Brother

  • For at least the past four years I've said that a likely needed criteria for any future partner would be that the individual have depression. While Laura actually wound up disagreeing with me, I've kinda felt like someone who hasn't suffered some large traumatic experience or dealt with long-term depression wouldn't quite understand, well, me.

    See, I had thought of this situation one time that, without any rational experience, made so much intuitive sense that I'm willing to stick by it. As if I experienced it myself, I guess. Basically, I feel that if I came to someone who hasn't had depression (or something similar), they would approach it like they need to fix it – which makes sense.

    Except (at least clinical) depression never goes away (or it's very rare). And, you know, being anti-social or wanting to pull away are things that will be constant. I don't know how to explain that listlessness that's all too common. Or how you even support that. And I just see that person becoming irritated over time.

    Yet someone who either has depression as well or knows it well enough would, simply, understand that situation. In a way that you could only understand if you've experienced it, they'd understand that you're not going to "solve" it, ever; you have to deal with it differently.

    Honestly, that's why I surround myself with people with depression, ED, SI, or any other mental disorder. I might say we're all people intimately acquainted with addiction, but I don't feel I'd find the same connection with an alcoholic (though that might just be my own ignorance).

    The point is, I feel more at home with them. We see the world differently, see things the world doesn't – they make more sense to me. And I'm not certain I'd be able to truly deal with my own depression without that connection. Because it's not going to be solved because it'll never go away – it needs to be understood, something so ingrained and intertwined into yourself, so attuned to your emotions.

     

     

    I enjoy hanging out with my siblings because sometimes it allows for those singular moments that I can escape to that aren't open in nearly any other facet of society. Sometimes it's just crass humor (or laughing at things because they're so odd or unconventional from the normal "social" means of behaving) to those moments where I'm reminded just how similar and in line in thought we are.

    My brother and I are in the basement around 9:30 P. M. and the dog's sleeping on my sleeping back with us. As my brother picks up some of his dishes to bring upstairs, he asks me, "Think we should put him in his cage for the night?"

    I respond, "Naw, wait 'til mom or dad yells at us. He's sleeping now, and I'd rather keep him by us."

    My brother goes, "Yeah, just 'cause…" and then hesitates before finishing with, "you like him, right?"

    We both simultaneously respond, "Yeah…"

     

    This is the first day in the last 2 and a half months that I've been actually happy or, at the very least, like there isn't some sort of weight around my neck.

    It will be gone tomorrow.

  • Some might remember, I wrote a post a while back on why I love my hometown (http://thirst2.xanga.com/730340644/item/). In that post, I mention this park. As my brother and I were bike riding over to the mall to get job applications, we happen to pass through there. While we stop to rest, I start (I forget for what reason or what triggered it) going on about how perfect the area is at night. And, of course, I'm going and going; "With the stars above. And then you've got the forest to the right and the lake to the left. And the air just smells amazing! And there's the moon. And across the lake the traffic just kinda hums in the background as the headlights go past -"

    "Alright, so let's go," he responds. "Later tonight."

    This is why I love him. Most people would have just let me rant or go on about this moment I'd really like to share with them because it was just so amazing for me so I want them to know what it's like. Or changed the subject as quickly as they could. He actually took me up on it.

  • I've often said I'm at least decent at reading people. That said, I've often felt short when trying to do so with my brother. In some ways I've always felt drastically close to my siblings. I've certainly always been intensely fond of them (bizarrely, I just noticed I don't talk about them much here; in person, I'd probably talk your ear off for an hour alone should you ask about them). And, all that said, I sometimes feel very distant from my brother.

    He can be very distant, at times. I'm somewhat familiar with that, being shy myself. But he has this way of being very intensely different, so as to almost be threating (which, admittedly, doesn't mean I don't do the same; I've had a decent amount of people tell me in the past that they had the strongest feeling that I didn't like them before a point, which doesn't even begin make sense, if you know me).

    I guess I always had the feeling that he liked me, well enough, but kinda looked down on me, thought me stupid in some capacities (admittedly, the boy does have some hubris, by my limited reckoning, but nothing that I couldn't see him ironing out over time; he has the mindset to continually better himself, something others could do well to adopt). In short, I'd've liked to get to know him better. It's not often I'm left literally wondering how the gears are turning in someone's head or how they even remotely approach things.

    Well, luck behold, we wound up discussing things a night or two ago. Wasn't in anyway played, just talking – jumping from topic to topic –, and we happened to start discussing habits of ours.

    Turns out we have a lot in common in that area. For example, we both seemed to've learned social interaction from scratch (an exhausting affair, but allows you to be conscious of every movement you make and why you make it – as well as being able to read others well). Turns out we both have depression, it seems; part of me wants to be happy because I relate to people with depression more, they tend to be more interesting, and I feel they understand me better (a topic to go over in another post); and, like he said, it's useful. Yet he's still got Hell ahead of him for it.

