Woah, haha. Where do I even begin. This’ll be just a quick, laid-back post to get some thoughts out.

I gained access to my old Gmail account and long story short, was able to gain access to this old gem. I know it’s normal to cringe when looking back on stuff you did when you were longer, but it hurts so much worse for me considering I had a lot of access to the internet. And what did I do with that access? I wrote a lot of awful prose. Blog posts, private online diary entries, deviantArt, Wattpad. For some reason I felt the need to spread my mediocre writing over every inch of the internet I could find.

There’s some even older material of mine dispersed on the web that I can’t get access to, so even my pre-pre-teen musings are forever out there unfortunately. It’s really funny though, how drastically my life has changed. It’s really interesting looking back on my thought processes and my day to day life when I was younger. It’s like a time capsule.

I’m really surprised at the amount of followers this blog got. I never get it would get as much attention as it did. I only had around 40 followers at the height of this blog but to me that was a lot. Everyone’s support was amazing, and it pushed me to keep writing. I’m still an avid reader and writer and lover of the arts in general, and mostly because having an internet audience, on this website and others, really inspired me.

I doubt anyone will read this-the most recent activity from someone on this blog is 2 years old. But basically, this is me saying hi, hello. I’m 16 years old now and I’m simultaneously completely different as well as basically the same person I was when I was 12/13. I suppose 2-4 years is a pretty short amount of time but I was practically a fetus back then so it’s a huge difference to me haha.

I have a lot more to say but I’m going to go pour over all my long-forgotten writing I can find. It’s really entertaining in a masochistic way (not in a sexy way though, just like a sad cringe sort of way).



New blog

Hi guys. I haven’t really posted here in a while, which I’m sorry about. I’ve made a new blog, as I feel this one kind of restricts me. The other blog is more focused on my writing and has more of a mature tone to it. While this one does showcase my writing, my other one is a fresh start and fresh starts are always nice. I might be doing some more personal posts on there everyone in a while, but it’s mostly a pure writing blog. If you’re interested, you can find me here.

I will not delete this blog, as I may find myself wanting to come back to write a little update post, or perhaps even find the motivation to keep up with two blogs.


Sad News

Hi all. I’m back again. Sorry for leaving again, and for a longer period of time! Life has just been hectic. So, we moved again. I’m not going to go into detail on why we keep moving, but it’s basically my dad’s work. I didn’t move that far, just to another city.

Anyway, I’ll probably make a few more posts today with some of my writing, but I wanted to update with some sad news. I’m not over it, but I can think of the incident without crying.

One of my lovely cats passed away on September 23rd, at about ten PM. I say about because we don’t know for certain.

Her name was Klara, and she was about six when she died. She has been an outside cat for ages, since she first turned into an adult. She just loved being outside and eating the grass, looking out the window, and chasing birds and bugs, sometimes even bring dead prey into our house (ew~).

When we got a new kitten, however, her demeanor sort of changed. I mean, Klara was always shy and timid, but for months she was withdrawn and mean to everyone. Klara did not do well with other animals. I felt so bad for her, but we couldn’t just give away the kitten now after we bonded. Thankfully, Klara grew used to her. She didn’t fight with her anymore-sometimes they would swat paws, but they got along peacefully. But I knew inside she was still stressed because of the new addition. She started going outside everyday, for longer periods of time. In the morning when I got up for school, there she was, sitting at the door meowing her head off to be let outside. She would then come home for a little while when I was at school, to eat food, then went out again, coming back at eight-nine-ten pm.

Looking back, I wish I had given her enough attention. I always tried to, but she grew into a more secluded cat.

So on September 23rd, a Sunday, at ten PM, I was looking for her. I opened the door, called for her, she wasn’t there. We had a large tree in front of that house, that blocked a large part of the road from me. A little later I went outside again, with my mom this time, and walked a little to the side. There, I saw a small animal’s body laying in the middle of the road. (As I am writing this, my heartbeat started racing.) It was Klara.

The feeling I experienced there was honestly the worst I have ever felt. It was a mixture of dread, guilt, helplessness, sadness, and regret. It washed over me completely. I had never experienced a death. I ran inside for my dad, who got her off the road and inspected her injury. My mother and I stayed inside, crying.’

He came back in and said she died due to trauma. She was hardly hurt at all. It was one side of her head that was affected, and she was laying on it. No broken bones or mangled parts at all.

We aren’t sure exactly how she died, and my dad was confused too, but we settled on a car. It was the only think that made sense. My dad said she was stiff and cold, which meant she died quickly. I hope it was painless.

A lot of why I cried is  because I felt guilt. I was out earlier, and maybe could have seen her. She always used to cross the road, as the neighbour across from us apparently had the best backyard ever. We think she was crossing the road from their house to go home.

There had been so many close calls with Klara. She’d never been hurt before, except for a few fights with cats. But at times she didn’t get home until the next day, or very late, or I couldn’t find her.

It didn’t feel real.

We drove to our new property which we would moving into soon, and buried her there in the backyard. My mom didn’t want to see, so she stayed in the car. I buried her with three things.

