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I've spent a great bulk of my life trying to decide whether or not I'm insane.
I ask this question with such urgency at times because I do desire blood. For
me it's not the 'eroticism' of the vampire--though that's a nice bonus--or the
desire to role-play one--I haven't, and I'm not truly interested in what White
Wolf has to offer. And I've never been so mentally gone that I actually believe
I'm 'immortal' and gifted with strange unearthly powers of transformation and
enchantment. I'm all too mortal, believe me, and the only strange powers I have
don't enchant people. No, for me it's more the real and actual desire to drink
human blood.
I have drunk blood on occasion; 99% of the time it's been voluntary. I don't
lurk in shadows unless it's bright out, I'm not a thin, ethereal wraithlike
being, I don't dress constantly in black. And I also eat garlic, I don't fear
crosses, I've touched holy water to my skin (a brief period of exploring Catholicism
before I decided on the pagan path), and the only reason I have to fear sunlight
is that I take St. John's Wort for depression, and it increases my already high
photosensitivity. (Which is really annoying, because it makes getting my daily
requirement of Vitamin D rather horrific.)
But there are interesting corollaries. I have one of the odder family histories
around; I had an aunt in Oklahoma who swore she was a werewolf. There are rumors
she was just schizophrenic, but as I never met her...And several of my ancestresses
have been burned as witches, for either healing with herbal skills or consorting
with supposed demons. On one side of my family, I'm related to Joan of Arc,
she of the holy visions and crossdressing; on the other side, Henry the VIII
and the rest of the rotten Tudor stock pop up, and they weren't exactly what
you'd call pillars of stability. Insanity doesn't just run in my family; it
gallops. Were we rich, most of the current crop would be termed 'charmingly
eccentric'. As it is, most people just think we're nuts.
And there are interesting physical oddities, too. No, none of us were born with
eleven toes or two heads, though my aunt and my mother's mother were both born
with extra ribs, sprouting from the collarbone. And most of the women have reproductive
problems--most of us don't produce progesterone at all, or have other related
problems--and if you've been to other parts of the page, you already know I
have a beard. But some of my family are highly allergic to any form of allicin,
which is not only the active agent in garlic, but also all the other plants
in the onion family. (I'm a garlic junkie, but I have problems with high acid-content
foods and the occasional undercooked onion.) And we as a family are allergic
to the sun. I used to think that was ridiculous--how can anyone be allergic
to sunlight?? It's a star, we're on a planet--come on! But we are--my aunt broke
out in hives when exposed, and I flash-burned in minutes before I started taking
St. John's. (The interesting thing there is that it increases photosensitivity
in animals; everything I've read says the effect doesn't extend to Homo Sapiens.
Go figure.)
And I will also admit, I'm a fairly morbid individual. If I could wear black
most of the time I would, but it's not as flattering as I would like--brings
out all the gold in my skin tone and really makes me look jaundiced. My favorite
form of makeup--when I wear any at all--is a green concealer base under white
rice powder, with black-outlined eyes and dark brown lips. I've scared people
that way. And though no one, ever, will see me on the street and think, "Oh,
there goes a Goth," that's been my desire since high school. I'd wear black
lace and tattered velvet if I could afford it. I'd have coffins around the house.
Hell, I already have a monopoly on decorating with bats--they're everywhere,
along with skulls and roses and the odd string of Hallows lights here and there.
So where does the fetish for the dark leave off, and the vampire begin? I'm
not even as sure as I once was, that this is just a variety of the psychological
disease pica--because since I decided that, I moved from California to Colorado,
and actually met other vampires. I mean, I still have problems looking in the
mirror and saying, "I'm a vampire." Because it's all so surreal--vampires aren't
real, they don't walk the streets of Denver, they don't go to parties and tickle
their friends, they don't hunt madly for coffeehouses and play Gay Monopoly
and Risk until the wee hours, while consuming coffee, tea and the odd slice
of cheesecake. But there they were--mostly rational, fairly normal individuals
who just 'happened' to also drink blood. Hmm. And here I am. And if I'm not
a vampire...what am I?