    So it was just nice, getting to know him better like that. I enjoy talking to him, not just because we tend to agree on a lot (though, admittedly, that's part of it), but also because he pushes me at times (particularly when I don't have an answer). I can usually count on him to be someone to bounce ideas against, to test them out and to see whether they weather against criticism. I guess you could say I trust quite heavily his reasoning and analyzing side.

    While I know my depression and know that it's not likely going to allow his presence be enough to establish a lasting salve to life, I tend to find that I thoroughly enjoy our times together – for both the way our personalities compliment each other and entirely because of who he is as a person. And for someone like myself seemingly so often detached from emotion, often having to logically piece why I should feel something rather than naturally doing so instinctively – well, that's a big deal.

  • I was going to say I've said before I really like discussions, about just anything, but I actually can't remember if I've really mentioned that here. I suppose it means little to say those statements considering there's probably only one person reading this thing still that's read it since even just high school (or knows me well enough to recognize the trait in me regardless of whether they've read it on here or not).

    Anyway, point is that I enjoy discussions. I like ideas and I like wrestling with concepts. Besides, as I know I've harped on over and over again before, I love personalities and any discussion is bound to tell you something about a person, let alone the argument the individual decides to take. Unfortunately, though, most people won't take you up on discussing a topic. Well, except maybe Connor, I'm finding more and more each time I talk to him.

    My brother, however, has the same kind of thirst for mental engagement that I do. The only real problem with this is that we tend to agree on most things, more often than not. So, often enough, our "conversations" turn into agreeing with how much we agree on a particular topic - or ranting, considering how much the topic infuriates us.

    The one thing we have continued to not agree on, however, is morality. I'm a moral absolutist, while he takes the route of moral relativism. I should, at this point, make clear that when I saw moral relativism, I do not mean of the kind that says, "In certain situations, certain moral concepts apply differently." For example, if you have the moral requirement You Shall Not Kill, that holds true if you just feel like killing someone but you would not be held guilty if you killed someone during the act of self-defense. Regardless the fact that any morality that's that rigid is idiotic (a debate we can pursue at a later time), that's not my brother's philosophy (or, at least, it might be but that would only be coincidental here). Rather, he believes that there is no real morality, only what people have decided as morality; in other words, what makes something particularly evil or good other than what people have said is good or evil? There's just things which are helpful to people or hurt people, not really morality.

    You might ask how we've come to such a concept (since it isn't, to my knowledge, the way most people think about morality). Basically, both my brother and I are secularists. So, if there is, indeed, a god, then ze dictates what is right or wrong. There, done. Morality in a nutshell. Of course, what if there isn't a god? Does morality go to shit? Can I go and steal anything I want? Can I commit adultery? Will the world IMPLODE?!

    Scary thoughts.

    As I said above, I would answer, "No." Morality is independent of god, I would argue. Being the religious one of the two of us, I'd in fact say that morality is dictated by god; the entire purpose of a god/gods dictating morality is because ze/they are supposed to watching over us. Of course, that in itself could lead on to many other fascinating discussions and then even more when you consider the concept of a god/gods not dictating a proper morality. However, I'll try not to splinter like I usually do.

    My brother, on the other hand, would respond that there, indeed, is no morality. I'd say I'm guessing at this point, but I imagine he would say that people would likely come together, realizing they dislike being hurt/whatever and then construct a society that matches this. And, what do you know, isn't that kinda what our society is like? I think he'd argue that the fact that there is no morality is not an invitation or argument for lawlessness but simply a statement of fact. How can something be good or evil unless something commands it to be so? I mean, what we fall back towards is having to define good and evil and then defining why particular actions are so, if they even are. Or maybe even more simply than that, why should we not kill someone? Why is it something we shouldn't do? What makes it, to counter my own argument, universally a thing we shouldn't do? After all, if such moors and concepts of good/evil change over time and from culture to culture, are they really as inherently bad as we see them now or are they only so terrible in our time, in our society?

    It's a hard argument to counter, I'll most certainly give him that. One, in fact, that I wasn't sure I could counter half the times we debated the topic. Yet, he pushed me to parse it out, and I believe I've come to a conclusive counter argument to bring our debate to a close. So, dear brother, here is my answer - hopefully for good (both he and I have a taste for hyperbolic language and winding and long speech too, I admit...).

     

    Let me start by saying that I think all human labels are social constructions. The world comes to us as is and then we make labels and containments for everything. However, that doesn't make everything any less real, right? This isn't a new concept and one we'd all readily recognize if we were to think of any time we've had a conversation with someone where we didn't define something the same way. "You define a hand as having five fingers? I simply call something a hand if it's able to hold something." Okay, the realism of my example is being stretched here. But it makes a very valid point. For humans, there physically is a thing, for most, which has five of what we call fingers and a very specific shape and make up. The particular specifics may vary (size, size of knuckle, etc.) but certainly something of a similar and universal makeup physically exists. As such, we've come up with a name for such an physical thing that, generally speaking, has five finds and is attached to what we call a wrist - a hand. The name may change, it may alter over time (due to evolution or otherwise), and it may have deformations, but it still is real, exists, and is actual.

