in case you're like me, no, this post is not about foreskin and how i feel about it in general. and believe me, i have some pretty well-developed and nuanced opinions on foreskin. we can have that discussion at some point. but not today.
i'm talking about all our skin. from our toes to our scalp. i'm recently fascinated with skin. and my recent fascination with skin, stems from my long-standing fascination with makeup.
background: i am really, really, really, really obsessive. not so much compulsive. just obsessive. like, not OCD, just OD. i get so wrapped up and worried about the planning of a project, that i inevitably reach a point where i become terrified of actually starting it, because i've built it up into such a nuanced and detailed machine, that i am convinced i will inevitably fail.
for a long time, upon receiving a sandwich, i would spend several minutes taking it apart and reassembling it in a manner i found more pleasing. my family continues to make fun of me for how long it takes me to prepare food. and it bugs the hell out of me. and they can eat shit and die.
obsessions can also be soothing. when the big messy world is simply too overwhelming, i can focus in on a single little detail and very easily tune everything else out. i could stare at birds, or bugs, or the birthmark on my hand for ages. sometimes, i look at catalogs of flower bulbs, and read the glowing prose about each variety of tulip or lily, and i look at each wonderfully composed picture. its all very, very soothing. or at the least, a defense mechanism; a way of kicking the complexities and worries of the world out, and creating order and simplicity within.
naturally, makeup is a perfect outlet for my obsessive tendencies as well. i love walking up and down aisles of carefully arranged bottles and sticks and compacts, all grouped by face area, by ingredient, by product line, by product type. and then, within each of those categories, all the various hues are assembled in ranks; pinks and plums and reds and oranges and browns and buffs and teals and taupes and greens. its very, very soothing.
its also very much a study in covetousness. because in real life, i actually never wear makeup. but i still feel like its always good practice to have a bottle or two of good foundations at my disposal, "just in case." and of course, with those, i need so eye-shadow, maybe a couple of liners. some lip gunk. etc. then there's nail polish, which comes down to a rothko-like study of color. i haven't painted my nails in at least two years, but i hang on to my two dozen bottles of polish, taking them out of their box at times to look at them, and marvel at the strength of their hues. its similar to how i view the buying of a scarf as a tribute to the art of the spinner of the wool, the weaver, and the assembler. its barely clothing, straddling as it does the line between functional item, and an exercise in fiber art. nail polish is even less functional, but in its retreat from purpose, it at the same time blossoms into an experiment in pure color.
now, i never have an occasion to wear makeup in real life. so sometimes, i just choose an evening during which i will apply everything that i have on hand, just to see what it all looks like. i immediately wash it off afterwards, several times. but its still important to give in to the compulsion.
except the last time i put on a foundation, it resulted in an odd effect.
it was a relatively lightweight neutrogena foundation, matched quite well to my skin tone. but after applying it evenly, i looked in the mirror, and all the color had been sucked from my face. i suppose it smoothed me out, made my face a blank canvas, which i suppose can be the purpose of foundation. but it was remarkable how cold and dead i suddenly looked and felt.
hence, my current fascination with skin.
never mind that our skin is our largest organ, weighing in at about six pounds. never mind that its a wonderfully dualistic creation, simple in its appearance, complex in its function as a border between the inside and the out. never mind that it serves as physical protection, sensory system, temperature regulator. skin is all these things, and by fulfilling its purpose, it is utterly beautiful.
it is beautiful in what it reveals and what it conceals. it is beautiful in its layers of transparency and opaqueness. just like a squid or cuttlefish, we change our colors, blush and flush, pale and turn ashen, glow, almost flouresce. our forests of tiny hairs spring forth from our pores, raise and lower according to the weather. our pores open to bring in air and release sweat. veins are revealed and concealed with each movement. fields of wrinkles surround our joints. our knuckles are like great canyons. our genitals like florid blossoms.