And daily existence is so draining at times. I had an ideal job once, adored
it--I got up at noon, got into work at three, worked until two in the morning,
went home happy. I loved it. I haven't found a night job since, and there are
days when it physically hurts to be out in the sun. This is, of course, discounting
the whole St. John's Wort thing. I take St. John's for depression, as Paxil,
the former chemical alternative I was taking, felt too artificial, if that makes
any sense. Also, I'm deeply uneasy about Prozac. (Case in point--friend of mine
takes it, and it works great for her. But she's a victim of multiple personality
disorder. She has 80-odd people in one body, and on Prozac, she has three. So
it works for her. But any drug that can do that scares me.)
But, on St. John's Wort, I must get an hour's worth of sunlight every day. Which
is just about my limit, or over, some days. I sit and gripe and grumble for
the half hour per day I Usually get, then go home and slather my skin with aloe
in the hopes the tenderness goes away. I am one of the few 'vampires' I know
that actually has tanned skin--and I have a tan because of sun damage, over
the years, on the face and the lower arms. It never goes away, and the rest
of me is generally ice-pale in contrast, with prominent blue veining that unsettles
me.
Mostly I'm an energy vamp, though--about every year or so, I get the need to
drink actual blood, and it's strong, and it's unnerving, and let's just say
I'm glad I'm married, because otherwise...My main problem is that my father
died of AIDS, and as I've seen what it does, I'm pathologically afraid of drinking
from those I don't trust. I'd be much more predatory, given half a chance. Instead,
I've rather perfected the art of supping energy fields--or, if it gets out of
hand, sapping them completely. Ergh. But there are few better things than going
to a club playing heavy industrial music, and 'drinking' from the dancers on
the floor...Of course, I had to move to Spokane, land of big hair and country
music. Eep. And, it doesn't replace the taste, the satisfaction, of drinking
blood itself.
For that matter, let's bring up blood-drinking for a moment. When I drink blood,
I do feel better and stronger; when I don't, I feel more listless, less physically
capable, and generally fatigued. But there are dozens of causes in my case for
this--being overweight, having unbalanced hormones, having Poly-Cystic Ovarian
Disorder...hell, being depressed fits in there, too. It might be the blood that
makes me better; it might not. And there's no sure way to tell which right now.
There are days I relentlessly wish to be normal. Oh, yes, I'd still decorate
in Muted Dead Rose, sure, but I wish I would stop going into heat, nearly, whenever
some female around me is bleeding. I wish I could stop going straight for the
neck whenever I'm getting passionate with someone. I wish I hadn't decided I
was thoroughly insane in my twenties and went radically vegetarian--now, I don't
even have my fangs anymore! Ground down through grazing and calcium deprivation.
Joy.
I wish I could go out and enjoy a sunny day without being slathered in sunscreen
that rarely works (the only one I've ever found that does anything is NO-AD,
in the higher numbers; it's not perfect, but if you keep your exposure to a
minimum...) or wrapped in sweaters or towels. I wish I didn't have to squint
to see when I don't have sunglasses. I wish, on my bad days, I didn't walk down
a city block and cause people to collapse behind me; that's not only rude, that's
immoral, and usually I have better control, but ...I wish. Oh, I wish.
September 2000:
And the real test begins...I've recently moved to Seattle to go to college for
the first time, but my lover--my wife, my heartmate, my other half, and oh,
did I mention, also my donor?--elected to stay behind in Spokane. With the 22-year-old.
We aren't separating, this is just a period of change and growth, but it has
been a trial not being able to just roll over and take the sustenance I need.
Sleeping alone also is not loads of fun for me anymore. And I've only
been here since the first of the month...
October 2000:
Amazing how hungry one gets without a donor. Considering my donor was also my
love interest, I've also got to factor in major loneliness. Not sleeping well,
not eating well, not drinking (enough water)(and no blood) is starting to take
its toll. Been here over a month and outside of looking around at all the green
and feeling my soul sigh and uncurl, it hasn't been much fun. Had some time
before the Blair Witch Webfest got underway, though, to revamp the site a bit.