    So, our labels can be used to define a specific thing. They can become more specific (for example, including size to specify Jill's hand) or less specific (to define an appendage), but they talk about something which is concretely real. Of course, they can become abstract and, as such, more subjective (do we consider a paw to be a hand as well or, at least, similar to a hand) but that does not remove the actuality of either a paw or hand. The words "paw" and "hand" simply are our way of defining these actual things.

    Of course, labels can sometimes be insufficient. When I say, "Race is a social construction," I guess I really don't mean that race doesn't exist. I simply think it's a poor thing to label. Yes, people have different skin colors. This is readily clear. But is it even useful to use such categorizations in this present day as "black" and "white" when so many are, for example, being multiracial? Or when we consider that just a century ago the Irish were considered to be "another race" before the concept of a monolithic "white race" was established? Or when some (I hate to point fingers, but here's looking at you Italians (or Greeks, really)) seem dark enough to be questionably "white"? Or perhaps we just have, for centuries of time, done a sloppy job of defining race, seeing as often things beyond just skin color are taken into consideration, such as nose size and shape or shape of jaw (yes, I'm going old-school racist here). Or how about the many ways ethnicity and race tend to be conflated (so that, for the longest time, I had no friggin' idea what either stupid thing was). Let's be honest - "race", whatever that ambiguous label is, is a poor means of measuring things.

    But that does not remove the existence of those physical things such as skin color or nose shape.

    Of course, these are all items we can literally grasp. What about abstract concepts? Do they function the same way? Well, is there an action that actually exists under the label of killing?

    Yes. Yes there is.

    So, here is my argument: perhaps morality is poorly defined. Perhaps the definition has changed from culture to culture. Perhaps the word didn't have any meaning to a particular culture but historians, recognizing certain trends in the culture that fit under their vague and general definition of morality, gave certains actions and customs this label in the history books.

    My point is, let's abandon the labels for a second. A very difficult and confusing way to talk about things, yes, but bear with me. So morality is undefined. We know things like jelly are already defined. So we can probably agree (assuming you don't want to redefine things at the moment) that morality isn't going to define anything like that. Likewise, certain abstract concepts are defined (such as the act of killing or the concept of philosophy or logic). So, we know that morality has to be defined as something specific generally. And, I would argue, we would find that (to be general enough) morality is always defined as (or at least pertaining to) the ways we should or should not act towards people. Should we do this or do that? Given the need to define both good and evil to include this definition, I won't say what is good or evil. But what we should or shouldn't do.

    Alright, workable definition. We're making progress.

    The next question, of course, is how do we make a decision about what we should or shouldn't do? And here, of course, is where we enter into many different wonderful arguments. Should it concern what allows a society to survive the longest? Should it pertain to how the action makes a person feel? Why or why not for all of these?

    And it is here that I will not provide some concrete example to guide us. After all, the question this argument is trying to settle is not "What should be the right morality?" but simply "Can there be a universal morality?". I will simply say that once a morality that guides what our actions should or should not be in daily life is chosen, we can move on.

    Of course, this still allows for multiple moralities, yes? I define morality one way, they define it a different way. Same problem we had at the beginning of this discussion.

    My argument is that such moralities would be first determined by the worthwhile-ness of their Whys. As I said above, "Should [morality] concern what allows a society to survive the longest? Should it pertain to how the action makes a person feel? Why or why not for all of these?" The Why. For example, you might argue that everyone's actions should focus around making you happy and only you, regardless of how it effects anyone else. However, you would probably have a difficult time justifying how that form of morality has any use for anyone else outside of you and how it makes any logical sense as pertanent to anyone else in terms of why they should or should not do certain actions.
    (you could probably ask why use enters into this discussion, to which I would counter back that morality would then have no point whatsoever if not to rest upon its use to you. Basically, why you should or should not do something either has no use that's derived from it or benefit or result and then it's basically pointless, or there's a reason we should do it, whether that reason be personal benefit for every individual or to keep the planet from dying, etc. But, as you can see, there needs to be some use or reason for its existance. We then decide which reason is the best)

    The Why decided, we must then commence with defining our basic actions (and then complex actions) around this particular focus of this morality. Of course, you could easily counter back that this isn't how morality generally works. Interesting concept. Does morality have to circle around a particular point? Or does it just have to instruct us on what to do and what not to do? Or, could that particular point simply be "God told us so"?

    And it is here that I must appease to logic. If you choose not to use logic, sure, fine. That's your personal choice. And if you choose to engage in a morality that does not follow logic, that - again - is your personal choice. But if you choose to transgress outside of a morality that follows logic, those who follow this logical morality are in the right to prosecute you since their morality has a purpose which is of some use (see argument two paragraphs above for each morality following logic having a use). "Why is theirs superior?" you might ask. And I would allow you to argue your case but, alas, that requires logic. And, were you to concede this and enter into logic to make you argument, you would instantly defunct your morality given that it does not adhere to logic and therefore fails in logic.

