trying emotions

For the stalkers who stalk (who is even reading this out there?): FUCK Y'ALL. EAT SHIT AND DIE.

I'm pretty sure that accurately sums up about 80% of my feelings over the last week. The things people have been saying to me, I already know, and they're the last things I want to be hearing. It's aggravating in the worst way, because I've (almost) never judged them in that way. Don't do it to me.

I feel like shit, physically. Please don't let me actually get sick.

A snippet of something that I've been working on recently:
Fear makes your tongue swell, damming up all your cries. She strokes your hair back off your forehead, dirt and sweat and blood matting it to your skin. You blink away the film across your eyes, stare up into eyes rimmed with red, a mix of saltwater tears and desperation. Her voice is faraway and distant, like a foghorn out at misty sea. You can't concentrate but her mouth is moving and you struggle to push the words and letters back into their places; English and French and German and Thai that you learnt the taste of before you knew the sounds. Her hands are shaking. There are thirteen bits of green in her eyes and each part is tinged with a little bit of insanity. 

NaNo's just over a month away. I need to start putting some thought into what I want to write 50,000 words of.

Real updates later, I guess.