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.

This whole "sleeping" and "doing things on time" thing I need to get better at....

 

So, I was doing a quick update look on everyone before heading to bed and happened to be looking through some icons from http://ycant-heloveme.xanga.com/. As I was looking, I had one of those moments where you have a familiar feeling, often that was associated with something particular.

For whatever reason (okay, that's slightly stupid to say; most of the icons had, in some fashion, something to do with "love" but that it was this particular feeling that arose struck me by surprise), it was that feeling of being in a relationship you're eager to be in, that's important and dear to you, yet you really don't know how long it'll last, that apprehension and blatant chance.

It was weird. I guess the best way to explain is that I knew it'd take a while so I decided to put on something to listen to.

Largely due to my sister wanting it, I had recently gotten Michael Bublé's "Haven't Met You Yet". If you haven't heard it yet, it's this ridiculously upbeat and optimistic song. I know that my cousin seems to find my high critique of art these days as a strain of pretentiousness, but the song is optimism in the fashion that only Pop could mass produce. While undeniably catchy (and, I'm learning, rather impressive in terms of the instrumentation), it basically widdles down the pursuit for a mate to the notion that, in the end, everything will be okay because (unfailingly) the right person will come along in the end - he just hasn't met them yet.

So, I put this on for a little ear candy as I finish up my update checking. And almost immediately the mood was killed. 

Well, odd. I've used upbeat songs for browsing depressing icons late at night while feeling utterly awful to good use before. Why should it not work this time? The mood certainly wasn't a depressing one. It was ticklingly pleasant, actually.

So, I stop the song and go back over those icons, seeing if I can get back the feeling.

Well, yes, it was definitely a happy feeling, even if slitheringly so. It was one of hope, most definitely. That kind of impending apprehension, as I said before; like you know you're possibly entering something really fucking great, and you're eager to begin.

Yet there was something else there too. Like I said, apprehension. A hesitance, an almost fear.

As I said above, "you really don't know how long it'll last, that[...]blatant chance." And yet...

I wasn't turned off by this notion.

Which, really, was beyond odd to me. Loss, in most cases, is not considered a good thing by the sane-minded. Naturally, security in that you won't lose something tends to go with that.

It was in the way I was just reading the icons, really, that gives it away. Just look at that last icon, reread that first sentence as if you don't know what the answer will be. And yet the entire time you know that, hey, just possibly, it's likely the answer you want it to be.

And that high so drives you, despite you knowing it could decide to kick itself out from under you when it pleases. Against your instinctual judgement, you pursue after it.

But it's also that returned act. That feeling when they respond, when they actually respond to that request for a kiss, when you actually take that chance and it happens to work out as you wanted.

It's that concept of trust - and, shit, that someone actually cared enough to do as you trusted them to. It's an astounding feeling. And, really, far more accurate a one than "Haven't Met You Yet" gets at (I can only guess that this was the reason the mood dissipated as soon as I started playing the song). I've said this before in an adequate enough way, but I seem to find it important enough to repeat (or I wouldn't have bothered to write this post (admittedly, I nearly decided I didn't need to)): no, you have no guarantee that she or he will be magically waiting for you before the end; Hell, you have no guarantee that you'll even end up with someone you'll be happy with.

Again, I will strongly argue, the really cool and amazing and arresting (and terrifying and mind-fucking) thing about relationships is that concept that suddenly half of the control is just gone. It's not just you anymore – you have to rely on someone else's actions.

Now, of course, it's a little easier to look back fondly on this concept from the perspective of it working (i.e. these icons I've listed above). It's far less pleasant to speak kindly of this trust concept when it turns out that it didn't work, that the relationship is actually ending (whether in flames or calmly).

Yet it's really not fully avoidable. Any relationship you enter – it probably won't work out. You're almost amusingly naïve if you think otherwise. And, to be frank, you're childish if you think that every break up will absolutely be their fault; only my mother seems to find that the actual act of breaking up is a crime. People are allowed not to like you.

And yet – I like that feeling. For all its risks, it's likelihoods of falling through – there's absolutely something about taking that risk on someone, of actually feeling like such a myriad of possibilities as a successful relationship might possibly work out for you. It's that, "Hey, they returned my affection –they're interested in me," surprised fuzziness.

To be honest, it's far more satisfying a feeling than the notion that someone is out there who is right for you, you've just got to wait along enough.

Sure, I've got more at stake – but, like I've said many many times before (and probably will many many times throughout the rest of my life), the personality is so fascinating a thing. And the emotions and complexity of the human is all too endearing. Resting that trust in someone and all the many many things that means and the many many things that goes with that risk – I'd much rather have that.