makeup, i think, does the world a great disservice. it takes all of this away from us. it trades in artistry and a facsimile of "perfection" for the millions of permutations that our bare skin can display. it robs us of our emotions, every one of which registers on, IN, our skin. makeup can only conceal. it can only convey one thing. our skin, can convey desire, envy, pain, sadness, joy, everything and anything we may be feeling. and at the exact same time, it shows where the knobs of our elbows sit. it reveals and then hides away the muscles of our forearms. it breaks out in gooseflesh when a cool breeze whips around the corner, and all our little hairs rise up; taut skin, soft down.
its comforting to know that if i'm exhausted, i can look in the mirror and get evidence to support the theory. the slick, shiny purple bags under my eyes, my sunken sockets and heavy-lidded eyes all say, "yes, you must sleep." its soothing to be able to look at my hands and recognize them as my own, to recognize my knotty joints and bony knuckles, the flushed expanses of muscle between my thumbs and pointer fingers, to see the same patches of miniscule hair, and the same moles in the same places.
and its comforting to know that my cheeks flush red, and my lips remain a ridiculous hue that varies between pink and rosy purple; they are so garish, my lips, that they are part of the reason i wear a beard. alone on my face, they would be too obvious, too much "... a piece of raw tuna laid across my face." (go read "Memoirs of a Geisha," IMMEDIATELY!)
i am in love with skin. my own, and yours. its vitality. its expressiveness. its two-fold nature; what it reveals, and what it conceals inside.
i am in love with skin, and secrets it keeps.
and the secrets it doesn't.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
There's Something...
there's something about standing in front of a cash register and service person, i think, that leaves human beings unable to process simple information in a timely and intelligent manner.
case in point:
i am at my cash register. an asian lady walks in, and no, she does not have an indecipherable accent. i can understand everything she says. its not that kind of a story.
she reached me, and told me she wanted to buy a fifteen dollar gift-card. i directed her to the display of cards in front of me, and told her to pick whichever she liked, and i would put fifteen dollars on it, and she'd be set. oh if only things were that easy...
she picked a card, i put on fifteen dollars of store credit, and that's when she asked for an envelope.
"i'm very sorry ma'am, but we're out of envelopes. we had three kinds just a week or two ago, but we've run out completely."
my manager pops up from below the counter. (she was looking for something, she wasn't hiding there for dramatic effect. oh if only she had been... if only life really were a cabaret...)
"you can put the card in a cup, and then say, 'hey, i got you a drink!' then, they open the cup, and they get a gift-card."
i love my manager. she's a fucking riot. sadly, her suggestion is dismissed by the customer.
i pipe up.
"what we've been doing, is taping shut the bottom of a cup sleeve with a coffee sticker, and slipping the card in there. its really very nice."
no no. this will simply not do either.
"but you don't have any envelopes?"
"no, i'm sorry, but we don't have any envelopes."
this provokes a long and serious sigh. and then, four other permutations of the same exchange.
"you don't have envelopes?"
"no, we don't have envelopes."
"well, do you have anything else i could put the card in?"
you mean like the cup, or the sleeve, or like an envelope?
"no, i'm sorry, we can put the card in a sleeve for you, or a cup, but we don't have anything else."
"when will you have envelopes?"
my manager comes to the rescue.
"not until thursday at least, ma'am."
"but you don't have any now?"
at this point, i really, really want to say: its because you're asian, miss. i'm sorry. if you weren't asian, i'd be able to help you. we have a billion envelopes, actually, but since you're asian, i just can't give you one. sorry.
really, i wanted to say anything just to make her go away. a line is growing behind her, and she keeps asking me, if i have an envelope.
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I DON'T, HAVE, AN ENVELOPE! I'M SORRY! DO YOU WANT THE CARD, OR NOT!?
finally, she sinks into a silence punctuated by sighs. she looks at the card in the sleeve, she looks at me, she looks around the store, and she looks at the card.
"no, i think i'll buy the card somewhere else."
like somewhere where they have envelopes, i'll bet... i take the money off the card, and she leaves.
i still somehow do not understand the human animal. why do we do these things? what is wrong with us?
by the way, i've heard that lots of stores are currently out of envelopes for their gift cards. have a good drive, ma'am.
case in point:
i am at my cash register. an asian lady walks in, and no, she does not have an indecipherable accent. i can understand everything she says. its not that kind of a story.
she reached me, and told me she wanted to buy a fifteen dollar gift-card. i directed her to the display of cards in front of me, and told her to pick whichever she liked, and i would put fifteen dollars on it, and she'd be set. oh if only things were that easy...
she picked a card, i put on fifteen dollars of store credit, and that's when she asked for an envelope.
