The beautiful, absolute world of mathematics mocks my relentless imperfection...
And the inexorable call of death mocks my mortal limitations,
reminding me, my time is short; I can do anything, but not everything.
"If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice"
To what do I set my mind, my very life?
Days slip by unrecorded, my focus on other priorities; on study, scores of 100%, cooking, cleaning myself, maintaining some basic standard of health and happiness, talking with my roommates...
The physical law that there are only 24 hours in each day, 356 days in a year, and only so many years in a lifetime... Although that number is not set, it seems to close in like a ceiling, and cause me great claustrophobia. The x variable glares down at me from an unknown height, declaring with historical empiricality an extremely low chance of anything over 100.
100 years seems so short a time when one thinks of all the things there are to learn, and improve...
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Solace in a Tomato
The day before yesterday, I had plans to help another starting freshman student move to her new home in London. I awaited her call or text message to remind me where to meet her, and let me know it was time. As it happened, not only did it never arrive, but a phone call to her failed immediately, giving me the recorded message that this number was not currently available, and the previous day, none of my texts to her were answered. I still don't know what happened.
The day before yesterday, I got into another fight with my boyfriend in which he didn't see me trying (although I was) to account for his feelings and mind them, and I didn't see him trying (he wasn't sure he was) to account for mine, and he wished I'd just drop it and leave it alone like he wanted to do, and I wished he was willing to bear some pain and effort in the short-term in order to learn habits that'd make us both happier in the longer term, but he was no more willing to commit to that than I was to just drop the issue, certain as I felt that it would come up again.
Yesterday, I had an appointment with my doctor, who has in the past seemed dismissive and distrustful of me. I was reluctant to go, but did anyway. I felt very discouraged. I kept thinking about the failed moving day, and even though I now no better than to catastrophize it, since the most likely answer is that there was just some problem with my fellow student's phone and she either didn't remember my number without the use of it, or didn't think of using another phone to contact me... but still, not actually knowing was really bothering me.
I kept not thinking, but feeling, that my plan for school was too ambitious and would certainly overshoot my capacity or take too long to prepare. I know with my logic, as opposed to my feelings, that the only way to find out if I can is to try, and I still remember why the logic is sound that leads me to believe I could. But in that discouraged, I dare say even reactively depressed state, I could not remember why I cared to try.
On the way out to go see my doctor, I forgot my mp3 player for one thing and had to go back for it from the bus stop, reasoning that at the time it was, the likelihood of this making me miss my appointment was very low, I didn't actually care if I was only slightly late, and if I didn't get my mp3 player and bring it with me, the chance of not having it making me much more miserable was high. Even if I don't want to listen to music, not having the ability to choose to makes me nervous and tense.
I also saw my tomato plant.
There was a time around April/May of this year that I asked our landlord here if I could use one of the little square garden plots myself when planting time came, since I was very interested in doing some gardening even though I was a newbie at it. He agreed to that, and gave me the one which had had a rotting pumpkin in it since the last autumn, and said that was good for a garden, of course. It was the second of four little squares built into our side yard with plank edges that he'd set up.
Later, come May when the weather was getting reliably warm and frost didn't seem to be coming back, I went out with my seeds and used two and a half little packets of them, carrots and tomatoes and some low-to-the-ground herbs. I had gotten advice from one of my coworkers who gardens a lot about repelling pests and good plants to plant near one another that wouldn't give a newbie too much trouble.
The same day, the landlord's wife comes out and starts her own planting, and she digs up and uses and plants in all four of the squares. And when I complain that the landlord promised me one of them, she goes and talks to him of course... But as it turns out, he never told anybody about that but me, so he just apologizes and his wife gets all the gardening space and I get none of it, my seeds wasted, my time and effort spent in anticipation and preparation for nothing. Landlord's wife says the soil is too shallow for tomato plants to grow well anyway (although that didn't stop her from transplanting some, just in a different one of the squares).
Determined and angry, I went into my house and brought out a flower pot bowl thing that we happened to have, and set it not far from the squares and said I was going to plant something in that. I planted a few tomato seeds in it. In the following days and weeks, I weeded out all but one of the tiny seedlings, watered it whenever I remembered and the soil seemed not to be moist enough, and watched it slowly grow. Next to the wife's transplanted tomatoes, it seemed like a runt of a litter. Over the months, it grew to nearly but perhaps not quite two feet above the soil, in a maybe not quite one foot deep little pot, and although it seemed to wilt sometimes from heat or thirst or maybe something else, it looked like it was pretty healthy, despite being small.
When it bore flowers and then lost them, there was only one little forming tomato that had taken on its little branches, but that one fruit grew and reddened. It was not as big as even the small tomatoes you would buy in the grocery store, nor as big as several of the tomatoes that its transplanted neighbors grew, but nevertheless it was there.
Any time I left the house or returned to it, which was not every day, mind you, I would see my tomato plant, especially since recently its transplanted neighbors have been harvested and taken away and its solitary red tomato is the only red in the garden. There was the one single fruit of my independent labour at gardening without space or cooperation.
Yesterday in particular, I could really use that reminder. A solid, physical, undeniable thing, small and modest but wholesome, that I had brought about, by trying to do so.
It felt, bizarrely, as though the tomato plant was forgiving me for my flaws and foibles, and had tried its feeble best as a two foot tall tomato plant growing in a one foot deep flower pot, and had put some effort into giving me something in return for my care of it, even though I had sometimes forgotten to water it for days at a time. I felt forgiven.
It didn't immediately cheer me up, for I did not, immediately, want to be cheered up. It is very rare indeed I get to show a doctor rather than merely tell them about the lows of my moods; generally, the act of going to the doctor's to begin with was proactive enough that it cheered me up considerably on account of actually doing something. But today, I did not want to see that doctor again, and my discouragement was weighty, and I rather wanted a medical professional to see it first hand, so I held onto it, and made a mental note to write this blog post later, which would help me focus on something positive, when I was ready to do that.
My doctor seemed no less dismissive and accusatory this time. The problem I have with my throat, that makes me gag and retch whenever I brush my teeth, and feels like I have a hair stuck in it? She says unless I am actually having trouble swallowing (something physical like food, I guess), she cannot give me a referral to a specialist. She didn't bother to ask if that was what I was asking for, no, just said I couldn't have it. I mentioned that there had been times I had been kept up at nights, my swallow reflex triggering repeatedly, but feeling uncomfortably blocked or aborted. She said nothing to that, almost as though she had not heard me.
Her responses to some of my other matters held a similar attitude; she personally does not believe the evidence for intestinal flora being important to healthy digestion is strong, so she will not prescribe me anything to improve intestinal flora, but she will, if I like, hand me a chart of foods I should and should not eat for better digestion, and seem to expect that it is no harder than a whim to radically change one's diet.