Random things about me:

Listening to heavy metal through ear phones will always put me to sleep, just about. I love metal, but, if I'm not moving, there's just something absolutely lulling about it.

There's something so incredibly comforting about the night (when I'm not plagued with depression or stress). I love the morning (which is why I've been actually bothering to try to wake up earlier this year), but there's something regally gorgeous about the night.

I think I've almost fully lost faith in most of humanity - but this time I'm alright with that.

I really, really like quotes, even after all this time. Which doesn't make sense because all sorts of mishaps happen when you take things out of context like that - background is always direly important. But I still use them almost compulsively.

I really like contradictions. That's why, for example, both The Exorcist and Show Me Love are my favorite movies. There are some parts of The Exorcist that are just bad. Some of the acting still cracks me up in how over the top it seems, the violence is so rediculous sometimes to the point of me not able to take it seriously, and some of the choice of music and placement of that music is pathetic in how beating-you-over-the-head it is. Show Me Love is meant to be more like a home movie than a professional move in its film-work  so it's often incredibly awkward. Some of the actions of the characters are just funny in how bizarre they are. Yet both have these awesome themes and metaphors through them. Plus The Exorcist just nails so many parts, in terms of acting and what the characters are saying. They both basically cover all the bases, from dry humor (in part because of how ridiculous they sometimes are - I love awkward humor) to drama to fantastic filmwork to metaphors. It's a conglomorate mess that shouldn't work - and yet it does.

I would know I found the right girl if she proposed to me instead of the other way around, I almost definitely want to adopt in the future, and I'm completely okay with being securely lower middle class. All of these things about me terrify my mother.

I occasionally feel pathetic and selfish when my depression disables me to do anything or I feel unmotivated to do stuff because I know others have it so much worse than I do.

On the flip side of that, my dad was talking to me about my major a couple days ago, and I was explaining why, while I love history, I could never do it as a major; see, part of this is that you have to search through a ton of books and do research before a paper for history while English only requires wrestling with one text in a completely thorough fashion, which allows for a deeper and more thorough look through the text and I'm better at that than what I would have to do for history. My father thinks this means that I chose English because it's easier; he says as much with utter disgust. Well, one, no. I just explained what it was for you guys. However - so what if it was? You see, my dad also finds it so irritating and incapable of judging his oldest son for the fact that I'm slower at getting things done and put things off. Ignoring that fact that he can't let so trivial a thing such as the means I get things done (it's not like they don't get done) not get in the way of how he views and treats me, let me put it this way - I go suicidal periodically throughout the year. He should be happy I'm still breathing to this day. You see, I have to monitor what I do, when I do it, and how I do it because something as simple as doing something when I really don't feel like dealing with work can mess up my entire emotional well being for the day. Yes - I take a while to do things. I have to take a while to do them. For my well-being. To be honest, I'm not apologizing to my parents, ever, for how I've lived my life. Every choice I've made were well-thought-out, logical choices which I had to make in the face of their oppressive (in, honestly, places that didn't even begin to affect them, so I don't understand why they felt the need to intrude upon my autonomy), immature, and selfish "parenting". I've done things I regret - how I raised myself will never be one of them.
(sorry for dumping that on you guys, but I've needed to say something about that incident for a while now)

I just dropped my laptop off my bed; thankfully, it's okay.

I still have some of the coolest friends in the world.

I honestly can't take what little I've heard of Like Water From Chocolate by Common Sense seriously. It keeps sounding like he's trying to combine street rap (so saying purposely inappropriate things and trying to be "real") and political rap (so talking about revolutions and caring about the black community, etc.). He sounds like a fool; I may have lost nearly all respect for him from this album alone (though I still need to listen to the album more fully to really be able to speak on it; "6th Sense" off the album is nearly flawless, though).

I really want to get another rodent - and soon. I miss constantly caring about something, anything/anyone.
Thanks for the picture, Rachael

 

Btw, if it so interests any of you: http://www.themixtapeexchange.co.nr/

 

We should start a campaign against those with piercings. Or those who choose to wear all black. And those with high cholesterol.

One of the things I try to keep in mind when I write my public minded entries (in other words, generally, those which aren't directly about myself) is what voice I use. No one wants to listen to someone yell at them (completely understandably). Should I choose a more sympathetic tone? Couch the post in "we" pronouns rather than talk, visibly, from my point of view? Or should I not even use my words - just a picture to make the point; I'll let the rest of you take what you will from it.

I always thought that there were certain topics and ideas that we as a society (or, at the very least, we as a generation) had already discussed and settled. Example? Racism. We've been through that argument, all of our schools taught us it's evil. If you are a rational and non-past-bound individual, this is not an issue. We may discuss the slighter nuances of it, but I shouldn't find, one day, the majority of people engaged in the discussion of whether those of Japanese descent are inferior to those of Greek descent. It just shouldn't happen. Really.

