"Severine is nothing like you. She isn't really very cool: she blends into crowds, she hangs out on the fringes at parties, and wearing shades after dark makes her run into things. She may have sometimes thought that she was special, or destined for greater things, but probably dismissed the idea as a fantasy. She's come in for her share of hurt, but gotten off with minor damage. And she's gotten no slack from you.
In general, you care deeply about Severine, but you're smart enough to let her stand on her own, without burdening her with your personal fantasies or propping her up with idealization and over-dramatization. Severine is a healthy character with a promising career ahead of her.
Score Breakdown
Do I Know This Guy? 3
You Mean Plaid Is Out? 9
I'm Destined For What? 3
Can't Complain 4
Momma HATES Her! 0
Total: 19"
-Katfeete.net
So instead of me writing something, you get this Mary Sue test for my character Severine.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Tough Love
Here I am, prepared to go to sleep - it's midnight and I'm done with my essay preparations...
I go up to my room. I realize I've left my rabbits' cage open (so they could run around earlier today).
Not a problem, I think. I'm sure they've probably peed on something important and eaten all the edible things readily available and chewed on every paper they could reach, but as long as I don't know about it, it can't hurt me, so I'm not going looking for it. Well, at least until tomorrow.
I find my Californian and replace her in her cage. (She looks so sad, peering up at me with those sweet, cunning pink eyes, as she puts her paws together on the cage wall, begging... well, sorry, sweetie, but no, I'm not letting you out again.)
Where's my black rabbit, I wonder? She's a tiny cross-breed with a single white glove.I look around. I dig through my closet, behind my bed, in my sunflower plants and in my bookshelves...
Somehow she wormed her way under my dresser.
An hour and a half later, here I am - in bed. And there she is - in bed as well. I always win, sweetheart. <3
Even if I am deprived yet another hour of sleep.
I go up to my room. I realize I've left my rabbits' cage open (so they could run around earlier today).
Not a problem, I think. I'm sure they've probably peed on something important and eaten all the edible things readily available and chewed on every paper they could reach, but as long as I don't know about it, it can't hurt me, so I'm not going looking for it. Well, at least until tomorrow.
I find my Californian and replace her in her cage. (She looks so sad, peering up at me with those sweet, cunning pink eyes, as she puts her paws together on the cage wall, begging... well, sorry, sweetie, but no, I'm not letting you out again.)
Where's my black rabbit, I wonder? She's a tiny cross-breed with a single white glove.I look around. I dig through my closet, behind my bed, in my sunflower plants and in my bookshelves...
Somehow she wormed her way under my dresser.
An hour and a half later, here I am - in bed. And there she is - in bed as well. I always win, sweetheart. <3
Even if I am deprived yet another hour of sleep.
Unloved Artists
There are awesome, lovely artsy people out there with bills to pay. And they're offering commissions (selling art requests) for way cheaper than their skill should allow. Two euros, to be exact.
If ever I am rich and I become one of those people who has money to spare, or put into charity - screw the puppies being euthanized, the people on the streets, and hyperactive organizations who'll only go overboard with my money (cough, cough, PETA). I am pouring all of my money into artists I love - relatively unpopular artists, artists who aren't commercial or world famous, especially artists who have to use their skill to get by. I think it's terrible that they have to do this. All that artists do (should I say "we artists," or would that sound conceited?) is create and create and create and put new, imaginative, original, gorgeous material out into the world, and you'd think we'd be rich for all of the inspiration and joy we bring to our societies, revered, even, for our minds and our skills...? (Well, maybe not my skills in particular, but I'd like to think that my mind is worth something. Give me a few years.)
But we're not. So commission this guy.
When I'm theoretically rich, I'll find people like this, people who need money fast. I'll commission them - I'll say, okay, draw me this and this. One or two commissions. And then I'll surprise them by leaving five or ten times that amount on their bank account or PayPal or whatever.
Wouldn't that feel absolutely great?
That's why I'd like to be rich. Not for the delicious computer stuff I could snag or the travel or whatever, just for glitterbombs like that.