"i'm very sorry ma'am, but we're out of envelopes. we had three kinds just a week or two ago, but we've run out completely."
my manager pops up from below the counter. (she was looking for something, she wasn't hiding there for dramatic effect. oh if only she had been... if only life really were a cabaret...)
"you can put the card in a cup, and then say, 'hey, i got you a drink!' then, they open the cup, and they get a gift-card."
i love my manager. she's a fucking riot. sadly, her suggestion is dismissed by the customer.
i pipe up.
"what we've been doing, is taping shut the bottom of a cup sleeve with a coffee sticker, and slipping the card in there. its really very nice."
no no. this will simply not do either.
"but you don't have any envelopes?"
"no, i'm sorry, but we don't have any envelopes."
this provokes a long and serious sigh. and then, four other permutations of the same exchange.
"you don't have envelopes?"
"no, we don't have envelopes."
"well, do you have anything else i could put the card in?"
you mean like the cup, or the sleeve, or like an envelope?
"no, i'm sorry, we can put the card in a sleeve for you, or a cup, but we don't have anything else."
"when will you have envelopes?"
my manager comes to the rescue.
"not until thursday at least, ma'am."
"but you don't have any now?"
at this point, i really, really want to say: its because you're asian, miss. i'm sorry. if you weren't asian, i'd be able to help you. we have a billion envelopes, actually, but since you're asian, i just can't give you one. sorry.
really, i wanted to say anything just to make her go away. a line is growing behind her, and she keeps asking me, if i have an envelope.
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I DON'T, HAVE, AN ENVELOPE! I'M SORRY! DO YOU WANT THE CARD, OR NOT!?
finally, she sinks into a silence punctuated by sighs. she looks at the card in the sleeve, she looks at me, she looks around the store, and she looks at the card.
"no, i think i'll buy the card somewhere else."
like somewhere where they have envelopes, i'll bet... i take the money off the card, and she leaves.
i still somehow do not understand the human animal. why do we do these things? what is wrong with us?
by the way, i've heard that lots of stores are currently out of envelopes for their gift cards. have a good drive, ma'am.
Friday, May 2, 2008
The Pleasure of Not Doing Business
i love time off from work. and it is rare these days, my friends. i had today off, though, and i have tomorrow off as well. i am pretty fucking stoked about that, i can tell you.
however, i'm tired, and a side effect of being all topsy-turvy due to work-related issues (and moderately productive on a day off even, thankyouverymuch) is that you don't have much time to blog. or at least, i don't have enough time or mental energy to patch the random events of my life into a coherent narrative. not that my coherent narratives are necessarily that coherent, but you know. i like them to sort of have a flow of some sort.
so i will be establishing a flow as best i can, at the moment, which means writing a list, basically. i like lists. i like lists a lot. they make it so that everything has a place it belongs, and everything is easily visible, and you can go along the list and check tasks off as you complete them, or insert rod a into slot b (hahahaha, i can quote family guy! i truly am just as intelligent as the vast majority of bloggers!), and just generally feel productive about your time.
and god knows but i love feeling productive. its like the greatest aphrodisiac in my life. i get wet when i smell three-ring binders, freshly cut paper, and professional binding machines.
i don't actually want to make a list right now, though. it would be a good way to sift through a lot of information that i've been storing up for when i actually have time to make blog entries about it. i could quickly give you an update on all things josh stone. but it seems cheap. and it seems like a really good way to sell myself short. and i don't want to flirt with either of those. so i think i'll just ramble for a bit, and see where we get.
i've been talking to someone online. its getting to that point where i can't actually tell if i like them or not. apparently, this is a problem that afflicts many INFJs. its amazing. i can talk to someone for ages, and not be sure how i feel about them. then, when i figure out i hate them, a tremendous weight is lifted off me. and when i find out i'm in love with them, its like i've been hit in the face with a frying pan. well, mostly, my current situation has led me to the following conclusions.
