Aurora Dimitre's Books and Rambling

My job is not my life. My job, I kind of hate it, a little bit. It pays pretty well, though, and I'm 30k in debt because someone just had to go get an English degree, so I'm keeping it until I have that paid off. Right now I'm about a sixth of the way there. I started freelancing, a little bit, on the side. My job's got a funky schedule where it gives me enough time to do so, and like, obviously the main goal is to be able to freelance full-time, but if I quit my job and I can't manage that then I'm not against working at a grocery store, because, I feel, if you work someplace like fucking Leever's, nobody's going to assume that your job is your life. My job is a way to pay the bills while I do what I want to do. (i live in a. pretty cheap part of the country, by the way) Maybe it sounds entitled and millennial (though depending on who you ask I'm Gen Z so suck on that) but I don't want a fucking career. I don't want a 9-5, and I don&

So I'm getting a tattoo next week. First one. I always used to say to pretty much anyone whenever tattoos came up that if I got a tattoo it would probably be a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, because that tends to be how I make decisions, if I'm making something I have to live with, I can't think about it. I just have to sit down and be like "this is what's happening." That's how I quit my last job. I was like, I'm gonna be done April 23 and then I was done April 23 even though in hindsight sometimes I regret it, it fucking happened. So yesterday I was in a town with a tattoo shop to go and talk to some people about some writing I'm gonna be doing for them, and since I was early based on who I am as a person, I decided to park at the library I used to work at and walk there. I did so, and on the walk past, I walked past the tattoo shop. I walked past, paused, thought "what the hell", and the next thing I  knew, I had 20$ down and an

Recently, I've read a couple of band biographies/musician memoirs. I read Bruce Dickinson's memoir, which was fantastic, and I read Mick Wall's Metallica book, Enter Night , which, while it got bogged down sometimes with a lotttt of business things, made me cry four times. Dickinson's memoir was one hundred per cent, technically speaking, from a book point of view, better. Dickinson wrote it better, it was more interesting, and he actually did spend a fairly equal amount of time on every part of his life. The Metallica book spent half of its time pre-AJFA, like I mentioned, it was bogged down with the business thing (though you could make the same argument for Dickinson and aviation), and, while I liked the fact that Wall wasn't exactly objective with anything he was saying, you could make an argument that it's not a great way to do a nonfiction book. But yeah, like I said, Enter Night made me cry four times. And like, I love Iron Maiden. I have the Number o

So, Dave Mustaine has throat cancer. I mean, apparently prognosis looks good. Apparently everyone's pretty sure he's going to beat it, which is good, because a girl loves her Megadeth. I mean, I know that I love Metallica and I will always love Metallica (and, admittedly, I'm a bit of a Kirk girl), but Megadeth, more specifically Countdown to Extinction, more specifically "Sweating Bullets" was like. Megadeth popped my heavy metal cherry. I had "Sweating Bullets" on my eighth grade iPod. It was vastly out of place, I mean, I had some good ol' 2000s post-grunge (Three Days Grace Shinedown Breaking Benjamin type stuff), so it's not like it was sandwiched in-between a fuckton of pop, but it was distinctly older than anything else on that thing (and older than the girl playing it!), and I have a very distinct memory of cleaning one night (because it was a thing that my parents did, between 8-9PM on non-school nights, if I wanted to use the comput

'tsup, I'm Aurora and I'm a recently moved out of my parents house adult. In the past month and a half, I guess it was, I've gotten to do fun things like, paying rent for the first time. Getting up at five in the morning to go to work. Paying to do my laundry. And grocery shopping. I went grocery shopping like, four times. Once a week. I gotta say, that first week? Probably hilarious to anyone watching. I, just a mere zillenial, twenty-one, freshly out of college where I only had to supplement a meal plan and thus it didn't matter that my food money went to coffee and ramen and that's it, had no idea how to fucking shop for myself. For food. I wandered around. I recognized noodles. I found some coffee creamer. I got some peanut butter. I figured that, oh shit, I should probably eat a plant? I bought some apples. Now I'm a couple weeks in and so I have a little bit of a basis, you know; I've still got that first box of noodles I bought (big box), an

I start my new job tomorrow. This is good, because I'm not like, unemployed, so I guess that's good. I've got enough savings that I had a cushion, but like, not enough to live forever on, you know? I moved to this new town a couple weeks ago, and basically it's been like a vacation. I've been writing a lot. Reading... not as much as you might think. Filming and editing videos. Going for walks. Listening to a lot of Last Pod. I mean, I know that it'll be good to be getting paid, and it'll be good to be like, more social and whatever. I'm anxious about it but that's because I'm a generally anticipation-orientated-anxious kind of person. It'll be good. I'm going to miss being able to do whatever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want, though. Because like, this is going to be my full-time job now. This isn't, I'm doing this on the side for cash while I'm in school, because I'm not in school anymore. I graduated. I

For someone who loves a good first draft more than anything else, I've discovered something dangerous. As I am right now, with how my creative output works right now (because I am in a goddam boon, man, all I've been doing is creating and the well ain't running dry yet) , I've discovered that I can write a first draft constantly and still have enough words left over for any rewrite I might want to do. This happened gradually, this realization; it happened because I kept wanting to write first drafts, but I also was trying to rewrite a different project and decided, what the hell. I've written... four first drafts this year? I'm currently working on number five. I'm only five hundred or so words in (I finished First Draft Number Four last night and immediately jumped in on No. 5, but then I got a page in and decided it was time to watch Curse of the Puppet Master) . I've previously avoided doing more than one thing at a time, writing-wise, because

Couple of life updates here: I moved out of my childhood home! I now rent an apartment in a city about an hour away. I do have a job lined up. Haven't started it yet; I start next week, which basically means I've got like, a two week vacation to get used to living on my own. Speaking of living on my own, being an adult... holy hell is it kind of weird to grocery shop for yourself? I mean, I bought groceries in college, but that was 'grab some stuff for the weekend, we still go to the caf during the week.' I'm sure everyone in Leever's was just amused as hell watching me wander around, lost, muttering "noodles, I know noodles... pro...tein? protein? protein! should probably have a fruit. apples are cheap. apples." Since I live in North Dakota, and not even Fargo, nobody wants to live here and rent is cheap, so I have an office because I'm renting a two-bedroom apartment. So I have an office! I don't have any bookshelves yet (though all of