Well, Xanga seems content on proving me otherwise. Now - when I'm talking about something I believe in, I get passionate. I admit this. My favorite thing I've written on here (with the exception of my last post) is that Mommy Dearest post I did a bit back about my mom. Logical and calculated, it backs up the points it makes while imbued by enough appropriate and justified anger. Now, I'm not advocating for anger, I assure you. But I do think it's appropriate to get passionate about what you feel strongly in. So long as you can back the reasoning, mind you.

However, as I said before - does that get people to listen? Even if justified, if I'm trying to get others to see something, will I make them listen in my passion about the subject? Or is there something I'm missing. Someone "rec"ed this Xanga entry that I then happened to read: http://manstration.xanga.com/716572761/take-a-good-look-at-yourselves/. While there are a lot of things I like about it, you may notice one continual theme through out it. It points out our flaws. We. You. Ironic.

One of the things they tell you in advertising (even advertising about civil rights, etc.) is to make it about those watching. Seems a little off, in a way. I should talk about you to get you to do something for them? And, it seems, it doesn't even matter which arguments you use. As far as it goes, if people don't already have an investment in the subject and it isn't about them, they're not likely to care.

A week ago I came across a "brilliantly" titled entry called Since When is Being Overweight Being "Real"?

To be honest, I'm old school (and by old school, I mean largely influenced by the civil rights movement of the 50s and 60s that so dominates our society to this day). I expect that I simply have to state the wrongs that a certain people suffer and I'm going to be able to motivate people. Change things? Start making the problem aware so that other caring people converge together to get a large enough movement to change things.

As far as I can understand, the arguments of the before mentioned Xanga entry is that obese people don't deserve the same respect as others because

• It's unhealthy
• That being obese should be normalized is a travesty worth a busted blood vessel
• There's no reason to be obese and therefore any explanation there after is an excuse

Well, for one, a lot of health concerns are valid when it comes to being obese. There are those who are very actively fit, qualify as healthy as far as stats go - and still are massively overweight. I remember reading an article where a person constantly exercised yet didn't decrease in size - and was called a fat ass as they rode pass a restaurant on their bicycle.

Alright, fine, you seem to think it unhealthy? I ask you if there would be the same type of outcry for someone who happened to be thin and yet have high cholesterol. Would we, as complete strangers to this person, demand that they become more healthy because their unhealthy habits disgust us?

To be honest? I think the complaint stems from the fact that for many it just comes from that they don't like the visual. It doesn't agree with them - so change it. And yet - once again to be honest, I cannot how a personal choice like weight (for those who just don't exercise and happen to weigh a lot) seems to give you the idea that you can tell a person whether or not they should be it. Once again from some article I read, the writer had been getting stuff for a party and another woman just walked up to her and started putting the stuff back on the shelf from her hands, saying, "This stuff really isn't good for you." What?? Where do you think you get the right? Why do you get the specialized freedom to usurp my own autonomy in this pluralistic society?

Alright, once again, I probably haven't convinced you. So let me put it this way - would you take personal action towards another person and treat them differently for having piercings or for the way they dress? It may be a generational thing for me, but I grew up with that. Wearing all black or having a tattoo was a normal thing for me - though just a generation back, they would find it unacceptable. They would have treated the person differently. Far too many conversations I've had to have with my mother over not thinking of a boy as utter dirt for simply having long hair; oh, what a crime, no? I would like to think that most of us would find that ridiculous just for what clothing a person wears.

So how is that so different than the obesity of another person? Well, the thing that made the difference for those before mentioned groups was that the number of people who also did that or didn't mind it or found people with those traits appealing became more visible, more in number.

And, believe it or not, there are those who find "big women" attractive.

Is that still not enough to convince you why these ideas and behaviors toward the obese should be dropped? How about the effect it has on people, on our way of thinking?

I'm sure you've heard it before - we place too much on appearance (which is really far more complex than just what we weigh), etc. etc. blah blah blah. I'll save you it.

Instead, I'll introduce my sister Natasha. Natasha is 13-years-old. She's in eighth grade. She's got the usual worries - school, our mother, doing your daily tasks. Natasha also thinks she's fat; you see, she has large legs.

She spent most of this summer using my laptop's camera so she could take photos of herself for Facebook, making sure she got the right one just to make sure she has the right one. She wants to wear make up to beautify herself. She's been asked out by two boys just last year. And she happens to think she's ugly.

Have a sibling or someone you care about that you'd do anything for? Imagine my emotions as she's telling me she feels she's overweight.