Her favourite pillow case she would use to sleep on a pillow that was in my closet.

A green bandana my best friend had given me when we lived in Canada that she used as a blanket.

Finally, an orangutan toy that she would sleep with. I actually have a picture of her cuddling with it. I may upload it later.

I also placed a rose I carelessly picked from a bush in our backyard. Normally my parents would be annoyed that I tore it, but at that point we were just shocked. I kissed her a few times, with her slightly bad part of head facing down. She was really cold. Her arms and legs were stiff.

My dad told me that I would have to experience more deaths like this, and it’s just how life goes. So we buried her, and placed bricks on that spot so we would know where she was.

We plan on making a special area in that garden for her. We’ll place a tile or something with her info on it, like her name, and date of birth, and date of death on it, with a little sitting place nearby, along with a fountain or bird bath, with steps leading up to the little spot for her.

My other cat, Feela (if you’re wondering why we name our cats such strange names, it’s because we’re Russian), is sort of lethargic now. It’s the only word I can describe her as. She is eating less, which is a big surprise as she is a fat kitty, and is searching around our new house looking for her. She meows at night, which sounds like crying. She misses her friend.

I’ve written and explained everything I wrote here so many times, but not to this much depth. It feels good letting it all out.

Sorry for the absence guys, and sorry if you have a weak heart or stomach, some of what I wrote may have been unsettling. Thanks for reading, and for all the new followers I got. It means so much.

Love, Evie.


Hi all! I just wanted to start off this post by saying how sorry I am for the lack of posts lately (well, not lately, but you know what I mean).

I don’t want to bore you with all my excuses but I was terribly busy + my computer broke. I’m getting it fixed. If you’re wondering how I published and typed this posts, well obviously it’s because I’m magical. 😀

No, I’m on my mom’s computer. I was doing school work (science…sigh), and decided to sneak onto my blog and apologize to my followers-if I still have any- and you know, assure them I’m not dead.

Alriiiight, now obviously this post doesn’t make up for month’s of skipped quality posts but hopefully I’ll be getting on my mother’s computer for “school work” 😉 more often, and making it up to you.

You know how painful it is to write by hand? Ugh, it gets messy and sloppy, and when you have to edit it’s annoying, and overall it takes way longer then it should.

So yeah.

Okay, so when I unexpectedly dropped off the face of the Earth for an ice age, I left you you about a week from my birthday. But guess what? I’m thirteen now!

I have to admit, I was expecting fireworks and angels playing harps and my life flashing before my eyes-okay nevermind that last one, I’m not THAT old. 😛 But it was still fun. I’ll spare you the details, haha.

Alright, this post is getting a bit awkward to write, so I’ll just go now. Well, this is Evie signing off, and don’t worry, I’ll be back on soon. I’ll be on and posting even more frequently when my laptop gets fixed, yay!




One, two, get a clue

Three, four, blood and gore

Five, six, beat you with sticks

Seven, eight, this is your fate

Nine, ten, now’s your end

“It’s okay, Ann. I know you didn’t mean to,” the nurse says.

But she’s lying.
I did mean to.

I walk over to the bed and sit next to her.

“I’m so, so sor-sorry!” I sob, burying my head into her lap. I feel her squirm a bit, uncomfortable.

“We were playing House, and she opened the window to let in some fresh air, and-and,” I stop, and gasp for breath.

“My dear, it’s okay. It’s okay,” she responds automatically, tension in her voice.

She doesn’t believe me.
She’s scared of me.

I look right up at her. She flinches, and I break down once more, continuing my charade of emotion.

“You don’t believe me,” I say simply, standing up.

She gets up slowly, crooning my name.

“Oh, Ann, Ann-”, she begins, but I interrupt her by flinging the blanket lying on my shoulders on the floor.

“No! You don’t believe me!” I get up, my fists tightening.

Whitefaced, she backs up. “Ann,” she says, almost begging.

But almost in not enough for me.

I walk over to her, hug her, and whisper, “I’m sorry.”
But I’m not. And that’s okay. Because she doesn’t forgive me anyway.

She just stares at me as I back away slightly. She ponders my face for a second. The breeze from the open window fills the room, covering us like a cold blanket.

Realization appears in her face, but she’s too late.

I push her.
She screams.
But no one’s here.
No one forgives me.
And that’s okay.

One, two, get a clue

Three, four, blood and gore

Five, six, beat you with sticks

Seven, eight, this is your fate

Nine, ten, now’s your end


*Note:  Severely exaggerated*

You see them in movies, kids books, sometimes even outside. They are symbols of good luck even.

Just looking at this picture gives me shivers…nasty little things.

But I hate them.

I was a just a young lass, when I was absentmindedly jumping on my trampoline. I was readying myself for a back flip when I noticed a dragonfly, flying about aimlessly.

“Hi Mr. Dragonfly. What are you up to today?” I asked, walking over to the edge of the trampoline, closest to where the dragonfly was. I clutched the net surrounding the trampoline, which was obviously made for ruly children as myself. And my numerous scars were evidence.