November 2000:
Taken the advice of some new chums on the VDA elist, and have completely given
in to my cravings for algae drinks (so far the best of the bunch being something
called Green Angel, made by Two Juice Guys and found at Uwajimaya
in Seattle, with a taste of pond scum and a smell vaguely like fruity beer,
but oh, how wonderful it felt for the rest of the day!) and yogurt (current
favorite there--Brown Cow cream-on-top yogurt, with wonderful swimmy active
cultures, fruit on the bottom, a thick layer of condensed cream on top, and
sweetened with maple syrup--lovely!), as they seem to think these are 'high-prana'
foods (along with broccoli, sprouts and the like). Still researching why pranic
breathing and these foods help someone who wants blood all the time.
Also wondering how massage helps--is it just being touched, or what, exactly?
I'm doing my best not to drain my masseuse, but that could be happening as well...
December 2000:
Someone asked me this question: "What does vampirism mean to you?"
What it used to mean: feeling that I've gone insane. My wanting blood was something
I absolutely could not explain except for vague and upsetting medicalia, such
as porphyria (for which I had no other symptoms), pica (for which I also had
no other symptoms) and obsessive-compulsive disorder (for which I'm practically
a walking textbook of symptoms, disturbingly enough). Even having a goddess
stomping about in the back of my head didn't interfere with my ability to reason,
yet wanting blood, wanting to drink blood, and feeling better when I did...it
completely threw me off kilter. "Normal" people don't need blood. Therefore
I'm abnormal. And if I'm abnormal, shouldn't I be locked away somewhere in order
to save the society at large?
Now: I've relaxed a lot. For one thing, I've come to terms with my OCD. It could
be worse--I could be a compulsive hand-washer. In my case I'm more on the obsessive
side, which means being tormented by thoughts of what one could do, given the
opportunity. I have convinced myself that without good provocation, I wouldn't
do half the things my brain obsesses over, and therefore can reasonably ignore
them. For the rest of it, I mostly just get anxious on occasion and I keep St.
John's around for that. And I count the occasional tiles and cracks in flooring,
and I've cornered that into Things That Are Only Done When I'm Alone, which
has worked out wonderfully. And along the way of learning to cope with those
personality facets, suddenly wanting blood became no big deal. There are still
people I don't tell--I really don't want to be locked up, so why make them worry
about me--but for the most part, enough of my friends and close ones know to
make me a little easier about who I choose to be.
So what does vampirism mean to me? Part of it is, it means I'm a little bit
more than the average of humanity around me. Better? No, it's a highly inefficient
design, needing blood and life energy to exist, or suffering because of the
lack. But I am more than just the body I'm in, I need more, I process differently,
I'm slightly larger than life. (Well, actually, [staring fixedly at hips and
belly], I'm LITERALLY larger than life, but we won't go there).
It means my life and my magic and my psychology all get wrapped around the issues
of blood and energy, as opposed to simply concentrating blissfully on a higher
power to take it all away and give me blessings. I am my higher power. I'm still
vaguely frightened by the inherent responsibilities in that, but I hold to it.
And vampirism supports me in this. When I ingest another's blood, I become them--not
only their cells joining my cells, my body absorbing their unique genetic structure,
but also, their energy becomes mine, part of their being joins me. When I feed
someone, I am joined with them in a way that transcends most other experiences
I can think of. This is the true nature of communion--soul to soul, being in
each others' skins, existing inside each other. For that moment there is no
difference between us, we are the same, the boundaries dissolve. In that I find
truth.
Aprille 2001:
My lady love keeps threatening to feed me. By this I mean she says 'You're really
hungry, let me go get the blade', and then she forgets, or I forget, or I get
a migraine and have to curl up in a ball under my bed, or she has an attack
of suicidal depression and I'm yet again having to be the Strong One...Things.
