Parents

  • 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.
    z211862988Thanks 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.
    before
    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.

     

     

    Beautiful

  • And, to be certain, I'm no angel in this whole thing.

    I had meant to write something in regard to what happened with Allison for half a year now, but I've always had this habit of taking forever to get to things.

    As I said once before, all too often, I find myself talking in terms of my ex-girlfriends because I think I've learned so much of them. Sometimes it's from my own fucking up.

    I'm mostly doing this because, once again, there's not really ever been a full explanation of it. I remember shortly after we had broken up she happened to run into me when I was hanging with Vikki (and I want to say someone else, but I cannot remember) - which isn't surprising, considering me and Allison often spent a lot of time after school before.

    Vikki and I were being our usual selves and oddly wrapped around each other or lying over the other one. So, naturally, when Vikki was off doing something else, Allison asked if Vikki and I were a couple. To which I, accordingly, felt ashamed because the poor girl was probably thinking I had left her to go to Vikki. This was not the case; Vikki and I have always just had no sense of private space. After telling Allison no, she (of course) asks why we had broken up. If I remember, she brought up some possible cause that, to me, should have never mattered in the grand scheme of things. More than anything, though, I remember how utterly vulnerable she looked.

    For a girl with so much unfair crap to work through and who could put on a façade when she wanted to (or perhaps it was just instinctual at times), it always surprises me how easily she'll let people in or just throw down her defenses at you - almost to say, "Go ahead, do as you will. I'm in your hands now."

    I remember standing there, uncomfortable, and just responding, "I don't know." Bullshit excuse, no? Hah, it always is, when you don't mean it.

    And yet, roughly a year and a half later, that's still the only answer I have. I have no clue why something which, by any reasonable measuring, should have been markedly longer (for one) and more meaningful than it ended up having to settle for should have just burnt out so brutally and suddenly.

    Maybe I should start a little bit more towards the beginning?

    I can't remember how I met Allison exactly. Okay, let me take that back. I distinctly remember my first memory of Allison. She was a Freshman and standing next to a friend of hers in the hallway that many of the bandies swarmed after they were kicked out of in front of the band room, trying to shake her ass, and going, "____, look. Look." I can't remember the exact point she was trying to make (I think a reference to something; it was just a random dance of some sort). I just remember shaking my head and thinking, "Good God, Freshmen…."

    At that time, I doubt I knew her name. I later ran into her and she said she thought we knew each other when she was trying to tell me why someone else I just barely had seen around and talked to 3 times at most was not at school that day. This actually makes more sense than it would seem. I'm the type to consider someone I just met a friend and, back in the day, would be certain to get their attention every time I saw them and say hello to them. It was a social mechanism I had picked up from Middle School, when I was a wall flower and getting acquaintances was good enough as far as I was concerned for human interaction.

    The reason I'm "uncertain as to how I met Allison" is because after those moments, I don't know when barely seeing her and saying no more than 2 words to her turned into spending a ton of time with her. I just remember she was one of those who unexplainably just got a crush on me and then pursued me like all Hell.

    She usually had to spend time after school for some type of job. I was usually after school because I could then use the computers there for hours on end with no interruption and seeing friends over my parents at home was always more worthwhile. My next memories of her are staying after school. Its this time I remember her interested in trying to date me. I don't exactly remember how she made this known, however. I do remember it wasn't direct, like a blunt statement of it.

    However, Laura and I had just broken up for the first time. And there was no way in Hell anyone was getting to me after that one, no matter how hard they tried. And tried Allison did. While only one person possibly came upon my radar during those 4 months of being single (*cough*Kari*cough*), Allison did make it clear she was interested in me. And I, of course, was hesitant. It finally came to a head after school one night when I was heading out to get picked up by my dad.

    Allison is standing there with me (as I remember it) with herself wrapped around me. I'm kinda not really reacting in hopes that she'll get the idea. She says something which I can't seem to remember anymore. I ask, "So, where do we go from here?" She pauses, then looks at me and kinda pats my shoulder, responding, "I'm gonna think about it." Then adds as a side thought, "Yes, I do think about things, Jon," as if I've bought into the rumors about her and assume this.