It seems very much to me as though this member of "a caring profession" does not care to help me unless I am in a particular amount or kind of suffering; otherwise, she does not advise me. As though it were somehow beneath her, a general practioner, to put any effort forth on improving health that, though not good, is not yet in the realm of critical illness or injury. Apparently it's meant to be my own responsibility to judge how best to make my crummy-but-operational body work better, and to put forth all the effort of that path myself. Of course, how stupid of me. I thought doctors were meant to help their patients to be more healthy, regardless of how healthy they are to begin with.
I took the bus past my home to the college, and went back to the Learning Center, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite places, to talk to someone. Isaac, my favorite person to talk to so far, whose sound judgement, signs of honesty and assertion I could do anything I put my mind to have inspired me to try, was not there; he will likely hang out there sometimes, but he recently gave up his post as scheduled staff of the place and was not there yesterday, so I ended up talking to "Shay" Sheryl instead. She had put on a lecture I liked, full of effective ice breakers, and with a casual, engaging atmosphere.
I talked to her about some of my stress, and about my plan for school, and she was supportive, giving me some helpful suggestions, and becoming a little alarmed on my behalf when I told her the Counselling and Accessibility office would not book students for ongoing counselling until after the tenth day of classes when they were no longer able to get their student fees and tuition refunded without specific cause. I learned her nickname, and enjoyed her company, though it was not quite as uplifting as Isaac's had been.
I felt better, not completely restored but much better than I had been, on my walk home. And when I got there, I ate my tomato. It was delicious.
The day before yesterday, I got into another fight with my boyfriend in which he didn't see me trying (although I was) to account for his feelings and mind them, and I didn't see him trying (he wasn't sure he was) to account for mine, and he wished I'd just drop it and leave it alone like he wanted to do, and I wished he was willing to bear some pain and effort in the short-term in order to learn habits that'd make us both happier in the longer term, but he was no more willing to commit to that than I was to just drop the issue, certain as I felt that it would come up again.
Yesterday, I had an appointment with my doctor, who has in the past seemed dismissive and distrustful of me. I was reluctant to go, but did anyway. I felt very discouraged. I kept thinking about the failed moving day, and even though I now no better than to catastrophize it, since the most likely answer is that there was just some problem with my fellow student's phone and she either didn't remember my number without the use of it, or didn't think of using another phone to contact me... but still, not actually knowing was really bothering me.
I kept not thinking, but feeling, that my plan for school was too ambitious and would certainly overshoot my capacity or take too long to prepare. I know with my logic, as opposed to my feelings, that the only way to find out if I can is to try, and I still remember why the logic is sound that leads me to believe I could. But in that discouraged, I dare say even reactively depressed state, I could not remember why I cared to try.
On the way out to go see my doctor, I forgot my mp3 player for one thing and had to go back for it from the bus stop, reasoning that at the time it was, the likelihood of this making me miss my appointment was very low, I didn't actually care if I was only slightly late, and if I didn't get my mp3 player and bring it with me, the chance of not having it making me much more miserable was high. Even if I don't want to listen to music, not having the ability to choose to makes me nervous and tense.
I also saw my tomato plant.
There was a time around April/May of this year that I asked our landlord here if I could use one of the little square garden plots myself when planting time came, since I was very interested in doing some gardening even though I was a newbie at it. He agreed to that, and gave me the one which had had a rotting pumpkin in it since the last autumn, and said that was good for a garden, of course. It was the second of four little squares built into our side yard with plank edges that he'd set up.
Later, come May when the weather was getting reliably warm and frost didn't seem to be coming back, I went out with my seeds and used two and a half little packets of them, carrots and tomatoes and some low-to-the-ground herbs. I had gotten advice from one of my coworkers who gardens a lot about repelling pests and good plants to plant near one another that wouldn't give a newbie too much trouble.
The same day, the landlord's wife comes out and starts her own planting, and she digs up and uses and plants in all four of the squares. And when I complain that the landlord promised me one of them, she goes and talks to him of course... But as it turns out, he never told anybody about that but me, so he just apologizes and his wife gets all the gardening space and I get none of it, my seeds wasted, my time and effort spent in anticipation and preparation for nothing. Landlord's wife says the soil is too shallow for tomato plants to grow well anyway (although that didn't stop her from transplanting some, just in a different one of the squares).
Determined and angry, I went into my house and brought out a flower pot bowl thing that we happened to have, and set it not far from the squares and said I was going to plant something in that. I planted a few tomato seeds in it. In the following days and weeks, I weeded out all but one of the tiny seedlings, watered it whenever I remembered and the soil seemed not to be moist enough, and watched it slowly grow. Next to the wife's transplanted tomatoes, it seemed like a runt of a litter. Over the months, it grew to nearly but perhaps not quite two feet above the soil, in a maybe not quite one foot deep little pot, and although it seemed to wilt sometimes from heat or thirst or maybe something else, it looked like it was pretty healthy, despite being small.
When it bore flowers and then lost them, there was only one little forming tomato that had taken on its little branches, but that one fruit grew and reddened. It was not as big as even the small tomatoes you would buy in the grocery store, nor as big as several of the tomatoes that its transplanted neighbors grew, but nevertheless it was there.
Any time I left the house or returned to it, which was not every day, mind you, I would see my tomato plant, especially since recently its transplanted neighbors have been harvested and taken away and its solitary red tomato is the only red in the garden. There was the one single fruit of my independent labour at gardening without space or cooperation.
Yesterday in particular, I could really use that reminder. A solid, physical, undeniable thing, small and modest but wholesome, that I had brought about, by trying to do so.
It felt, bizarrely, as though the tomato plant was forgiving me for my flaws and foibles, and had tried its feeble best as a two foot tall tomato plant growing in a one foot deep flower pot, and had put some effort into giving me something in return for my care of it, even though I had sometimes forgotten to water it for days at a time. I felt forgiven.
It didn't immediately cheer me up, for I did not, immediately, want to be cheered up. It is very rare indeed I get to show a doctor rather than merely tell them about the lows of my moods; generally, the act of going to the doctor's to begin with was proactive enough that it cheered me up considerably on account of actually doing something. But today, I did not want to see that doctor again, and my discouragement was weighty, and I rather wanted a medical professional to see it first hand, so I held onto it, and made a mental note to write this blog post later, which would help me focus on something positive, when I was ready to do that.
My doctor seemed no less dismissive and accusatory this time. The problem I have with my throat, that makes me gag and retch whenever I brush my teeth, and feels like I have a hair stuck in it? She says unless I am actually having trouble swallowing (something physical like food, I guess), she cannot give me a referral to a specialist. She didn't bother to ask if that was what I was asking for, no, just said I couldn't have it. I mentioned that there had been times I had been kept up at nights, my swallow reflex triggering repeatedly, but feeling uncomfortably blocked or aborted. She said nothing to that, almost as though she had not heard me.