Honestly, I think the issue goes further than just weight, as I've said and explained many times on here, but is it so bad that someone who you might not find attractive be thought of as alright? Hell, maybe even attractive?

Because the right thing would be to just not care. Instead, we demand to say that being overweight is ugly. But then it goes beyond that, into what we joke about and how we think and what our pop culture centers around and so much, much more. Or is Natasha's visions of how important her self worth is tied to her being photogenic not enough to convince you. For as superficial as my mom is, she always said Natasha was beautiful.

And I could end it there. But notice how the focus is away from the subject? It's on the girl who actually happens to not be obese. It allows you to sympathize because it doesn't cross the line of what so many seem to not want to hear.

And I'd like to say it's just the posters who happen to put forth these ideas, but I look down the comments and see far too many agreements.

Why is it so difficult for us to hear about people who we have no tie to, no need to defend, and still find that we should?
I should not have to listen to people trivialize rape.
I should not have to defend the equality of the female sex to the male sex.
I should not have to listen to people call anorexics selfish.
I should not have to do the same for those who self-injure.

These are things that should be second nature to us people! Call it being politically correct, call it being sensitive, I don't care. It's not something I should have to defend. There are so many bigger issues to fight. When is the last time you've been taught in school (in your health class, for starters) about self-injury? When is the last time you heard of a teacher stopping a student for saying a self-harm joke?

Those are the battles we should be fighting. I should not be having to deal with finding a comment on Facebook saying that they think that "cutters" do it for attention. To be honest, that type of ignorance shocks me because even when I made self-injury jokes back in 7th grade, no one had to explain to me the gravety or seriousness of that situation. When I noticed that 10 or so people below in the thread agreed with him - it scared me.

I mean, is it just me? Hearing something like that angers me. Such apathy infuriates me.

So what voice does it take to grab someone's attention? Is indignant preaching grating? How about a personal story from my perspective about someone I know and the pain it caused me? Is reason and logical points enough? Or does it have to relate back to you; "what does it do for you"?

Despite my own tone in this piece, I honestly don't know. But I can only operate under what's wrong. I honestly don't know how else to try to rally people without feeling dirty in the end (and if I have to coach a human rights concept in terms of advertising, I will feel just absolutely filthy). There are a good many passionate enough people on Xanga and (I'd imagine) the world; I'll let them make their own decisions. I pray that's enough.

 

 

I lost my ID yesterday. I honestly don't understand how. I used it to swipe into my cousin's dorm, then (before leaving the dorm for the first time) I noticed I didn't have it. So, since it couldn't be anywhere but in the dorm, we look for it throughout everywhere I went in the dorm. Nope. She still hasn't found it today.

It had $8.75 on it and cost 10 dollars to get a new one. As you might imagine, I'm not happy about it.

So, when my mother calls, I tell her I've lost it. While I can do it, I'm not the biggest fan of keeping bad things in and prefer telling people. She, of course, is disappointed, makes a noise similar to, "Oh, honey…" and tells me how I shouldn't've. Do you see an issue yet? I tell her what happened, how I have no clue how I could've lost it.

At the end of this conversation, she tells me my dad wants to talk to me, so I start talking to him. A little ways in, I hear her ranting in the background, loudly, and in a clearly angry fashion (this is a habit of hers when she's mad at someone and is very specific. It's hard to explain, unfortunately, but just keep in mind I'm used to this type of rant. Basically, it includes tearing the person down, pointing out how she thinks they're an idiot and cannot believe that they managed to do something so stupid, and making really ugly faces that are a mixture of anger, mockery, and disdain).

You see, that sad and sympathetic voice that I first heard is the tactic she adopted when she realized I was not going to put up with her bullshit and would simply ignore her or yell back at her if she decided to act pugnaciously. So instead of getting mad, she'd try to nicely push her agenda.

I say agenda because, if I actually did something wrong, I might get angry at the fact that yelling at a person is not the right way to deal with stuff, but I could understand the need for some sort of punishment. If it's really stupid then, yes, a yelling-at is reasonable.

However, taking this instance as an example, I did not reasonably lose my ID. Both I and my cousin remember me swiping us in. Therefore, it had to be somewhere in the dorm. We searched the dorm. It could not be found. Even a day later, it was not found. Further, the reason why I rarely worry when I lose stuff is because I operate almost on a ritual-like level. I keep things in a certain order (phone, ID, and wallet in left pocket and glasses and keys in the right pocket) always. I continually check it throughout the day so that, if one is missing, I right away know and can make sure to find it. If I can't find it, it's likely someplace I was at. I retrace my steps, and I usually find it. 99% of the time, this works. And I do something like it for all my stuff. Now, occasionally I slip up and leave something completely out of the way so that I struggle finding it. And, admittedly (I get irritated at this too), I'm a bit of a forgetful person. Forgetting things is something I sometimes do. This is why I have this system in the first place.

