<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671</id><updated>2011-04-21T21:42:09.186-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Cynara Jade</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>43</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-115124398288337189</id><published>2006-06-25T09:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-06-25T09:59:42.953-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Rawr.</title><content type='html'>I woke up this morning in the most god-awful mood.  There was no reason for it.  Sure, my night last night sucked a bit, but it wasn't anything that I could really get mad about.  I slept ok, too, so I don't know why I'm so bent out of shape.  &lt;br /&gt;I'd love to blame my frustrations with my life on the bad mood, but again, it's not that.  While my life sucks (ok, really sucks), it's something I deal with daily.  Why would it bother me now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure, I have my problems with Chris.  Poor man is just so busy right now.  He's being pulled in so many directions right now and some of it is just not his fault.  Is it his fault that work is so hard? That his family is just demanding so much? That all these stupid lamers and such have to be dealt with online?&lt;br /&gt;Yes, you know, I do get mad about all of this.  There's also the fact that I'm just not a priority to him right now and that I feel I have no time with him.  But what am I going to do but deal with it?  If I don't, he leaves and I'll be heartbroken. &lt;br /&gt;I'll just come here and complain... a lot... get my frustrations out that way. *l*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Dawn&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-115124398288337189?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/115124398288337189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/115124398288337189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2006/06/rawr.html' title='Rawr.'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-115107346195376489</id><published>2006-06-21T05:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-06-23T10:40:44.036-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Humanity</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-size:100%;" &gt;Man has come to dominate the planet thanks to two essential traits.  One is intelligence.  The other has been the absolute willingness to kill anyone and anything that gets in his way.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;- Stephen King&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-115107346195376489?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/115107346195376489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/115107346195376489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2006/06/humanity.html' title='Humanity'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-115064318361955039</id><published>2006-06-18T11:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-06-18T11:06:23.640-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Musings</title><content type='html'>I don't write anymore.  I have all this stuff inside of me that I keep inside of me because I have no outlet for it anymore.  I've neglected the part of me that needs to get it out.  I have both online and offline journals, because I don't want to burden people with my issues, yet at the same time, I need to get it out somehow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lee told me to write in this again.  I think he was complaining that I was bitching to him a lot (yes, Lee, this is a joke and you know I'm only kidding).  But he was right... just don't tell him.  His ego is big enough as it is :( *lol*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later I will have things to say, now is time for work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-115064318361955039?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/115064318361955039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/115064318361955039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2006/06/musings.html' title='Musings'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-114591600926982850</id><published>2006-04-24T17:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-24T18:00:09.293-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Books..</title><content type='html'>Yeah, so I decided that I'm going to actually read books to make me smart this summer... *lol*&lt;br /&gt;To sit and say  "Yeah, I read that..", because it'll make me look smarter.. er.. right..&lt;br /&gt;So, reading list? (so far, at least)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sun Tzu - Art of War&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a class="normalBlackFont2"&gt;Nietzsche - Beyond Good and Evil&lt;br /&gt;The Histories of Herodotus&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a class="normalBlackFont2"&gt;Machiavelli - The Prince&lt;br /&gt;Tolstoy - War and Peace&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm realllllly going to try to read them.  Any suggestions?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-114591600926982850?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114591600926982850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114591600926982850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2006/04/books.html' title='Books..'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-114537093149520720</id><published>2006-04-18T10:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-18T10:35:31.506-04:00</updated><title type='text'>OMG</title><content type='html'>I'm dying.  This weekend had been the worst weekend ever for me in terms of health.. I was so moody, my stomach killed and I just wanted to die.  I really need to get to the doctor soon, but when? I have 3 weeks left of school and it's just so crazy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Argh.. there's no point to this point.  Just that I'll be ok.  Now I have nothing to say.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-114537093149520720?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114537093149520720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114537093149520720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2006/04/omg.html' title='OMG'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-114510023361158658</id><published>2006-04-15T07:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-04-15T07:37:20.130-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Argh.</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I wish I could keep my mouth shut.&lt;br /&gt;I told  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;him &lt;/span&gt;last night that I was falling in love with him.  It was so awkward and I know I only did it because I was  not thinking straight.  I felt like he didn't take it well, even though he said it was good and welcome on his part, these feelings.&lt;br /&gt;By no means am I in love with him, but it's the start of it.  That feeling you get at the beginning when you just know that you have someone special in your life.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure if he realizes that.  I'm adult enough to know at this point that you can't love someone you only talk to online or the phone.  I'm sorry if you disagree, but this is how I feel about the situation.  There's just so much missing online, that's all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is.. I just know he's feeling something similar. Maybe I called it something different than what he believes it to be.  But I know he cares for me a great deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So why is it that I can't just accept his feelings and remember I'm not a bad person nor will he leave?&lt;br /&gt;I blame it all on the last one... you know, he who dumped me because his feelings changed practically overnight.  That idiot messed me up so badly, I can't begin to tell you how bad it is.  I can't trust anyone, especially the new guy, when they tell me they won't leave.  That they won't wake up one day and say "Dawn, I like you but....".  It's all his fault and for that I hate him.  It's the only feeling I have left towards him, because he's ruining the current relationship I have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;know &lt;/span&gt;the current guy is not going to just stop caring for me.  I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;know &lt;/span&gt;he's not going to do what Bob did to me. &lt;br /&gt;Sometimes he feels the same as I do, that I'm going to say to him that I like him but... Yeah right.  Like that will ever happen.  I think I pretty much told him last night it wouldn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank God he won't read this though.. I'm embarassed enough as it is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-114510023361158658?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114510023361158658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114510023361158658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2006/04/argh.html' title='Argh.'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-114392291061616772</id><published>2006-04-01T15:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-01T15:21:51.623-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Pink!</title><content type='html'>Yes, pink.  So Anti-me, I know.  But I needed a change, really.  Also, for the first time in many many months I'm happy. &lt;br /&gt;I realized after a long time that not everything can be perfect and I can't expect perfection.  I can't be sad because something isn't quite right.  I have to be happy because of all the good things in my life: my health, my family (yes, even my mother), my friends (new and old), and all sorts of other things. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After Amanda died, my mother got sick and had to go into the hospital for an emergency triple bypass.  Emergency open heart surgery... greeeat.  It was so sudden, but at least it was caught before too late.  She had a great surgeon and her recovery has been amazing to see.  Sure, there's bad days, but it's to be expected.  This has completely woken her up.  She wants to live and she knows she has to change a lot about her life.  In the past few years, she's only been existing, not really living.  Her day would be work, home, that's it.  Now she wants so much more. &lt;br /&gt;I like this new mother of mine.  I like her a lot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-114392291061616772?