Her responses to some of my other matters held a similar attitude; she personally does not believe the evidence for intestinal flora being important to healthy digestion is strong, so she will not prescribe me anything to improve intestinal flora, but she will, if I like, hand me a chart of foods I should and should not eat for better digestion, and seem to expect that it is no harder than a whim to radically change one's diet.
It seems very much to me as though this member of "a caring profession" does not care to help me unless I am in a particular amount or kind of suffering; otherwise, she does not advise me. As though it were somehow beneath her, a general practioner, to put any effort forth on improving health that, though not good, is not yet in the realm of critical illness or injury. Apparently it's meant to be my own responsibility to judge how best to make my crummy-but-operational body work better, and to put forth all the effort of that path myself. Of course, how stupid of me. I thought doctors were meant to help their patients to be more healthy, regardless of how healthy they are to begin with.
I took the bus past my home to the college, and went back to the Learning Center, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite places, to talk to someone. Isaac, my favorite person to talk to so far, whose sound judgement, signs of honesty and assertion I could do anything I put my mind to have inspired me to try, was not there; he will likely hang out there sometimes, but he recently gave up his post as scheduled staff of the place and was not there yesterday, so I ended up talking to "Shay" Sheryl instead. She had put on a lecture I liked, full of effective ice breakers, and with a casual, engaging atmosphere.
I talked to her about some of my stress, and about my plan for school, and she was supportive, giving me some helpful suggestions, and becoming a little alarmed on my behalf when I told her the Counselling and Accessibility office would not book students for ongoing counselling until after the tenth day of classes when they were no longer able to get their student fees and tuition refunded without specific cause. I learned her nickname, and enjoyed her company, though it was not quite as uplifting as Isaac's had been.
I felt better, not completely restored but much better than I had been, on my walk home. And when I got there, I ate my tomato. It was delicious.
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Music From the NES Era
An interesting person responded to a personals ad I'd left on craigslist with an email including this:
Question. Favourite NES-era video game soundtrack?And that... Led me down such a personally fascinating trail of consciousness that I want to share it here. So I quote here my answer, just as I wrote it to him:
I like the specificity of your question. When you ask specifically NES era... Oddly enough, my reflex answer is: Actraiser! Never actually played it, but watched someone play it, and the music was really good. ^^ However, as I suspected, and a Google search confirms, that was one gen later, on the SNES. Well, in that case, Mr. Mario is certainly good, but I have to give it up to the classic, the legendary, the original... Legend of Zelda. In my highschool music class, I played one variant of the iconic overworld theme on my trumpet for one of my tests. I think I earned some serious geek cred for that with some of my classmates.
Of course I have, since you said NES era, been thinking exclusively about the NES as opposed to other games released in roughly the same era but on different platforms; there were a lot of DOS and Sega games with good soundtracks too, like the first three Sonic games, Wolfenstien, Commander Keen, just to name a few...
And then, a memory so obvious, so huge, so personally important but so removed from general public consciousness that I didn't think of it at first, hits me in the side of the head.
No. I do have a favorite soundtrack from that era. It was a DOS simulation game, released in 1994-95, simply called "Wolf".
Playing that game encouraged and developed a lot of early formative attitudes in me about environmentalism and respect for animals - as they are more complex, more intelligent and wiser than most of us humans give them credit for, or did back in the 90s anyway.
And it was under the influence of that game that I had an early sense that I was what I would later understand to be part of the human subculture called furries, more specifically the therian or otherkin sides thereof.
It was under the influence of that game that I experienced what was possibly a visual hallucination one night in my childhood when I knew with utmost certainty that I had not been asleep... that was one of the reasons I pursued a belief in magic and mysticism with vigor and desperation into my preteen years, hoping that I might somehow see again what I had seen once... until doubt and self-loathing finally managed to half convince me that I had been wrong, and that my faith was not merely misguided, but childish. Only ever half convinced, though, I continued to attempt to test and practice magic as I understood it, and I have some pretty amazing stories about it.
My insistence from the age of around five before I knew any better than to make such assertions that I had the soul of a wolf earned me the nickname of "wolfie" and contributed to earning me a place as the most bullied child in my tiny home village of 700 right up until I turned 18 and left.
The music was very soulful, and took obvious inspiration from native american musical themes. I think I have the soundtrack saved somewhere, I can show it to you if you like.
Wow. For such an innocent question, I sure managed to follow it into a deep, dark place.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Dear Diary... I Quit!
After my vacation... Nothing seemed any better at work. I was just as disillusioned, cynical, sick of it, as before, and more so. There was another incident with one of my supervisors... I think I have largely managed not to speak of those here, though I thought about it. Simply put, two of the supervisors I work under have repeatedly treated me and spoken to me with disrespect I am just not willing to put up with... From the tasks I am assigned to and when, to how they respond if ever I question anything they've done.
Not long before my vacation, for example, I got a face full of really bad attitude just for asking, and trying to do it politely, where my supervisor had been, as I had not managed to catch sight of her on the sales floor for the past twenty minutes. I am not claiming necessarily that she was not there; I focus on my work while I am working, and people can sometimes come and go without me noticing them, but there was a point when I was looking for her actively, to deal with something that required a supervisor, and could not find her. I got no answer, just assertions that she knew what she was doing, for my information. Of course, the problem was that I didn't. Know what she was doing, that is. Or where she could be found.
This example is on the extreme end, but archetypal. I have brought up my issues with management before... The result tended to be that some meeting was had, behavior improved for about two weeks, and then everything slowly returned to the way it had been, disrespect included.
This has not been the only problem I've had with my job, that's made me more and more irritable with work since last September, but it's one of the easiest ones to remember and brood over, and after the newest incident, which I will not detail here, I decided I had had too much already, and was not prepared to take any more.
So I came in on a day I was not working for a meeting with the management. I asked to be placed in the processing room instead of in sales, exclusively and as soon as possible. Several days later when the head manager was available to talk to me, she explained to me politely why she would be unable to transfer me exclusively as I had requested. And I responded by stating politely that I would like to officially resign from my position. I had a resignation letter penned, signed, dated and in her mailbox the same day.
I have worked two shifts since then. After all, it's legal imperative and good form to give two weeks notice before actually leaving. Those two days, I've had a lightness in my step and a glee in my heart. Several customers have commented on my excellent customer service, and one even bought me a coffee. I am very glad to be leaving.
Funnily enough, both of my problem supervisors reacted with shock when I told them I was quitting, and almost immediately asked, "But why?". I kept diplomatically silent or evasive. I'm escaping from my troubles there, no need to make a scene and make enemies. It's not as though it's a secret that I've had troubles with them, but my experiences have told me that they don't accept or listen to direct criticism, so it doesn't seem there's any point in confronting them. It would be a waste of my time and energy.