(Before anyone asks: a glitterbomb is a pleasant surprise that you leave for someone you don't necessarily know - like hanging streamers over someone's front yard in their favorite colors on their birthday and taking them down that night, or leaving notes in library books, or flipping all of the books/disks/CDs on a stranger's shelf upside-down when they aren't looking. Anything that inspires a sense of wonder.)
If ever I am rich and I become one of those people who has money to spare, or put into charity - screw the puppies being euthanized, the people on the streets, and hyperactive organizations who'll only go overboard with my money (cough, cough, PETA). I am pouring all of my money into artists I love - relatively unpopular artists, artists who aren't commercial or world famous, especially artists who have to use their skill to get by. I think it's terrible that they have to do this. All that artists do (should I say "we artists," or would that sound conceited?) is create and create and create and put new, imaginative, original, gorgeous material out into the world, and you'd think we'd be rich for all of the inspiration and joy we bring to our societies, revered, even, for our minds and our skills...? (Well, maybe not my skills in particular, but I'd like to think that my mind is worth something. Give me a few years.)
But we're not. So commission this guy.
When I'm theoretically rich, I'll find people like this, people who need money fast. I'll commission them - I'll say, okay, draw me this and this. One or two commissions. And then I'll surprise them by leaving five or ten times that amount on their bank account or PayPal or whatever.
Wouldn't that feel absolutely great?
That's why I'd like to be rich. Not for the delicious computer stuff I could snag or the travel or whatever, just for glitterbombs like that.
(Before anyone asks: a glitterbomb is a pleasant surprise that you leave for someone you don't necessarily know - like hanging streamers over someone's front yard in their favorite colors on their birthday and taking them down that night, or leaving notes in library books, or flipping all of the books/disks/CDs on a stranger's shelf upside-down when they aren't looking. Anything that inspires a sense of wonder.)
Personal Symbolism
Today I was really, really stressed due to a variety of things, but those causes are unimportant to my thoughts at the moment.
This morning, I was starting to get to the point where I was afraid of having a panic attack in the middle of the classroom - but I know how to fix it. I got out a piece of paper and I forced myself to make calming squiggles and movements with the pen until I found something that just looked reassuring when you saw it. Imagine you're writing a cursive J, capitalized; right where the loop rejoins with the beginning of the line, it swirls back up, makes a heart shape, then loops back down into two lines, like a flag, and another one crossing those two. It looks like a distorted crane. Or, rather, a low-necked crane if it were to sit like a human.
I've done this before. Sometimes, forcing yourself to think calmly, and then coming up with a symbol to remind you of that willpower, can honestly be all you need, if you are strong enough. I drew it on my hand in ink, and I folded the original paper up into a triangle-shaped charm, which I wrote the final symbol on and stuck in my pocket, and I wrote the charm on all of my notes all through the day to keep my mind on happy thoughts. That's just how powerful the mind is. Maybe it's a tad hypocritical of me, considering my own mental health as it is, but if you literally demand that your brain whip itself into shape, you can conquer it, at least temporarily.
On that note, the charm is still in my pocket. On looking at it, it also has a sun symbol on it... it looks like a nonsymmetrical God's Eye, and a simplified "personal calm" marking that you can make in one line. But this pattern, I largely suspect (well, probably, know), was mostly just to keep my mind busy so that it couldn't stress itself out more.
...isn't that really just as good, though?
This morning, I was starting to get to the point where I was afraid of having a panic attack in the middle of the classroom - but I know how to fix it. I got out a piece of paper and I forced myself to make calming squiggles and movements with the pen until I found something that just looked reassuring when you saw it. Imagine you're writing a cursive J, capitalized; right where the loop rejoins with the beginning of the line, it swirls back up, makes a heart shape, then loops back down into two lines, like a flag, and another one crossing those two. It looks like a distorted crane. Or, rather, a low-necked crane if it were to sit like a human.
I've done this before. Sometimes, forcing yourself to think calmly, and then coming up with a symbol to remind you of that willpower, can honestly be all you need, if you are strong enough. I drew it on my hand in ink, and I folded the original paper up into a triangle-shaped charm, which I wrote the final symbol on and stuck in my pocket, and I wrote the charm on all of my notes all through the day to keep my mind on happy thoughts. That's just how powerful the mind is. Maybe it's a tad hypocritical of me, considering my own mental health as it is, but if you literally demand that your brain whip itself into shape, you can conquer it, at least temporarily.
