Working Lady

Sure is hard being a working lady~.


Whelp, I haven't posted in a couple of days. Sorry about that, guys. Have you missed me much? What've I been up to... Not much, I guess. I've been working on that t-shirt design that I mentioned, sleeping... I had my first bad day at work today! That was fun. I walked part of the way home to blow off some steam. Felt good, save for the fact that the sun is blazing full-on today. 


Steven and I went to McDonald's yesterday. We probably sat there for an hour, talking about schools, human perception, and working in the food industry. I mostly listened. Not because he was hogging the conversation or anything, but because I just don't talk much. I wonder if that ever bothers him? He's such a talkative person and I'm so clammed up all of the time. I'm such an introvert when it comes down to it. A friend of mine back in Texas used to yell at me for it, actually.


He'll probably assure me that it doesn't bother him soon as he reads this. Because I'm a dork and I always think I'm annoying people when I'm really not, haha. My own worst critic. 


I do love talking to people, meeting new people, and working with them, despite my inward tendencies. I suppose that's why I was so bothered at work today. A quiet little voice in the back of my mind has probably been setting me up for this bad day, too, to be honest. See, each day, I go in with a smile and I plan on working the hardest that I can. Then, I do. Then, I come home. I'm tired and I feel so... unfulfilled. I know part of being an adult is doing things that you don't want to do, but this runs a little deeper than that.


I wish I were in school. 


I dove into college, praying I would figure out what I wanted to do with myself by the time I'd finished my AA. Then, everything went wrong, and now I can only hope I can get back into courses by Fall. That's the biggest reason I wanted a job. I wanted to save up money so I wouldn't be so dependent on loans and the like, you know? But, this job that I have, because of my own weakness, just isn't enough. It pays for gas, it takes care of my immediate needs, and lets me have a little spending cash on the side, but once it's all divvied out... Well, you tell me how much 80$ will get you in the long run. 


I'm so much better off than a lot of people and here I am, whining like a baby about how work just ins't fulfilling my wildest dreams. Fck, that's pathetic, isn't it? It's an off day. I swear I don't do this often. In fact, I've been so incredibly happy lately. This is literally one of those few between moments where I feel... bothered, I guess. 


What am I going to do when Summer rolls around? What if I don't get back into courses?


Money is a terrifying thing. I feel so trapped whenever I think about it. If I could get rid of my loans, erase them and start over, I'd feel so much better, I think. It's a small amount -- right now -- but it's still well over what I'd make in 3 months. Add some interest in there -- and if I get back into courses? I'm only pushing them back a little while. They'll only pile up in the end. 


I am so incredibly disappointed in myself for letting life get in the way of my first semester. I don't think I'll ever let myself live it down. School is so important to me. If I could swing being a substitute teacher? Sweetheart, believe me when I say: I'd take it in a heartbeat. To work with others, to watch and help people learn... Grief, I couldn't even do that, could I? The school system here is so completely fcked. What are they even doing in classrooms nowadays? Last time I volunteered at an elementary school, I wanted to kick a wall.


I turn around and I can see Steven napping, his legs pulled up like a pretzel, his arms sprawled about his head as he snores quietly. He's my rock, as the metaphor goes. I can look at him and smile and feel confident again. He -- and almost everyone I know -- believes in me. He knows that I can do good, no matter what curve ball is tossed my way. I have so many people that have all the world's faith in me. I can't believe I let myself forget that sometimes.


I showed that tattoo artist my work I've been doing for Geared to Oblivion. He says he's dying to get me into his shop and make a tattooist out of me. Says I could make some great money. Is it so horrible that I want to ditch everything and run there? Not for the money or for the praise, but because I honestly, really want to do it? I want to be a tattoo artist so badly, it drives me nuts sometimes. These negative voices tell me that I can't do it, that I'm not good enough, but dammit, why? Why am I not good enough? Everyone says that I am except for thos bloody voices, my insecurities.


I still want to be a writer, first and foremost. Being a tattoo artist would be so convenient. It would be the job that feeds my career, but it wouldn't have to be boring or unenjoyable. Not at all. I think I'd be 100% smiles, to be honest. Maybe that's why I have such a hard time believing that it could work out? 


Alright, alright. Comment away, my friends. Have some words of wisdom? Share them, please~.


I hope you've enjoyed this excursion

just beyond the grey.

Until next time~. 
Blessed be!