Shit. Lots of things and shit happening. Between one thing and another I haven't
fed on anything beyond occasional energy sips from the love and the universe
for a good four months now. Acccck. There are slight glimmers of good things
on the horizon, though. For one, the lady in question are back on the meds that
will make her more stable. Which will eventually free up enough cash and energy
for me to go in to the doc and see what torture he next wants to inflict. At
the very least I may go back on some hormone-balancing drugs, try to jumpstart
my system into some kind of female functionality, at the very least a droplevel
of the heavy hormones I'm dealing with now. So, that could be a good thing.
In the meantime I'm still hanging on the the upper branch with my teeth, hoping
not to fall.
August 2001:
Those of you looking beyond the last five updates are bound to be disappointed.
I only keep the last five, otherwise this page would be needlessly long. I do
still have the original essay I wrote for this page linked in here and there,
so you can revel in the first babblings. In the meantime, I'm back in Spokane,
Washington, and it doesn't suck as bad as it did previously. Don't get me wrong--it's
still dead and barren and weird here, and not in any good way. But there are
better sights and stronger friendships to be had this time around, so it's not
as bad. I'm learning to be open about wanting blood--that damned honesty bug,
it's going to get me arrested or beaten to death by rednecks any day now--to
those near and dear at least, save for my immediate family, who--okay, all the
gays in the audience, say it with me-- "just wouldn't understand". Yep, I knew
you knew it.
January 2002:
2002 already. You can tell how often I update this page, huh? Well, still in
Spokane. Looks like I'm going to be stuck
here for at least two more years. On the plus side, I'm currently listed as
partially disabled, due to knee and joint pain, and the hormonal weirdness (which
has nothing to do with vampirism, as far as I know). On the down side, the Supreme
Court just voted against people with partial disabilities--basically, their
decision said if you can get out of bed in the morning, brush your teeth and
fix breakfast for yourself, you aren't disabled. Great. So, not being able to
walk around much beyond that is not good enough? Having to use a cane to cross
my living room doesn't count? Fuckers.
July 2002:
Due to several months of being unable to access any computer and get online,
I lost my entire page on Dreamwater. (You'll notice that, in the corrected,
not-pulled-down-from-Internet-Wayback-Machine pages, you won't see a Dreamwater
credit anymore). They have a 50 meg limit. I had 37 megs of page materials,
stored files, graphics, et cetera, that I will never see again. I realize my
part in all of this was that I didn't back up anything to external disk. On
the other hand, as I can't recall anything being specifically mentioned when
I signed up, I a) thought they had the standard 90-day use-it-or-lose-it clause
in their contract (they don't, btw--it's a 30-day auto-delete), and b), as I
didn't have my own computer at that time, I was using them as drop-box storage,
thinking, every three months I will get on and keep my page going until I get
my own computer.
So. Amidst this spring's wonderful pagan organization disintegration-in-progress
(a story I don't specifically plan to retell here, because it's long, drawn-out,
and ugly no matter from which side I relate it), I spent something like two
months off-line. The first month Dreamwater zapped me and I never knew. Second
month I fought my way to a computer and realized that everything was gone.
Now I'm having a hell of a time tracking everything down that *was* once there.
I'm using a combo of the Internet Wayback Machine and Google's online cache
service, but it's hard, slow going. And I'd truly like to complain to Dreamwater,
maybe point out to them that it might be a grand idea if they upped their auto-delete
function to 90 days, but right now I'm still spitting fire over the loss. I'm
trying to see rationally that it wasn't their fault, that all they saw was an
account inactive for 60 days--but it's hard. It's hard not to take it personally
and resent them for destroying things I may never get back. Original poetry
I didn't have backed up anywhere else, stories I'd posted just to those pages,
information pages in sections that don't seem to be accessible through the Wayback
Machine...it's still a crushing loss to me, even now.
So is being a vampire right now. I can't remember the last time I fed. We haven't
had the money enough to start investigating the beet juice and chlorophyll alternatives
a friend tipped me off about. And now, I find myself falling asleep at completely
random times, not having the energy God gave a soapdish, and wondering if I've
fallen into some weird sort of anemic state. (Check this: my doc says, oh, it's
probably just allergies--if it hasn't cleared up in two weeks, come back and
talk to me. Riiiight.)