any way you slice it, twenty years old is young. its really young. and no matter how mature someone seems, or how grown up they sound, every time you talk, they are going to say something that makes you take a step back and look them up and down while you mutter, "my god, you really are twenty, and that is an amazing thing."
i've also realized, or allowed myself to actually pay attention to, a few facts: a) i graduated from one of the top ten or fifteen universities in the nation. THE NATION. i got in, i went, i learned a shitload, and i graduated. i am smart. b) i applied to three competitive graduate schools in my state, and i got, in, to each, one. all three. accepted. austin was always my first choice, but i had my pick of all three schools that i applied to. i am some kind of smart. i am good. i am smart. i work hard. i succeed. i do not fail. i made a choice to not continue with my graduate schooling, but i did not fail. i succeeded. by all accounts.
i don't read enough. i miss reading. and i miss reading academic texts. i miss reading critical articles about literature and race and class and sexuality. i miss theoretical writing. i miss feeling strong, and smart. the strong, i need to attack from a few new directions, but the smart, i'm feeling a little more, recently. its a good thing to feel.
also, its really hard to blog when you're listening to goldfrapp.
they kind of demand your attention.
and i'm sort of willing to give them my attention. and its a nice change, right now, to feel able to give my attention to something, without having to feel like i'm avoiding something.
however, i'm tired, and a side effect of being all topsy-turvy due to work-related issues (and moderately productive on a day off even, thankyouverymuch) is that you don't have much time to blog. or at least, i don't have enough time or mental energy to patch the random events of my life into a coherent narrative. not that my coherent narratives are necessarily that coherent, but you know. i like them to sort of have a flow of some sort.
so i will be establishing a flow as best i can, at the moment, which means writing a list, basically. i like lists. i like lists a lot. they make it so that everything has a place it belongs, and everything is easily visible, and you can go along the list and check tasks off as you complete them, or insert rod a into slot b (hahahaha, i can quote family guy! i truly am just as intelligent as the vast majority of bloggers!), and just generally feel productive about your time.
and god knows but i love feeling productive. its like the greatest aphrodisiac in my life. i get wet when i smell three-ring binders, freshly cut paper, and professional binding machines.
i don't actually want to make a list right now, though. it would be a good way to sift through a lot of information that i've been storing up for when i actually have time to make blog entries about it. i could quickly give you an update on all things josh stone. but it seems cheap. and it seems like a really good way to sell myself short. and i don't want to flirt with either of those. so i think i'll just ramble for a bit, and see where we get.
i've been talking to someone online. its getting to that point where i can't actually tell if i like them or not. apparently, this is a problem that afflicts many INFJs. its amazing. i can talk to someone for ages, and not be sure how i feel about them. then, when i figure out i hate them, a tremendous weight is lifted off me. and when i find out i'm in love with them, its like i've been hit in the face with a frying pan. well, mostly, my current situation has led me to the following conclusions.
any way you slice it, twenty years old is young. its really young. and no matter how mature someone seems, or how grown up they sound, every time you talk, they are going to say something that makes you take a step back and look them up and down while you mutter, "my god, you really are twenty, and that is an amazing thing."
i've also realized, or allowed myself to actually pay attention to, a few facts: a) i graduated from one of the top ten or fifteen universities in the nation. THE NATION. i got in, i went, i learned a shitload, and i graduated. i am smart. b) i applied to three competitive graduate schools in my state, and i got, in, to each, one. all three. accepted. austin was always my first choice, but i had my pick of all three schools that i applied to. i am some kind of smart. i am good. i am smart. i work hard. i succeed. i do not fail. i made a choice to not continue with my graduate schooling, but i did not fail. i succeeded. by all accounts.
i don't read enough. i miss reading. and i miss reading academic texts. i miss reading critical articles about literature and race and class and sexuality. i miss theoretical writing. i miss feeling strong, and smart. the strong, i need to attack from a few new directions, but the smart, i'm feeling a little more, recently. its a good thing to feel.