Humbly,            

Shannon Grey

P.S. I want to cook something, just for the sake of cooking. Maybe bake something from scratch? Cookies? ):

Something Blue

Something old, 
Something new;
Something borrowed, 
And something blue~.


You know. I've been thinking about something. 
I look at television nowadays and there seems to be a "reality" show for just about everything out there. A lot of them can be pretty disturbing, too! But the ones that stick in my mind the most are the ones about marriage. There are women trying to find the perfect dress or the perfect venue, women battling it out for some lofty honeymoon, women torturing their to-be-husbands because they're "bridezillas" and that's supposed to make it okay. they're just stressed, right? Tch... 


I feel like marriage has lost all meaning to a good percentage of the people that want/have it, to be honest. Maybe it has. Television makes me think so. People in general make me think so. Is it really as bad as it looks? I don't want to believe it. The romantic inside of me is screaming no. 

mar·riage/ˈmarij/

Noun:

The formal union of a man and a woman, typically recognized by law, by which they become husband and wife. A relationship between married people or the period for which it lasts.

Alright, so that's the first definition that popped up. Aside from wanting to alter that 'man and woman' bit, that's the gist of the idea, I'd have to agree. But what is marriage? What's its purpose? Somewhere along the way, it seems like it turned into one big pageant or even a cockfight between brides. "Mine's bigger!" Know what I mean? -- And what the fck is with this "bling" crap? -- Don't let me get sidetracked on that. 

What is marriage to you? 

Marriage, to me, is a celebration of love. Let it be between whomever and whatever, I really don't care right now. Anything seems better than the idea of someone putting what should be a down payment on a house into a wedding gown -- then buying a second one for just as much, just so they can have something different on for their smoke-filled, neon-lit gyrate-session of an after party. Adkgnfsoihngf! It irks me so much, yet I can't stop staring at the television when these things come on. I think it's the same effect as a horrid car crash. It's terrifying, but you're consumed by the grotesque imagery, in disbelief and awe. It's not that intense, really, though it's close enough.

I could probably say all of this ten times more eloquently if not for the fact that it's almost 3 a.m...

When I get married, I want it to be small. We'll do the legal work, then we'll find a little spot -- maybe a park or someone's back yard? maybe a little villa with a wide fountain? -- and we'll set up something simple. Some chairs, maybe some flower petals, some candle fixtures... I don't know, the decor honestly won't matter. My dress will be modest, my makeup will be minimal. I'll probably make the invitations with my to-be, by hand or on the computer. Whichever. There'll probably be 10 people there, split evenly between us, give or take a couple.

When it's all done, I'd like to have those ten come back to our place, where I'd probably cook up a nice little dinner. I'd probably get talked into accepting some help, which I wouldn't mind at all. Then we would all sit around the table, the couch, wherever we fit, and talk until our cheeks turned blue. Our guests would go home, and we would finish the evening alone. No phone calls, no internet. Just each other -- and the leftover dishes, haha!

That said, it may not even turn out that way. Maybe my to-be will want something a little bigger. Maybe I'll change my mind about some things. So long as the idea behind it all stays the same, I'll be completely happy. You can be loud, you can proclaim your love from the rooftops and the squares below, but in the end, if you're truly in love, all you'll see is each other, right? That's what's important to me. I want my marriage to be a celebration of our union. Not our wallets, not our achievements. Us. Our love. When I look into my to-be's eyes, I'll see myself there, no thing or no one else -- and they, themselves in mine.  

Sigh~! I miss Steven, haha.

I am totally allowed to think of my boyfriend after something this gushy. Don't look at me like that, damn it!

Welp, I hope you've enjoyed this excursion

just beyond the grey.

I can't wait for next time! 

Blessed be, my friends.

Humbly,                 

Shannon Grey

P.S. Know what spurred this? I totally forgot to mention it in my sleepy little rush. Steven's parents. They're not exactly the cuddly type, but last night, when I went down to ask them something, they were watching television. Holding hands and talking to each other, quietly, their voices disappearing beneath the hum of Auction Wars. Not in a whispering kind of way, but just a gentle, comfortable air had come over them. It was special, you know? Plucked my heart strings, anyway. haha

On My Toes

The wind propped me up onto my toes.