Oh, yeah, And Spokane still sucks. Like I haven't said that enough times.
Late July 2002:
I may have found the perfect way to deal with not feeding and having a body
in physical collapse: insomnia and updating my webpage. If hallucinations don't
set in, I might start to like this. Strange thing about insomnia, and this requires
a little digression. Took in a movie tonight with a friend--local theatre has
started running midnight movies, and this weekend was Fight Club. Fight Club,
in addition to being a stellar film, mentions insomnia. Insomnia, it says, creates
distance. You wander through your life, half-asleep, half-awake, at all times
drifting and disconnected. That's where I am now. Add that to the growing list
of medical complaints:
- PCO
- migraines, potentially due to hormone imbalance
- bad joints, potentially due to hormone imbalance
- carpal tunnel (the doctor qualified it as 'mild' on one side, and 'less
mild' on the other--what, exactly, does that mean?)
- we've reached the stage where my doctor's scale no longer goes up high enough
to accurately weigh me
- and let's not forget a possible case of anemia, due to a going-on-two-weeks-now
bout of falling asleep at random intervals, being continuously tired, and
feeling incredibly fatigued and dizzy
- which brings us to this week's wonderful new friend, insomnia
The problem with an ongoing fatigue state when combined with insomnia is that
I end up wandering around, tired all the time, tired enough to fall down, but
then when I do, when I lay down and try to sleep, my brain won't shut off. I'm
not saying, oh, yes, definitive mark of the vampyr here, I'm saying it's more
of my unique physiological insanity, but it's still a very annoying thing.
31 August 2002:
Been a hell of a month. My social worker signed me up for a class through Goodwill
called Chart Your Course. Supposedly one of those ego-boosting exercises that
will impress all of us poor disabled people to get off our poor disabled asses
and get off the public dole. In my case, it may or may not work--I remain convinced
I can't get a job, being a fat chick with a beard, but I might have become convinced
to go back to school. So for the second time, I'm going to make the attempt
to sign on and complete a course of instruction.
I'm a little scared about this. On the plus side, I no longer have to get up
at seven ayem for a while, slather my bod in sunscreen, and stagger out the
door to class. So that's a yay thing.
In other news, the endo appointment went alarmingly well. I now have two new
medical terms to add to my glossary. I have been diagnosed with acanthosis
nigricans, an ailment that comes from being hyperinsulinemic. Also, my doctor
wrote a letter to the state calling me someone with 'profound hyperandrogenemia',
as well as dyslipidemia.
Whee, all the new medical terms!
What this breaks down to is, yes, I have PCO, which we knew. However, now we
know it by diagnosed symptomology. How this impacts my vampirism is interesting--my
doctor put me on two new prescriptions. One of them's for Metformin,
a medicine that interrupts the insulin resistance cycle. It causes only mild
hyperglycemia, but since I was hyperglycemic to start with, it's causing some
mild sugar crashing after I take it. So I'm going to have to watch that--eat
more often, eat smaller meals, that kind of thing. The odd thing has been how
Metformin's decreasing my hunger--it's lowering my need for blood, while at
the same time making me crazy for protein. I'm wondering if this is a good or
bad thing, but it does leave me without that knife-in-the-belly bloodhunger,
so I'm going with it for now.
11 October 2002:
So, it's been a while. Been really busy, actually. But somewhere in all the
hustle and bustle my love in life found a new career (pro dom with her own tiny
dungeon), fed me for the first time in I can't remember how long, and found
a slave that could charm my heart, let alone hers. This lady is not only (according
to that busy love, and the sounds I hear through the thin walls) very responsive,
but she also has a wicked sense of humor and she sews. This is not a big deal
to people who don't have to pay double to get something that doesn't fit right.