    So, working within the confines of logic, we can agree that something which follows logic must have a justification for why it works. Given that we defined morality as what we should or should not do, our morality should focus around some reason for our actions which justifies that basic tenant (what we should or should not do), likely found in the Why.

    So, back to two paragraphs ago: we must then commence with defining our basic actions (and then complex actions) around this particular focus of this morality. And the final justification to clear out any conflicting points is that our morality must follow logic too. Therefore, having a commandment "You shall not kill" and yet also having a commandment to kill anyone born with only one leg just for the Hell of it would not make sense and, therefore, be defunct in a morality. Given that moralities should have a specific purpose, such illogical points should be striken. We might also argue, then, that there isn't a satisfiable reason as to kill people with only one leg. Perhaps it doesn't match the purpose of the morality (really, the purpose of all moralities, given that only one would be chosen after logically assessing all of the Whys for the various moralities).

    If we do that, we must logically come to an all encompassing morality that reaches a point. Even if there are some things we decide people can individually decide whether to do or not to do, we are still agreeing that it isn't something that should be repremanded either way. Every action is chosen whether or not to be looked down on or not. By logical deduction, we can come up with a completely superior morality.

    And this is what we mean by an absolute morality. It is a morality that makes complete sound sense logically and that answers the only question that morality can point to (of course, it doesn't matter if our word for morality changes for the question is still there and can be answered, as I explained at the beginning of this).

    An absolute morality exists, Quod Erat Demonstrandum.

  • My brother once said that things got better around at home when I left for college; there was less arguing. Which wouldn't surprise me. I'm driven by logic. My mother rarely uses logic. There was tension; there was clashing.

    So, as we were sitting at this party today, I found myself once again trying to push how far they were willing to actually think.

    I honestly don't remember how it started. But it wound up in me mentioning my major peeve: that the government actually treats suicide as a criminal offense. As I believe I said, "It's preposterous that I do not have control over the most – the most – personal thing in my possession; no one should have the right to say whether or not I wish to terminate my own life." My parents, of course, chose to differ.

    Of course, they both pointed out that a person who commits suicide isn't thinking about those around them, that they know, who will miss them (not always the case, but I got what they were getting at).

    Of course, that's not quite how they put it. I think it was, "It's a completely selfish act."

    So, I retorted instead of bothering to say it in a way that may logically convince them, "If those that know him or her can't bother to take a moment to consider what would drive him or her to take his or her own life, then it's them who are the selfish ones for putting their own feelings ahead of the suffering of him or her." Of course, I think this is a logical enough argument, but it doesn't suit in an emotional discussion.

    To which the other often-made argument was made – there's always another answer. You know, Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

    They told me the same thing in Health class Sophomore year of high school. For my response paper I wrote that such a mentality was insulting in its simplicity and solved nothing. Never a permanent problem? Talk about arrogance.

    In any case, their argument was that life is too precious. It's too great to just give up and that "those people" are clearly not in the right state of mind and just need to be held over until they get it. So often I want to actually believe that.

     

     

    So, I was kinda stuck. Haven gotten out my retort, how do I honestly make them understand this situation? See, I know I'm kind of being an asshole as I write this right now. Sarcastic and dismissive, I'll be surprised if you've tolerated my writing thus far.

    But I don't often claim to be right in things. I'll usually claim I might know better, but I almost always admit I could be wrong. My ideas now aren't what they were 2 years ago. I change, I get proven wrong. I value humility and try to live up to such an ideal.

    But when I think I'm right? I don't bother with being nice about it. Because my entire life is motivated by the treatment of others. And if you disrespect that – well, I don't respect you. And, of course, I tend to write about when I'm certain I'm right on xanga more than those moments where I think I'm wrong.

    See, I've been through too many suicide talks to particularly want to hear someone else lecture me on the subject. I've talked close friends up and down the depression situation and, well, there's something kind of sobering about being told that they've decided to swallow the pills anyway, despite everything you've tried saying for the past two hours. And there's something about not being able to do anything about it.

    But what's even more sobering is trying to come up with words to even mount an argument when she's just looking at the bruises up and down her arms.

    Or that dead feeling inside that just eats at you. See – it almost feels ridiculous saying it – I've got it lucky. Suicidal periodically throughout the year, anxiety that I can barely publicly control some days becoming more and more frequent, an inability to ever get enough sleep, and a diet that's been so badly thrown off that I don't want to eat half the time and the other half finds me hungry at the most inappropriate of times, and I've got it lucky.

    Because I am operational almost all the time. I still know what it's like to be happy a majority of the day and I actually haven't attempted suicide in 4 years or so, plus I've never actually done any serious attempt to boot.

     

     

    But I honestly don't think all of that really gets at how it feels to realize that you aren't really sure how to mount an argument for living for some people.

    So I found myself going back to something I had heard at a talk at college last year or so. The exact facts might be off but the general idea is what to take away.

    In 1950, upper class whites felt that there was equality amongst the races and that anyone could successfully move up or down economically if they wanted to.