I spun, pulling my arms to my chest, and danced on the currents, barely touching the grass beneath me. It continued to push forward on my upper half. I followed it, my movements fluid and quick. I lifted my legs up as if assisted and my palms touched the earth. I flipped, landing on the pads of my feet. My speed picked up. I spun, I rolled. I braced my elbows at my sides and finally came to a stop, a smile lighting up my face, the wind tossing my hair over my cheekbones in an affectionate goodbye. Then, as that world blinked out, I awoke in my bed once more...


I have dreams about flying -- no, gliding is a more appropriate word. I have dreams about moving with the wind, never lifting much higher than 12 feet and with little control. The wind will pick me up like a kite and I follow it in whichever direction it pleases. Then, there are those few moments, where I feel like I'm in control, just a little bit. I'll want to go higher and I move my arms like a bird. It's shaky and the anxiety that I feel -- What if I fall? What if the wind stops? -- is very real in my heart. Or I'll turn my body because I've gone too far from my initial spot, wishing to return, and it seems as though the wind obliges, changing directions for me.
The dreams that I have never really contain much premise. There was one a long while ago where I was trying to escape from somewhere. There were walls of heavy metal chains. I couldn't climb them but I knew more than anything that I needed to be on the other side. The wind saved me, gracefully lifting me over them. It carried me through and above trees, then deposited me among foothills. People were chasing me, firing guns in my direction, when the wind lifted me once more. I never went very far, but I knew I was safe. The more I think about it, it's almost like the wind was teasing the people who were after me. It would drop me, they'd find me, think they had me, then I would disappear again, all at a leisurely pace.   
The skies were a soft red in that dream. The trees were ash grey... The more I think about it now, the more it reminds me of my old driveway back in Texas, when I lived in Kilgore. The dream that I had this morning was set in an open field with trees and brush scattered throughout. The sky was a peach color and the clouds were white with a tint of blue. When it started, I was helping a group of people hold down a giant balloon. They tried to get it to catch on the wind, but it just wouldn't fly. Then, as if to tease them all, the wind lifted me. From there, the dream transitioned and the people disappeared. It was just me, gliding, being rolled around like a die in the sky's playful hand. When the world of the waking called on me, it was time to land. The people were back but the balloon was gone and I think I laughed, a sound that was light and cheery.


I don't exactly want to fly, but when I have these dreams, I wish I could do this. I wish I could play with the wind, be a sylph for a day. It's inspiring. I always wake up feeling fresh and excited. Inspired, even. That's why I had to write about them this morning. I wonder if these dreams have any meaning. Maybe not like Freud's idea of meaning, but a more personal meaning. I've always loved the sky and that seems to be one of the big details in these dreams. It's always a different color and almost paints the mood. Trees -- who doesn't love trees? Don't tell me you don't love trees, you blasphemers out there. I know you want to. Trees don't like you either. Go away. The wind is like a friend to me and I always feel this deep-rooted connection with it.
In fact, back when I had my old blog, I wrote about a time when I found peace within myself: I was in Kilgore -- like that dream with the red sky -- and things were beyond hard for me. I was exhausted and I had just been cleaning out an old RV for my aunt's boyfriend. It was one of those few moments where I could sit back and breathe, when I knew she wouldn't call me inside for whatever reason. At first I was uneasy with the idea of relaxing. I hadn't done it in a year. Then, something inside of me clicked -- and a cool breeze swept over the yard. I took a deep breathe in... and felt good for the first time in such a painfully long time.
I don't know what it is about the wind, but I've always loved it. When I was a kid, I would go outside and lay on the porch, staring at the sky, listening to the doves on the power lines, cars driving by, planes flying over, people talking. I would sing into it, talk to it, send my worries away on it, or messages to others. I knew they'd never get them, but I did it anyway. The sky has always been important to me too. I remember when I first moved away, the thing that I missed the most was the sky. Where I lived, there was pollution in the air, so thick that it distorted how the sky looked. When I got back to Florida, that was the first thing I looked to. I take pictures of it all the time, actually, haha. Especially in the Winter.


Maybe I'll post some pictures on here, occasionally. 


Speaking of which! I need to get to work on some designs for Geared to Oblivion! They're an up and coming band with a great personality. They don't have anything recorded right now, but you should totally keep an eye on them. (:


I hope you've enjoyed this excursion

just beyond the grey.

Can't wait to see you next time!

Blessed be.

Humbly, 

Shannon Grey

Obscure

Or rather, ObsCure. Both are pretty relevant.