She is a professional seamstress, and she has agreed--assuming we keep her in
fabric, and why wouldn't we--to make a wardrobe for my lady and myself.
Sounds like a plan to me.
Metformin update: as you can see from the above, the hunger's back in force.
Blood, sugar, sweets, ice, cold drinks, sweet drinks, fruit juice--the hypoglycemia's
the worst it's been since 1996. Whether I can afford it or not, I'm going to
make an effort to keep Odwalla Superfood in the house (or other equivalent algae
drink), and try and increase my consumption of foods with a high glycemic index
(like carrots, beets and peas) to keep my sugar up. My doctor's understandably
worried about that. I'm understandably worried about the fact that I'm taking
two potassium-sparing drugs, and won't that up my blood potassium levels?
I'll know when the tests come back, after my next endo appointment, but it
does make my mind uneasy.
15 October 2002:
The pieces of my life are starting to grate when they move together. I haven't
been back on Sphynxcat's IRC channel in, gods, probably a month by now. Nothing's
gone wrong--that I know of--it's just...not something I can tune into at this
point. Plus the new meds are back to scaring me--I skipped a dose today and
fell into a sleep that felt like coma for about five hours. I kept trying to
pull out of it and never quite managed until whatever it was, whatever crash
had happened, hypoglycemic or not, had passed. I'm slowly losing my ability
to remain the solitary pilgrim in town, and, regardless of the scars, regardless
of the emotional pain that's still present, I'm getting involved in the local
pagan community again. I'm probably, against all better judgment, even going
to the Witches' Night Out Ball this year, because the place where it's being
held burned down last week and the owners are insisting that, damn it, arson
fire or not, they're holding the damn dance with generators if they have to.
Only, there's no water to the building, and there's really no way to legally
get around that. So it's still up in the air when it's going to be held.
And I've been talking to Bholanath on the side. Man has a mind like an eel.
It's been interesting. So, of course, the me here part of this early-morning
posting.
It all ties up in uncomfortable ways with the fact that, for something completely
unrelated to this site, I've been reading slash stories about Clark Kent and
Lex Luthor, and for some reason, half the stories I've been reading have involved
biting, and wounding, and Lex licking blood from the wounds, and...gods...Yeah.
Sure. This is what the local vampire needs, a steady diet for several hours
of young attractive men screwing their brains out in interesting outfits with
blood involved.
I may need help.
6 November 2002:
So. Struggled the past two weeks to get my damn phone back--somewhere between
the fact that the lines running through my basement paradise are nearly older
than the house itself, and the fact that there apparently was never a phone
wire running into the house in the first place to carry a signal...how creepy
is that?...I lost phone service for two weeks.
But hey, we're back now, and check out this page dealing with sun sensitivity.
First, goggle at the fact presented first--if it's true that I only need ten
minutes of sunlight a day, maaaan, am I going to be yelling at doctors from
now on! Second, scroll down to the section mentioned for sunscreens and look
for the brand name Sun Play. Apparently, they have an SPF 130 on the market.
I'm going to do my best to track down an address for these people and ordering
instructions. Check back in a week or so. (Profound thanks go to alert reader
Kenneth from Singapore. Yeah, international vamp community!)
24 December 2002
I've been sick, off and on, for about two months now. It's either sleep all
the time and have no energy, or the rapid-fire whatsit that attacked everyone
in this entire house. Upstairs they all have ear infections. Downstairs we got
high fever and hallucinations. Whee.
But I moved the page. And in a few days, I'll probably have the strength to
link it over here so that people actually know it's been moved. Ha.
13 January 2003
"January first, and a bright new day dawns, to look at one's lifestyle
and see if it has any." (Peg Bracken)
I'm not too sure about the life having style, but it does seem to still have
a kind of broken vivacity that I'm going to try to improve. I'm slooooowly dragging
this page and the others over to a new server, and slooooowly checking all the
links to make sure they still function and are still links to vampire sites,
not Judeo-Christian death cults or something. In the meantime, I'm doing very,
very little. Next doctor's appointment, I'm going to beg, and if that doesn't
work, scream and insist to be taken off the Metformin, and put on something
that doesn't cause nineteen horrid side effects from dawn 'til dusk. Honestly,
if it was just the no-alcohol thing, well, that would suck, but the lack of
alcohol paired with an increase in depression and the constant fatigue and the
gastric disturbances...please. There has to be something else. This is stupid.
