a 30-year-old chick from Ireland

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"After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true. --Spock in 'Amok Time' favourite quote for now."

Finally, I have arrived after successfully peeling myself off the underside of a spaceship.

How I got to be there is a long and arduous story, involving me innocently playing in the back garden as a child and getting rudely landed on by ten tonnes of extra-terrestrial something or other. It then took off, with me attached. 

Due to my cartoon like double jointed-ness, absurd lack of injury and shocking ability to live on nothing but my own demented imagination, I managed to survive into young adulthood literally mashed onto the left pulse orb, traveling through space and time (very boring actually, since time stops as you shoot through it, and your ears pop an awful lot) * I was recently told that this could be due to the intense lack of oxygen in outer space. The person who informed me of this also expressed a keen interest in strapping me to a table and studying my brain. 

He also thinks I may have a mild form of A.D.D but assures me that this was not from the traumatic event of my childhood but rather a small chemical imbalance.

I can only suppose, the decrease in pressure as Me and Spaceship re-entered Earths atmosphere assisted me in finally getting free and dropping back onto home ground.  I only wish I had chosen to struggle with fervour when we got closer to the ground. I did make a very impressive mud angel upon landing.  In cement. 

Now  I am free, and  re-integrating into the society and goings on of the world I was so abruptly taken from.

As I spent most of my formative years glued to the side of E.Ts cruiser with nothing to do but think, I feel I happened upon some interesting muses and sparks of creativity.  I did carve an impressive poem with my baby finger nail into the hull of the ship.But I never read it, as my head was firmly mashed into one position. This sadly has given me a staring problem.

I still have an intense fear of back gardens. 


on a slightly more serious note ( If you can get more serious than being phobic of  re-abduction ( statistically more common than dying in a plane crash actually) )

My name is Mel. And yes, the above was an utter fabrication.  ( I think....  O_O)

Love writing, don't know if it loves me. We are working things out.

I tend to throw caution to anything that stops me from writing what I want to write, the way I want to write it.I discover quite frequently  perhaps this is not always a fantastic idea. So, in response to this realization I destroy what I have written in a state of  rage and contempt, never learning from my mistakes, only fuming that I made them, while at the same time justifying the reason why.

Not really. 

Confinement bothers me.

I have a deep appreciation for almost every genre, my favorites being :(as in the ones I would consider myself semi able to write in ) Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Drama, and Screenwriting.

I dabble in a little bit of poetry too.


Oh...... I cannot stand passive aggressive behavior, nor do I in any way tolerate it. In fact it makes me explode. Literally. Bits fly everywhere then regroup afterwards.If that doesnt happen then something close to a bar fight most definately will.

Id rather be hit in the face with a mallet than to stand and listen to an underhand comment.


I like the sound of war drums. 


Occasionally I am struck by the simple simultaneous ugliness and beauty of the world around me and react internally for a few moments, each time reminding myself not to let this feeling go but inevitably failing to do so due to my somewhat overstimulated and distracted imaginations.

Utterly fascinated by the night sky. Scarily effected  by the moon.

I can only look forward to the next time I am stopped dead in my tracks. 


I tend to be unabashedly honest about things, to the point of getting into hot water.

I  tell the truth because it's a challenge.











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