My boyfriend Steven and I have been playing ObsCure: The Aftermath recently. My first Aftermath experience was back when I was a Sophomore in high school. I knew that I'd be entertaining a friend of mine for the night and that was my way of saving my ass, you see. I was horribly awkward back in those days -- and, admittedly, still kind of am -- but with a game to play, we would at least have something to talk about if it sucked, know what I mean? No losing! It turned out to be a fantastic play-with-your-friends kind of game.
The writing is pretty terrible and the characters aren't anyone you'd regret not saving, but this game has a lot of good ideas. The graphics could probably be better, yet, it's still provocative enough to throw you for a loop or two. Or, in my case, right out of your boyfriend's lap. Some of the shots are downright brilliant. There's a part of the game where the character Jun has literally been knocked out of a fucking window down to the cellar. 
Up until this point, you've been playing as her twin sister and their friend, running on a time limit as her health bar ticks away at the top of the screen, trying to navigate college dorms with no direction whatsoever. Well, when you do find her, the window thing happens. You have to kill the creep that did it, then head down to the security desk. From there, Player Two (Steven) had to control the cameras and Player One (Me) had to play as Jun, trying to find her way out of a labyrinth of endless halls and hundreds of doors. 


None of the doors will open. 
You feel like you're running out of time. 
You can't access your inventory, so you have no health packs. 
You only have a baseball bat to fight with.
The cameras are at fixed angles, limiting your view.
That bloody music is kicking it into full throttle!
And speaking of the ambiance, you can hear. people. sobbing. 


You think you're finally making progress, then, at a juncture, you get cornered by the same type of mutant that tossed your ass down there in the first place -- who, by the way, is one of the hardest fuckers to kill in the game -- oh, and, look more doors! He beats you within inches of your life, just before your bat decides to be effective, then you have to limp the rest of the way out. Jun reaches her destination, but that's about all she does, while you're sitting there kissing the top of your controller, you're so tensed up.  


There was a lot of potential packed into that Playstation 2 disc, without a doubt. 


The music was undoubtedly the best part of this game. It would swell up, leaving your heart pounding, waiting for the next attack -- only to realize, "Oh. An empty room. Why did I get so freaked out!?" (Then, a split moment later, when you have that false sense of security? "Your ass is mine, PRETTY BOY!" says the mass of ornery mutilated flesh with working limbs. But, anyway.) The composer, Olivier Derviere, is fantastic. He did the music for both ObsCure's, some pirate game, and Alone in the Dark, which Steven argues is one of the worst games in creation. I've never played it but I'll take his word. 
It's really sad, because Olivier hasn't really gotten any work outside of those four games, to my knowledge, and he really is an incredibly talented individual. He uses soundfonts for everything but the creepy vocals, which are done by a french choir. There are layers upon layers, never an empty moment in his music -- unless he wants it to be. In which case, hold your piss, it becomes so empty that it's effectively eery.


You can download his work from this website: 

http://www.ameoprod.com/site/soundtrack

The ObsCure soundtracks are free, but you have to purchase the other two.

He also has a SoundCloud, if you're interested:

http://soundcloud.com/olivier-deriviere 

When I first purchased this game, I didn't realize that it was a sequel. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have gotten it, to be honest. I'm usually pretty anal about things like that. "I have to play it in order!" You know. But! ObsCure, the first game, is incredibly hard to find. Whenever it is in stock at Gamestop, it's apparently around 20$ -- which slays me.


Are there any games, preferably for Playstation 2, that you would recommend we play? I love horror survival, just because that means we can tack up a blanket over the window if it's day time and creep each other out. Don't limit your responses to two-player games, either. We don't mind taking turns. One night, we must have spent hours trying to beat this online game. What was it called? Deflector! Crazy hard game, but super fun. We've been playing Lego Star Wars, too. Steven's a bit of a completionist, so we spend a good measure of our time collecting bolts, haha. (Not complaining, just teasing~.)


Welp. I hope you've enjoyed this excursion 

just beyond the grey, 

but I must be heading out. The real world needs me! 

Thank you again for reading. Please come check by another time! Blessed be.

Humbly, 

Shannon Grey

P.S. Ostara turned out great. And? A very talented artist from The Tattoo Company has contacted me to see when I'll be stopping by. At the beginning of the month, I introduced myself to him as a prospective apprentice and he really liked my work. I can't wait~! It's such an exciting idea. I hope it all works out in the end. Or, at the very least, I learn some useful tips of the trade! (:

Ostara

Ostara. 