But…I did not leave this someplace I usually don't. In fact, for me to not immediately put the ID back in my pocket is uncharacteristic of me (nor does it make much sense, for anyone to not do that). For me not to set it down in the room if I did not put it in my pocket doesn't make much sense either. And, of course, for it not to be in the only place I was at when I lost it makes little sense either.

I'm very much willing to argue that blame should not be put on me, here. I'm as bitter as anyone for the loss of money here, but I was not irresponsible. Try to give me an argument as to how I was because I don't understand how I could be.

My dad said, when I told him, "And only been 2 months, huh?" Now, he was joking, so I'm not too irritated, but it really was a bad moment to do so. Let's keep in mind that I didn't lose it at all last year. I think I'm allowed at least once? God knows, I make mistakes (shocking, isn't it?).

In other words, it's an agenda (and this is in general so it can apply for cases outside of this instance) because she wants to push her ideas (you shouldn't lose an ID, etc.) instead of understanding I'm not in a position for blame or that her ideas are wrong in whatever specific case. Plus it's kinda insulting that she just wants to rant and it's fine I'm the sacrifice, isn't it?

So, what does my mother choosing to act all nice and then rant insultingly towards me when she's off the phone to the rest of my family mean?

1. A severe lack of respect. Oh, would you look at that, one of the major dislikes (and I'm usually pretty easy going, as most who know would could attest). Surprising? Hah…
2. She's not listening to me. Another major dislike. Because that was always the biggest problem. I am ruled by logic and reason. My mother doesn't know how to understand logic or reason. So any argument as to why I do things or what I think is right is pretty much ignored (it also leads to them totally not knowing me at all, which is further irritating). So, remember how I'm irritated by her Agenda? Well, clearly why I get mad at her ranting is lost on her. All she understands is I don't like it, so she changes the tactic without realizing why I actually dislike what she does.
3. Which brings us here. I can't stand stupidity/an unwillingness to change or learn. That's why I really get pissed at most of what my mother does - because, being stupid, she does stupid things and, since not actually having a reason to back up what she does and simply strongly believing in it, she adamantly does them and blocks out all else. Case in point - the ranting. It's that she explicitly decides not to do what I try to teach her she does by then passionately ranting about me behind my back. I hate stupidity. That's the action that will piss me off more than anything - an action motivated by stupidity and no logical backing.

 

 

I hate my parents (as if anyone didn't know by now).

Me in a nutshell
---
There was one time I was talking with my mother and she was listing off which girls of certain races (in some instances, religions) she would love if I went out with (because this is the type of stuff she does). Either myself or my brother asked about if I went out with Muslim girl. My mother's response was, "No, never. Those people are crazy."

My brother and I are confused.

Actually, to this day, I'm still confused. Now, I know my mother is racist. On multiple accounts, actually. However, while she will wax eloquently often enough on certain fortunate enough souls, usually follows of Islam (or, in her vast understanding, the entirety of the Middle East) are not targets.

Also, I know my mother is capable of decent rational thought. She can exercise that, I swear. Which is why my brain is literally unable to compute this situation. I mean - it just does not logically make sense. As a rational and thinking animal...how do you possibly come up with this? Surely you can't possibly think that a few extremists constitutes a full people, right?? And, further, if I were dating a Muslim, they'd probably be raised in America, right (if you can't get over the concept of the entire Middle East does not equal people of insanity)??

And, yes, I understand that some people don't actually constantly apply reason and logic to their daily actions and thinking and their actions cannot be expected to make sense - but, but - I do. And I cannot understand how you can honestly believe that they're "crazy" without your brain imploding. Yes, illogical thought does that!
---
     "You stopped me because you were so empty, like a cavern impeding in upon itself, and you were so stark a testament of the depth that life was willing to go."
     She looked up at me, then quickly back at her right hand, using the left to push her glasses back up her nose.
     "But shouldn't I be happy?"
     I laughed. "Yes. The greatest part is healing. I just want to be there, though - from the beginning. I want to see you at your most breathtaking and awing."
---
We, as a society, attach such significance to doing what's right and being an upstanding person. Which, to an extent, I find kinda funny. Because we only do it because so many people just never bother.

Despite all the temptation, humans remain flexible and completely controllable creatures. The most fascinating thing about being human is that once you gain awareness of yourself, you can do just about anything with yourself.

Doing what's right doesn't take much. It might take practice (many years of perfecting), but doing the right thing just once takes no effort but deciding to do it.

The change starts with you, and only you can do it.
---
Got back from the Translating Identities Conference 2 days ago, a conference specifically for Trans issues. It was rather amazing, though I'm drained.

