemplating…

In the meantime, feel free to entertain yourself with some posts from the archive

I’m dieting. Though it started before 2006 rolled in, this is officially the first day that I haven’t cheated on it.

So, when my sister suggested we stop off at Wendy’s, I politely declined and told her about my diet, to which she responded with a genuine, “Why?”

“Because I’ve gained a lot of weight since I’ve been up here and I really don’t like it.” (This answer seems quite reasonable to me.)

“But you look healthy now.”

“Huh? What do you mean I look healthy now? I didn’t look healthy before?”

“Before, when you weighed less, you looked like I should feed you. I’m not trying to be funny, but I wanted to hand you a cheese burger and tell you to eat.”

And this is the same sister who, while we were up in Tahoe, off-handedly mentioned that my ass had grown to ginormous proportions.

Personally, I think this is just payback for me always calling her a starving Ethiopian child and asking is she needs some food. In my defense, she is twig thin and always has been.

In any event, I’m holding fast to my plans and will be working hard to shed those 20 pounds. But to be clear, I love my curves, just on a smaller scale.

I really just want to get back down to my original 9/10 pant size and if God really loves me, a 7/8.