On that note, the charm is still in my pocket. On looking at it, it also has a sun symbol on it... it looks like a nonsymmetrical God's Eye, and a simplified "personal calm" marking that you can make in one line. But this pattern, I largely suspect (well, probably, know), was mostly just to keep my mind busy so that it couldn't stress itself out more.
...isn't that really just as good, though?
To Write an Essay
Here I am, sitting at the dining room table, compiling note cards which were due earlier today, and which I will use to write a lengthy essay on my chosen topic - Santeria, a syncretistic religion combining tenets of the African religion of Ifa and Roman Catholicism. I find it both fascinating and tiresome, as this has taken more than six hours thus far. Now, I allow myself a break.
Essays are terribly difficult things to write. Humanity speaks in its own mind in abstract concepts that often refuse to be verbalized, and so, when we come to a conclusion, especially a religious one as I have come to multiple times during this religious essay, it is so very hard to explain it away in a single sentence... even a paragraph... even a whole essay of its own. Religion is so complex, so diverse, that the only way to explain it, at times, is to make similes with other religions. And then, what of your varied audience? Say you preserve your audience with multiple examples from different faiths. How do you prevent the audience from jumping to conclusions? For instance, by likening the orishas (gods) Olofi, Nzame, and Baba Nkwa to the Christian Holy Trinity, I suspect I am making Christian readers - a large portion of the audience I know I will have - jump to conclusions about the positions and personalities of these gods.
It perplexes me: the many different nuances of communicating a single concept. We often make things seem more complicated than they are, which is, I suspect, the reason for missionaries. What good could a holy book or pamphlet or guide do where a living person could explain it in feeling, with liveliness and seriousness and yet a sense of humor? No text can compare to that. And therefore, this essay is futile. In reality, I am writing it only for myself.
Essays are terribly difficult things to write. Humanity speaks in its own mind in abstract concepts that often refuse to be verbalized, and so, when we come to a conclusion, especially a religious one as I have come to multiple times during this religious essay, it is so very hard to explain it away in a single sentence... even a paragraph... even a whole essay of its own. Religion is so complex, so diverse, that the only way to explain it, at times, is to make similes with other religions. And then, what of your varied audience? Say you preserve your audience with multiple examples from different faiths. How do you prevent the audience from jumping to conclusions? For instance, by likening the orishas (gods) Olofi, Nzame, and Baba Nkwa to the Christian Holy Trinity, I suspect I am making Christian readers - a large portion of the audience I know I will have - jump to conclusions about the positions and personalities of these gods.
It perplexes me: the many different nuances of communicating a single concept. We often make things seem more complicated than they are, which is, I suspect, the reason for missionaries. What good could a holy book or pamphlet or guide do where a living person could explain it in feeling, with liveliness and seriousness and yet a sense of humor? No text can compare to that. And therefore, this essay is futile. In reality, I am writing it only for myself.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Skinny Jeans
What is it about skinny jeans?
Seriously, the very concept of skinny jeans has been nagging at me for years. For starters, I can't fit in them. I have... curves. I'm not fat, I'm just not a skinny, sticklike bitch of a tiny girl, and so I have hips, and boobs, and whatever else comes with that. But it's definitely not encouraging when I see everyone and their mother(s) wearing them. And then when you hear, "Skinny jeans are not for fat people. (laugh)" or "God, she was just too wide for skinnies! (rolls eyes)" on a daily basis. And then when you're the only person who can't pull them off.
But I found them today. The perfect skinnies for me. Why did they fit? Were they just not truly skinnies at all, and they deceived me? Were they intended for me and me alone, and I hadn't found them soon enough, and that's how they made their way to the (otherwise lackluster) clearance rack?
I'd like to think that someone, somewhere, in a factory in China or wherever the most minimal minimum wage is nowadays - had a psychic epiphany about me. They saw a curvy brunette looking sad in the most unimportant city in America and typing up a rant or a story or a journal entry or playing Pokemon or watching Juno or whatever other random thing I was doing that made me look sad, and said, "My God, she looks miserable. She needs some skinny jeans right this moment," and stopped all the presses (or whatever) and made them make the single pair of skinny jeans - just the right size of pockets, just the right color, just the right size, comfortable and flexible and also at least vaguely attractive for once - and shipped them here and the three Fates wound me to that shop on a spool.