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114392291061616772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114392291061616772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2006/04/its-pink.html' title='It&apos;s Pink!'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-114064753997271687</id><published>2006-02-21T13:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-22T17:32:31.500-05:00</updated><title type='text'>RIP</title><content type='html'>Amanda died last night at 5pm.  After almost a year of being deathly ill, she finally passed away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-114064753997271687?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114064753997271687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114064753997271687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2006/02/rip_21.html' title='RIP'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-114036006826404971</id><published>2006-02-19T09:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-19T09:41:08.293-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Over!</title><content type='html'>I think my depression is finally over.&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so maybe it's not completely gone, but the majority of it is.  With the help of college (which has kept me really busy), offline friends (Tez, James, Anita..) and online friends (Mr Pat, Marc, etc.), I think I've managed to pull through.  Of course, there are those not mentioned here, but some of you asked me to put names so I've done so!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were times I wish I didn't hurt so much because I know he didn't hurt at all.  It just wasn't fair for me to sit at home, crying all the time.  I missed classes because I couldn't concentrate, I almost failed a few tests and exams because of the situation.&lt;br /&gt;It's just not fair, but life isn't fair, is it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just hope that karma really does exist and comes back to bite him in the ass, tenfold.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-114036006826404971?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114036006826404971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/114036006826404971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2006/02/over.html' title='Over!'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-113758076206838676</id><published>2006-01-18T05:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-22T17:29:01.163-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Bob dumped me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being the coward he is, he left because he didn't want me anymore, or &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so he said.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It must be nice to just turn around and change your mind within 24 hours like he did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what, I don't want him anymore.  He's such a child.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-113758076206838676?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/113758076206838676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/113758076206838676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2006/01/bob-dumped-me.html' title=''/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-113396182277383620</id><published>2005-12-07T08:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-12-07T08:24:01.480-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Why can't I own a Canadian?</title><content type='html'>http://www.humanistsofutah.org/2002/WhyCantIOwnACanadian_10-02.html&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read it and  enjoy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-113396182277383620?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/113396182277383620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/113396182277383620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/12/why-cant-i-own-canadian.html' title='Why can&apos;t I own a Canadian?'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-113311517143600321</id><published>2005-11-27T13:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-27T13:12:51.446-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sadness</title><content type='html'>There's something missing in my life.  I know that, I just don't know what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sit at home all the time.  If I'm not at work or school, I'm at home.  I don't go out, I don't talk to my parents, I don't do anything but sit online and play with my computer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went 3 days without going outside this week.  How pathetic, I know.&lt;br /&gt;I sit, waiting for him, all the time.  I wasn't like this before, so I don't know why in the past month it's become like this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I sit here crying because I don't know what to do.  I know this isn't the only problem I have that's making me cry. &lt;br /&gt;I guess I just want to be with him so badly.  I've never wanted this before.  Ever.  I never have acted like this or felt like this.  It's the weirdest feeling ever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-113311517143600321?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/113311517143600321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/113311517143600321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/11/sadness.html' title='Sadness'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-111815572895020500</id><published>2005-06-07T10:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-07T10:50:03.563-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>From another of my online journals:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h2&gt;6/3/2005&lt;/h2&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="post"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Mleh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://members.outpost10f.com/%7Ecitron/blog/wp-admin/post.php?action=edit&amp;post=36"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;     &lt;div class="storycontent"&gt;    &lt;p&gt;My mother is a bit freaked out that I may be clinically depressed. I don’t think she quite gets the fact that depression is a disease like anything else.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I’ve done my homework though. Read a lot about it and think right now it’s my best bet. I’ll have to make an appointment with my doctor Monday morning. One of the few times I’m actually looking forward to Monday, odd. As I went over the symptoms, as I read medical sites I found a list of symptoms:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;#  Depressed mood&lt;br /&gt;# Persistent feelings of hopelessness, guilt or worthlessness&lt;br /&gt;# Fatigue or lack of energy&lt;br /&gt;# Slowed behavior (the feeling of “dragging oneself around")&lt;br /&gt;# Reduction or loss of pleasure in life&lt;br /&gt;# Decreased motivation&lt;br /&gt;# Negative or pessimistic thinking&lt;br /&gt;# Loss of interest in friends, activities, hobbies or work&lt;br /&gt;# Change in eating habits; weight gain or loss&lt;br /&gt;# Sleep problems, including waking up early&lt;br /&gt;# Frequent crying&lt;br /&gt;# Difficulty concentrating, remembering, or making decisions&lt;br /&gt;# Irritability&lt;br /&gt;# Being anxious or worried a lot&lt;br /&gt;# Thoughts of death or suicide&lt;br /&gt;# Suicide attempt&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Hmm.. except for the last one, it’s ALL me. I don’t see how it could be anything else. For months on end I’ve been like this. Months? No, years. Nothing triggered it, it just happened. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I hope that my issue is this, what else could it be?  And why have I waited so long to do something? &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;    &lt;div class="feedback"&gt;                         &lt;a href="http://members.outpost10f.com/%7Ecitron/blog/index.php?p=36#comments"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;    &lt;!--  &lt;rdf:rdf rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" trackback="http://madskills.com/public/xml/rss/module/trackback/"&gt;   &lt;rdf:description about="http://members.outpost10f.com/~citron/blog/index.php?p=36" identifier="http://members.outpost10f.com/~citron/blog/index.php?p=36" title="Mleh" ping="http://members.outpost10f.com/~citron/blog/wp-trackback.php/36"&gt; &lt;/rdf:RDF&gt; --&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;    &lt;h2&gt;6/2/2005&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       &lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;div class="storycontent"&gt;    &lt;p&gt;A lot of people have been worried lately.  A lot? No, very few.  But for those who do..&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I have come to the realisation that I need help. I can’t do it alone, but how can I when everyday I feel like I am alone? My family is no support to me at all, it’s like I’m an outsider looking in with them and yes, they’ve made me feel that way too. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;For the past few years, my moods have gone downhill. I always attributed it to stress, of course I’ll be a witch if I’m working 13 hour days 6 days a week! But that was never it. Something inside of me was and still is wrong. It wasn’t an epiphany or anything, I knew in the back of my head for a while, I just never admitted it. How easy is it to admit there’s something wrong with you, that you have no reason to be sad, yet you are? &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I don’t know if doing what I plan to do will fix me.  Maybe my problems are worse than this, but I have to try at least.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Tomorrow I go ask the people I dislike most for help. It will be one of the most difficult times for me. What if they don’t? What if they tell me it’s just something I’ll get over like they have in the past when I tried to say something’s wrong? What do I do then? I’m not sure what would be worse from them, pity, anger or indifference. No one knows how hard it’ll be to look into the face of my mother, the same mother who wishes me dead, and tell her I need their help or else I won’t survive much longer. Honestly, how long can I go on like this? This could be her perfect chance to get rid of me, and yet, I know deep down or I want to know that she really couldn’t wish that upon me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;For someone who never asks for help and for someone who never talks about her problems, tomorrow is going to be more difficult than I can say. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-111815572895020500?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111815572895020500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111815572895020500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/06/from-another-of-my-online-journals.html' title=''/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-111801496621574847</id><published>2005-06-05T19:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-05T19:42:46.220-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Best thing I ever read</title><content type='html'>It sounds like English; it even looks like English, but I can't understand a word you're blabbering. In future, kindly proofread your posts before assaulting unsuspecting readers of this message board with a litany of misspellings, egregious grammatical errors, and other verbal atrocities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems your fingers not only did your typing, but did your thinking too. Have you considered suing your brain for non-support? Wouldn't clues have more room to fit in your head if you got rid of some of the gobbledygook in there? A long period of non-posting would be most welcome on your part. I am reminded of something relevant that Benjamin Disraeli said: "He was distinguished for ignorance - for he had only one idea and that was wrong."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What possessed you to think that you were capable of being entertaining or interesting to read? Why don't you close your mouth before someone sticks an apple in it? Maybe you wouldn't read like such a pathetic loser if you weren't an 'idiot savant' without the 'savant' part; if your weren't so fat that when you stand on the weighing scale, it reads: "Sorry, we don't weigh livestock.", or if you didn't have a face that makes your dentist treat you by mail-order. Nah, of course you would.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In closing, I suggest the next time that you feel an urge to embarrass yourself and bore others, that you summon all your might, and resist.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-111801496621574847?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111801496621574847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111801496621574847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/06/best-thing-i-ever-read.html' title='Best thing I ever read'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-111207739244840801</id><published>2005-03-29T01:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-03-29T01:23:12.456-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Yes</title><content type='html'>Once upon a time there was a young girl who got mixed up with the wrong guy.. silly Aussie guy she met online who was a freeloader, etc.  She was engaged to him but it didn't work out.  Years went by and she threw herself into partying, having sex with strange men and ruining her life.  One day she woke up from her drunken stupor and realized she wasn't who she was years before.  The person in front of her was so very different.  She sobered up and started making real friends.  She started having real boyfriends and not ones who didn't leave in the morning.  She dated porn stars, strippers and pro football players amongst others.  They lied and cheated on her and hurt her.  So she turned to the only thing she remembered as being sane, her computer.  Yeah, it's weird, but what the hell.  She met so many cool people and started up friendships with old friends.  One old friend was someone she had a crush on when she was with Aussie boy.  They rekindled their friendship and became more.  Total confidantes in their lives, they told each other everything.  But he didn't treat her right.  Only talked to her in their chatroom, never on MSN.. he refused to even call her.  Old suspicions came out (from the days of dating the lying stripper) and she began to doubt him.  Eventually after months and months, they ended things.  It wasn't a decision she wanted to make but it seemed right.  She thought she could go on.  A week later she stopped drinking and went on with her life.  They became friends and  all was good in the world.  She moved  on and dated some creepy guy who slept with 300 women (she has taste, doesn't she?) and that fell through after he moved. Her heart wasn't in it though, she pretended she liked him.  Then another guy came along and she liked him too, but he turned out to be a suicidal freak.  She thought she liked him but her heart still wasn't into it.  She still cared about this other guy.  Finally a third guy came along and she so desperately wanted to try it, it just couldn't work.  Deep in her heart she knew she still loved this guy.  Seeing him flirt and be nice all day made her insane with jealousy and that's when she knew she had to get over him.  While she wanted him, it didn't work a first time and wouldn't work again.  Again, he didn't treat her right.  She told him she needed a break and he thought it was a stab in the back.  He trusted her with things he didn't trust his family with things.  But she couldn't handle seeing him do the things he did and have the feelings she did without getting upset.  There was a huge fight, she told him how she felt and he did the same.  They both loved each other but there was nothing to be done.  He said that she was the light in his life but that it just wouldn't work.  Yet, he could've kept her had he acted right.  Knowing how he felt, that he hated seeing her with other men and flirting, tore him up too.  This guy admitted lots of stuff to her, about loving her, seeing her and living here because of her and then it was taken away.  Because he didn't know how to keep her, how to treat her like she should.  He took her heart and tore it up and if his was the same way, what did it matter?  The end of one night had them not even talk, even as friends, which killed her more.  You admit you love someone, but then you can't be with them because you're an asshole and then don't understand why she needs to take a break.  They were friends and now they're not.  You want to wish for life to be different, but it can't happen.  You take a girl's heart, keep it as yours so she can't have a proper relationship and then stomp on it.  That's not cool.  No matter what you think, that's what happened.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-111207739244840801?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111207739244840801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111207739244840801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/03/yes.html' title='Yes'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-111199020896679731</id><published>2005-03-28T00:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-03-28T01:10:08.966-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I don't know where to begin.  So much has happened in such a short time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jesse and I talked, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; talked, for the first time since July.  It won't happen again, but some things got cleared up at least on my end.  I never understood why things turned out the way they did with us.  He was my best friend and now he's not, nor will he ever be again.  Life sucks that way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marc and I are no longer speaking.  For various reasons, which I won't bore you with.  Sometimes things happen that you can't control.  They're there for a reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Shaun... I'm not even going to go into that.  As much as losing Jesse and Marc pained me, this was the worst.  I've lost something I don't think I can get back.  There was a part of me I gave freely to him that I can't have back even if I wanted, which I don't.  I have to get over it though, which I haven't been able to in the months since we ended things.  I just don't know if I'll ever survive this, as much as I want to and as much as I've promised I can. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hurt so badly right now... I don't know if will ever go away.  I'm also a bit glad I do hurt, that I'm capable of doing so, which I thought I couldn't for years until Shaun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-111199020896679731?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111199020896679731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111199020896679731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/03/i-dont-know-where-to-begin.html' title=''/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-111132946970344483</id><published>2005-03-20T09:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-03-20T09:37:49.703-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mleh.</title><content type='html'>I'd write this on my OTF blog, but I don't want to embarass anyone.  Yet I still need my story to be understood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a guy, known him for a while.  Younger, sure.  Stopped talking to him last summer since I practically threw myself at him and he kept blabbering on about other women.  I took a chance and became his friend again.  He helped me when I was having all sorts of problems with my ex.  We were a little more than friendly then, but the relationship I was in was so destructive, in fact it wasn't even a REAL relationship.  Then that ended and this guy and I started dating.  Within days I find out he had already cheated on me.  For what purpose?  Because a girl I hate more than anything was saying bad stuff and for one second he believed what she was saying.  He wanted more information and "Dated" her to get more information.  I was mad, obviously, about the thing and I wanted nothing more to do with him.  Eventually though I forgave him and we went on with our lives, or so I thought.  I never forgot the situation and eventually, weeks ago, it was one point that ended the relationship.  I wanted it to work, but he goddamn &lt;strong&gt;cheated&lt;/strong&gt; on me!  I don't think I can forgive that.  He just doesn't get it though.  He wants me to get over it.  As if it were that easy.  If the situation were reversed he says he would forgive me, but that's only because he wants me to do that for him.  In all honesty, I bet he wouldn't.  It's very hard to forgive and forget in this situation.