How Do You Usually Spend Your Weekends??

How do you usually spend your weekends??

Usually, I stay in, do homework, and recover from the week. I often read or watch shows.

If there was one thing you could choose to do forever, what would it be??

That’s hard. I think the most flexible answer I could give to get even part of what I’d want out of life would be that I’d choose to be a student of some kind forever, or if my answer has to be an active verb: to keep learning forever. This, as my one thing, would allow me to both read and write for the rest of my life. Also, it would be a loophole!

I could claim I was doing or observing something in order “to study” it or to learn from it, meaning, I could justify doing virtually anything I wanted. Even if I wanted to do nothing at all, I could reason out that I’m, for instance, studying the effects of “meditative silence” on my brain and its deterioration from long term inactivity. Or, I’d just say I learn automatically from life experience as I age since we, as humans, never stop processing information and thus, technically, never stop responding and learning to respond to a constant onslaught of information, so in my example, I would be “learning” to sit with stimuli around and suppress responses to it, by consciously choosing to do nothing, effectively getting out of having to “do” anything.

Wow. That's deep. And I fear various types of physical pain in real life. But to me, it's more like a feeling of excitement (in the Physics sense of the word, not just the emotional state, because, I think I tense or internally thrum with excitement while I write sometimes, possibly as a overreaction, like of the nervous system). It's like: Look at me! I'm being a sadistic writer like real authors are! So, I guess I don't necessarily see everything from the victim's side unless I'm writing their pov.

At least it's fictional. I laughed while writing my whump fic, especially at the tablecloth trap part.

⸻

Unrelated to fics though, I've recently come up with the idea of thinking of certain types of faster writing, like the overly verbose writing sprints/drafting I often do, in terms of a particular Edgar Allan Poe passage—I just kind of laughed in glee at it during my first read of "The Imp of the Perverse" and the crash after such building intensity is phenomenal:

"And now my own casual self-suggestion that I might possibly be fool enough to confess the murder of which I had been guilty, confronted me, as if the very ghost of him whom I had murdered—and beckoned me on to death.

At first, I made an effort to shake off this nightmare of the soul. I walked vigorously—faster—still faster—at length I ran. I felt a maddening desire to shriek aloud. Every succeeding wave of thought overwhelmed me with new terror, for, alas! I well, too well understood that to think, in my situation, was to be lost. I still quickened my pace. I bounded like a madman through the crowded thoroughfares. At length, the populace took the alarm, and pursued me. I felt then the consummation of my fate. Could I have torn out my tongue, I would have done it, but a rough voice resounded in my ears—a rougher grasp seized me by the shoulder. I turned—I gasped for breath. For a moment I experienced all the pangs of suffocation; I became blind, and deaf, and giddy; and then some invisible fiend, I thought, struck me with his broad palm upon the back. The long imprisoned secret burst forth from my soul.

They say that I spoke with a distinct enunciation, but with marked emphasis and passionate hurry, as if in dread of interruption before concluding the brief, but pregnant sentences that consigned me to the hangman and to hell.

Having related all that was necessary for the fullest judicial conviction, I fell prostrate in a swoon."

Do you guys know why you enjoy thinking about or writing whumping?

I know. I’d be a whumpee probably. Just… to be hurt so bad, to be broken beyond comprehension. Nobody can invalidate that.

Then, even better, the eventual rescue by someone who cares unconditionally about me. I’ve never had someone care for me like that. I want it.

What time do you usually sleep on weekdays?? Weekends??

Any time from 1-5 am, sometimes later/"earlier." (Yes, I’m aware my sleep schedule is insanity itself. You don’t have to tell me.)

What are you most scared of??

Why should I tell you?

(It’s fine if you want to try convincing me that I should answer, but I think my mind is already made up in that I won’t. Sorry for the lack of response. I do not want this type of information to be used against me. You can interpret my answer as paranoia or distrust of humanity, but I don’t think you will get very far! I will allow challengers to psychoanalyze me if they want though. /hj)

Something that most people don't know about you??

At times, I have nonsensical, probably stress-induced dreams.

In total, I've been the murderer approximately three times, endorsed an execution once, was a witness at least twice, and have been chased many more times.

The first murder was shooting some kind of long-barreled gun, perhaps a rifle or something more modern than a bayonet? Who knows? It was vague, and I don't really remember it.

The second was firing an arrow from below at a person descending stairs. The whole dream was very Hunger Games-esque and I had been peering up at my target from a swimming pool set in a ruined patio.

The third time, my murder was unintentional. I tried to help an unknown classmate(?) get unstuck from where he'd been caught under a large stone or snowdrift on the way back to a final exam, before the directions were given, and he just... tumbled down the steep, snow-covered hill? I have no idea what truly happened to him. I think all I had done was tug at his arm. I just ran the rest of the way down, took my seat in time, oddly enough, outdoors, at a table, and was given a paper. I think the prompt my brain came up with, before the hill event, from an earlier part of the dream, was something on environmentalism, or something about conditions shaping a narrative, which made little sense—much different from what the real exam's prompt was. I wanted to wash my hands, so I would stop feeling sticky, and I think I wondered if I had blood on them. A thought I had then or maybe after I woke up was that the prompt wasn't about Lady Macbeth, so why'd all that happen? I also worried over whether I had partly abandoned the poor guy or committed a murder. Yet I don't believe in dream symbolism because it's not fully scientific, and the directions in the dream weren't ever fully explained anyway. In that same dream, I also eavesdropped on someone who might've been my real-life, class dean and some old woman.

The one time I endorsed the murder in a dream, it happened after a whole convoluted, surreal, Coup d'état plot, not even founded in reality. I broke into a library, to catch my foe shortly before they arrived, and asked someone else to get ready. It wasn't just commanding an execution to happen; it was a (magic?) trick I wasn't fully conscious of, despite being the one to ask for it to be set-up and deliver the orders during the all-important moment. A professor in the library, who specialized in firearms, stage tactics, and sleight of hand, fired what seemed to be a blank at the traitor/usurper/criminal. And my criminal got covered in loose, non-compacted, burning gunpowder instead of run through by a bullet. By then, their skin was probably crawling with some sensation of being set aflame—but don't ask me? I couldn't sense that pov. There was nothing gory anyway. But somehow, they tried to shake the powder off, onto me, and I guess I woke up before anything became worse.

In the same execution dream, there were other previous events, and I was a witness to a different murder. That murder was this instance, with cool, Art Deco vibes, wherein, my (non-existent) friend sacrificed themselves for me. I had to lug the corpse through halls and to elevators, and I went up and down multiple times while on the run before I decided to leave the body.

In another dream, what I think was a hanging was visible in the background, but I'm not quite sure about that. It was more of a vague image.

As for the times I've been pursued by figures with unknown intent, one was notably in a labyrinthine place.

Also, to anyone who's read this far: Don't worry. I don't believe I could actually pull off any of these things as I think I’d pass out too soon because I have somewhat weak lungs and not nearly enough athleticism.