Thank you, otherwise-damned mainstream chain stores and their suppliers. This brightens my week considerably.
Seriously, the very concept of skinny jeans has been nagging at me for years. For starters, I can't fit in them. I have... curves. I'm not fat, I'm just not a skinny, sticklike bitch of a tiny girl, and so I have hips, and boobs, and whatever else comes with that. But it's definitely not encouraging when I see everyone and their mother(s) wearing them. And then when you hear, "Skinny jeans are not for fat people. (laugh)" or "God, she was just too wide for skinnies! (rolls eyes)" on a daily basis. And then when you're the only person who can't pull them off.
But I found them today. The perfect skinnies for me. Why did they fit? Were they just not truly skinnies at all, and they deceived me? Were they intended for me and me alone, and I hadn't found them soon enough, and that's how they made their way to the (otherwise lackluster) clearance rack?
I'd like to think that someone, somewhere, in a factory in China or wherever the most minimal minimum wage is nowadays - had a psychic epiphany about me. They saw a curvy brunette looking sad in the most unimportant city in America and typing up a rant or a story or a journal entry or playing Pokemon or watching Juno or whatever other random thing I was doing that made me look sad, and said, "My God, she looks miserable. She needs some skinny jeans right this moment," and stopped all the presses (or whatever) and made them make the single pair of skinny jeans - just the right size of pockets, just the right color, just the right size, comfortable and flexible and also at least vaguely attractive for once - and shipped them here and the three Fates wound me to that shop on a spool.
Thank you, otherwise-damned mainstream chain stores and their suppliers. This brightens my week considerably.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Validation
Why is it that everyone I know - and I'm not exempt - seems to pretty much completely base their actions on romance and sex? That wouldn't be quite so terrible if it weren't for the fact that we all have this image of the dream man in our heads: a very pretty (but not TOO pretty) boy who's nice but fun, strong but protective, humorous but emotional, the kind of person who brings out the best in us.
I know exactly what that image would manifest itself as in real life (not that it could) - it'd be some video game playing geek who offers to carry my things, probably with blond hair and blue eyes (I never thought I'd be the type to go for the blond-haired, blue-eyed men, but there you go). It'd be That Guy.
Why am I, and every other girl on the planet, obsessed with this false image? When we finally get our claws into some poor, unsuspecting boy who only wants to know us a little better, we're just going to compare him to the perfect person who never existed. We're going to expect too much from him until we burn that mental picture and let the ashes float away happily-ever-after on the wind.
But here's my little question for myself: can that even be done, or is that just wishful thinking?
I know exactly what that image would manifest itself as in real life (not that it could) - it'd be some video game playing geek who offers to carry my things, probably with blond hair and blue eyes (I never thought I'd be the type to go for the blond-haired, blue-eyed men, but there you go). It'd be That Guy.
Why am I, and every other girl on the planet, obsessed with this false image? When we finally get our claws into some poor, unsuspecting boy who only wants to know us a little better, we're just going to compare him to the perfect person who never existed. We're going to expect too much from him until we burn that mental picture and let the ashes float away happily-ever-after on the wind.
But here's my little question for myself: can that even be done, or is that just wishful thinking?
Finding Flaws
Lately I've noticed that I'm a highly irritable person.
There are things that are Okay to be annoyed by, like fast cars that slow down at the LAST POSSIBLE MINUTE on the crosswalk, or your friend blowing you off, or your teacher misplacing your test. And then there are things that are Not Okay to be annoyed by that annoy me anyways - like people breathing too loudly, people changing from how I know them, people forgetting that you exist when there's no reason you are particularly important in their lives, and/or people who always seem to go out of their way to drive you insane by simply acting stupid (or, as they say, "like a ditz"), though they don't know any better.
There are often moments when I wonder if I could possibly have the highest IQ in the world, and that is why I simply cannot relate to anyone. (There are also moments where I fear that I actually have the lowest IQ ever found in a human being and am being convinced of my intelligence in order to keep me happy and, therefore, keeping my uncontrollable primal urges to gut people in check, but that is only vaguely related.)
