When I start to talk about myself, I immediately think of all my flaws. I'm shy. Large creatures and scary movies make my heart pound so frantically in my chest that I can barely stand it. I spend half my days running around so irrationally terrified of everything that I feel like I might explode. I'm also weak. Just lifting an old tome to the top of a bookshelf has me panting with exertion.
It shames me to know these are the first things I think of when I think of myself. When I realize that, I try to paint myself in a better light. I like the quiet, simple things in life. The rain on the roof when you're inside with no obligations to leave. The feeling of a cat curled up on your lap purring. The way autumn leaves trapped in a gust swirl about. After I say all these things, though, I feel like I'm trying to desperately to portray myself as deep and poetic which worries me I'm not showing my true self.
So here I am, defined in the most basic terms. I'm twenty-three years old. I live in a very small studio apartment which I can just barely afford. I work at the local library and I love my job. My hobbies include reading, writing, and people watching.
Phrased that way I seem really rather boring... I guess that boring sums me up well. I have no physical or magical abilities. No exciting relations or even very many friends. But I do enjoy my life, I wouldn't want it any other way.
I'll spare you all a physical description of myself. A picture is worth a thousand words:
Oh, and how could I forget him? This is Pentametre, my weewoo! White weewoos are a symbol of the Neopian Times and they represent creativity and artistic inspiration. An employee of my favorite coffee shop won him in a writing competition. Unfortunately, they weren't able to care for him so they put him up for adoption. I offered to take him in since white weewoos are so symbolic of the arts. That was one of the best decisions I've ever made.
Penta is a sweet little bird. He loves to cuddle and sit on my shoulder. Like a parrot, he can mimic people, and memorize words. It's all very adorable. At times it is as though he understands and is speaking to me, but that's just me trying to humanize him. At night, when I am writing, he will watch me and say all sorts of funny phrases or sing little songs. It's silly of me, I know, but I really love this little weewoo and I value his companionship. I don't know how I didn't mention him yet.
Tea. For those of you who don't know, tea is a drink made from plants that are boiled in hot water. Most commonly it is made from leaves, but some teas are made with flowers or buds. The only thing people drink more than tea is water. In fact, aside from water, tea is consumed more than every other beverage
combined. Some people even use tea as a medicine to cure things like
Personally, I drink tea even more than water. It delights me that one drink can have so many different flavors. It can be served cold, hot, with milk, with bubbles. It can be sweet, spicy, fruity, foamy. To me, tea is a drink of creativity and endless possibility.
Here's some numbers for those of you who like them. There are 151 different items with the word tea in their names. Only 109 of those items are actually tea. The rest of the items include battle dome items, tea caddies, tea jelly, tea biscuits, tea sandwiches, tea pots, usuki tea sets, green tea flavored foods, tea time plushies, and tea party wearables.
If you'd like to see all these items, take a look
here at my gallery. I have almost all of the different types of tea, and I'm working on collecting all tea related items.
The snow slowly drifted and fell, white covering everything in a soft blanket of tiny diamonds. Inside the little shop known as "Coffee Break", Iambic sat quietly, drinking a chai tea. Lost in her thoughts and not really looking at anything in particular, she smiled to herself as the warmth of her tea went down her throat, spread through her chest, and into her belly. In front of her sat a copy of the book "Brave New World". She had just finished reading it, and was going over the story in her mind.
In a moment of carelessness, she accidentally choked on a small amount of her tea and started coughing. After the fit ended, she heard a voice say to her, Are you going to live? Cheeks flushed red, she looked up and into the face of a female fox with beautiful red fur who was looking at her with mild concern.
I'm fine, Iambic choked out, embarrassed. For a moment she stared at the fox, her chin practically hitting the ground with shock at how lovely she was. Hastily, she re-opened her book and stuck her face close to the pages. Her heart was pounding and her brain was reeling with a combination of shame, embarrassment, and confusion. Surely there must be some mistake if someone so pretty was speaking to her.
Are you sure? the fox pressed, I could always give you CPR just in case. The only thing I've been allowed to practice on so far has been plastic dolls, but I'd just looove for you to be my first live experime-- err, patient. Over the top of her book, Iambic saw her give a sly wink and felt her cheeks flush once again. Scrunching down in her chair, Iambic ducked her head and wished she could simply fold up into herself and disappear.
As she noted Iambic's obvious embarrassment and discomfort, the fox let out a husky laugh. Alright, alright, I'll leave you alone now. But before I go, might I ask your name? Just in case you choke to death when I'm not around to save you and I have to identify the body.
With her blood pounding in her ears, it's all Iambic could do to squeak out her name.
Alright, then, Iambic, it was nice to meet you, despite the near death circumstances. Maybe I will see you around again," With that, the fox walked away, her red tail swishing actively behind her.