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-111132946970344483?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111132946970344483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111132946970344483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/03/mleh.html' title='Mleh.'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-111077557865387282</id><published>2005-03-13T23:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-03-13T23:46:24.610-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Anger</title><content type='html'>I hate fighting.  Especially with my friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Devin and I had a fight Sunday... about a girl whom I dislike. No, I don't hate her. To have hate means I'd have more emotion than I actually do. I'd love to say more here, but she has a tendency to bitch and moan and complain to anyone who will listen. Apparently you can't speak the truth about her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alas, I digress. Devin is such a sweetheart and he did not deserve the treatment I gave him tonight. He didn't know about this creature and what she had done. But I still blamed him. Although, to be honest, I did tell him in an email what happened and I saw through Spycam that he just wouldn't let it go. She, with her smug little horses' ass face, goaded him into talking about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got angry.  Because my friend wasn't my friend anymore.  I hate that feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh... and if you read this, you lovely girl you. Read a dictionary. That's the only way to understand some of the "big words" in today's post. Ta!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-111077557865387282?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111077557865387282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111077557865387282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/03/anger.html' title='Anger'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-111033464903010405</id><published>2005-03-08T21:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-03-08T21:17:29.030-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Never watch "24" with an IT guy</title><content type='html'>Alright, so I never watch the show, 24, with my family because I'm always at work.  Ever since they changed the day to Monday nights, I've had to find other means of which to watch it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night my brother and I got home at the same time.  I decided that it would be easier for me to watch it with him than to do what I normally do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a &lt;strong&gt;huge &lt;/strong&gt;mistake to do so.  As Tony and Jack were trying to save the world and had to deal with servers and systems and all that IT stuff, my brother was insane whenever they got things wrong (which was &lt;em&gt;all&lt;/em&gt; the time).  Apparently the show doesn't have proper consultants on it and make up things that sound cool instead of being correct.  I finally hit him and told him not to do it again.  He turned around to me and said "you know, if someone fucked up the Dewey Decimal System, you'd be pissed too."  At which point I fell off the couch because I was laughing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there's no point to my story, just that he's a big ass dork and I hope he reads this!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-111033464903010405?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111033464903010405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/111033464903010405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/03/never-watch-24-with-it-guy.html' title='Never watch &quot;24&quot; with an IT guy'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110953116632192888</id><published>2005-02-27T14:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-01T15:30:44.293-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Why I hate work..</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Don't kid yourself, this is pretty bad and it never gets to the point I'm hurt, but assholes like this are at work all the time...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Around 10:30am on Sunday a gentleman came to the front desk saying he was yelled at by David upstairs to renew his membership. From the start, this gentleman was rude and angry towards David and then to me when David sent him downstairs. I tried to calm him down but he just kept getting angry. He complained about&lt;br /&gt;everything here, the way the staff treats him, the fact that he has to submit a&lt;br /&gt;registration form every time he renews, the list went on. He was not listening&lt;br /&gt;to me when I said he needed to fill out the registration form and then I had to&lt;br /&gt;tell him he needed to calm down before I helped him. He refused to calm down,&lt;br /&gt;saying that no matter what I thought or how he treated me I was going to serve&lt;br /&gt;him. I said that yelling at me, swearing, etc. was not any way to get something&lt;br /&gt;accomplished and he would have to come back at another time to register. It got&lt;br /&gt;to the point where I was being physically threatened by his presence, I tried&lt;br /&gt;calling Philip or David, but neither could help me. I thought this man was going&lt;br /&gt;to hop over the desk at this point, I was scared because he was terribly angry.&lt;br /&gt;At this point I told him that I could not help him if he was going to act like&lt;br /&gt;this, and that’s when I tried closing the front desk’s shutters. He got up on&lt;br /&gt;the desk and made sure I could not close them, he was holding them up. This is&lt;br /&gt;when pain ran through my shoulder and down my back. One of the swimming parents saw this entire situation and ran upstairs to get David. But also at the same&lt;br /&gt;time, the patron started to calm down. I’m not sure what it was that made him&lt;br /&gt;stop yelling and screaming and trying to keep the office open. I started talking&lt;br /&gt;to him about how procedures work here and that if he and other patrons are&lt;br /&gt;unsure of why things are done, we have supervisors who are more than happy to&lt;br /&gt;explain it to him. I kept repeating what I was saying all along, that registration forms are there as a part of our policies here at EYCC and that if he has a problem with staff, try to talk to the staff or talk to a supervisor. He finally started listening to me and started apologizing for his behaviour. I said that we could have avoided the whole situation if he had been calm and he agreed. This situation lasted for over 20 minutes, I almost had to call the police because of the threatening actions on his part and even now, at 2pm on Sunday, my arm, shoulder and back are still hurting from trying to close the desk. I would never have thought of closing the desk unless I felt threatened, which I did.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110953116632192888?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110953116632192888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110953116632192888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/02/why-i-hate-work.html' title='Why I hate work..'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110893298588816733</id><published>2005-02-20T15:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-02-20T15:56:25.890-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Me</title><content type='html'>I used to be someone I liked.  I was never afraid to look myself in a mirror and admire myself for being me without it being like I was full of myself.  I was who I was and I loved myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I don't know who I am.  I don't like myself.  I push everyone away.  What can I do about it though?  It's not like I became this person overnight.  It's not like I can change it in days or weeks or even months.  It will take time. Only after I find out what is wrong with me.  That will probably take more time than anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many times have I said to myself this sort of thing? Then done nothing.  Too many times.  Hopefully this will be the time to change.  What's happened now that didn't happen before? I don't know.  I woke up, fully and for the first time in years.  I saw myself through another person's eyes and I hated what I saw.  Everything became clear then.  Well, not everything, just that things were wrong that needed changing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it's time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110893298588816733?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110893298588816733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110893298588816733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/02/me.html' title='Me'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110852877604918031</id><published>2005-02-15T23:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-02-15T23:41:15.446-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Haha... so frickin' true</title><content type='html'>&lt;table style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"  align="center" border="1" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="400"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bg="" align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;You Know You're From Toronto When...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bg="" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A really great parking spot can move you to tears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can recommend about 3 good body piercing parlours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You make well over $100,000 and you still can't find a nice place to live.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You realize there are far more rainbow flags in the city than Canadian Flags.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the temperature rises above zero degrees, you yell "Woohooo! Patio weather!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You enjoy watching channel 47 multicultural TV&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're guaranteed to know at least one person on every episode of Speaker's Corner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You haven't been to the CN Tower since you were six, but still have nightmares about that damn turbo elevator.