I am annoyed by people I've known for years who develop new habits and hairstyles when I'm not looking. I am annoyed by people that I barely know who think that they're better than me simply because they've been here longer ("here" can imply a job, or a school, or even this plane of existence). I am annoyed by people who think they're doing what's best. Sometimes I'm even annoyed by people who truly do what is truly best for everyone else, the rare person who cares about someone else - annoyed because I am never going to be like that, and surely, SURELY they have a flaw, somewhere...?!
The only logical conclusion is that the thing that irritates me the very, very most is people in themselves. They also fascinate me psychologically, socially, and mentally - probably because I'm a writer - as well as physically - probably because I'm an artist - but nothing can overcome that urge to just take a step back, disengage, and then go scream into my pillow for a few moments.
This brings up an interesting conundrum.
How do I let new people in?
What happens when I lose my old friends, or when they lose me? What happens if I'm dropped like a hot potato in a sandstorm over a minefield at high, hot noon? (Like that metaphor made any sense.) I'm going to search and search for ways to appreciate the kind of person someone is. Maybe I'll do it, even. But until then, I'll continue to find the same flaws in everybody else that already exist in myself, and the sad part is that I don't think I can help it. And that's a fact.
There are things that are Okay to be annoyed by, like fast cars that slow down at the LAST POSSIBLE MINUTE on the crosswalk, or your friend blowing you off, or your teacher misplacing your test. And then there are things that are Not Okay to be annoyed by that annoy me anyways - like people breathing too loudly, people changing from how I know them, people forgetting that you exist when there's no reason you are particularly important in their lives, and/or people who always seem to go out of their way to drive you insane by simply acting stupid (or, as they say, "like a ditz"), though they don't know any better.
There are often moments when I wonder if I could possibly have the highest IQ in the world, and that is why I simply cannot relate to anyone. (There are also moments where I fear that I actually have the lowest IQ ever found in a human being and am being convinced of my intelligence in order to keep me happy and, therefore, keeping my uncontrollable primal urges to gut people in check, but that is only vaguely related.)
I am annoyed by people I've known for years who develop new habits and hairstyles when I'm not looking. I am annoyed by people that I barely know who think that they're better than me simply because they've been here longer ("here" can imply a job, or a school, or even this plane of existence). I am annoyed by people who think they're doing what's best. Sometimes I'm even annoyed by people who truly do what is truly best for everyone else, the rare person who cares about someone else - annoyed because I am never going to be like that, and surely, SURELY they have a flaw, somewhere...?!
The only logical conclusion is that the thing that irritates me the very, very most is people in themselves. They also fascinate me psychologically, socially, and mentally - probably because I'm a writer - as well as physically - probably because I'm an artist - but nothing can overcome that urge to just take a step back, disengage, and then go scream into my pillow for a few moments.
This brings up an interesting conundrum.
How do I let new people in?
What happens when I lose my old friends, or when they lose me? What happens if I'm dropped like a hot potato in a sandstorm over a minefield at high, hot noon? (Like that metaphor made any sense.) I'm going to search and search for ways to appreciate the kind of person someone is. Maybe I'll do it, even. But until then, I'll continue to find the same flaws in everybody else that already exist in myself, and the sad part is that I don't think I can help it. And that's a fact.
Encyclopedia of Friendship, A through Z.
Guess what, all my lovely, otherwise-endearing friends? I am tired of your bullshit antics.
I am tired of Friend A, who constantly writes new novellas about her unique, interesting characters - each identical, realistic/fantasy novella about the exact same bullshit girl with a spitfire personality and a hidden mushy side, who meets the exact same boy who is slightly overprotective but well-meaning at heart, and they kiss (exactly twice - there will ALWAYS be romance, but it will NEVER go past playful teen kisses), and they are unique and special and together for no reason other than their similar pasts and situations, and together they will defeat the exact same opposing team in the exact same way. Every novel(la) I read is identical to the last. Friend A doesn't know how to write, because she's simply projecting her ideals onto a blank screen - she's typed up a photocopy of herself, drawn different clothes and hair around each one - and created an ideal-boyfriend paper cutout and she will use them again and again, and she will not improve because she knows no other way, and any critique we give her is better spent on my eldest dog, whom is a lazy, whiny German shepherd and is the very definition of "old dog that can't be taught new tricks."