And, in a bit of a related fashion, a girl in a formal suit is to die for.
---
The crazed pacing
With the racing placement
Of a pulsing amazement
That this time may hold attainment
Is a rare occasion
When you've forsaken placin'
Yourself in the line of venture
Yet the stubs are entered
You deftly laugh despite the uncertain pressure
Yet know indefinitely that any quip she mentions
Will attain such frank attention
Your wish for a current pension
Is suspended - ended?
Well, at least for this present session
Pretention suspended
Too nervous anyway for the mask to question
Every aspect of this willed convention
Still concerned that initial intentions
Will change in less time than the last impression
The seats filled empty 'cept the last couple to enter
Your eyes are forward, but your mind is centered
The entire flick upon whether
You should take her hand or wait your measure
You leave the way you entered
Hold the door for her, yet in the car still feel the stressors
Now your hands are shaking
Your mind is racing
To say some bit of conversation
Now her house you're facing
Walk the walkway, bracing
In the end - you're wondering what's been through her mind already

I thought I understood rhyme; Rakim laughs at me.
---
I can understand if you dislike school, but if you're still asking what's the point by around my age, I'm going to start worrying about you (in a non-loving manner). I can understand if you might question people's assumptions on its necessity for you to do well in life, I can understand if you question how they teach it or the system or what they focus too much on and not enough on, etc. but if you honestly don't think there isn't a merit to much of what they teach you...? History is important - if I need to invoke the cliché old saying or have to actually explain why this is so to you, I've lost all respect for you (it's harsh and I'm almost always never firm one way or the other - that should tell you something).
---
I think that wanting - no, needing - to create art and being unable to do so in at least an adequate fashion is more cruel a suffering than 19 (going on 20) years of depression.
---
     Jonathan looked out the window of the moving bus, avoiding focusing on the kids in his background. He'd let Kaz handle that.
     It seemed that's what Kaz had always been better that. Not that he'd stoop to their level, consider himself an equal amongst those dwarf demons. Jonathan wouldn't have been able to tolerate him otherwise. Rather, Kaz knew how to deal with it all, the crushing weight of the raining children this world seemed intent on pouring out. He might be a fan of contraception just for this reason, but his liberal ideals kept him from supporting this possible cure.
     No matter what, Jonathan would probably always respect Kaz for that.
     He watched the local elementary school rise over the hill they were driving up. Jonathan stumbled (while standing in place), completely shocked.
     "Kaz! What are you doing?" he shouted, turning towards his partner. "We stole this bus from that school! We're gonna get caught!"
     Kaz didn't look in his direction for a moment, his eyes intently upon the road. "Relax," he told Jonathan, his voice fixed and transposed.
     Despite this, Jonathan looked like he was about to tear out his hair (his lifelong commitment to growing his beard, however, may have caused him to only rip the hair from the scalp).
     His eyes still fixed on the road, Kaz sighed at his partner's rigid frame. "I checked Mapquest before I stole this. We ought to go back this way to get there. We'll be fine. We're in a bus. No one can stop us now."
     Jonathan's arms slumped. He went to the front seat that didn't have a cretin sitting in it and leaned his head against the window. Someone had stuck their gum into a wedge in the window, another had drawn with a permanent marker on the metal below the window frame. Jonathan shook his head, bitter at the waste of opportunity they were given.
     He breathed heavily, fogging up the window. Kaz was right (as he always was). He took comfort in the murky white he had made the window, a heterogenous mix.

     The precise cleanliness of it was what made it off putting. They said it was so that you wouldn't get sick. The instruments. They'd clean the instruments. Syringes, the trays. He wouldn't be surprised to learn they wiped the pills clean with a cloth, each one individually.
     It's irritating. Dear God - it...is...irritating. That damn squeaking. He'd ask them to stop and they just keep doing it. Oh, it's not that bad - like Hell if you know if it's that bad! It's 'cause they polish those damn floors all the time, always mopping, always waxing. The drone of monotonous squeaking, all day - by the nurses and the doctors. And, if you spend enough time in the place, they convince the patients they should wear their damn rubber shoes as well; and then they squeak.
     The glass was shiny, consistently clear and without smudge. They held that needle over him just to make him squirm, he was sure. "It's for your health." Yeah right.
     He'd sit there at night, unceasingly searching the ceiling for dirt, a cobweb maybe - anything. He had found some, once. In a corner, somewhere.
     It was supposed to kill germs. It was mandatory. "I don't want it!" They tied him down. There wasn't going to be a choice.
     Ohh, God, did it feel so good. He had rubbed it all over him. In a corner, tucked away. Jimmy had asked what he had, had asked, had asked. Full moon, he remembered. Shining so bright. By the pale moonlight he took it out from under the pillow where had hidden it. So refreshing, so nice. Mold, beautiful mold, all over.
     The door had busted open so loud. But he didn't notice. No, not until they grabbed him, forced him down. He tried to eat it, embody it. He'd be different than all of them; he'd have mold in his belly.
     He winced as the needle broke the skin. Bye-bye germs.