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've had at least 3 bicycles stolen in the past 10 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've partied with at least one of the members of The Kids in the Hall&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've fantasized about having sex in Casa Loma&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least 3 of your friends have moved to Vancouver&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You turn your nose up at any establishment frequented by the S&amp;M crowd. (Scarborough and Mississauga)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You never, never, never swim in the lake&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know "The Beaches" are really called "The Beach", but still say "The Beaches" just to annoy all the nitwits who live there&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You ever had a birthday party at the Organ Grinder or The Mad Hatter&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can say "world's tallest freestanding structure" ten times fast&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know the correct answer to "Where do shopping carts go to die?" is "The Don River"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You speak better Chinese than French&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The word "cabbagetown" doesn't strike you as particularily amusing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Castle Frank subway station remains one of the great mysteries of the universe for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what the bathrooms in the First Canadian Place are REALLY for&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You don't know where Fort York is, but have a vague recollection of being there in a past life&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know the Demic's song "I Wanna Go To New York City" was intended as sarcasm, not a weekend getaway suggestion&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know where to find Dim Sum, Sushi, Curry, Pad Thai and a dildo at 3 am on a weeknight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the last time, it's pronounced 'TRONNA'!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You consider eye contact a sign of hostility and an invasion of your privacy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It takes you half an hour to get to work by TTC and you are the envy of all your friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You mourned the death of the Spadina Bus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know someone who went to high school with at least one member of The Barenaked Ladies or RUSH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You laugh heartily at people who refer to highway four hundred and one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've taken the vomit comit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can manuver your bike across Queen st. without getting caught in the streetcar tracks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know the difference between souvlaki, moussaka and spanakoptia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can name at least three locations of The Beer Store that are open till 11 PM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have NEVER been to the Hard Rock Cafe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Toronto.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogthings.com/wherefrom.html"&gt;Get Your Own "You Know You're From" Meme Here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More cool things for your blog at&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogthings.com/"&gt;Blogthings&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110852877604918031?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110852877604918031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110852877604918031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/02/haha-so-frickin-true.html' title='Haha... so frickin&apos; true'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110809104935841657</id><published>2005-02-10T22:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-02-10T22:04:09.360-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Marc</title><content type='html'>Since he wanted this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Marc is so cool *eg*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;There, I mentioned you =P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110809104935841657?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110809104935841657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110809104935841657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/02/marc.html' title='Marc'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110744666166454378</id><published>2005-02-03T10:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-02-03T11:04:21.670-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Exhaustion</title><content type='html'>I need a break.  I can' handle all this stuff that I have to deal with right now.  Things that need to be done online will wait.  Everything but work and school will wait.. I'll be around, but that's it.  It's not necessarily a leave of absence, it's just me concentrating on things in real life.  If this makes people upset, not my fault.  I need to do this so I don't cry myself to sleep like I have this past week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110744666166454378?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110744666166454378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110744666166454378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/02/exhaustion.html' title='Exhaustion'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110584668152660305</id><published>2005-01-15T22:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-01-15T22:38:01.526-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Growing Up</title><content type='html'>For the longest time I thought that achieving certain things meant that I was automatically a grown up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After high school I was all set to start university, but I never did manage to go.  Sure, I blamed my parents because  they weren't helping me at all in terms of money and getting there, but in a small part of my brain I knew that I didn't try hard enough.  Instead, I started working and getting money, more money than I ever made before.  I went out almost every night and drank that money away. Got up for work the next morning and the cycle continued itself for years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few years back I did manage to get back to school.  I figured I had worked for Parks and Recreation for most of my adult life, why not get a diploma and continue on? Then &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt; could be the boss.  This time I convinced myself I didn't want to spend the rest of my life dealing with the hassle of the job.  I hate my job and I'm still in it, 8 years after I started.  While in the long run leaving school then was a great decision, it was also made because again, I thought this meant I would have to grow up eventually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, I don't just do this to my career options/choices, etc.   I've also done this with relationships.  I have good men in my life but I'm never quite ready to commit.  While it's nice to sit here and say that all my ex's are lying pigs and I hate them, the truth is far from it.  I don't hate any of them, even Mat.  Especially Mat.  This may be a shock to people reading this, but I actually do hope he's happy.  I couldn't give that to him, not at the time we were together.   I only say that because I honestly can say right now I feel nothing towards him.  No hate, anger, nothing.  All of this is off topic, honest.  What I'm trying to say is I've treated men badly, sometimes in subtle ways in hopes they end it with me.  With Chris, I was the jealous shrew who was irrational at times.  Of course,  I ended up having reason to as he was a goddamn stripper and he slept with my best friend at the time! Argh.  Again, not the focus I want to go into right now.  Every single man I found fault with and if I didn't, I was sure as hell going to make problems.  Why? Because in that small part of my mind I figured to settle down like that is the end of my life.  You get married, have kids, grandkids.. then what?  Is that it? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So you see my way of thinking.   I haven't moved out yet because of this same reasoning.  I can say that my father needs me, that I have bills and bad credit.  To be honest, it's all bullshit.  If I was so inclined, my bills would be paid off in 6 months (and thus improving my credit immediately).  I could move out to somewhere close to home so I could be there for my Dad if needed, but he hasn't needed it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What has changed now to make me think differently?  I turned 26 last September and realized that I have missed out on so much of my life.  That just because I would have a career or a family, doesn't mean my life is over.  Death is not around the corner if I do this stuff.  I need to really live before I die and I haven't done that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, for you people out there who read this and care, I'm finally on the right track.  I'm going back to school to get to my career and I'm ready to commit too.  This realization though didn't come over night, but after months of thinking and crying and brooding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110584668152660305?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110584668152660305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110584668152660305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2005/01/growing-up.html' title='Growing Up'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110447383322636320</id><published>2004-12-31T01:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-12-31T01:17:13.226-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm going to Hell</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to &lt;i&gt;the Seventh Level of Hell!