Movements stiff, Iambic stuck her face back in her book, and sat there for several minutes. Her fingers flipped through the pages with sharp movements and the words passed by without her reading a single sentence. When enough time had gone by that she was sure the fox was long gone, she folded up her book, put it in the small messenger bag at her side, and left a small tip on the table. Then she left the coffee shop, her head held high, but her eyes not meeting the gaze of any other customers. As soon as she was out the door and several steps away, she bolted for her home. Her soft, brown boots kicked up slush behind her, which proceeded to splatter all over her tail and onto the hem of her red winter coat.
Her apartment was located in a large, imposing brick structure several blocks away. Shouldering the heavy door of the building, she darted down the hall, and into her apartment building, all without breaking her quick pace. Once the door was shut and she was safely inside, she allowed herself a moment to survey her space, while catching her breath.
Despite the size of the building, her apartment was actually quite small. The walls were painted a strange off-white color, with the exception of the outer wall, which was the same crumbling brick as the exterior of the building. The windows were large, spanning almost the entire height of the wall, and letting in plenty of light.
To the right of the door was a small kitchen with linoleum tiling which had been stained yellow with age. To the left was a small hallway leading to the bathroom and her bedroom, which was barely big enough to hold her queen sized bed and a chest of drawers. The rest of the living space in the apartment was a relatively large living room which was furnished in worn, but comfortable brown chairs. Several mismatched coffee tables were placed around the room, each filled with an assortment of half read books and dirty mugs. Around the walls were various bookshelves and piles of books, with knick-knacks stacked haphazardly on them. In between the two big windows of the living room, against the brick wall, was a large bronze cage. Inside of it, a white weewoo blinked sleepily, his rest disrupted by her sudden entry.
With a huge smile, Iambic kicked off her muddy boots, and wet coat, tossing them to the side as she made her way across the room.
I fancy myself an artist, though I'm probably nothing close to a true artist. Still, I have a small gallery I keep. To view these images in their entirety, right click and select view image or drag the image into your address bar.
Far more exciting are these fine pieces. They were created for me by other artists. True artists!
I also like to consider myself a poet, but again I am no master. Here are some of my poems for you to look over. Please, don't laugh. Most are rather personal.
Caged Ideas
You tremble and pace inside of the cage
So tightly does obsession grip the mind
You can think of 'naught but the blinding rage
Which spurns you on to break the ties that bind
In your way stand the scholars, old and wise
Commanding soldiers four deep and ten wide
Who wont allow a single soul to rise
Unless they are correctly bound and tied
The only thing you can do is agree
And don iron chains of the strictest form
To abide by the master's harsh decree
And learn that to be free means to conform
Once bound you can break from your mind with ease
To bite and claw and scratch and spread disease
Broken Minds
We danced as if we were one with the storm
For all we knew the young died great those days
A brilliant spark of lightning flashed to show
Flamingo, who only could strut and flaunt
In all of Belding she was the one girl
Who didn't run when thunder shook her bones
And didn't flinch when the rain struck her face
Despite the stench of ozone she breathed deep
To taste the storm on the back of her tongue
As sweet as the taste of impending doom
I sometimes dream of things that never were
Truth is too bitter-sweet for me to hold
I hear that in three years we'll all be dead
The feral dances of our broken minds
Will dissolve slowly into motes of dust
That swirl in coffin corners 'round and 'round
Avec la mort vient l'inmortalité
So fling your body to the tempest's winds
And spin in never ending spirals while
Your feet dance as though they are dreaming of
That tender first kiss shared by rain and skin
Late Summer
Late summer's hostile star shines bright
Glows clear with eerie light
Serene combatant of the dark
Doth pierce the black of night
Hear the cricket choir sing
Their haunting final tune
Projected to the inky air
Beneath the silver moon
Evening magic flies wind wings
Soaring into the sky
Flowing to the sonorous sounds
Of a forest fated to die
Uninspiring
It's quiet in here
Outside snakes chase their tails
As crows sing songs of life's end
Stagnant thoughts pool under doors
Eavesdropping on the sad people within
Who are too disheartened to greet the sun
Begging attention from the vault of heaven
Taking a number from the lost puppies
Of the room in which I find myself
Pushing ink on to sheets of ivory
Just to see the darkness spread
I'm waiting on that pallid bird
To bring me my bundle of joy
Christened as my "Masterpiece"
In the mean time all I can do is sit
Breathing in dust and broken dreams
Even the fog in my mind is stale
But I can't be bothered
To open a window
For a breath of fresh air
At least it's quiet in here
I never thought I'd ever be graced with the gift of a miniature fashioned after myself. I am so flattered by the artists that created these.
These adoptables are for you to use. They only come in limited colors and are not available for customs. If you would like one, simply right click the images and copy the image code. I'd like it if you could like it back to Iambic's petpage, but it's not required.
If you are particularly fond of your adoptable, you might want to also upload it to your own image host.
DO NOT under any circumstance remove my signature, attempt to enter an adoptable into a contest, or attempt to claim an adoptable for your own.
Perhaps... would you like to return someday?
These links will take you away to other Usuls.