9 February 2003
I promise, I promise, I'm going to be shifting some stuph around, and updating
other areas, but I just haven't had time just yet. I'm two weeks into another
new med--this one's called Actos, and whee, the side effects just sound like
so much fun--pulmonary edema, liver and kidney complications. In addition to
feeling like I'm constantly coming down with a cold and a staggering case of
dry mouth. Still. Less annoying overall than Metformin and I only have to take
it once a day.
11 March 2003
I'm a sloth. Really, I am. Nothing gets done around here, and so
very very little gets done for updating the page. I'm not talking on the vamp
lists I'm on at the moment and...gods, it must be six months since I've loaded
up IRC and talked with Sphynxcat or anyone else. Gaaaah. Plus, right now I'm
sick, and voiceless due to laryngitis, and feeling sorry for myself on top of
it. So.
Done some very very little work here and there, mostly new links below the
actual info links. Other than that, no, nothing's changed here. I'm useless!
12 May 2003:
Haven't updated this page--and it wasn't much of an update then--since March.
Probably won't get around to it for a month or so. Life exploded on me in big
nasty ways. Moving to Oregon upcoming; mother died one week ago, almost exactly;
friendships imploding all around me. Summing up: this has been the second worst
week of my entire life, the first being the time I came home on my birthday
after being fired from my job only to be told that I was a dangerous and disruptive
influence who might conceivably harm children that could no longer live in the
house I (at that time) shared with my girlfriend.
Bad day. Bad, bad day, that ended a bad, bad week. This week has been very
nearly worse.
13 August 2003:
Fully four months later, and I finally get around to this. Yes, I am the wandering
village idiot. I've been spending most of my time lately packing, stressing,
or on LiveJournal, so...I've been busy. I have a few updates, mostly verifications,
and the move is still pending--in about a month, to Portland, Oregon. Where,
apparently, they have more than five vampires who like the Tuesday Meet-ups.
Um...whee? Of course, I am a bitter and evil old woman, therefore, I may not
like them. Or they may think I'm a bitch. Or, well, both.
22 August 2003:
Added some new essays. Random collection of history and memories from the DeadJournal
account.
2 September 2003:
Fourteen days until we move. Yeepers, we're so not ready. But I'm talking to
a new guy who found part of this page, and wrote me, and here's part of what
I wrote in the last letter I sent. Figured it needed to be here, not only for
my benefit:
"Whole milk occasionally helps with cravings, if you're not lactose-intolerant.
Some claim beet juice works really well. I've also had great success with
algae drinks--Odwalla makes Superfood, which is on the spendy side but tasty,
and Nantucket Nectars makes something called Green Angel which is very good.
Look up the concept of prana, pranic energy, pranic life force--a lot of
current thinking goes along the lines that vampires are people who were somehow
born without the ability to sustain great quantities of prana, so have to
get it from other sources. And the easiest source is live human blood. But
there are inherent risks with that, so there are backups--whole milk (sans
rBGH if you can get it), algae drinks, fresh juice--whatever you find that
is close to the living whole food concept. I've had good success with yogurt,
even, now and again, most specifically the type that has live acidophilis
cultures."
This article is presented as part of an ongoing effort to present other views outside of, as well as within, the online vampire community. Those of us who consider ourselves vampiric don't always look at things from the same viewpoint due to our life experiences. As such, the views and opinions contained in this article are entirely those of the author(s), and may not necessarily be shared by SphynxCatVP. The webmaster is not under obligation to update or otherwise keep current the contents of this article. Most importantly, only you can decide for yourself whether this article or any of the author(s) other views are useful or applicable to you - you are responsible for using your own reasoning and judgement, so judge wisely.
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