    In 1950.

    Now, these probably weren't all KKK members. They were probably the average Joe or Jane, who didn't see the problems others were facing in their communities (even if those people, blacks, weren't in their communities to begin with) and, so, assumed, those problems must not exist. Same way people view equality today. It's the way privilege works.

    And it's how this works.

    Of course life is precious to you. And, for you Mom, there probably is another answer.

    But I can honestly say that I don't fear death these days anymore. I'm not bothered if I died tonight. Slightly saddened, maybe, but not bothered. It's, really, just another path to take.

    Because, while I'm not counting on committing suicide any day soon and would choose to live than otherwise, I'm not fully convinced that living is the smarter, more sane, or less painful choice.

    At the end of the day, my reasoning is that if the end will be waiting for me no matter what and it'll be the same no matter what, why not make the most of this? It's waiting for me. I'll get there. I've only got this life for so long.

    And that's good reasoning. But that doesn't make living better. It hinges on me not knowing which will be better in the end.

    And so I don't fear death.

    And, yes, it'll be terrible that my friends and family should have to suffer my going. For those who've seen far too many suicides than I'd like them to (not to mention those I've talked out of suicide numerous times...), it'd be awful.

    And maybe it helps that I think we're going to the same place in the end, so I'm not really bothered (though I am saddened) if either of us go early.

    Maybe it's my pesky emotional distance (whether I want it or not) cropping up again, though I doubt it.

     

    Or maybe it's the simple fact that happiness...it's so brief for me. It's great and all. And, as people say, isn't worth it? But I find myself, as the days go on, taking after those who live in the moment. Enjoy it. Find it precious. Look forward to it.

    But it's just a moment.

    See, happiness is fleeting for me. It doesn't last. It can't. My "normal" is set on depressed. Happy moments are like shooting stars. Was it great? You betcha. Would you take it back? No way. Can you survive off of the thrill of seeing shooting stars?

    No.

     

    Do I think life should be given a shot?

    YES.

    I think it should be given every shot. Follow my logic I gave you above. I'd rather go through life and say at the end, "That SUCKED – but I made the most of it, no regrets."

    But it is selfish and arrogant to assume that it's so easy for everyone as "It's just a temporary problem."

    No.

    I've seen pain I never want to look upon again – not from myself but other people suffering through it. And I wish, I so wish, I could just swoop in with the answers. But I don't have the answers.

    So don't tell me that living is the better choice. Only that person knows that. And, regardless of who's right or personal opinions, they should always get to make that choice themselves.

    To quote the Suicide FAQ, "The most basic difference in opinion between me and those who have mailed me telling me I'm a monster, seems to be that they think that death is an inherently Bad Thing, while I don't."

    But that's neither here nor there. This isn't really about my own opinion or stance. Point is, it's their life and their own suffering.

    You don't get to make that choice.

  • Kinda weird thinking I'm going back in a matter of 5 or so days. It'll be an interesting year, I'm sure (largely due to the five classes I'll have). In theory, I'll have gotten a better placing this year (socially and otherwise). Of course, it wasn't really until Junior year of high school that I got myself pretty settled. Some things just take time, with which I'm fine with. There's a slew of things on campus I'm involved with that I can't wait to dive into again.

    I've got a single room this year, so no roommate to have to manage. Plus, my previous no-window, small room got switched for a senior single. Which is nice.

    We'll see how it goes.

    Tomorrow I'm going to stop by the old high school GSA for the last time. It's somewhat astounding how far it's come. Yeah, yeah, I know, I've talked about this a million times. Suppose it's a final goodbye to everyone, as well. I need to do a bit of packing next week - joys....

    It's really been an uneventful day. I stayed up far too late wanting to watch A.I.: Artificial Intelligence but YouTube were taking far too long to load. Maybe tomorrow.

    After waking up, me and my brother watched Mary Poppins and The Great Mouse Detective (fantastic movie). I love doing things with just my brother, because often enough what we enjoy we agree on. Mary Poppins has never been more amusing. Too many moments where we just looked toward each other and burst out laughing.

  • I was looking through some of my old entries and I came upon this one. Not entirely accurate (or so it feels now). As it says, my life seems so much to work in circles. Nonetheless, it's an interesting aspect of myself I had forgotten. Even if I don't quite feel that emotional detachment any more, it has been there before and says a bit about myself. Depressing, though. You have been warned. Hmm, I feel like I ought to do a few more uplifting entries. Can't say I haven't, though, lately. Nice change of pace. I need an entry with a bit more importance, though. I will sign to that. From May 16ʰ of last year:

    I'm seein' demons, hittin' weed
    Got me hearing screams
    Scared to go to sleep, watch the scene like a dope-fiend
    Probably be punished for it - though you can't ignore it
    I live the life of a thug, nigga, and die for it
    Niggaz pass the cush and watch me bring 'em to the floor
    I got some shit that they ain't ready for
    {What you got?} I got the Secrets of War...
    -2Pac

    There is a connection.