Instead, I've been fantasizing and dreaming in my head about business ideas I would love to bring to fruition, and how. I don't actually think about college itself that much yet; I'm sure I will as September gets closer. I hope I will keep dreaming and fantasizing and fleshing out my plans, though, up until college and all the way through it. My studies should teach me enough practical skills to get those dreams started. I will likely begin some of the early steps while I am schooling. I look forward to it, and again and again I repeat to myself how much more skilled and more competent I've become. I don't have to put up with disrespect or answer to bosses who won't answer to me. I could find a better place to work, but I think I'd rather make one. I am already reading books that should help me.
The plot is afoot.
Not long before my vacation, for example, I got a face full of really bad attitude just for asking, and trying to do it politely, where my supervisor had been, as I had not managed to catch sight of her on the sales floor for the past twenty minutes. I am not claiming necessarily that she was not there; I focus on my work while I am working, and people can sometimes come and go without me noticing them, but there was a point when I was looking for her actively, to deal with something that required a supervisor, and could not find her. I got no answer, just assertions that she knew what she was doing, for my information. Of course, the problem was that I didn't. Know what she was doing, that is. Or where she could be found.
This example is on the extreme end, but archetypal. I have brought up my issues with management before... The result tended to be that some meeting was had, behavior improved for about two weeks, and then everything slowly returned to the way it had been, disrespect included.
This has not been the only problem I've had with my job, that's made me more and more irritable with work since last September, but it's one of the easiest ones to remember and brood over, and after the newest incident, which I will not detail here, I decided I had had too much already, and was not prepared to take any more.
So I came in on a day I was not working for a meeting with the management. I asked to be placed in the processing room instead of in sales, exclusively and as soon as possible. Several days later when the head manager was available to talk to me, she explained to me politely why she would be unable to transfer me exclusively as I had requested. And I responded by stating politely that I would like to officially resign from my position. I had a resignation letter penned, signed, dated and in her mailbox the same day.
I have worked two shifts since then. After all, it's legal imperative and good form to give two weeks notice before actually leaving. Those two days, I've had a lightness in my step and a glee in my heart. Several customers have commented on my excellent customer service, and one even bought me a coffee. I am very glad to be leaving.
Funnily enough, both of my problem supervisors reacted with shock when I told them I was quitting, and almost immediately asked, "But why?". I kept diplomatically silent or evasive. I'm escaping from my troubles there, no need to make a scene and make enemies. It's not as though it's a secret that I've had troubles with them, but my experiences have told me that they don't accept or listen to direct criticism, so it doesn't seem there's any point in confronting them. It would be a waste of my time and energy.
Instead, I've been fantasizing and dreaming in my head about business ideas I would love to bring to fruition, and how. I don't actually think about college itself that much yet; I'm sure I will as September gets closer. I hope I will keep dreaming and fantasizing and fleshing out my plans, though, up until college and all the way through it. My studies should teach me enough practical skills to get those dreams started. I will likely begin some of the early steps while I am schooling. I look forward to it, and again and again I repeat to myself how much more skilled and more competent I've become. I don't have to put up with disrespect or answer to bosses who won't answer to me. I could find a better place to work, but I think I'd rather make one. I am already reading books that should help me.
The plot is afoot.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
How I Spent My (Sex) Vacation
Hello dear diary blog.
I am back at home now after two several-day trips out of town. The first was to go visit a girlfriend and her girlfriend in St. Thomas not far away from the city. The second was a trip out to Scarborough to visit another old friend that I had had sex with before, and had for some time considered that it would be nice to go visit and do it again.
Both trips were wonderful.
I watched a movie. I played games, including Three Dragon Ante, Therapy, Gloom, Spelunky, Chess, Scrabble and Squarez. I faced my deep feelings of alienation, and cried aloud and wept. I slept on couches. I slept on an extremely comfortable bed. I cuddled. I kissed. I hugged. I had sex of various kinds. I had orgasms. I gave someone else orgasms. I watched and shared funny YouTube videos. I cooked and shared delicious meals. I dreamed up a game system. I went out walking and almost got lost. I came back home wishing I had more time to spend with the excellent people I was with. Twice.
Then I came back and I had an appointment with my counselor. I played some games at The Cardboard Cafe with my boyfriend and my roommate, drank expensive but good tea, and ate expensive but good snack food. Now we need to focus on getting together our rental application for an apartment we really want to move into, and submitting it with attached rent deposit. There is much to do...
I am back at home now after two several-day trips out of town. The first was to go visit a girlfriend and her girlfriend in St. Thomas not far away from the city. The second was a trip out to Scarborough to visit another old friend that I had had sex with before, and had for some time considered that it would be nice to go visit and do it again.
Both trips were wonderful.
I watched a movie. I played games, including Three Dragon Ante, Therapy, Gloom, Spelunky, Chess, Scrabble and Squarez. I faced my deep feelings of alienation, and cried aloud and wept. I slept on couches. I slept on an extremely comfortable bed. I cuddled. I kissed. I hugged. I had sex of various kinds. I had orgasms. I gave someone else orgasms. I watched and shared funny YouTube videos. I cooked and shared delicious meals. I dreamed up a game system. I went out walking and almost got lost. I came back home wishing I had more time to spend with the excellent people I was with. Twice.
Then I came back and I had an appointment with my counselor. I played some games at The Cardboard Cafe with my boyfriend and my roommate, drank expensive but good tea, and ate expensive but good snack food. Now we need to focus on getting together our rental application for an apartment we really want to move into, and submitting it with attached rent deposit. There is much to do...
Thursday, April 30, 2015
What's The Point, Then?
I went to see my doctor this morning. It was not exactly an effortless task to do so. I woke early, stumbled through my familiar stupor of exhaustion; for once a little more reasonable - I actually did not get a full night of sleep last night. I spent quite some time stomping around trying to find the four or five books I haven't read yet by my favorite author that a friend gave me at Christmas, and failed, so reluctantly chose something else. I pulled on my clothes, drank some juice and went out to wait for the bus.
I let the first one pass me by, purely because I didn't even realize that route went where I wanted to go and would have taken me there faster. But nevertheless, I caught the bus I expected to catch, arrived on time, signed in, was weighed, and the doctor saw me with little delay.
