{.:: L O S T | I N | R A M B L E ::.}
Lost In Ramble//Port Three

Friday, January 29, 2010
9:14 AM

This morning, I was speaking to my mother -given, I do dearly love her so, but sometimes she makes me wonder. I've always felt that there was something about my parents. And perhaps that's normal - every person grew up, and every person has a past. And perhaps my mother isn't quite ready to share that past - that beginning with me. So I'll wait, for the time being. Regardless, I had asked my mother over my god-awful bowl of cereal (it was stale and disgusting) what she was like when she was young. She only shrugged. "Just like any other girl, I guess. Go do your homework."

Perhaps you've realized from my past posts that I'm insufferably curious. About everything. So here I am, after successfully uncovering a slice of the mystery. Only one puzzle piece - and hopefully more to come.

When my mother was younger, she wanted to be a fashion designer.

After hearing this, I wonder. Just what had she given up? To grow up - to let off her dreams, to start a family and merely let that sparkling star dim?

My mother is a banker.
Not a fashion designer.
She studied at Simon Frasier.
Not a fashion school.

Amidst my awe at the sheer defeatist attitude that my mother was flaunting for me, I wonder.
Ten years from now - twenty, thirty, forty - will I still be holding onto that star?


Or will I have given it up - to study, to start a family, to forget everything that made my eyes shine decades ago?

Quite a question, I suppose.

--ThumperMiggles


Lost in Ramble//Port Two

Wednesday, January 27, 2010
11:07 PM

One of the largest mysteries of my middle school years was always that of my art teacher - my art teacher, who is, I daresay, one of the strongest people I know. Ever since I had first met her - she was in a wheelchair. And given, I never pitied her.

Not even once.

And that was never out of disrespect - or even me being aloof as usual. It's because she never let us think, even for a single second that she was anything close to impaired. She does everything just the same as we all do - and sometimes, I often forget that she's sitting in a black canvas chair wheeling herself across the tiled classroom.

My entire sixth grade year, I had walked into that classroom and nearly fainted from the smell of tempera paint. And then I had wondered exactly what had happened to her.
A car crash?
A disease?
Arthritis, accidents, born with such, anything-
I wanted to know.

But of course, I had never asked.
Not even once.
And perhaps that was the proper way to go?

Even though she was remarkably strong - impossibly determined - I will admit that she seemed bitter.

Or rather, she was bitter. And that's what led me to believe that she had been able to walk at some point - and then lost it somewhere along the road. Indeed I was right - when we were well within our seventh grade year, she made a rather grand entrance into our math classroom and announced that "she'd have been much faster could she still walk".

And with that, my interest was piqued even further.

Ever since the day I had met her, I had wanted to know - in fact, this was like the Sherlock-Holmes-case that every child stumbles across within their schooling. The strange locked door, the odd trapdoor in the math classroom, the corridor that no teacher would allow students venturing down - this was my trapdoor. The strange oddity that I had sworn to solve from that moment on.

I dug a little - listening in on conversations, latching on to her every word - and perhaps that's just a part of my growing and lasting immaturity - or even, the beginning of my career as a professional eavesdropper. But what's far more important is what I had learned within these little tidbits - of which included "I used to be able to climb them" and "ever since, you know, I haven't gone out much".

But still, this had yet to answer my question.

And so, here I am, writing today about multiple sclerosis - the answer to my unraveling questions, which had been uncurtained just today.


I'm a bit sentimental - oh indeed, this post is quite sappy.
But nobody will see - what does it matter?



The case has been closed.
Somehow, I feel that that was the final remnant of my childish curiosity. The final thread.

And it's been cut - perhaps it's time to grow up now.

--ThumperMiggles


Lost in Ramble//Port One

I've chosen somewhere to hide - the internet's a big place, after all. And if I'm lucky, nobody'll find me.

Since this is really just between you and me.

And nobody'll ever know, right?
So everything I'd like to say but can't...

It'll all be right here.

Just between you and me.
Nothing and me.
I like it that way.

--ThumperMiggles


//:: I N T R O D U C T I O N ::\\

Welcome to LOST IN RAMBLE.
You've stumbled upon a strange corner of the internet - somewhere I've chosen to hide out for the time being. There's a bit of everything I've got to offer as of current - art, roleplay, writing, and an equivalent amount of honest-to-goodness teen angst rant. It's in your best interest to skip the last one though, however - it's quite possible you'll detain permanent health problems from reading such.

My name is THUMPER.
Or rather - that's what others have chosen to call me, although the identity of dearest Thumper truly belongs to my wonderful plot bunny, who has currently retired (damn him) to his ridiculously luxurious hutch-playpen. Though really - go ahead and call me Thumper. Everyone else does.

[DeviantArt]
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{x} January 2010