    In a random section, I came across this story online which is a poem about the view of life from a vampire's view point. The first line I saw was, "All I feel is pain," and my immediate thought was, "Great, it's Emo." Word of advice to the author - go gothic. Totally a better subculture. Take a goth's word for it.

    Now, onto what I did today. Piano lessons. They went quickly I need to practice a bit more, but 15 min. a night ought to suffice. So, afterwards, I go for a walk, as I always do. I think I hurt my feet during it all, but oh well. There's this great park, not far out of downtown Evanston (or at least as downtown as Evanston can get). You always get to see kids and parents around there. It's nice to observe it all. I've always loved kids. And something about parks always just gets me.

    So I'm swinging as I always do, listening to 'Pac songs. For some reason, I had this sudden resurgence of interest in him. Nonetheless, I'm thinking about lyric and song ideas, going over theories, beats, messages, etc. for future use for the eventual concept album I've talked about before. Hmm, how do I do this now.

    Well, I'll start with, as I've said before, I dislike emotions. Me and my emotions are on tolerating terms. Without them, life looses all meaning. Yet they are so faulty and impure, they just irritate me. Emotions aren't the exact opposite of logic, but they are no where near it either. They're confusing, often mixed, not always right, and unrestrained (other than, surprise, by logic). Probably partially because I am an incredibly logical thinker, I've sort of distanced myself from them. They're no use to me unless (often but not always) in extremes. So, I tend to find, I'm kinda estranged from them. Which can, obviously, be kinda problematic.

    I'm a logical thinker. Someone's hurt. You comfort them. Why? Because that's the right thing to do. In fact, if emotions ever factor into that, it'd be you comfort them so they aren't hurt, because that's when my emotions kick in and I feel terrible. Otherwise, it's purely logic thought process.

    So, generally when it comes to pets I worry if I actually felt anything for them or if they just amused for the time being. I know I didn't shed a tear or feel all too remourseful when the family's second hamster, Pudgey, died. Don't get me wrong - I loved Pudgey. But maybe I just didn't have the emotional energy for remourse. I liked him, but things die. Let's move on with life.

    So, shifting focus to my amazing guinea pig, Almond Joey, it did kinda catch me off guard for my reaction to him. He was moving around his cage one time and I happened to notice there's this crap growing around his eye. Now, Almo's rarely sick. And my immediate reaction (because he is old and getting kinda thin, for a guinea pig) is, "Somthing is wrong." And I flip. Not loudly or making a big scene, but I immediately start mutter, "No, no, no, no..." and take him out, pull him close, kinda just cradle him for a while. I then immediately move to taking the crap out of his eye as I almost silently pray that nothing is wrong with him, possibly (if I never stopped myself from crying nearly every time) able to be moved to tears. That was a while ago. I do think he's going blind, but he's still kicking so far, thankfully.

    Point of all that? Well, there was a thought process I came upon sitting on those swings which was, well, extreme, but that would explain why I felt it. It was towards one of our old dogs, Lady Rose. We got the dog as a baby, a female golden retriever. I liked the dog. She was nice enough. So, naturally, my mother took responsibility of training her.

    Now, for those who don't know my mom. She's not a patient person. And, no matter what else she may do, she's not someone who's willing to sacrifice, all too often, things that give her comfort or benefit for the sake of anyone else. Leading to many, sometimes violent, arguments between my parents.

    So, obviously, potty training a dog is not easy. It's difficult and takes work. My genius mother gets very frustrated. And, as she did on me and my siblings some years ago, she took this out through anger.

    I remember waking up one morning, kinda out of it, wanting to sleep further (as usual). And as I'm slowly zoning back into my surroundings, I notice there's some noise in the background. And I realize, it's yelping. The dog had a habit of barking when in the cage. My mother had headed down to there and was beating the dog. Lady Rose, God bless her sole, was always a stoic dog. Maybe due to receiving an abuse from a young age. Either way, she's just taking it, only making noises when she's hit. After my mom's done, she just tells her, "You piece of shit," as she closes the cage.

    I think the best was when she tries this in the middle of the day in the garage and me and my brother sneak to there and slowly open the door. She notices and immediately is smiling like there's nothing wrong. We ask why she has this stick in her hand and she just says she was playing fetch with the dog. Right.

    And those entire times, I just kinda blocked it out. I was infuriated. It doesn't take much reason to not see there's a serious problem here. But other than that, I just took it. I really couldn't do much, nothing that would disrupt everything in our lives and that moment and may have fucked over more than just Lady Rose.

    And that was probably due to the fact, we were raised not to care. If you cared, you wouldn't survive. You'd tear yourself apart watching the injustices in that household. You had to learn to block it out and just deal with it. Accept what was wrong.