The dragonfly flied majestically, soaring up and about through my mother’s garden, looping in and out through the petals. I did not know yet that it was a suicide mission.

I stopped pondering the insect’s beauty, and instead went my to spot where I before stood waiting to do a back flip.

So I cracked my knuckles, wiggled my fingers, and arched my back. And I lept.

As I contorted into an upside down ‘U’ shape, my eye caught on the dragonfly. It was once more majestically flying towards the direction of the…net?!

“Nooooo!” I yelled dramatically in slow motion, as I landed on my back, a failed attempt at the long awaited back flip.

Avoiding the searing pain (note: once again, severely exaggerated), I twisted my neck to look at the dragonfly.

And his head was stuck in the net.

I lept up immediately, ready to save the poor guy, but when I drew closer I noticed something.

It was missing a wing from the fact his whole body was stuck in the net.

Repulsed, I backed away. I unzipped the door of the net and I ran as fast as I could, not paying attention to my surroundings.

This led me to fall painfully on the concrete steps leading to my patio.

There was blood. So much blood.

(Not really. But it hurt. So yeah).

I still have a scar as a reminder of that horrid day, in fact. It is now part of my rather admirable collection.

So then I was scared of going into the backyard for days after, let alone going on the trampoline. One day however, about five days after it got stuck there, I ventured out bravily.

And, yeah, it was still there…

Half of it.

I screamed. I really did.

(No I didn’t).

We sold that house long ago, and even sold the trampoline, but I bet the spirit of the dragonfly still roams…

And his is why I hate dragonflies.

The Barbie Doll Illusion

If you’re a teenage girl, I’m sure you have your own growing stack of magazines. Whether it be Seventeen, Teen Vogue, Vogue, or People (or Teen People), they all have something in common-those stick figures that almost every girl above the age of 9 both worship and adore.

It’s the illusion that you have to be ‘perfect’, that all that you see in the flimsy pages of your four dollar magazine is what is desired and yearned for in life.
This delusion starts at a very young age. Maybe four, five, six. Girls in the past, present and future generations have grown up, are growing up, or will grow up, with Barbie Dolls, the so-called spittin’ image of beauty.

But how attractive is Barbie, if she was scaled to real life proportions? If Barbie was real, she would look like this:

Galia posing with a real life size Barbie doll.

With her 39″ in bust, 18′ waist, 33″ hips,  stature of 6 ft, and size 3 shoes, she would have to walk on all fours. Not so attractive now, is she? Girls everywhere are looking at her as an icon, an idol. In fact, Galia Slayen’s eating disorder stemmed from looking up to Barbie as a young child.

Like Galia, you started to form the image of perfect in your head young.

And then as you grow into your tween years, you decide that Barbies and dolls are too childlike. You get magazines for your birthday, and as you flip through the pages this is basically what you see:

Teen star on the front page, model, model, clothes with models wearing them, models, clothes, actors, tampon ad with models jumping and dancing, models, clothes, article, article with model, clothes, makeup, makeup, models, tampon ad with models doing sports, makeup tips, article.

Fascinated with the icons of beauty, you experiment with makeup. You raid your mom or sister’s makeup stash, and slather on all that you can. Then you raid their closets; short dresses, high heels, leather purses. Then the jewelery big hoop earrings, a faux gold necklace, and glass bead bracelet. Perfect.

Then, it’s your 13th birthday-you are officially a teen! You go ask your mom for makeup, and voilà, the next day your both at Macy’s, shopping for the right look. Your mom wants a neutral, down to earth, natural look, but you’re over at the other aisle, looking at the bright fun colours. Ooh, purple eyeshadow! Bright pink lipstick! Or maybe green eyeshadow will look better?

You convince your mother, some of this, some of that.

The first day of school starts, and you prepare: Hm, that mini black skirt with that cheetah tank top. Then, you curl your hair and apply the hairspray. Finally the makeup, black mascara and eyeliner, with the purple eyeshadow, and some blush. Perfect, your done!

Then, as you morph into a teen, you start seeing these TV shows and movies with these models and actresses, these beautiful, pretty, sexy icons. You tell yourself you will do whatever to look like them. After all, that’s what guys are attracted to, right?

So you would eat your normal diet, and exercise. Exercise, exercise. But then you notice the results aren’t that great so. So you get depressed, get stuck in a slump, until your friend tells you a secret.

“You see, Amy, your middle finger is your best friend.”

So you’d binge and binge, then throw it all up in the toilet afterwards. And repeat.

This, this vicious cycle of not being good enough, it’s happening everywhere, in all ages. From the young children playing with their Barbies, deciding they will look like that when they’re older, to the tweens being brainwashed, and to the teens battling eating disorders, it’s a real and present problem in this world.

And if you’re one of them, just remember that these ‘sex gods’, these icons of ‘true’ beauty, it’s all fake. The images of the models are photoshopped so much that you wouldn’t know the before and after pictures were the same person. And Barbie, her real life proportions are not only unrealistic, but they show the true image of,not beauty, but an eating disorder.

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