    So, now I must actually give hard thought to this. So I mull it around for a good day…and finally decide that, no, I'm not really over Laura, so forget it, I'm just going to have to tell Allison I'm not interested.

    Well, next time I see her, she's dating Steve Chevalia. Well, admittedly, I found her needing to think about something she had been pursuing quite intently for a while now uncharacteristic of her and something she made up to have an excuse to drop the previous. Steve seems to confirm this. "Great, another Lilly," I think to myself. Well, fine, I'm not really bothered, considering I didn't want it to go anywhere and I was kinda being obnoxious beforehand by not really giving a response and so I find it to basically be fair. Whatever was actually going on during those odd times then (because it paints us both in a semi-poor light and I hardly consider my memory to be able to accurately portray her), I chalk it up to being young on both our sides.

    Anyway, fast forward, Laura and I date for 2 months and break up. I can't remember during the spans of when Allison and I first started kinda getting involved to when we finally went out what the order or things we did together were. So just assume that the following events happened at some point during this entire time. I hate that I can't remember, because it deprives us of the perspective of time and my own opinions and thoughts during the moments. But oh well. During this time spans, we had a habit of going to the practice rooms. Despite the reputation these had gotten by now, all we did was talk. I'd often play some variation of a minor cord for her, since she enjoyed that. She was always emotionally upset during these times. It was mostly melancholy. And she just shed so much for me during these times, letting me in and know things that, with anyone else, I would expect a much longer time to get there. Naturally, for the sake of her own privacy, none of what happened there gets repeated. But we did get closer during that time. At some point a little later, we started talking over FB messages. She was often grounded, though her iPhone wasn't taken away, so we were able to talk through that. I'm going to have to assume that this was after Laura and I broke up.

    So. Now we finally get to about the time when the two of us go out. I (think I) am over Laura and Allison is a multilayered and interesting person. Sure, she'd require work, as far as a relationship works, because she's not simplistic but shouldn't I do something because it's worth it, not because it's easy? And it shouldn't be thought I just jumped into this. I talked to one of her exes about it and really started thinking critically about the idea.

    Finally, I decide, yeah, let's do it.

    And, again, by any reasonable measuring, this should have been a fine relationship. Allison is right down my alley as far as people I'd be interested in. She's smart, thinks outside of the box, quirky in her own ways, deceptively average, kinda clingy and definitely passionate, willing to question things, etc. etc. Oh, and she had a love for music. Um, yes please.

    And, more than anything, she was in certain ways still developing. Which makes sense, considering she was a Sophomore in high school at the time. But it's significant because I always seem drawn to those who are independent enough to stand on their own and can actually teach me (I always need people who are willing enough to push me or make the first move - but, still need me in some way and end up not being overbearing). But they're still learning, they're still figuring shit out. They still need me. It's a difficult balance to find, let me assure you.

    So, the first three days? Downright fantastic. The first day alone was perfect. I'm happier than I've been in a while.

    It all was actually kinda weird. I remember the first day of us going out, everyone I saw was all, "You're going out with Allison!!!1!1!ONEONE". The second half of the day I saw all the friends who where, "You're going out with Allison…? Ew…" Admittedly, she had a reputation, though I didn't care. Some of the things said was that she was stupid (which is the dumbest thing you could possibly ever say about her), that she was a slut, or just some really stupid shit (she's obnoxious, whine whine whine). Part of what just made her astounding was what was said about her, how much of that was in any sense true, and then how she responded to it all. I'm partially saying empty phrases, for you had to have known her to understand what I'm getting at, but the way that she handled herself, and when taken in consideration with what was said about her, was just powerful. Now, I'm talking from a somewhat keyhole view. While I did get to know her in a quicker amount of time than would have happened with most other people, it certainly wasn't everything and my view may be skewed. But she had one Hell of a personality and personage.

    And then…something happened. And I italicize happened because that's just it. The emphasis isn't on some outside thing - because I don't know what changed. It's the fact that it occurred, not what caused it. Because, as I said at the start of this – I don't know.

