Network

Every time someone makes a post here, I feel ten years older.

The best possible use for a blog is to explain things that happened to me that I need to tell the entire world but can't tell more than once without my sides splitting, right? I'm not sure, entirely, if the side-splitting is from tears or laughter. It's from something.

See, we don't live in the best part of town. Far from the worst -- my friend Corin will tell you all about that -- but not really the best, and one time I was walking home from where my ride home from practice's car broke down, because I had to get Prim to bed properly as our mother was stuck on yet another night shift (the problem with having a psychotic break, apparently, is that even when you get your medical license back you get terrible hours. My ride home was fine, and she got AAA to help her, I believe. Irrelevant, though, to the story. I just didn't want anybody to worry, and of course I do have to keep my public in mind. (Can you hear the snort? Good.)

Long story short -- though it is already rather long -- I got mugged.

Or rather I got attempted mugged, because I still had my bow and arrows on me, and the man came at me thinking I had money or something, or maybe he was going to rape me, or maybe he was just planning on selling my pay-as-you-go Wal-Mart cell phone that may have been worth $50 at that point. He came at me fast.

I drew and shot him in the leg.

Obviously I wasn't thinking clearly, because they're not the type of arrow you use for hunting (I know, I have those too, I like hunting in my nonexistent copious spare time -- Gale really likes hunting and I go with him often as a friends thing. I'm better with a bow than he is. He can't stand it) and so you shouldn't be shooting people with them either (not that I endorse shooting people with hunting arrows, mind you) and also, well, I shot someone, period, instead of, I don't know, actually, maybe if I had been thinking clearly I would have still shot him. I must've been thinking clearly enough to aim for the leg.

He fell down, and suddenly there was a mugger, bleeding everywhere, and I was really glad I had that pay-as-you-go Wal-Mart cell phone that was maybe worth $50, because I had to call 911. And say I almost got mugged and I defended myself and shot a man in the leg -- oh, no, officer, not with a gun, with an arrow, yes, I'm an archer, no, I'm not kidding, yes that is a professional sport -- and I had to go back to my little sister so could they please hurry.

Due to being a welfare kid, I've always had some disdain for the police. The food stamps line is kind of awful all the time and the repeated screenings for everything in the world when we just want to recertify for MediCal is exhausting. But this wasn't so bad. I didn't even get cited. I got commended for defending myself.

Prim's still terrified to go outside, two days later, but tomorrow is Monday and she's got to go to school, so hopefully she'll get past that.

Things are commencing nicely in my super awesome teen rebellion revenge plan, let me tell you, Valarnet. I've found a place where I can learn not to look like an asshole on a horse, or fall off of one either, and where I can negotiate with the methods of payment I use.

The shoulder's also getting better, probably because what with the intro lessons I've been giving since I came on at the ranch, I've spent a lot of time walking the kids through the basics, demonstrating those basics, and practicing the little piece by piece bits literally piece by piece.

I'm not going to lie and say it's not frustrating when I know I can do better, but given what I'm coming back on to the scene from, it's not something I can rush with pacing either. At least it's finally only frustrating because I want to get back into doing things the right way, and not because I want to prove somebody wrong. It doesn't do a lot for helping me with letting go of all the other feelings, but at least, archery wise, I'm back down to a level where I can turn off the petty little voice inside my head and focus on loving what I do.

On the Hot Topic front, my hours have been cut enough with the new job that my co-workers are almost tolerable now. Cullen, who is seriously the sweetest kid ever, and no I don't know her real name, was actually so surprised and happy that we got a shift together the other night that I got a hug when I came in, and we had a decent evening straightening out the Tshirt bin without too many crazy interruptions. Apparently the mall shoplifting string continues but since I'm not dealing with it every day, it doesn't even bug me anymore.

So right now, right now, stuff is...decent. I need to deal with posting about the rest to see if they help me out but I should be getting sleep instead of confronting my problems, right?

Fuck, my life.

Edit: I can't deal with this shit. Anybody willing to do a booze run for someone who's legal in Canada and Europe?

Before I explain what my problem is, and why I freaked out when I got up this morning, I've got to give you a little background here. See, the last eighteen months of my life has been a fucked up cesspool of my own making. I ran away for really stupid reasons when I was seventeen and thought that I knew everything, and I haven't even had the guts to have a conversation with my godfather about it once. In fact, we haven't spoken since the night I stalked out of Oliver's place, promising him that I'd never come back. That's something that's been on my mind with going back to archery, since obviously, you don't get taught by Oliver Fucking Queen and EVER set foot on a range without him in the back of your head.

Obviously, we know I've been kind of obsessed lately, mostly since I miss the guy, and I could really use him to get me back from my stupid ass injury, but well, last night was the first dream I've ever had about him.

So. in this dream, I was standing outside some kind of government building with a few other people, and dressed completely...weirdly. Then this massive guy up at a podium said something about me, and the two people I was with, were heroes and inducted into the league.

A bunch of cameras went off and the whole thing was really freaking surreal, until Oliver appeared right next to me and started shaking my hand and saying something about how proud he was of me. Did I mention Ol was wearing a really fucked up version of his typical archery kit? For fuck's sake, he was even wearing a goddamned Robin Hood hat. And then, I don't know. In the dream I was incredibly happy, and, well, satisfied with how things had turned out and that Oliver had actually acknowledged me as being his equal.

It felt...Right somehow. Like the rightness I've been needing for the longest time.

I miss him . And the dream just made it worse. I think I'm taking Wrex up on his suggestion of a couple laps in the pool. See if having some kind of focus can make the bad thoughts go away.

Right. Social Media. Soooooooocial media.

Am I doing it right? Whatever. I'm Tony Stark, and now that that's out of the way, let's all get to know each other.

Get to the Hard Rock in an hour. I'm buying all night.

This is a pretty interesting network, but the amount of information some of you leave open to the public is disturbing. What you put on the internet is forever. Even if you delete it there are ways to recover it. I'm looking at you littlegreengirl and those topless photos.

Its not even that hard to trace your physical location at the time of posting. There's even an app out there that can collate that information into a visual map. It doesn't even have to be a clever creep to stalk you and use information gleaned from what you post against you. You'll have to meet me in person to get my real name.

( A warning beneath the cut )

In the interest of oversharing, which seems to be a trend amongst you people, guess where I spent last night?

It's 8pm and I'm still at the office. I have next to a million things to get done before the weekend and all I can do is stare at this stupid network.