This is the day out of the year that my sister and I, along with our friend Alex, celebrate the coming of Spring. It's a pagan/wiccan holiday and runs in correspondence with better-known Easter. My sister, Brittany, has made sure to include deviled eggs in our early-dinner-like celebratory meal. Eggs stand for fertility, birth, and growth -- all things that are iconic to this new season, no matter the religious belief. No one can deny that the animals are a little more lovey-dovey about this time, mm? But more than that, Ostara is the balance between the extremes of Summer and Winter; a time where the earth ceases its wobbling and begins anew. Everything is fresh, and green, and ready to be nurtured to its full potential.


Lately, I've been doing a bit of wobbling myself. 


I've just recently moved in with my boyfriend-of-6-months/close-friend-of-6-years due to the... all-consuming void that has become my wallet. I've been pushing it off. The offer was always there, but I just don't like the idea of being a freeloader, you know? I need to be able to at least take care of myself. And we've only been dating for this short amount of time, I would've hated for it to complicate the relationship... Well, when I successfully obtained a job, and other circumstances gave me little choice, it was decided for me. They -- we live with his parents and two siblings -- were moving anyway, so I was just a minuscule addition to the boxed bedlam. 
It's really nice. Not the house -- though the house is impressive -- but the family aspect of it all. A father, a mother. Three siblings. Then there's me, the youngest out of everyone. I feel like the runt of the litter! haha My family situation has always been a muddled mess and this is such a wonderful breathe of fresh air. I'm constantly asking if I can help, or if there's anything I might be doing wrong, or if there's anything I could improve on. The answer is always "No," or, affectionately, "Shut up, kid." Apparently I fit right in. It feels and seems like I do, anyway. No one has told me otherwise and haven't been inclined to think so either. 
Unfortunately, I've always been weak-bodied. I would wake up in the morning for school and spend an hour retching. I would get sick -- and really get sick. I would go outside and come back inside almost immediately, heaving, my back flat on the carpet. I would run up a short flight of stairs and hold my chest at the top, praying my heart would stop pounding and the black veil would disappear from in front of my eyes. It's always been these "little" things that no one can really pinpoint, aside from saying that I'm weak. 
It kills me. It always has. Especially when I would wake up, try to get ready for school, and end up missing my bus, then have to explain it to my uncle, who then would drive me to school. He never yelled at me, but I knew it frustrated him, having to do that. I don't blame him if he didn't believe me when I said I was sick. It was never obvious. I had no proof and whenever I did vomit up enough to show that I wasn't lying, I could still make it to the bus, I had no need to wake him. Besides, at that point, after 18 years of dealing with it all on my own, I'd stopped bothering with trying to prove my illness unless necessary, and instead of attempting to explain it to schoolmates, I would opt out of going places or participating in activities.
I've been called lazy a lot, thanks to these factors. It drives me nuts. My closest of friends have said it and broken my heart with each word, because I know, at least, that I'm not lazy. I try so hard to put every ounce of energy that I can into the work I do. Even when it starts to hit, I'll struggle through it until I can no longer do even that. And then there are those moments where everything seems hopeless, or less important on a grander scale, when I am a little "lazy." They only serve as fodder to the argument, piling up evidence against me in a battle that I have no will to win.
This is something that has affected everything I've ever done. You know, I loved playing baseball, running track, and doing gymnastics. All of those things inevitably dropped out of my life, never to be claimed again. But they were just sports, right? I could live without them. And I have. I still try to remain as physically fit as I can, but in no degree am I an athlete. That's okay. It really is. I never had a passion for that aspect of life as much as I do for writing. But now that I'm out in the "real world," I'm realizing that these illnesses -- my sheer weakness -- makes it impossible for me to blend in. 
The job that I obtained, a position at Old Navy, is too much. I help with shipments, I work the fitting rooms, and walk the floors. It's a lot of standing and constant back and forth but it's not like it's rigorous work. No, no. Yet, I find myself short of breath, hugging my legs to my chest in the bathroom, after two hours of work. This isn't even the busy season! What in the hell am I supposed to do come the holidays? I've had to go home early already, and call in once as well. My manager knows my situation and he's supposed to call me so we can figure out a way around my sickness, but my biggest worry is that we won't be able to.
If I lose this job, how am I going to start saving up for school? My boyfriend and his family would never make me pay for things while I was here, unless I offered, and they really, really needed the help, but I just... I don't want to be a freeloader and I hate not being able to do something when I say that I will. I said I could work the hours that they offered. I said that I could work hard and would work hard. I've been working hard every day that I go in, but then I feel like I'm going to die halfway through. It's so incredibly... hard. Hard to deal with, hard to live with, hard to accept. I want to be able to help the ones that I love and I'll never be able to do that at this rate. 
I don't want to have to call my uncle and tell him I can't even keep a job in retail. Retail, of all things. Folding clothing, for Christ sake. I mean, there's more to it than that, and I'm sure I'm being harder on myself than I should, but it's the freaking truth. How pathetic is it that I can't work for four hours every other day of the week!? 


