Today is... something...
Oct. 11th, 2026 10:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.poitrine.co.uk/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mouseI built a shoe rack today, then reorganised things in my room. I wanted to make use of the shelf rack, but where the shelf rack was supposed to go, there was a massive container full of sketchbooks from throughout high school and even during primary school, as well as random things that didn't have a place. And the rocking horse on top of it.
The rocking horse was fine to move--just put it in front of my pandas shelf, for the time being--but the container sure wasn't... I don't know how to express it but it's, like, massive. Probably a metre wide, even more than that lengthwise. It's not easy to deal with. I slowly removed its contents, and eventually, it was empty.
I brought it to the backyard and set it under the porch, never to be cared for again.
The reason I was so slow at unloading this container's contents is not because it was extremely full of individual things, but rather because the sketchbooks were full of old art. I took the opportunity to go through them: so many things from my past!
Art from my high school days that I'm embarrassed of! Art from my high school days that I'm fond of!
ああ、ああ、this is terrible... (it's fine)
ああ、ああ、I want to go home... (I'm at home, in my room)
ああ、ああ、I'm so sad... (I really feel fine)
Thoughts and feelings of this nature consumed me. I can't really tell why.
Looking at a bunch of the things I drew, I could remember exactly where I was at the time of production. Certain drawings that I knew existed and was super fond of but only had copies of in old messages even revealed themselves, and my face was hot from embarrassment.
Many of my best/fondest/most memorable drawings were produced by ignoring my classes in high school. I would spend time with my nose in either my computer (working on my websites, reading long Dir en grey yaoi fanfiction where the AU was so heavy it was practically original novels with borrowed names/stock characters, scrolling the Internet Archive, online pet games) or one of my sketchbooks.
At a certain point in time--once I had graduated from pure pencil sketches, once I had graduated from ballpoint pens--my art style was partly characterised by using a permanent marker to add thick outlines to the outer lines of characters and lines that I decided would need it, after I had completed the initial lining using a fineliner or black gel pen from Kmart. (I still do similar things to this day, on certain occasions.) I'd also liberally colour in whatever I wanted to be pure black with the permanent marker.
As a result, whatever classroom I was in at the time would always smell strongly of Sharpies. The smell is still nostalgic to me...
I carefully removed one page from one sketchbook, containing a very "classic" drawing that really set the mood for the rest of my life going forward. It's a little silly to say that, because the drawing itself is of the band FLOPPY as furries, specifically rabbits.
Lop-eared rabbits.
The joke is that they're called FLOPPY because they have FLOPPY ears. Anyway, it's silly to say that it dictated the rest of my life, but it's foundation for my spirit. I don't know how else to describe it.
I now have it scanned in 1200 DPI. I don't really know why I did it: the original scan I had of it (done via my school library of course) was perfectly fine.
Oh well... it did something for my heartね
I used to draw constantly. I envy my past selves who were able to do nothing but produce art, something to put into the world, even if I never shared it with anybody. When I was kicked out of home, all I did was draw: it was all I had. I now go through periods where I can't draw at all, no matter how hard I try, and even when I do produce something I am tired of it all. I usually share these drawings with at least one person every single time. What was different then that is missing now?
I'm grateful for all my early years.
Once I finished with that, I finally had somewhere to put my shoes--and without the container there, I found my copy of GREENWORLD! For some reason it was lying half-underneath my bed, collecting dust. How sad.
I think I left it in my bed for a sustained amount of time, for one reason or another, even going to sleep with GREENWORLD by my side, until while tossing and turning and kicking my blankets down it had fallen, and then due to that ghastly container living there it fell and was never seen again.
Then, with my shoes away, the tub I was keeping them that lived under my bed was empty; I threw all the sketchbooks in there and tucked them away. My room feels so much cleaner now. I feel great.
Using this momentum, I decided to pick up the bags I've had for months with intention to donate to an op shop and finally actually donate them. I consulted my family before leaving, as usual--everyone here is a bit of a shut-in, and I have to do all the grocery shopping--and my dad said he'd think on it if he could find some cash. I told him he was limited to the time it took for me to shower and wash my hair.
When I was done I went back to my room to accessorise and pick up my bags... and my dad burst in while I was standing around like a dope. My arm warmers were not long enough to cover my entire forearm, so he spotted evidence of self harm and informed me, "Busted!"
I really thought he already knew. Like, months ago. I don't understand. The next thing that came out of his mouth was, "I really don't care whether you cut yourself or not. Don't you think it's a bad thing to do, though? Not like I care. Whatever works for you, dude." I'm glad the exchange was short, but it was thoroughly embarrassing. I sheepishly told him that I stopped when I stopped that awful medication, and I stopped it because it was making me go crazy. He said, whatever, dude.
Neglectful parenting at its finest... it hasn't been addressed since. I hope it never is. It's my own problem.
He informed me that the tobacconist that got shut down re-opened though, and told me to get him a pack of Marlboro golds.
I was really shocked. I thought they were gone for good, after the government's intense crackdowns, and their good prices went with them. Every illegal shop sells smokes for like $20 each now, $25 even, but when I went here they sold everything for only $10!
The higher prices were why I quit stress smoking and reduced myself back to a social smoker. It's safe to say that, er, I'm back to being a stress smoker again now. I just went on a walk to smoke three cigarettes in a row before finishing this blog, in fact. (Double Happiness of course.) They probably have mold in them. Whatever.
It's better than the whole cutting myself thing, mind you. I really scared myself when I went to the hospital and I never want to do anything like that again. But this is off topic.
I need to make my bed... I'll do that tomorrow.
"Tomorrow" is a terrible word, but tonight I'm supervising my girlfriend to be sure she does her readings for university. I'm a responsible man. I also feel kind of nauseous.