I told her about my troubles, my worryingly overemphasized exhaustion, here for the third time in as many months for a prolonged and inexplicable stay, and answered her questions. No, my mood doesn't seem to be particularly out of the ordinary, though it does suffer from the fatigue, as I have less patience when I am tired. My sleep has been more or less as it always is so far as I can tell, except that it doesn't satisfy me, and I need more than a regular full night of it not to feel exhausted when I wake. No, I haven't noticed any other symptoms of sickness, save that my muscles feel weaker and seem to heal slower, but that seems to be just a symptom of being overtired. My digestion is bad, but it always is. My back is sore, and seems to bother me with flashes of pain more often when I straighten up from crouching or bending, but that isn't new, just getting worse.
My iron levels, red blood cell count, and various other suspect factors were tested not even a month ago, and all came up normal. My fatigue does vaguely coincide with my menstrual cycle, but I have never suffered nor heard of PMS that made sleep stop working properly.
Her expression when I continued to ask if she could offer me any explanation that the evidence before us did not contradict bore a mix between concern and offense. She explained patronizingly that there was some concern about "over-investigation" and that she could not be expected just to prescribe some medication and send me on my way for every hardship. I did not appreciate the implication that I was just fishing for drugs or a miracle patch.
All the obvious answers having been exhausted, and physiotherapy being expensive for someone without employment medical coverage, she told me simply to keep doing the exercise I am putting a good deal of effort into doing already, but to do it more often, and dismissed me.
And here I thought that what doctors were good for aside from being the only people allowed to prescribe medication where it is needed, was knowing or having access to databases that would allow them to find out explanations for maladies beyond what is at this point common fucking sense.
Now my temper is smouldering like a coal, making the inside of my head uncomfortably hot and stuffy. My temper is worse when I am tired.
I let the first one pass me by, purely because I didn't even realize that route went where I wanted to go and would have taken me there faster. But nevertheless, I caught the bus I expected to catch, arrived on time, signed in, was weighed, and the doctor saw me with little delay.
I told her about my troubles, my worryingly overemphasized exhaustion, here for the third time in as many months for a prolonged and inexplicable stay, and answered her questions. No, my mood doesn't seem to be particularly out of the ordinary, though it does suffer from the fatigue, as I have less patience when I am tired. My sleep has been more or less as it always is so far as I can tell, except that it doesn't satisfy me, and I need more than a regular full night of it not to feel exhausted when I wake. No, I haven't noticed any other symptoms of sickness, save that my muscles feel weaker and seem to heal slower, but that seems to be just a symptom of being overtired. My digestion is bad, but it always is. My back is sore, and seems to bother me with flashes of pain more often when I straighten up from crouching or bending, but that isn't new, just getting worse.
My iron levels, red blood cell count, and various other suspect factors were tested not even a month ago, and all came up normal. My fatigue does vaguely coincide with my menstrual cycle, but I have never suffered nor heard of PMS that made sleep stop working properly.
Her expression when I continued to ask if she could offer me any explanation that the evidence before us did not contradict bore a mix between concern and offense. She explained patronizingly that there was some concern about "over-investigation" and that she could not be expected just to prescribe some medication and send me on my way for every hardship. I did not appreciate the implication that I was just fishing for drugs or a miracle patch.
All the obvious answers having been exhausted, and physiotherapy being expensive for someone without employment medical coverage, she told me simply to keep doing the exercise I am putting a good deal of effort into doing already, but to do it more often, and dismissed me.
And here I thought that what doctors were good for aside from being the only people allowed to prescribe medication where it is needed, was knowing or having access to databases that would allow them to find out explanations for maladies beyond what is at this point common fucking sense.
Now my temper is smouldering like a coal, making the inside of my head uncomfortably hot and stuffy. My temper is worse when I am tired.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Angry Today, Happy Today
I woke up today angry. Angry at the birdsong that distracted me from my already fitful attempts at sleep. Angry at the dry sweat all over my body, and the heat at work where I'd been sweating yesterday. Angry at my roommates for not doing their parts of our planned spring cleaning. Angry at myself for not doing mine out of busyness and resentment. Angry at myself for being angry.
I felt uncomfortable with it, but was willing to put my anger and the tired-buzzed insomnia last night that fueled it down to any number of things; malnutrition, burnout, the one day this week that I took my daily pill late... It took me over an hour into my work shift today to realize...
Of course I'm angry. How could I have forgotten? Yesterday a co-worker I would like to consider my friend told me he thinks transgenderism is a disease. Yesterday, when I got home, I cried... and I expect it to just evaporate, do I? Like the gummy residue of yesterday's sweat?
And then after a long, tired day at work... it got better. I made a plan to visit one of my loves in a month, and challenge myself to get my biking legs back so that I can do it by bike. I took a bath. My roommates and I did the dishes... together. I ordered pizza. We hung out together and laughed at imgur. I guess after I realized I had a reason to be angry, it didn't bother me so much that I was.
The first part of my day was hell to get through.
And then, me and my friends... we changed it.
I felt uncomfortable with it, but was willing to put my anger and the tired-buzzed insomnia last night that fueled it down to any number of things; malnutrition, burnout, the one day this week that I took my daily pill late... It took me over an hour into my work shift today to realize...
Of course I'm angry. How could I have forgotten? Yesterday a co-worker I would like to consider my friend told me he thinks transgenderism is a disease. Yesterday, when I got home, I cried... and I expect it to just evaporate, do I? Like the gummy residue of yesterday's sweat?
And then after a long, tired day at work... it got better. I made a plan to visit one of my loves in a month, and challenge myself to get my biking legs back so that I can do it by bike. I took a bath. My roommates and I did the dishes... together. I ordered pizza. We hung out together and laughed at imgur. I guess after I realized I had a reason to be angry, it didn't bother me so much that I was.
The first part of my day was hell to get through.
And then, me and my friends... we changed it.
Friday, April 3, 2015
Spring Update
Alright, I feel I owe anyone who reads this a little bit of a catch-up talk on what's really been going on in my life, plumbing aside. In the last two months, I had two teeth completely extracted, and after each operation I fell into a state of increased moodiness and fatigue, sometimes extreme, for somewhere around two weeks. The first of these lasted for the last couple weeks of February, the second filled most of mid to late March, and that's one of the reasons I haven't written much, although I did think about it.
Near the end of my period of lethargy in February, I wrote this journal at work, intending to share it:
Of course, at the time I did not know it was almost over. Perhaps one of the other reasons that my tiredness in February was much worse and a bit longer than the one in March was also that I was getting into frequent, nasty fights with my online lover. Things had reached the point that I had become afraid of him, despite how far away he lives, because of how effectively he could tear me down, intentionally or not, into a mess of guilt, rage and smallness. When he was angry enough, I was sure that his anger at least, which is in some ways separate from him, did it on purpose. Little comfort to me that he was also unhappy with this - his anger was easily roused and easily controlled him, particularly with regards to me. I guess he was fed up with my own weaknesses, among them a tendency to be defensive and accusatory when something strikes me as potentially offensive.