    And it irritates me to this day. Let's go over it.

    Well, maybe it would have been wise not to start dating Allison 2 weeks after breaking up with Laura for the second time?
         True, however, I didn't even realize that until Laura mentioned it. In fact, I hadn't paid any attention to the amount of time that passed at all (which is why I take special care to check how much time passes after a break up these days; it still surprises me how quickly I think time has passed after those, though it actually hasn't). And, going off of that still, you could argue I rushed it without thinking about it but I didn't. I talked to one of her exes, I thought about it. It wasn't a rash decision. I rarely make those, I'm so damn hesitant all the time.

    Okay then, maybe instead of making out all the time with her, you should have spent more time focusing on her.
         Once again, a good point - but I didn't think of that then. It's true, I'm far more turned on by personality than anything else. But I didn't realize that most of our time spent together didn't really focus on who we were and more on the usual mores of dating (holding hands, cuddling, making out - lots of making out). It's something to learn and something I should have done, but not something I intentionally avoided.

    And, of course, why did I choose to not break it off as soon as I realized something was wrong but chose not to drag it out even longer then? Two weeks is a pretty short amount of time to date anyone, in any circumstance. Not to mention that most of Allison's previous relationships were only 2 weeks as well.
         To be honest, I didn't break it off after 3 days because that felt absolutely insulting. And like I was just giving up. I thought it was bad enough I wanted to break up with her, why would I add the insult of only 3 days of time? Okay, then, since I seemed so dearly concerned with not insulting her by a short break up, why 2 weeks? That's still short. Well, my own experience with break up, really. I've been in the situation where you're in a relationship that you actually care about. You want it to work, damn it. But the other person doesn't quite feel the same way. And either they just don't care about putting effort into the relationship or they don't want it to continue but don't want to break up with you because they're afraid of the consequences. But of course, you don't know this when you're going out with them. You usually have a hunch, but you know everything for certain after the break up. So you get dragged along with all the emotions and feelings that go along with that experience until the break up finally happens. Now, if you're in the position of wanting to break up, you usually realize this about a month in at the shortest. Alright, now you know - break up with them and don't drag them along. It becomes a bit more complicated when you've only dated them for 3 days. Maybe I should have done something else. Maybe I shouldn't've waited. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have just let her know what was going on. But, while I was already completely confused by a situation that I didn't understand and simultaneously worried about how it would effect her, I made the choice I did with the best judgement I could muster.

    And I'll never forget the look on her face when I finally did it. I was uncomfortable all over, of course. And so, as I saw her that morning, I pulled her to the side and said, "I have to talk with you." In this almost comic fashion, she responds in an overly played up, "Oh? Are you going to break my heart?" And this should sound almost childish, right? But no. The sugarcoated cheerfulness of it, the sound of it almost ringing of that "innocent" femininity that's been fetishized to such an extreme makes it all the more mocking, in its own way. Like, "Really? You're going to do this to me?" Of course, I respond yes. I don't remember if we said anything after that. All I remember is after she says she'll see me later, she turns - and at that moment slips up. After acting happy this entire time, her facial expression is bitter, it's angry; it's restrained. It was just a second. Just a glance as she was turning away and her face said everything. And all I could think to myself was, "Scumbag…"

    So I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't know why it didn't work. Fittingly, I kinda got it all kicked into my face afterwards. During the summer, me and her kept up communication. I can't remember if we did during the time between break up and the summer, but I know we definitely conversed during the summer. And like Hell we did.

    I was just discovering the amazing-ness of sleeping in, which resulted in me not being capable of falling asleep until 5 in the morning. Allison did not aid this by talking to me. So we just talked, for hours on end, for a full month (like, everyday). About everything. And I will probably never have anything like this again. It was normal conversations to questioning why we do things and why people think what they do. From the concrete to the abstract. Absolutely fantastic.

    Heh, and, basically, it was like, "Oh, this is what I gave up…?" Again, fitting, appropriate, and just. Sometimes life actually fits those descriptions.