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is how you matched up against all the levels:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="1" style="margin: 5px; background-color: #000000; border: none; font: 10pt arial, verdana, 'sans serif';"&gt;&lt;tr style="font: bold 12pt arial, verdana, 'sans serif'; text-align: center; color: #ffffff; background-color: #333333;"&gt;&lt;th&gt;&lt;b&gt;Level&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/th&gt;&lt;th&gt;&lt;b&gt;Score&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/th&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr style="background-color: #220033; color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-information.html#0" style="color: #ff3344; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Purgatory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; (Repenting Believers)&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="color: #3344bb; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Very Low&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr style="background-color: #110022; color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-information.html#1" style="color: #ff3344; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Level 1 - Limbo&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; (Virtuous Non-Believers)&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="color: #3344bb; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Very Low&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr style="background-color: #220011; color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-information.html#2" style="color: #ff3344; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Level 2&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; (Lustful)&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="color: #ee2244; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Extreme&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr style="background-color: #330011; color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-information.html#3" style="color: #ff3344; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Level 3&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; (Gluttonous)&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="color: #c40033; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Very High&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr style="background-color: #440011; color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-information.html#4" style="color: #ff3344; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Level 4&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; (Prodigal and Avaricious)&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="color: #ff1133; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;High&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr style="background-color: #550011; color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-information.html#5" style="color: #ff3344; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Level 5&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; (Wrathful and Gloomy)&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="color: #ee2244; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Extreme&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr style="background-color: #660011; color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-information.html#6" style="color: #ff3344; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Level 6 - The City of Dis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; (Heretics)&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="color: #ff1133; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;High&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr style="background-color: #770011; color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-information.html#7" style="color: #ff3344; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Level 7&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; (Violent)&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="color: #ee2244; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Extreme&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr style="background-color: #880011; color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-information.html#8" style="color: #ff3344; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Level 8- the Malebolge&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="color: #ee2244; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Extreme&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr style="background-color: #990011; color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-information.html#9" style="color: #ff3344; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Level 9 - Cocytus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; (Treacherous)&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="color: #c40033; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Very High&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Take the &lt;a href="http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-inferno-test.mv"&gt;Dante's Inferno Hell Test&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110447383322636320?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110447383322636320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110447383322636320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/12/im-going-to-hell.html' title='I&apos;m going to Hell'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110402853905005586</id><published>2004-12-25T21:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-12-25T21:35:39.050-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Days Four - Eight</title><content type='html'>Ack... no updates for a while.  I got way too caught up in this Christmas crap.  Shopping on Christmas Eve Eve (no, it's not a typo &lt;img src="http://www.trestria.net/images/smiles/tongue.gif" /&gt;), then spending the next two days with my family.  Oh yay, funness. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The greatest thing about Christmas is having the time to do what I want, alone in my room.  Pretending to play  with my new stuff.  Parents don't bother me then.  I spent 2 hours doing my hair, it's all pretty now, because I wasn't bothered at &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;all&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did get lots of cool things, which I won't list here like a child would do, but it's enough to keep me occupied for the next day or so &lt;img src="http://www.trestria.net/images/smiles/tongue.gif" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was one of the first years I didn't get so into Christmas and I didn't get upset on Christmas morning.  I don't know why, I usually hate the morning, when everyone's with their gifts.. I'm just never happy.   I can never figure it out.  But, I think for once, I'm actually happy with life.  Doing the things I want and getting stuff done to get into school.  Have a man who completely loves me, even though he's far away.  I have nothing to complain about.  Yay!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110402853905005586?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110402853905005586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110402853905005586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/12/days-four-eight.html' title='Days Four - Eight'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110366510563806755</id><published>2004-12-20T22:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-12-21T16:38:25.636-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Day Three</title><content type='html'>It's Monday today, I think.  I can't keep up with the days anymore.  I know I work and that's about all, anything more doesn't matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After 3 months I finally have gotten the energy to start the cleaning in my basement.  5 hours of cleaning my room and it's nowhere near done.  I sat and watched Xfiles all day and cleaned, getting a full bag of crap out of my room and into the garbage.  This wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't been distracted by David all these months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hated working tonight.  It was unbelievably boring!  Just wait though, another couple weeks and it'll be crazy.  Everyone gets into this insane frame of mind in January where they HAVE to work out and lose weight, the whole New Years resolution thing.  I hate it.  You're not going to stick to any of those resolutions, so why bother me at work??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, off to watch some movies I have floating around my HD. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110366510563806755?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110366510563806755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110366510563806755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/12/day-three.html' title='Day Three'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110346854105816634</id><published>2004-12-19T19:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-12-19T19:27:00.296-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Day Two</title><content type='html'>I went out last night. That was fun, honest. Not many people showed up for this, but I didn't mind, I hate crowds anyway. We went to Jack Astor's for dinner... the calamari was really good and the sauce that came with it was spicy, just the way I like it. After dinner, Anita and her boyfriend Mike and I went to Gabby's (OUR Gabby's, with our bartender) for drinks. I spent too much money! And for what, I didn't even get drunk or anything more than a slight buzz. Oh well, what can I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was my first day back at work after a whole 5 days off! Yeah, vacation sucked, work kept calling me, I kept ignoring them. They want me to work on Thursday, the 23rd. Not bloody likely, I have shopping to do and with it being 2 days before Christmas, I need to get it done then and there.  Not to mention all the stuff about my grandfather.  I need to keep the days I have off open, just in case.  I don't know what's going to happen, but I have a bad feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll just go off and sulk now =(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110346854105816634?