Often after our fights I was left so angry and depressed that I had neither wish nor will to do anything, and so I would just lay down and either distract myself with comfortably familiar recordings of voices, or sleep, or both. Certainly the despair could have added to my sense of lethargy and hopelessness.
A couple of days after I wrote the above journal, my boyfriend, my rabbit, the one I live with, who had been trying, with mixed success, to be supportive while I was suffering, ran the first session of a Pathfinder game he had been planning. Both lover and I were in it, and some in-game politics started another fight. I told him it was over. The next day, I woke up with my energy back; free...
Of course, breaking up with a lover who is friend to one's friends is not as simple as that. Breaking up with anyone one really cared about isn't. The next few days were extremely hard in their own way as I negotiated for peace after separation, for protection from any potential anger that might come after me for leaving, and kept clamps on my tongue anywhere around that group of friends. Keeping myself quiet was tearing me apart, so at one point I turned to another one of my friends and rambled my aching madness to her, instead... and may have lost her for a long time or forever.
So two weeks full of lethargy were followed by around two weeks of very heavy grieving for a dead relationship. I threw myself forward into it and hurt as hard as I could bear rather than trying to hide from it, in the hopes that I could get through it faster that way. It worked; after a couple of weeks, I felt better, but of course any thoughts of my fresh ex were still painful. Flash forward for a moment to now, and I realize that I now feel about him much the same way I did before there was any romance between us; I dislike his attitude, and he frequently annoys me in almost exactly the same ways. It's disappointing to see that we are so, seeming just back to square one.
Soon after that came my second surgery and its following period of fatigue, but the depression this time was milder and the fatigue did not haunt my dreams. I also had the previous lethargy to draw from, and had some hope and understanding that my bizarre recovery period after surgery would last about two weeks, which it did. And that carries us to my birthday, which was just a few days ago. I was busy that day and the next, so we didn't do much celebrating for it; but my roommate and my boyfriend and I did sit down together to watch a movie of my choice; Indie Game: The Movie.
That morning, I woke up and stared at my ceiling for a while. I was still not in a good state of mind in which to be assessing things or making decisions, and I knew that, but at the same time, I was not sure when was the next time I would be, and felt that assessments and at least tentative decisions needed to be made.
I was 25 years old, had had a job in a charity thrift store for almost two years. I was making a lot of headway on my emotional scars and healing, despite setbacks. I was much less often self-destructive these days, and when I was, it didn't go nearly as far. I was being better to my boyfriend, and for that matter, had arranged to live in a house with two people I liked and was capable of getting along with quite well, generally speaking. But was I happy with where I was, and where I seemed to be going?
No. I wasn't. I had been feeling growing frustration and discontent at work. I felt overworked and under-appreciated and lorded over by at least one supervisor that I felt knew no better than me, and often seemed to know worse. I had been having a very hard time not taking the messes I cleaned up at work personally, and felt I had to sacrifice the things my bosses cared about more in order to do my job right. I felt I had learned most all I ever would from my main position on the sales floor. I did not feel I was getting any closer to moving up the ranks, even though I had been trusted to man the storefront mostly independently for a few hours at a time.
So I thought about that, and that night, I talked to my roommates about it. I think I am ready to take one of the next big steps and enroll at a college or university soon. I think it's time for me to investigate the resources and the courses that may be at my disposal. I still have too many interests to be sure there is any just one thing I want to do, but perhaps I never will be. I'll start somewhere. Perhaps somewhere safe; a business administration degree would be useful in finding a higher ranking position... And, of more personal interest to me, might give me the knowledge and skills to start my own small business or few. Perhaps even an indie game development team.
In the few days since then, I've attended the first session of a group counselling initiative rather cheesily titled Making Changes In Your Life, and have been dutifully trying to fill out the rubrics they gave me to track positive things I have been doing to control and steer my reactions and initiatives. I enjoyed some delivery fried chicken and had my roommates bring me a cake covered in candles to blow out, complete with the traditional Happy Birthday, even though it was one day later due to time constraints. None of us minded. The day after that, we went downtown together and my boyfriend bought me a birthday present; a card game I recognized and liked called Gloom. We picked up snacks in the Covent Garden Market and sat in the mezzanine and ate and played a round of my new game. I got the wonderful feeling that I got to have three days of birthday this year, perhaps to make up for the years in which I did not celebrate. Actually, I felt as though the time from my birthday to the second anniversary of the day I met my boyfriend (which is the date I track, since we found ourselves interested in one another right away) a couple weeks later had been made into a festival for my life, our lives together, a celebration of friendship and support, and feelings of family. I was very happy.
I also, by serendipitous chance, popped in to my workplace on the way downtown just in time to hear my boss congratulate and deeply thank all of our staff for the hard work we've been doing, and our excellent results on our most recent sale. Some of the unappreciated feelings and resentment I had been having began immediately to lift. I was glad I had waited on my impulse to complain.
I still think it would be a good idea to investigate university now. But happily now I'm feeling more carrots and fewer sticks about it.
This morning, I woke up and showered... and came here to write. I am taking the time to get around to some things that fell by the wayside during my month and a half of mixed miseries. And I am proud of myself for it. This is progress. This is... Well. Good steps. This is good steps.
Near the end of my period of lethargy in February, I wrote this journal at work, intending to share it:
February. Lethargy. For at least two weeks now - or going on two weeks, maybe?
Exhaustion has been my constant companion. In my dreams, I struggle to sleep or I struggle to wake or open my eyes. Dreams feel like waking hallucinations, fitful and flighty. When I wake, I may feel awake for a fleeting moment, but sleep calls me back to her like a siren.
If I must, I rise and dress drunkenly to march my weary body to work, and for a time, forced activity revitalizes me, but my energy does not last even my shift. I have felt nauseous and weak 'ere I am done even on short days.
My nose and tongue trick me with experiences of old, rotting blood, sickness, tobacco and skunk...Perhaps the skunk smell was real. I am no longer sure I can tell.
This morning continued this drudge...
...but when I arrived for my early shift, I was honored to discover I was being placed as primary cashier - alone for the first hour unless I were to call for my boss. Perhaps there is hope this may be a better day.
Nearer the end of my workday, the fading sets in and the world becomes slowly less crisp and more unreal. I am still enjoying the honored position not often mine, so this day is better than most, but it is not enough to entirely drive away the fatigue.
My eyes ache, slightly, warmly.
I am thankful for the shot of perspective - spending long stretches of time at cash and dealing with customers, I understand better now how hard it is to do any stocking as well.