I am tired of Friend B, who means well but, frankly, thinks too much. The Powers That Be know very well that I'm the same way, but the PTB also know that I do not vomit my musings and my ministrations on how my life sucks on other people. Yes, I feel for Friend B, and I feel for Friend B very strongly at that, but I am exhausted of constantly hearing "my life sucks," over and over; I am constantly barraged, almost daily, by things that make me uncomfortable, which would be fine in itself if not for its constant presence; and I am being brought down by all of the negativity that seems to spout from Friend B's voice and head almost constantly, her obsession with the awful and the uncontrollable, and her tendency to put herself almost purposefully into bad situations.
I am tired of Friend C, whom I love dearly, and who therefore hurts me all the more when Friend C makes a passing remark about me that immediately gives my self esteem a good kick between the legs like no other person and no other remark could - how she knows what gets me, knows my style, knows the ways that I try to communicate my problems, how we know each other so very well, and yet she doesn't give a shit because she's too preoccupied with her own well-being to take a good look into someone else's soul - how Friend C is doing nothing to curb my suspicion that I am unwanted in her life, and yet constantly seems to reassure me of these things, and I am weary of how I believe neither extreme - and therefore, I can believe neither my own head nor anyone else's.
I am tired of Friend D, who seems to be on a crusader's quest to convert everyone to his style of hyper-intelligent anti-religious dogmatic too-logical practice of life, and of how, when I use common dictionary definitions to refute his arguments, he tries to turn the conversation around so that I, as in myself, am on some valiant quest to prove my point and I should be more open-minded. I am tired of how, in Friend D's presence, I feel wrong - guilty, even - for not being a Christian, of how he is slowly beginning to - and this is merely what I suspect - subconsciously warp my mind so that in the future I will immediately classify all atheists as self-righteous antireligious crusaders, and I am tired of him acting like he is always right, and of how he wants to win arguments and nothing can change his views; we do not have discussions as we used to, but simply sermons, in which he preaches.
I am tired of Friend E, who had given me some occasional hope that maybe I can, in fact, function as an average high-school-age girl in my society, and that maybe I can, in fact, think about someone else in a romantic, even sexual context - that I don't have to wander aimlessly through the desert of everyday human life, having sworn off romance after a brief chance contact that didn't mean anything. For a second I believed that maybe I don't have to get "prettied up like a peacock," as my mother suggests, and strut for the sake of attracting a potential mate. Maybe I won't get so desperate that I'll start to actually pay attention to Facebook for once because I want to change the relationship status to "in a relationship" because I simply want to draw attention to the fact that I'm open for business, DAMN it, and that maybe someone finds me attractive, and maybe YOU should too! Maybe I wouldn't have to find companionship in my many cats which I keep in my house on the corner of the street. But nothing. Always nothing.
Now for something more positive.
I am thankful for Friend F, who is not someone I have talked to very much, but have coexisted with for more than five years - and in retrospect I have seen her cry, seen her laugh, seen her act badly towards others, and seen her act well towards others. I have seen her defend people, defend her friends and people she didn't even know; I've seen her grow as a person, grow from the shy little geek we all were back then to the confident, witty and intelligent, funny person she is today, but mostly, to pretty much summarize all of these things, I'd like to thank Friend F for restoring my faith in the human race once more, and for being forgiving and open when my closer, "better" friends couldn't be.
When I get these thoughts off of my chest, it's better. It's like saying - here, Internet, take my problems. I don't want them. I'm discarding them to the PTB and letting them run free in the wild where they belong. We simply shouldn't domesticate things that aren't meant to be domesticated.