    I suppose what irritates me more than anything is - she trusted me. She let me in, she put trust in me. You know, I wasn't just some new boyfriend or something, I was one in a long line of boyfriends. I should have been different. Instead, I ended up just being like some of the others. Which is pathetic and so much less than what she deserved.

    Despite only dating her for 2 weeks, I rank Allison easily among those exes of mine which have actually left some discernible mark of change on me. Fact is, I'm learning that I easily get bored with people (I mean in general, not in terms of dating). It's not that typically they're stunted (at least, not those I know; the main populace, that's debatable). It's just that so often they're willing to settle, to just be like everything else or just accept what they're told. They're interesting enough people, capable of commanding logic and reason in an acceptable enough fashion. But they don't bother to go beyond. They're content to just settle.

    I can't say Allison is one of the few people I respect. Because there's a lot of people I respect, for various reasons. But with Allison (with the girl I knew then, at minimum, if this is not true now, though I'd be surprised if it wasn't), I continue to be amazed by just, fundamentally, who she is. I don't know if I could properly communicate this concept to you.

    But again, I repeat, she deserved far more than she received from me. Any person has a right to better treatment than that, I think.

  • 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).

  • z204515001
    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.

  • As November 22ᵑᵈ of this year steadily creeps closer, I have to remind myself that I'll no longer be a teenager. And, while I understand there's a level of ridiculous to this thought, I can't help but feel like Harvey Milk in that I'll be 20 years and I haven't done a thing.

    Part of this comes from the school of thought I originate from. Probably unfortunately, my childhood was marked by trying to avoid "thought corruption" by my elders and keeping as far from suicide as my depression-riddled body was able - and trying to keep all others I knew from this as well.

    In a quantity and consistency that's really rather frightening, most of everyone my age I knew, regardless of place of residency, had parents which weren't exactly healthy for their wellbeing. And, to the well-rounded extent that I'm leaning towards thinking it was a generational thing that we all shared, issues like depression, parental abuse, drug-use to cope with these issues, self-injury, and suicide ended up being recurrent trends.

    Enough so that I've continually tried to make this a rallying point for us. Because we all seemed to've experienced it in some fashion, our goals and beliefs would end up being similar by having to form around these issues.

    I'm continually inspired by and feel kin to the radical and progressive movements - while, in some ways, radically different. I, admittedly, am rather critical of the radical movements of the 60s/70s. Plus, I take quite to heart the Gandhi saying, "Be the change you want to see in the world." I might not be able to lead large protest movements or marches, yet I can control my day to day actions. It amazes me how badly my beard seems to just flat out bother people (something which ought to make them question why, yet I doubt they will); sure, no one will probably ever agree with my opinions on our physical being - but that doesn't mean I'm going to alter how I react and view it. This, to me, is a form of radicalism.

    And yet...it all feels so minimal in the end.

    By God, what have I done? There's tons of kids still being abused out there, still viewing suicide as a primary option and still in need of help. Those who I've actually persuaded away from suicide probably could've gone through those multiple times with me not there and would still be alive today. And too many of those I've continually helped all these years seem more content to repeat their mistakes than make any actual corrections (unfortunately, I couldn't have been their parents to begin with to make sure they got the proper, healthy raising they deserved).

    And, more than anything, they've chosen to remain separated, living out their own lives as best they can instead. Which, honestly, I can't blame them for. I've resided to apathy far more than I'd like to admit in my own life. At the end of it all, just surviving should be enough to brag about.

    And yet...fuck, I want revolution, damn it. I want change, I want groups aligning for a common cause and purpose. Or, if not that, choosing those small things we can do everyday that run counter to societal expectations (http://thirst2.xanga.com/701294403/item/) and more people doing it. I would love to have a bunch of writers get apartments together or next to each other to discuss fiction and literature in the same fashion of thought as the Beatniks or the Inklings (Kaz and Kari, I have you closest to mind there). Or simply having hour long discussions on a regular basis with people about the little of things dealing with philosophy, morality, the state of society and life, etc. etc. etc. (that I did this with Allison nearly every day of 2 summers ago only continues to amaze me the more and more it dawns on me - a feat like that is not likely to happen again with a person).