I'm going to look for other work options, in the meantime. There has to be something out there that I can do.


I can't let my frustrations get the best of me. I'll be damned if I let my weakness get in my way either. I refuse to just coast through life, I refuse to be nothing when I have so many possibilities before me. I want to get back into school, I want to some day have a place of my own. I don't even have a driver's license. I'm just a tumor of existence, sucking off of people's kindness, draining them of their energy. I don't want that. I don't want to be a burden. 
I'm not lazy. I have a drive like no one would believe. I've dealt with things that few people ever have and made it out relatively unscathed. Most importantly of all, they're all things, people, instances, circumstances that are in my past. In no way will they be a hindrance, no matter their persistence. If anything, they'll be a lesson to me. The type of person I want to be, the mark I want to leave on the world, the things that I want to achieve... 


All of the black that has seeped into my memory will only push me further toward the light of each tomorrow.


So. Here's to Spring, to Ostara. I'm on the path to replenishing the good, to balancing and grounding my life, and slowly steeping the darkness out of it, one day at a time. I'm happy, so unbelievably happy, and I want to spread this happiness. Despite all of my frustrations, I know that there's no need to worry. Things will work out, things will always improve. I know things always get worse before they get better, but if you look at it all on a grander scheme, you can see that there's more good than bad. Every little flicker can outglow the shadows, even if only for a split second and that is what truly matters. Even when I think of the people who have hurt me, it's the memories of when we smiled that stick out the most.


I need to be easier on myself, more understanding. I'll make that a goal. To give myself the benefit of the doubt, that calm nod of appraisal when I do something well, and keep myself in check when something goes wrong so that I can learn from it, but not wallow in my mistake or negative surroundings. 
There once was a time when I placed no value in who I was or what I believed in. I was friends with everyone, but had no friends, and let myself be swept about like driftwood on the face of an angry tide, who dealt help and reassurance to each but my own weary heart. I sat with whoever beckoned and promised "forever" with a grim smile too easily. I wondered, every other day, how soon would I leave this earth, and how good it would feel when it was all over. I hurt others as much as I hurt myself in the process, even when I was trying to amend all of my wrong-doings and misleading promises. I don't regret everything that happened in those years, but I regret having caused even the smallest unhappiness, no matter the person, the relationship, or the situation. I could have easily lost all that is important to me now in that time, everything that I cherish today could have been washed away in a sheet of salt. 
I'd like to believe that I've gotten better. I know that I've gotten better. I can only go up from here. I can only smile. Accept that pain only lasts for so long. Live, breathe. Be thankful. Give good unto the earth and hope that someone sends it back around. Appreciate every little thing and expect nothing. 


Sigh. It feels so good to write again. Even if I've said these words -- ranted them out, cried them, thought them -- it just feels so much better to see them in front of me. These words are recorded in a place that they can't easily be removed. I can always remind myself of where I was and where I want to go. Where I need to be.
And that's why I've created a new blog, I think. Yeah. I won't delete my old one, but I will keep it separate from this to show that it was a different time, a different mindset. Between then and now, I've gone through a great transition, one that cannot be reversed or forgotten. I haven't written in that one in so long and feel no desire to do so, but I feel compelled to write in this one. 


I'm excited~.




I hope whoever decides to read this has enjoyed this glimpse 

just beyond the grey.

I don't know what I'll be writing about next, but hopefully it will appear as compelling, if not moreso, to you then. 


Blessed be.

Humbly, 

Shannon Grey