I might just go crazy with all that is happening today.

So, the entire immediate family decided they want to get a dog (how I happen to be the odd man out in this still confuses me). Okay, that sounds cute enough.

Oh, wait, we still have a fish, a toad, a hamster, and a rabbit to take care of. Now, personally, I do think a person can handle a large amount of pets. However, I also know the amount of attention a dog desires and the amount of attention we give our current pets. Fishes and toads need little attention; hamsters and rabbits are another story. Plus, there's the damn principle behind it. Everyone is crowding around a book, looking and which dog is cuter and which one they want - it's like a present. It's like the idea behind buying crap - you're excited because it's something new and the idea of dealing with the item for an entire lifetime you don't bother to acknowledge.

Alright, fine, let's give them the benefit of the doubt (as is fair) that they can give equal and proper attention to all five animals and properly care for them.

How about we look at our financial situation. You see, my brilliant mother has a spending issue. This first manifested itself in the form of credit card debt - very, very large credit card debt. Since barely recovering from that fiasco, my father tries and tries to have her learn the concept of not spending money when we're not in a position to spend.

Okay, great, struggling to pay the mortgage every month - fantastic place to be in. Now, let's add in the concept of tuition payment for college, shall we? To illustrate it better, debt+debt=BAD.

Now, let's add a dog into it with which we have to pay for, pay for its food, pay for other expenses that may come up (vet, infections, etc.) - plus all the other pets you're already paying for.

Ohh, the Obama plan allowed for us to cut 1,000 dollars from the mortgage  I'm pretty sure the concept behind the plan was to cut expenses from you so that you could better address your current expenses - not make more of them.

Furthermore, if anything, it's the mindset behind the whole damn thing: "I have more money - therefore, I must spend it."

NO!

Unless you're one of those special people whose income greatly out ranks their debts, you need to take advantages of those little breaks you get and not spend that extra money you earn. A raise does not equal buy a new car. This is basic monetary handling, people. Not only does that car depreciate the second you get it off the lot, you put yourself in the same position (or worse) as you were before because that extra money is spent.

Alright, fine, say all my points are moot and I'm just talking out of my arse. If you so think so.

How about we revisit my mother's last interaction with a dog.

Because, in my mother's infinite amount of graciousness and caring, she doesn't do well when animals ruin her house (such as pooping around the house and making noise - you know, we're supposed to expect better from untrained animals, of course). So, she finds that beating them is the appropriate solution to her problems.

Now, I've gone over the detrimental aspects of such actions before multiple times in past entries on xanga (in case it's not obvious enough); I won't do so here.

I'll simply say this - this idea is all around stupid and idiotic and I cannot fathom, for the life of me, why I seem to be the only one to realize this.

Yes, it's possible they may take care of all of them fine. Yes, it's possible to handle the money financially with the purchase of a dog (though that still puts a lot of it to luck and assumes nothing unexpected will shoot up - and allows for this really bad habit of buying, when you're bored, something new to continue). Yes, it's even possible that she won't beat this dog, for a variety of reasons.

It's also possible it can go an entire two weeks without raining in Massachusetts (or most of the east coast) during non-snowing seasons - you don't see me placing money on that anytime soon. She touches that animal and I swear to God I'm calling an animal protection agency.

I hate how fucking unstable emotions are. There's a reason I prefer logic. Suddenly I'm back to instability and not knowing what the Hell I seem to vaguely feel I'm missing.

It's 4 in the morning. Would someone tell me to go to sleep (though, I swear, I tried at first)? Thanks. I don't think I will.

It always struck me as odd that for someone who can be bothered by hardly anything, has no real issue with stripping himself open (granted, for certain people, though not that specific a group, for the most part), and gives barely a damn (at least outwardly) what others think can suddenly just shut down, wants to recoil into his own mind, and wants no human contact (physical or otherwise) for a good portion of time. Suppose it's a healing mechanism, but I've never entirely and wholly been a fan of isolation.

What it reminds me of is my last depression again when I had more emotional instability than I would like to ever live through again; not only because it's eerily reminiscent of that awkward feeling of wanting human contact and yet being irritated by the effort of managing and dealing with that contact. But, more principally, because I've always hated taking out my own mood on others. No, I'd much rather deal with it myself than risk that. And that, ultimately, is pointless. Because who wants to deal with anything alone? But I'd rather not depress you as well with my own issues; I wouldn't want to put you through that.