One of my customers was a very soft-spoken young man, slender build, light hair I think, and there was something noticeable about his teeth, perhaps they were set a little forward. He spoke in a way that was... not merely polite. Somehow reverent, perhaps? Unhurried, and sincere, certainly. He seemed almost eager to move around the counter when I asked, and showed no irritation when I looked with some interest at the books he was buying. One was titled "The Pagan Christ," by Tom somebody. I've never heard of it, but that is definitely an intriguing title. I made no comment, but neither any move to hide my interest. Perhaps I shall have to look up this book - partly on its own account, partly out of a striking curiosity to learn what this quiet young man was reading. He could, I thought to myself, have been a priest. If so, of what faith, I wonder? Of course it's silly, but I am enjoying the silliness of fancying after him.
I bid him not let the cold get him down. Pity, but I don't remember clearly what he wished me, only that it was kind and said with quiet, unhurried sincerity. Perhaps wishing me a good remainder of my day.
One way or another, the quiet man and his mysteries make the unreality of my tiredness nearly enjoyable, and certainly much more bearable.
Yes, this is a much better day so far - but still, I will have to call my doctor for advice or an appointment as soon as possible. I suspect my lethargy may be related to the increase in dosage of my daily supplements that started a week or two before I began to notice the fatigue...
Of course, at the time I did not know it was almost over. Perhaps one of the other reasons that my tiredness in February was much worse and a bit longer than the one in March was also that I was getting into frequent, nasty fights with my online lover. Things had reached the point that I had become afraid of him, despite how far away he lives, because of how effectively he could tear me down, intentionally or not, into a mess of guilt, rage and smallness. When he was angry enough, I was sure that his anger at least, which is in some ways separate from him, did it on purpose. Little comfort to me that he was also unhappy with this - his anger was easily roused and easily controlled him, particularly with regards to me. I guess he was fed up with my own weaknesses, among them a tendency to be defensive and accusatory when something strikes me as potentially offensive.
Often after our fights I was left so angry and depressed that I had neither wish nor will to do anything, and so I would just lay down and either distract myself with comfortably familiar recordings of voices, or sleep, or both. Certainly the despair could have added to my sense of lethargy and hopelessness.
A couple of days after I wrote the above journal, my boyfriend, my rabbit, the one I live with, who had been trying, with mixed success, to be supportive while I was suffering, ran the first session of a Pathfinder game he had been planning. Both lover and I were in it, and some in-game politics started another fight. I told him it was over. The next day, I woke up with my energy back; free...
Of course, breaking up with a lover who is friend to one's friends is not as simple as that. Breaking up with anyone one really cared about isn't. The next few days were extremely hard in their own way as I negotiated for peace after separation, for protection from any potential anger that might come after me for leaving, and kept clamps on my tongue anywhere around that group of friends. Keeping myself quiet was tearing me apart, so at one point I turned to another one of my friends and rambled my aching madness to her, instead... and may have lost her for a long time or forever.
So two weeks full of lethargy were followed by around two weeks of very heavy grieving for a dead relationship. I threw myself forward into it and hurt as hard as I could bear rather than trying to hide from it, in the hopes that I could get through it faster that way. It worked; after a couple of weeks, I felt better, but of course any thoughts of my fresh ex were still painful. Flash forward for a moment to now, and I realize that I now feel about him much the same way I did before there was any romance between us; I dislike his attitude, and he frequently annoys me in almost exactly the same ways. It's disappointing to see that we are so, seeming just back to square one.
Soon after that came my second surgery and its following period of fatigue, but the depression this time was milder and the fatigue did not haunt my dreams. I also had the previous lethargy to draw from, and had some hope and understanding that my bizarre recovery period after surgery would last about two weeks, which it did. And that carries us to my birthday, which was just a few days ago. I was busy that day and the next, so we didn't do much celebrating for it; but my roommate and my boyfriend and I did sit down together to watch a movie of my choice; Indie Game: The Movie.
That morning, I woke up and stared at my ceiling for a while. I was still not in a good state of mind in which to be assessing things or making decisions, and I knew that, but at the same time, I was not sure when was the next time I would be, and felt that assessments and at least tentative decisions needed to be made.
I was 25 years old, had had a job in a charity thrift store for almost two years. I was making a lot of headway on my emotional scars and healing, despite setbacks. I was much less often self-destructive these days, and when I was, it didn't go nearly as far. I was being better to my boyfriend, and for that matter, had arranged to live in a house with two people I liked and was capable of getting along with quite well, generally speaking. But was I happy with where I was, and where I seemed to be going?
No. I wasn't. I had been feeling growing frustration and discontent at work. I felt overworked and under-appreciated and lorded over by at least one supervisor that I felt knew no better than me, and often seemed to know worse. I had been having a very hard time not taking the messes I cleaned up at work personally, and felt I had to sacrifice the things my bosses cared about more in order to do my job right. I felt I had learned most all I ever would from my main position on the sales floor. I did not feel I was getting any closer to moving up the ranks, even though I had been trusted to man the storefront mostly independently for a few hours at a time.
So I thought about that, and that night, I talked to my roommates about it. I think I am ready to take one of the next big steps and enroll at a college or university soon. I think it's time for me to investigate the resources and the courses that may be at my disposal. I still have too many interests to be sure there is any just one thing I want to do, but perhaps I never will be. I'll start somewhere. Perhaps somewhere safe; a business administration degree would be useful in finding a higher ranking position... And, of more personal interest to me, might give me the knowledge and skills to start my own small business or few. Perhaps even an indie game development team.
In the few days since then, I've attended the first session of a group counselling initiative rather cheesily titled Making Changes In Your Life, and have been dutifully trying to fill out the rubrics they gave me to track positive things I have been doing to control and steer my reactions and initiatives. I enjoyed some delivery fried chicken and had my roommates bring me a cake covered in candles to blow out, complete with the traditional Happy Birthday, even though it was one day later due to time constraints. None of us minded. The day after that, we went downtown together and my boyfriend bought me a birthday present; a card game I recognized and liked called Gloom. We picked up snacks in the Covent Garden Market and sat in the mezzanine and ate and played a round of my new game. I got the wonderful feeling that I got to have three days of birthday this year, perhaps to make up for the years in which I did not celebrate. Actually, I felt as though the time from my birthday to the second anniversary of the day I met my boyfriend (which is the date I track, since we found ourselves interested in one another right away) a couple weeks later had been made into a festival for my life, our lives together, a celebration of friendship and support, and feelings of family. I was very happy.
I also, by serendipitous chance, popped in to my workplace on the way downtown just in time to hear my boss congratulate and deeply thank all of our staff for the hard work we've been doing, and our excellent results on our most recent sale. Some of the unappreciated feelings and resentment I had been having began immediately to lift. I was glad I had waited on my impulse to complain.
I still think it would be a good idea to investigate university now. But happily now I'm feeling more carrots and fewer sticks about it.