    Yet I'm left with this feeling in my stomach that we just drift through each day. We don't expand our thinking, dream forward, and connect with each other (locally or on a grander scale) - we just try to survive. Which, again, I can hardly grudge anyone for. As a child of depression, I can hardly spurn so noble a goal (does it twist anyone else's guts at the truth of that statement?) in contempt at anyone. Feeling normal is too difficult a task to call it just, really (I actually should do another post on that subject alone sometime).

    And yet...I hate to call it apathy, but it gives me that feeling. I feel like even I can call myself guilty of not doing any of the above (beyond myself) - or certainly, at least, not propagating the above beyond myself.

    I mean, there are ideas and ideals that should be sprung into the world for testing, challenging, and ironing out - yet I feel that, were I to pass now, anything I've thought out and created, as far as thought goes, would not be remembered beyond those who were close to me, nor necessarily well except by a small, small group. They would have little influence, at all. There are people out there who could use help, structuring, getting on their feet to grow on their own as a result of poor raising (for a variety of reasons) and yet I feel nothing changes, or I can't reach others (then again, who knows what difference it might make). I mean, remove me from the stretch of time, and does the terrain of people's lives change all that much (and I mean would where they are now be all that much different; not by the usual changes in the facts of a person life that is bound to happen when you remove a person they knew from their lives; and I don't mean would they miss me - if you removed me, would they be happier, sadder (because life is worse), dead, sick, etc. etc. etc.)?

    I'm reaching 20 years old and I feel I've done so damn little with my life.

    And with a rate like that, I don't see much changing, or able to change, in the future.

  • cleangene17 (9:11:58 PM): Well, mostly I wanted to check on you to make sure you were OK.

    Wamm K D (9:12:24 PM): I'm still breathing; all is as usual

     

    This still makes me laugh.

  • (no, this isn't the next installment either. I'll write it soon, Kaz, I promise)

         I became a writer because I wanted to see God.
         You know, God? The way you wake up on a cold morning, glance out the newly breath-stained window and smile weakly at the way the piss-yellow sunlight (on the days you've happened to actually bothered to drink the right amount of water, for whatever reason) compliments the cool steel outside your window and the filter that smoke makes as it wafts through.
         Or you've walked into someone's room and they've painted this little girl across their walls, in too many shades of metallic gray; she spiders across the wood, breaching the corners with those downturn eyes, the fabrics of her being unraveling in the frozen moment. He said he'd painted her so that even when he started rotting from not being found, life wouldn't be able to escape him.
         Or the crumpled sheets at the pitch of night as she trails her arm along his, hearing his pounding heart and hoping it's to chase her should she run away. The spiderweb strands of her hair trail lightly onto his face, clinging a hold of the brunette wire that grows from him. The top of his head has started to try curling, but it hasn't grown out long enough yet. He's staring toward the ceiling, his leg on hers so to frame her body, balanced between the task of grasping and falling off the side of the bed.
         But it seems God would rather show than gift.

     

     

     

    cleangene17 (7:58:41 PM): Jonathan, are you out there?

    cleangene17 (8:03:23 PM): We' re going to have to borrow about 40.00 dollars from your account because we just don't have enough money foe gas or food for.next week, so please don't take any out.  I am sorry about our emergency...  please send a quick IM back so that I know you got this.

  • cleangene17 (1:38:35 AM): I can never tell if you're awake or not?  Well, our money situation has gotten so bad that I have been asked to request that you send us a care package.  <IMG

    cleangene17 (1:39:22 AM): Be glad that you,ve got a 21 meal plan!

    cleangene17 (1:39:54 AM): Sleep well, Jonathan.

     

     

    Ummm, thanks?

  • Nothing scares me out of the idea of marriage any more than my parents. Honestly, the concepts of patience and open communication shouldn't be this hard to figure out.... If I hear one more fight, I'm driving my head through a wall.