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110346854105816634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110346854105816634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/12/day-two.html' title='Day Two'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110346802308033510</id><published>2004-12-18T16:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-12-19T09:57:36.070-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Day One</title><content type='html'>Right, first day without David in this long month of him not being online. Grrrr... I hate this. I cried when he left me yesterday. Then I cried some more this morning... hmm, I'm seeing a pattern here! Anyway, it'll be hard, but I'm sure I can get over it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Went shopping with my Mom today, much fun! It was only to get food for the Xmas dinner, etc. There's a guy who works in the grocery store, in the dairy section, who is always hitting on me. 8am on a Saturday morning too! He creeps me out, mostly because I'm with my mother and that's just odd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now onto the bad stuff. We got really bad news about my grandfather (my Mom's father) today. He's got cancer of the bone marrow. It's not looking so good and my grandfather's wife (who is not my grandmother, long story...) sat down to call everyone about the situation. By her doing this, it certainly looks like he won't be alive much longer. My Mom sat my brother and I down and told us about it. My brother actually cried. I did too, for hours. My grandfather is only in his 70's! He has at least another 5 years in him. I don't want him to die. I had to look at this situation practically. I work this week, if he passed away, all my supervisor's are on vacation, who would I call? I was going to take an extra shift on Thursday, now I'm not going to since I want to go visit him. This Christmas has essentially been ruined for me. Not like I liked the holiday to begin with, it's just worse this year. Everything happens around Christmas. A few years ago, my grandmother (my Dad's mother) died just after Christmas. Now this. Bah humbug I say!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because of this, I wasn't going to go out for Anita's birthday. In case you're wondering, Anita is my best friend in the world, more like a sister to me. I called and cancelled, then got yelled at by my Mom to go out and not mope around. So I'll go, let's see how it goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh.. and what else happened. I got shafted at the video game store! They thought because I was a girl I didn't game. Well, I bet I could own their asses and I told them so, plus other things. Hehe.. I drove customers away by yelling at them. It's the second time they did that to me, so I think I will find a new place to go. EBGames has a store nearby! I can go there, since they rule.. but yeah, that's all for now =P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110346802308033510?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110346802308033510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110346802308033510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/12/day-one.html' title='Day One'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110023802181638484</id><published>2004-11-12T01:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-12T00:40:21.816-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Posting Mishap</title><content type='html'>Ooops.. the post from Nov 11th is messed up.  The pic is too big for my template.&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, some things must be said and it stays :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110023802181638484?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110023802181638484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110023802181638484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/11/posting-mishap.html' title='Posting Mishap'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-110023792944142182</id><published>2004-11-11T01:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-12T00:38:49.443-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lest We Forget</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://www.trestria.net/cynara/remembrancepic.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt; &lt;h3&gt;In Flanders Fields&lt;/h3&gt;  In Flanders fields the poppies blow&lt;br /&gt;Between the crosses, row on row&lt;br /&gt;That mark our place; and in the sky&lt;br /&gt;The larks, still bravely singing, fly&lt;br /&gt;Scarce heard amid the guns below.&lt;p&gt;  We are the Dead.  Short days ago&lt;br /&gt;We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,&lt;br /&gt;Loved and were loved, and now we lie&lt;br /&gt;In Flanders fields.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;  Take up our quarrel with the foe:&lt;br /&gt;To you from failing hands we throw&lt;br /&gt;The torch; be yours to hold it high.&lt;br /&gt;If ye break faith with us who die&lt;br /&gt;We shall not sleep, though poppies grow&lt;br /&gt;In Flanders fields.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-110023792944142182?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110023792944142182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/110023792944142182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/11/lest-we-forget.html' title='Lest We Forget'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-109996658294683919</id><published>2004-11-08T20:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-08T21:16:56.030-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Exhaustion</title><content type='html'>I'm tired. Tired of all of your bullshit. Tired of all the whining, complaining and general annoyingness. Yes, I know that's not a word but I don't care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that I can be a bitch. Guess what? If I didn't have to deal with the things I do on a daily basis, I wouldn't be so bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You think I sit here and do nothing because I'm always in the chat. Not true. I do work, even though I complain that I don't. I get too many complaints from members about the littlest thing. And I get them constantly too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men: Don't hit on me to gain favours, I've got a boyfriend and I am not in the mood for anything.&lt;br /&gt;Women: Don't pretend to like me and then secretely say shit behind my back, not cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So you must forgive me when I don't put up with your whiney behaviour or your mood swings. I do my best with my position and just because you're a little inconvenienced because of ugrades, downtime, etc.. guess what?&lt;br /&gt;FUCK off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-109996658294683919?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109996658294683919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109996658294683919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/11/exhaustion.html' title='Exhaustion'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-109864301779994149</id><published>2004-10-24T14:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-24T14:39:06.823-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Bryan Adams.. yeah</title><content type='html'>Look into my eyes - you will see&lt;br /&gt;What you mean to me&lt;br /&gt;Search your heart - search your soul&lt;br /&gt;And when you find me there you'll search no more&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't tell me it's not worth tryin' for&lt;br /&gt;You can't tell me it's not worth dyin' for&lt;br /&gt;You know it's true&lt;br /&gt;Everything I do - I do it for you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look into my heart - you will find&lt;br /&gt;There's nothin' there to hide&lt;br /&gt;Take me as I am - take my life&lt;br /&gt;I would give it all - I would sacrifice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't tell me it's not worth fightin' for&lt;br /&gt;I can't help it - there's nothin' I want more&lt;br /&gt;Ya know it's true&lt;br /&gt;Everything I do - I do it for you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's no love - like your love&lt;br /&gt;And no other - could give more love&lt;br /&gt;There's nowhere - unless you're there&lt;br /&gt;All the time - all the way&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh - you can't tell me it's not worth tryin' for&lt;br /&gt;I can't help it - there's nothin' I want more&lt;br /&gt;I would fight for you - I'd lie for you&lt;br /&gt;Walk the wire for you - ya I'd die for you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ya know it's true&lt;br /&gt;Everything I do - I do it for you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-109864301779994149?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109864301779994149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109864301779994149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/10/bryan-adams-yeah.html' title='Bryan Adams.. yeah'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-109771464944793039</id><published>2004-10-13T20:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-10-13T20:44:09.446-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hmmm.</title><content type='html'>I'm losing my mind.  No, scratch that.  I've already lost it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone finding said mind is asked to take extreme caution as it is dangerous and prone to temper tantrums.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If found, please return to owner.  Or not, no big deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-109771464944793039?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109771464944793039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109771464944793039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/10/hmmm.html' title='Hmmm.'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-109542891084179382</id><published>2004-09-17T09:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-17T09:48:30.843-04:00</updated><title type='text'>2 Days</title><content type='html'>I didn't realize until last night how hard it is to turn 26.  Another 4 years and I'll be 30.. holy shit, I can't believe this.  And I've done nothing, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;nothing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, I tell you!!  I haven't gone back to school, haven't gotten married, rarely travel... my life kinda sucks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I say this now, but things will change.. I hope.  I have to or else I'll regret not doing things when I'm old and gray.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, that's all for now, I'm still in pain from the migraines I've been having all week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-109542891084179382?