There is something raw and, really, real about a person baring themselves emotionally, their problems. For one, it's not easy; so go bravery. But it's cuts through the usual façade (I don't mean that in the usual derivative manner) that we naturally put on, to some extent, every day, depending on the situation, person we deal with, etc.

Yesterday, while trying to close the door to my room so we could go to sleep (it was basically pitch black), my mom scared my sister. Shaken, she runs back and curls up in a ball on the floor, crying. She covers herself entirely.

Now, I'll admit, why she started crying I don't entirely get. Being 12 years old and being perfectly happy just seconds before, it doesn't make entire sense to me. But we often get triggered in very random and pointless ways.

While the logical step is to apologize and check if the person is alright, my mother (being my mother) decides to just ignore her. The rest of us don't really do anything (since, granted, at 12 there's no logical reason to start crying over being scared. And, while it's rude of my mom not to check why her daughter is randomly bawling her eyes out, it was not rude, really, to have scared her). But, really, you can't just let her lay there, entirely covered, crying. There's just something inhumane about that. Too much comfort sends the wrong message; she is slightly over-reacting. But pain is still pain. And it needs to be fixed, always.

So I lay on top of her, hugging her as lays there. Now, there's a blanket between us. This physical barrier ought to be evidence enough there isn't this profound connection being made or that, at least, a direct connection is being made. But this physical touch, which allows me to feel every gasped breath she takes and every sob and the heat radiate from her and the crying slowly stop, is very profound. Just remembering the feeling it evoked is incredible; one of the many moments in life I wish I could better share with you. It's very important; and gives so much to another person.

So, during my past-midnight musings, I happened to remember an aspect (one of the many) I dislike about my mother (and it just dawned on me how awful a person I must seem to those that don't know me).

We'll be watching T. V. or a movie and a character (usually a comic relief who has equal character development and standing with the other characters) who is deliberately odd for the show/film will come on the screen and my mother remarks, almost as if this is some inside joke or is trying to get into my good wishes/good side by getting me to laugh, "Now that's a nerd," or, "Now that girl is goofy/weird, you'd never want to date her, right?" (moments of this happening are Grease and High School Musical 3, respectively (as to High School Musical, the siblings and I got bored one night and rented it to have something to laugh at. I assure you, I'm no fan of the series)).

To this I have to ask - what do you expect of me? Am I supposed to laugh at your immediate conjecture of this person (albeit a fictional one) and vain assumption of your apparent superiority of them? Granted, I understand my somewhat abnormal response to your reaction is just that - slightly abnormal. Characters that exist on the screen solely for laughing at are nothing new. But perhaps that these characters weren't meant to be laughed at is what really just peeves me (particularly in the case of HSM; knowing the series, it was probably meant to be to celebrate being different. Preaching to the wrong crowd, Disney, though I do appreciate the attempt).

But no, it's because, mother, I know you. I know it doesn't just extend to the screen. Like all actions, the smaller ones are shockingly accurate of your bigger actions; and yet you'd probably just laugh at me if I told you to watch every action you make; though you do prove my point beautifully everytime, so I thank you for that. Frankly, mom, I can't go to public with you because the apparently abhorrent weight of the woman passing by us is in dire need for you to give comment to - out loud while she passes us.

Is it a generation gap? Am I just "out there" with this opinion? Because, to me, dropping a personal opinion (which I'm sure the passerby don't really give two flying fucks about what you think, anyway) about every person that you see is really just unnecessary and, more importantly, flat out rude. It denotes a complete understanding of flat out stupidity, really.

So, when you look at me like I'm supposed to understand what you're getting at, as if you're striking some kind of note that I ought to get, like by finding this "common ground" we'll become closer together, understand that you have just demonstrated to me you don't know me by any stretch of the imagination (in spite of me constantly explaining this viewpoint every damn time you do something stupid like this). But more importantly, you've demonstrated your own ignorance about humanity (and what's important about it) and an understanding on how to treat your fellow Man.

Pray, tell me, why is being different so bad a thing? Rather, why should we wish to normalize ourselves? Am I the only one who actually gets intrigued at someone who happens to stand out? I'd love to rant on that point, but I honestly can't think of any more thousand ways to restate that basic, beautiful point. Sometimes the most direct and blunt way is the best.

So, mother, no - to both of your questions. To be honest, I'd rather not take part in your 2-dimensional view of the world which shoves us all in these convenient boxes for the sake of your pathetic inability to comprehend much more than what you've been told to believe, understand, and appreciate.

Am I being overly critical (or, perhaps, patronizing...)?

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 16ᵗʰ 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.