I am tired of Friend A, who constantly writes new novellas about her unique, interesting characters - each identical, realistic/fantasy novella about the exact same bullshit girl with a spitfire personality and a hidden mushy side, who meets the exact same boy who is slightly overprotective but well-meaning at heart, and they kiss (exactly twice - there will ALWAYS be romance, but it will NEVER go past playful teen kisses), and they are unique and special and together for no reason other than their similar pasts and situations, and together they will defeat the exact same opposing team in the exact same way. Every novel(la) I read is identical to the last. Friend A doesn't know how to write, because she's simply projecting her ideals onto a blank screen - she's typed up a photocopy of herself, drawn different clothes and hair around each one - and created an ideal-boyfriend paper cutout and she will use them again and again, and she will not improve because she knows no other way, and any critique we give her is better spent on my eldest dog, whom is a lazy, whiny German shepherd and is the very definition of "old dog that can't be taught new tricks."
I am tired of Friend B, who means well but, frankly, thinks too much. The Powers That Be know very well that I'm the same way, but the PTB also know that I do not vomit my musings and my ministrations on how my life sucks on other people. Yes, I feel for Friend B, and I feel for Friend B very strongly at that, but I am exhausted of constantly hearing "my life sucks," over and over; I am constantly barraged, almost daily, by things that make me uncomfortable, which would be fine in itself if not for its constant presence; and I am being brought down by all of the negativity that seems to spout from Friend B's voice and head almost constantly, her obsession with the awful and the uncontrollable, and her tendency to put herself almost purposefully into bad situations.
I am tired of Friend C, whom I love dearly, and who therefore hurts me all the more when Friend C makes a passing remark about me that immediately gives my self esteem a good kick between the legs like no other person and no other remark could - how she knows what gets me, knows my style, knows the ways that I try to communicate my problems, how we know each other so very well, and yet she doesn't give a shit because she's too preoccupied with her own well-being to take a good look into someone else's soul - how Friend C is doing nothing to curb my suspicion that I am unwanted in her life, and yet constantly seems to reassure me of these things, and I am weary of how I believe neither extreme - and therefore, I can believe neither my own head nor anyone else's.
I am tired of Friend D, who seems to be on a crusader's quest to convert everyone to his style of hyper-intelligent anti-religious dogmatic too-logical practice of life, and of how, when I use common dictionary definitions to refute his arguments, he tries to turn the conversation around so that I, as in myself, am on some valiant quest to prove my point and I should be more open-minded. I am tired of how, in Friend D's presence, I feel wrong - guilty, even - for not being a Christian, of how he is slowly beginning to - and this is merely what I suspect - subconsciously warp my mind so that in the future I will immediately classify all atheists as self-righteous antireligious crusaders, and I am tired of him acting like he is always right, and of how he wants to win arguments and nothing can change his views; we do not have discussions as we used to, but simply sermons, in which he preaches.
I am tired of Friend E, who had given me some occasional hope that maybe I can, in fact, function as an average high-school-age girl in my society, and that maybe I can, in fact, think about someone else in a romantic, even sexual context - that I don't have to wander aimlessly through the desert of everyday human life, having sworn off romance after a brief chance contact that didn't mean anything. For a second I believed that maybe I don't have to get "prettied up like a peacock," as my mother suggests, and strut for the sake of attracting a potential mate. Maybe I won't get so desperate that I'll start to actually pay attention to Facebook for once because I want to change the relationship status to "in a relationship" because I simply want to draw attention to the fact that I'm open for business, DAMN it, and that maybe someone finds me attractive, and maybe YOU should too! Maybe I wouldn't have to find companionship in my many cats which I keep in my house on the corner of the street. But nothing. Always nothing.
Now for something more positive.
I am thankful for Friend F, who is not someone I have talked to very much, but have coexisted with for more than five years - and in retrospect I have seen her cry, seen her laugh, seen her act badly towards others, and seen her act well towards others. I have seen her defend people, defend her friends and people she didn't even know; I've seen her grow as a person, grow from the shy little geek we all were back then to the confident, witty and intelligent, funny person she is today, but mostly, to pretty much summarize all of these things, I'd like to thank Friend F for restoring my faith in the human race once more, and for being forgiving and open when my closer, "better" friends couldn't be.
When I get these thoughts off of my chest, it's better. It's like saying - here, Internet, take my problems. I don't want them. I'm discarding them to the PTB and letting them run free in the wild where they belong. We simply shouldn't domesticate things that aren't meant to be domesticated.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)