This morning, I woke up and showered... and came here to write. I am taking the time to get around to some things that fell by the wayside during my month and a half of mixed miseries. And I am proud of myself for it. This is progress. This is... Well. Good steps. This is good steps.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Your Toilet Works Perfectly
Okay, story time. About a week ago or so, our toilet and sink started making burbling, gurgling noises from time to time. About half a week ago, the toilet started to pool when flushed instead of flushing properly, and this problem became worse until the point where we needed to borrow our landlord's plunger, which is better than ours, and plunge at the toilet every time it was flushed to get the water level to lower. There was no resistance to the plunging, but the water just refused to flow, and tended to come back up.
We have been dealing with this for several days.
Just now, when I was in the kitchen, a tremendous gurgle started in the toilet, then that silenced and the kitchen sink gurgled back at it just as loudly. Then the toilet and the sink and even the bathroom drain gurgled together, with a slightly directional progression from kitchen through bathroom and then away. It made the counter and floor tremble, whatever it was. And now the toilet flushes just fine again.
It was as though some bizarre creature had taken up residence in our plumbing, and just decided, "Fuck this place, I'm leaving."
It was a truly surreal experience.
We have been dealing with this for several days.
Just now, when I was in the kitchen, a tremendous gurgle started in the toilet, then that silenced and the kitchen sink gurgled back at it just as loudly. Then the toilet and the sink and even the bathroom drain gurgled together, with a slightly directional progression from kitchen through bathroom and then away. It made the counter and floor tremble, whatever it was. And now the toilet flushes just fine again.
It was as though some bizarre creature had taken up residence in our plumbing, and just decided, "Fuck this place, I'm leaving."
It was a truly surreal experience.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
How My Mind Works
Hello. Good afternoon. How are you?
Huh. Cool. Quick to be promoted.
Oh heavens I'm sorry but I think I'm drunk on conflict. I'm feeling like a dark euphoria or something.
Or... maybe...
HmmmMm.
I've been restraining myself so thoroughly and effectively for the last few days... that I really, really want to do something reckless and risk fucking up something beautiful apparently.
Is this what it's like realizing that you're addicted to failure? That's hilarious.
I think... I feel like I am a whimsical entity, this reactive, animal conscious-mind, caught in a moment in which gears larger than itself are shifting. A decision is being made around me. To take responsibility for my own actions. I'm barely even the thing making it any more. I'm just in the high. Loopy, feeling the gears grinding. Wondering what bits of me that I once cared about are the dust, dirt, roots and chips coming off and falling away.
Bye, me! Bye, excuses for being unfunctional. Look ma. I'm loopy. But I am still here.
And you? You're dead. You're dust. You're... you're going to start leaving me alone now.
♥
HmmmMm.
Sorry it was you. It couldn't be anyone in my regular social group. The person I am having to restrain myself with is there, and I have to wait for him to be ready to walk into the group presence with me and ask for their help with our peace accord together.
I do hope that I am not causing you much distress.
Perhaps I am entertaining. Or simply obnoxious.
Let me know, sweet?
Oh, I am such a tease, aren't I, being incomprehensible like that. I guess it's one of the habits I'll have to kick. It's more actually intelligent and more actually difficult, a greater, nobler challenge, to speak succinctly but clearly enough that one is not a challenge to follow.
But permit me this indulgence. For now. Still, if you wish, I can explain... any part of this... more clearly.
No, it's only my fault I'm being incomprehensible.
Do you hate me for it? Oh, do say you'll hate me for it, that you'll never understand me, that you'll look back on this moment and realize that it's not worth talking to me. Ha. Hahahaha. You know what? I think I get it. Yes, that needling would be awful annoying, even in small doses.
♥
Hurf. So... can I not care? Not caring seems... HmmmMm. Not caring about the bad, but being grateful for anything good? It always seemed like such a double-standard, didn't it little starfish, hmmm...
But what do you lose? A few chips off your shoulder that were really only keeping it from a full range of motion. Go on. Throw it away. You... you can be new.
You can be whole. Don't you want to be whole? Capable? Prove yourself and WIN, for once?
Mmm.
Again, Sorry miss, I never could talk to myself worth a damn without an audience.
Because then who am I talking to? Or something like that. Having someone watching... Something about it... makes it... real.
So. How are you?
(She left. I don't know yet whether she's going to come back.)
Huh. Cool. Quick to be promoted.
Oh heavens I'm sorry but I think I'm drunk on conflict. I'm feeling like a dark euphoria or something.
Or... maybe...
HmmmMm.
I've been restraining myself so thoroughly and effectively for the last few days... that I really, really want to do something reckless and risk fucking up something beautiful apparently.
Is this what it's like realizing that you're addicted to failure? That's hilarious.
I think... I feel like I am a whimsical entity, this reactive, animal conscious-mind, caught in a moment in which gears larger than itself are shifting. A decision is being made around me. To take responsibility for my own actions. I'm barely even the thing making it any more. I'm just in the high. Loopy, feeling the gears grinding. Wondering what bits of me that I once cared about are the dust, dirt, roots and chips coming off and falling away.
Bye, me! Bye, excuses for being unfunctional. Look ma. I'm loopy. But I am still here.
And you? You're dead. You're dust. You're... you're going to start leaving me alone now.
♥
HmmmMm.
Sorry it was you. It couldn't be anyone in my regular social group. The person I am having to restrain myself with is there, and I have to wait for him to be ready to walk into the group presence with me and ask for their help with our peace accord together.
I do hope that I am not causing you much distress.
Perhaps I am entertaining. Or simply obnoxious.
Let me know, sweet?
Oh, I am such a tease, aren't I, being incomprehensible like that. I guess it's one of the habits I'll have to kick. It's more actually intelligent and more actually difficult, a greater, nobler challenge, to speak succinctly but clearly enough that one is not a challenge to follow.
But permit me this indulgence. For now. Still, if you wish, I can explain... any part of this... more clearly.
No, it's only my fault I'm being incomprehensible.
Do you hate me for it? Oh, do say you'll hate me for it, that you'll never understand me, that you'll look back on this moment and realize that it's not worth talking to me. Ha. Hahahaha. You know what? I think I get it. Yes, that needling would be awful annoying, even in small doses.
♥
Hurf. So... can I not care? Not caring seems... HmmmMm. Not caring about the bad, but being grateful for anything good? It always seemed like such a double-standard, didn't it little starfish, hmmm...
But what do you lose? A few chips off your shoulder that were really only keeping it from a full range of motion. Go on. Throw it away. You... you can be new.
You can be whole. Don't you want to be whole? Capable? Prove yourself and WIN, for once?
Mmm.
Again, Sorry miss, I never could talk to myself worth a damn without an audience.
Because then who am I talking to? Or something like that. Having someone watching... Something about it... makes it... real.
So. How are you?
(She left. I don't know yet whether she's going to come back.)
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