    And as I'm swinging there, I just start to think what that was like for her, knowing partially what it had been for me when younger. And I can imagine her, still just a kid, crammed in this confined place, no where to run (and probably wouldn't even know to run if she could), just getting layed into, ribs smashed over and over again, and having no clue as to why - just knowing it was happening. And, probably for the first time since having that dog (or at least since relistening to the tape I recorded. It's a recording of my mom yelling at the dog, threatening to kick my dad out of the house, and my sisters just bawling and begging my mother while my mom just ignores her, shoving her off to the side, at some point) I feel this utter remorse and actually want to release these emotions. I don't, obviously. I'm in a public area.

  • So, once more, I've come after the fact (almost a year by now), but I finally got Slipknot's most recent album. I hope it's good. It's been a really long while, I've realized, since I've listened to anything all that heavy (I haven't even touched any thrash metal in ages, for whatever reason; and thrash is hardly that heavy...). Maybe I'll just blast black symphonic metal (i.e. Cradle of Filth) for the rest of the day to make up for lost time...

    Applied for a position at PetSmart last night. We'll see if I get the job. Probably would be best for me - gets me out, bicycling everyday, and gives me something to do. Hmm...I could probably still go out now...it's weird that it's only gotten relatively sunny the past couple of days only around 3:30 to 5 o'clock in the evening. Otherwise it;s just grayish overcast (which I love, don't get me wrong, but it's been too chilly and not all that enticing to go biking around in for extended periods of time). I could take a wack at reading some more, with the time I have. There's probably a slew of things I could do I always want to and never have time to that I won't do. It's scary how much time flies the older you get. An hour seems like so short a time period these days (and more frightening when it does turn out to be as short as you expected...).

    In other news, I'm checking out the local churches (for once) since my parents refuse to go on Sundays (largely because our usual is all the way in Evanston, an hour drive away; plus they always feel this need  to go dressed their "best"; I'm showing up in jeans, thank you). There's a Protestant one that's only 5 minutes away on bike and a Catholic one within the same time frame. I don't know the times for the former, but the latter has one Mass time at around 12 (perfect). I'll check both out, of course. Plus there's one all the way by PetSmart, so of course I'll take a look at that one as well. Don't know its denomination, though.

    Nothing much else to say. I better head out now, if I want to at all. Oh, Grandma's with us for a bit. My brother bought a hamster, too. Not the smartest little thing, but what more do you expect from a hamster (he was running in circles for hours, so I caught him and placed him on the second floor of his cage so he could realize it was there (his food is there, so it's kinda important). After pausing for a second, he tried to run in circles again and ran clear off the floor. I don't think he realized there wasn't floor there...)? I may post pictures later. The one mega cool thing he does is he knows how to climb up the walls of the cage. Poor guy hasn't realized this makes it easier for me to catch him yet....

    EDIT: In recent news, Rebecca Tauber's back! Give her a welcome home. I've missed that girl.

  •       Another thing that used to rile me but which I afterwards enjoyed was his complete indifference and, almost, disdain for my appearance. Never, either by word or look, was there a hint that he thought me pretty: on the contrary, he would make a wry face and laugh when people complimented me on my looks in front of him. He took a positive pleasure in picking out my defects and teasing me about them. The fashionable clothes in which Katya liked to dress me up and the way she did my hair for festive occasions only provoked his mockery, mortifying the kind-hearted Katya and at first disconcerting me. Katya, having made up her mind that he admired me, was quite unable to understand his not liking to see the woman he admired shown off to the best advantage. But I quickly came to see what was behind it. He wanted to be sure that I was devoid of vanity.[...]My hair, my hands, my face, my ways - whether good or bad, it seemed to me he had appraised them all at a glance and knew them so well that I could add nothing to them[...]. I felt that from whatever angle he saw me, whether sitting or standing, with my hair up or down, all of me was known to him and, I fancied, satisfied him. If, contrary to his practice, he had suddenly told me, as other people did, that I was beautiful, I believe I should have been anything but pleased. But, on the other hand, how happy and light-hearted I would feel when, after something I had said, he would gaze at me intently and say in a voice charged with emotion which he would try to hide with a humorous note:
          "Yes, oh yes, there is something about you. You're a fine girl, that I must admit."
    -Happy Ever After, Leo Tolstoy, pages 25-26

    I'll readily admit, for those that know me, opening as I just have is no surprise. I ought to probably note that there's more going on in that passage and I took what I needed and liked from it (though that often does happen when you take but a piece from a larger work). It's a disheartening piece, for they go from a practically idyllic love to something I would regard as settling; yet I know what Tolstoy meant to say with it. In any case, I suppose I ought to get to the point of this entry sometime soon...

    We (myself, siblings, and mother) were sitting in the car before a doctor's appointment and the conversation came about to when my parents first dated. I believed this happened because it was prefaced by me and my brother noting she wasn't a virgin her wedding night (partly to point at the hypocrisy of her abstinence only stance - though, as most know, I'm very pro-abstinence while my brother is on the fence since last I talked to him - and also to bother her since we have no issue of talking about sex while, for her, it depends on her mood and situation; more than often, it's amusing uncomfortability). So, she notes that the first time she met my dad was at Market Fax (crudely referred to as Market Fags due to the amount of Queer people that often worked there); she, of course, doesn't bother to mention the FTM transsexual who happen to set them up together (honestly, for a straight couple, my parents had the gayest adolescence when they dated; I should have a post dedicated to when they went out sometime).