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109542891084179382'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109542891084179382'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/09/2-days.html' title='2 Days'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-109452538506749977</id><published>2004-09-06T22:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-07T13:11:48.653-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh no... they killed Herman!</title><content type='html'>Over the past few weeks, mainly for the month of August, my best friend at work has been Herman. Herman was great, he let me hamble on and on, never gave bad advice and never made stupid comments when I broke my diet. So imagine my surprise when I go into work this past Friday to find out that Herman is dead! And no one told me about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I might mention now, Herman is the biggest spider I've seen that is not a tarantula. But he was my friend, I named him, I didn't kill him like I do all other spiders, therefore we had a bond.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nobody would answer my questions as to why Herman was dead.  Everyone avoided my wrath (and I have wrath, oh yes, my staff was &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;afraid&lt;/span&gt; of me) by not saying who the culprit was.  I wanted one last chance to say goodbye to Herman, but I didn't get that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here is my chance... farewell my dear Herman!  You were the only spider I never wanted to kill.  For that, I salute you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;And if you hadn't have noticed, yes, I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;am &lt;/span&gt;crazy!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-109452538506749977?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109452538506749977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109452538506749977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/09/oh-no-they-killed-herman.html' title='Oh no... they killed Herman!'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-109390476556440009</id><published>2004-08-30T18:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-30T18:26:05.566-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Curiosity Killed the Cat</title><content type='html'>A lot of people wonder why I do this.  Write in a diary online where &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;everyone &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;can see. &lt;br /&gt;To be honest, this is stuff that I'm not ashamed of... anyone who knows me personally will talk to me about this sort of thing.  I do, however, have a private journal at home which sees more action than this (and is highly secretive.... and don't think of trying to look for it if you're ever at my place, you won't find it).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really don't have many friends for me to talk to about this stuff.  I have one and she's like a sister to me, I do tell her but it's not the same as having a group of friends whine and complain with me, share my problems, etc.   So I write to relieve the stress I'm  under.   I just don't want to sound like a whiney little bitch.  "Oh poor me, my life sucks" all the time just isn't cool.  I get all my frustrations out here and mostly in my super-secret journal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a point to this... yeah... why I do this? See above, it's as simple as that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-109390476556440009?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109390476556440009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109390476556440009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/08/curiosity-killed-cat.html' title='Curiosity Killed the Cat'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-109227668364622340</id><published>2004-08-11T22:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-11T22:11:23.653-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Joy of Waxing</title><content type='html'>Oooooook... so I went to the spa today to get a Brazilian wax.  The place was great, I think I'd love to go there for spa treatment, but I have to admit  the waxing lady wasn't so good.  She didn't actually DO a Brazilian, just a regular bikini wax.  I've had those, I know what they are.  I spent over $100 on this and I wasn't even happy.  Although to be honest, it's better than I've had before and I feel a lot better with it done.  That's beside the point.  The point is, I paid money for the Brazilian and I want it... not a cheap rip-off.  So, in 4 weeks, I'm going to a new place.  I just need to find a place I like.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-109227668364622340?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109227668364622340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109227668364622340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/08/joy-of-waxing.html' title='The Joy of Waxing'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-10919945146490878</id><published>2004-08-08T15:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-08T15:48:34.650-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hahaha</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;So anyways, Day #1 of my new "diet".  Although it's more of a way of life (but I don't want to call it that, too Atkins-ish)... insulin resistance does that to you, makes you not eat bread, pasta or any good stuff.  I'm not a big fan of veggies, but now I have to eat lots of it... you know how yucky bland celery tastes? Awful stuff, man.  The worst thing is no chocolate or alcohol until my body balances itself out.  No &lt;strong&gt;chocolate&lt;/strong&gt;..... no &lt;strong&gt;alcohol&lt;/strong&gt;...... I'm going to die!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-10919945146490878?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/10919945146490878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/10919945146490878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/08/hahaha.html' title='Hahaha'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-109189393747601729</id><published>2004-08-07T11:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-07T11:52:17.476-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Metallica!!</title><content type='html'>*juads* I'm going to Metallica!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oct 6/04, with Godsmack.. w00t! I'm so excited, can you tell?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news.. finally dyed my hair a deep red.  I personally think it looks kick ass and so far, no complaints!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You should know but I broke my toe for the 2nd in a month on Wednesday.  I hate not looking where I'm going sometimes, but I can't help it.  I'm just so preoccupied with other things and of course, my house is a mess (it's messy, but not dirty.. I have this thing about cleanliness, I just don't clean up boxes, papers, etc).  Because I broke my frickin' toe, I can't walk.. sucks, I know.  Which means: no working out! ARGH.  Just when I psych myself up to go again!  I also wanted to start running, because I have a concert in two months to get ready for! *lol*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-109189393747601729?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109189393747601729'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109189393747601729'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/08/metallica.html' title='Metallica!!'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-109179124054899645</id><published>2004-08-06T07:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-06T07:20:40.546-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wow.</title><content type='html'>I tend to worry over the littlest things.  When I'm worried about something, I tend to assume the worst.  Like for instance, I had an irate mother call on Tuesday at work and she was uncontrollable and threatened to call my boss.  My boss is unsupportive and will blame me and do god knows what.  So for the past few days I've been thinking I'm going to get yelled at, suspended or even fired.  I lost sleep over this.  But what happens? Nothing.  This lady either never complained or my boss knew that her accusations were anger based and not the truth.  I'm in shock.  I don't have to leave.  I don't need a new job, yet (although I am going to look for a new job, daytime so I can go to school).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-109179124054899645?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109179124054899645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109179124054899645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/08/wow.html' title='Wow.'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7871671.post-109174034857548572</id><published>2004-08-05T17:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-08-05T20:31:31.283-04:00</updated><title type='text'>As if you care..</title><content type='html'>Well, how do I begin?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;None of you know me, not really.  Sure, you know parts of me, but only that which I choose to show you.   Some of you have tried to figure me out, to get me to talk, but I don't like to talk.  And so, I've lost many friends. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You think of me a certain way... the mischievious temptress, or the cold hearted bitch.  But I'm neither.  I can be either at a time, but that is not who I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who am I? I don't know.  I need to figure that out.  I've been lost in the past years, showing people what they need to see that I just don't know who I really am.  I need to find myself.  Not necessarily in a spirtual way, but I'm sure you get my meaning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm talking most basic things.  Like, what do I want to do when I grow up? Even though I'm 25, I really don't know that.  What is it that I want out of life? Fame, fortune, love? I'm just not sure.  But I definitely need to fiind out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7871671-109174034857548572?l=cynarajade.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109174034857548572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7871671/posts/default/109174034857548572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cynarajade.blogspot.com/2004/08/as-if-you-care.html' title='As if you care..'/><author><name>Cynara</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