"Tomorrow" is also when I have a mystery phone appointment with the government. I don't know the reason so I'm a little scared. I'll blog about it if it's important. I hope it isn't.
じゃあね！
The rocking horse was fine to move--just put it in front of my pandas shelf, for the time being--but the container sure wasn't... I don't know how to express it but it's, like, massive. Probably a metre wide, even more than that lengthwise. It's not easy to deal with. I slowly removed its contents, and eventually, it was empty.
I brought it to the backyard and set it under the porch, never to be cared for again.
The reason I was so slow at unloading this container's contents is not because it was extremely full of individual things, but rather because the sketchbooks were full of old art. I took the opportunity to go through them: so many things from my past!
Art from my high school days that I'm embarrassed of! Art from my high school days that I'm fond of!
ああ、ああ、this is terrible... (it's fine)
ああ、ああ、I want to go home... (I'm at home, in my room)
ああ、ああ、I'm so sad... (I really feel fine)
Thoughts and feelings of this nature consumed me. I can't really tell why.
Looking at a bunch of the things I drew, I could remember exactly where I was at the time of production. Certain drawings that I knew existed and was super fond of but only had copies of in old messages even revealed themselves, and my face was hot from embarrassment.
Many of my best/fondest/most memorable drawings were produced by ignoring my classes in high school. I would spend time with my nose in either my computer (working on my websites, reading long Dir en grey yaoi fanfiction where the AU was so heavy it was practically original novels with borrowed names/stock characters, scrolling the Internet Archive, online pet games) or one of my sketchbooks.
At a certain point in time--once I had graduated from pure pencil sketches, once I had graduated from ballpoint pens--my art style was partly characterised by using a permanent marker to add thick outlines to the outer lines of characters and lines that I decided would need it, after I had completed the initial lining using a fineliner or black gel pen from Kmart. (I still do similar things to this day, on certain occasions.) I'd also liberally colour in whatever I wanted to be pure black with the permanent marker.
As a result, whatever classroom I was in at the time would always smell strongly of Sharpies. The smell is still nostalgic to me...
I carefully removed one page from one sketchbook, containing a very "classic" drawing that really set the mood for the rest of my life going forward. It's a little silly to say that, because the drawing itself is of the band FLOPPY as furries, specifically rabbits.
Lop-eared rabbits.
The joke is that they're called FLOPPY because they have FLOPPY ears. Anyway, it's silly to say that it dictated the rest of my life, but it's foundation for my spirit. I don't know how else to describe it.
I now have it scanned in 1200 DPI. I don't really know why I did it: the original scan I had of it (done via my school library of course) was perfectly fine.
Oh well... it did something for my heartね
I used to draw constantly. I envy my past selves who were able to do nothing but produce art, something to put into the world, even if I never shared it with anybody. When I was kicked out of home, all I did was draw: it was all I had. I now go through periods where I can't draw at all, no matter how hard I try, and even when I do produce something I am tired of it all. I usually share these drawings with at least one person every single time. What was different then that is missing now?
I'm grateful for all my early years.
Once I finished with that, I finally had somewhere to put my shoes--and without the container there, I found my copy of GREENWORLD! For some reason it was lying half-underneath my bed, collecting dust. How sad.
I think I left it in my bed for a sustained amount of time, for one reason or another, even going to sleep with GREENWORLD by my side, until while tossing and turning and kicking my blankets down it had fallen, and then due to that ghastly container living there it fell and was never seen again.
Then, with my shoes away, the tub I was keeping them that lived under my bed was empty; I threw all the sketchbooks in there and tucked them away. My room feels so much cleaner now. I feel great.
Using this momentum, I decided to pick up the bags I've had for months with intention to donate to an op shop and finally actually donate them. I consulted my family before leaving, as usual--everyone here is a bit of a shut-in, and I have to do all the grocery shopping--and my dad said he'd think on it if he could find some cash. I told him he was limited to the time it took for me to shower and wash my hair.
When I was done I went back to my room to accessorise and pick up my bags... and my dad burst in while I was standing around like a dope. My arm warmers were not long enough to cover my entire forearm, so he spotted evidence of self harm and informed me, "Busted!"
I really thought he already knew. Like, months ago. I don't understand. The next thing that came out of his mouth was, "I really don't care whether you cut yourself or not. Don't you think it's a bad thing to do, though? Not like I care. Whatever works for you, dude." I'm glad the exchange was short, but it was thoroughly embarrassing. I sheepishly told him that I stopped when I stopped that awful medication, and I stopped it because it was making me go crazy. He said, whatever, dude.
Neglectful parenting at its finest... it hasn't been addressed since. I hope it never is. It's my own problem.
He informed me that the tobacconist that got shut down re-opened though, and told me to get him a pack of Marlboro golds.
I was really shocked. I thought they were gone for good, after the government's intense crackdowns, and their good prices went with them. Every illegal shop sells smokes for like $20 each now, $25 even, but when I went here they sold everything for only $10!
The higher prices were why I quit stress smoking and reduced myself back to a social smoker. It's safe to say that, er, I'm back to being a stress smoker again now. I just went on a walk to smoke three cigarettes in a row before finishing this blog, in fact. (Double Happiness of course.) They probably have mold in them. Whatever.
It's better than the whole cutting myself thing, mind you. I really scared myself when I went to the hospital and I never want to do anything like that again. But this is off topic.
I need to make my bed... I'll do that tomorrow.
"Tomorrow" is a terrible word, but tonight I'm supervising my girlfriend to be sure she does her readings for university. I'm a responsible man. I also feel kind of nauseous.
"Tomorrow" is also when I have a mystery phone appointment with the government. I don't know the reason so I'm a little scared. I'll blog about it if it's important. I hope it isn't.
じゃあね！