    We ventured into what is essentially the same stories we've heard a million times before, though I enjoyed hearing them anyway. Stuff like the first time my dad tried to pick my mom up for a date and how she thought he had a cute butt when they worked at Market Fax. Of course, I can't help but note that the cute butt line comes at the expense of her now current (continual) detractions of his appearance now (as if he could magically hold back the pressings of time all on his own) or the detractions she levies towards my siblings and myself. However, I enjoy these stories because they give some color or background to these people who I've had to basically sever as well as I can from my life. Talking the past (i.e. before I was born) was always something rarely done so that I don't know much of my ancestors or my parents' life before hand. And, for someone who obsesses about the past and loves history as much as myself, this is a travesty. More so, though, I think I like to think there was a time when they were in love.

    Of course, that sentence implies they aren't in love now. Which I think could be accurate enough of a statement. Or at least not a healthy love. Their communication is terrible. They constantly insult each other (and then wonder why the other ones gets pissed off). They're fantastically selfish (which is an obvious no-no in a relationship). And they aren't there for each other anymore. I mean, of course, I'm talking from an outside view; and while they've told me their own woes about the other from their very own mouths (and I stumbled across a few journal writings of my dad's on accident one time), for the most part I am speaking from an outside view. I readily admit this. Yet they don't even seem interested in each other. Being young and hopeful and, possibly, naïve, I have very idylic perfect ideas of love. Given that, I'm will to argue (from my very unexperienced viewpoint) that there is merit to them and no reason to believe they can't exist or happen. So I lament dearly at the fact my parents never seem to really talk beyond the day to day stuff. They own interactions are built on the jobs they have to do for the day. I rarely see them (even when they're unaware I'm viewing them) interact in a way outside of what chore needs to be done. Even their kiss when they see each other is done as if it's another thing in the schedule. And their laments never end....

    And so I'm reminded of Junior year. I believe we were talking about the relationship I had at the time and we happen to come to trust. I'll admit, rather assuredly, I said that I'd trust Victoria (Mendez) with my life, to which my mother objects with the style of one sympathetically correcting one she knows to be inexperienced (I've said this story before, if it's sounding familiar). She then proceeds to tell me that she rarely trusts anyone. She specifically says she doesn't trust my sister to sleep over my uncle's house for fear he may touch her (out of the ordinary, that is to say). She even (I almost want to say boasts) didn't trust my father for the first few years after they were married (and she wonders why I object to dating a total of 2 years (or less) only before marrying). Now, I understand worrying about making poor choices on the behalf of others for fear of failing them. How do you possibly look at yourself again after essentially sending your daughter to rape (though I can't imagine distrusting my brother that badly; might say something about her childhood and their relationship)? 

    But for myself? I've suffered too much to put myself through more. Yes, you might hurt yourself - you can hurt yourself in many ways. But to live a life of isolation such as hers? You never hurt but you can see what the results are - a marriage which is empty and soulless. I've only loved once but (all relationships included) I could tell you exactly what caught my eye about the girls worth remembering. And I'll admit, while not every person I've dated was exactly "utterly rapturing and fascinating" (or exactly worth remembering...), those of real worth not only are remembered but make a "physical" mark in my own development. As I've said somewhere on here before, a relationship should ideally (particularly if it doesn't succeed) create a far more strong bond between the two people and a deeper appreciation for each other (which I'm not properly describing right now, nor seem to be able to). And, no, that's not love. If my actual assumptions of love are correct, they're a shadow of what it is. But it is and should be related to it. You don't get even the slivers of love if you don't open yourself to it. And, yes, that means many possibilities of things which you probably don't want. But that's life. To be honest, I think there's only two people in this world I trust wholly and fully without a doubt (at this point in my life). But to shut the door with a, "Well, that's all that's probably possible in this lifetime," may be one of the biggest mistakes I could make.

    Ay, what point was I making.... I guess I was just waxing over the idea of Love in general (though particularly in relation to my parents). Thinking about it now, there's probably too much (or a good deal I've said before) which I wouldn't even know how to get into from this frame point. Yeah, I think I've said my thoughts on love before rather well in the past, right?

  • So, yesterday I visited all my old friends at my old high school.

    Today I woke up. I brushed my teeth.

    I skipped breakfast, I believe.

    I was told to shower and fix my room several times.

    I started playing with my sister, then we made bagels with butter.

    Later I went to my brother's hockey game. I held the door for several people while my brother was getting his blades sharpened.

    I watched the game; it was really close. Carmel won, 3 to 2 (alright, Nathan).

    We went home, looking for Taco Bell and McDonald's along the way to get food for the family.

    Now I'm back home, typing on Xanga. Could you please tell me - what exactly about my "lifestyle" is so incredibly intolerable?