also, its really hard to blog when you're listening to goldfrapp.
they kind of demand your attention.
and i'm sort of willing to give them my attention. and its a nice change, right now, to feel able to give my attention to something, without having to feel like i'm avoiding something.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Status Update:
the jock-itch has returned.
this is both literally true, and a good metaphor for how my life feels in general at the moment.
fungus is rapidly becoming something other than my favorite thing ever (big mushroom and yeast fan. i'll tell you about it later.)
fungus, is starting to really irritate me.
also, i feel like i weigh a ton.
that is all.
this is both literally true, and a good metaphor for how my life feels in general at the moment.
fungus is rapidly becoming something other than my favorite thing ever (big mushroom and yeast fan. i'll tell you about it later.)
fungus, is starting to really irritate me.
also, i feel like i weigh a ton.
that is all.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Well, I Asked For It...
recent events aren't actually doing much to make me something other than "the WEIRD guy," but they're certainly making me... something...
they're making me think i should be careful about wistfully longing for change.
because karma has no, sense of humor. none. at least, you won't find the shit funny until some time has passed. because karma, is one bad ass, combat boot wearing, sniper rifle carrying, unfiltered cigarette smoking, whiskey chugging, souped up mustang driving, all bets are off motherfucker.
recent events:
1) my store manager was fired.
2) two thirds of the staff decided to quit in a show of solidarity. or something. reasons are varied, but the general consensus is that things are just not the same. also, lots of them are young, and "don't want to work for a corporation that would just fire someone whose worked for them for seven years!" i must bite my tongue to not yell that indeed, all corporations are like that. oh well. i'm cynical. bite me.
3) i'm staying. and the next two months are going to be chaotic, depressing, and a major pain in the ass. but i need the job, i need the money, i need the insurance, and i probably need to learn how to weather such storms and practice saying the serenity prayer. so i'm staying. perhaps a raise or promotion is even in the works! who knows, right?
4) i feel fat like easter candy. i feel like a cadbury creme egg (i HATE those fucking things! EWWW!!!). after a three week hiatus, i'm back on a workout schedule, but i'm tired, man. i'm tired, and i feel like a jiggly pudding cup, and i'm just... not pleased with my physical situation right now. my blood sugars took this brief opportunity to climb up to unacceptable levels, and when i close my eyes, i see doctors amputating my gangrenous toes one by one. also, not exercising makes me depressed. welcome to suckfest.
5) my sister's totally unnecessary breast lift (she's twenty-three and gorgeous. and i'm not saying that because i'm her brothers. she's fucking beautiful. no one has EVER complained about how she looks naked. and she ain't the neighborhood bike or nothin', but she's had her kicks, y'know?) is coming up in a week and a half. i keep hoping she'll wake up one morning and say, "wow, this is something i don't have to do, and don't want to do! i like my body, just the way it is!" she won't. and i have to be supportive. but coming from a place where i've been diagnosed with a number of actual physical diseases that don't "go away" or "get healed," things that i just have to "deal with," this is all just too strange.
in fact, let's explore this last one a bit more. because recently, i've been rather upset with my body. i feel as though i've been doing everything right: i eat really, really healthily; i exercise regularly; i try to stay on top of my psychological shit, so as not to go apeshit; i take all my medications, on time and as prescribed; i don't drink, smoke, or toke.
my repayment: low functioning thyroid. totally treatable, common, no big deal.
BUT IT BASICALLY FEELS LIKE MY BODY IS GIVING ME THE FINGER AND TELLING ME TO GET BENT!
born with club foot. operated on. leg looks funky, but i can walk just fine, and have never had a problem with the limb since.
never a jock, never a fan of physical activity. feel fat. always. will only wear sweatpants or shorts until fifth grade. my first appearance in jeans is remarked upon by all the cool kids. super.
diagnosed with insulin dependent diabetes. ten years this july. thrilling. just, thrilling.
depression, alcoholism, drug abuse. attempted slutty behavior (failed, despite my best, most drunken efforts).
hypo-thyroid condition.
and this is totally turning into a pity party, and i don't want it to be. i don't like spending time moaning about how bad i have it, because i don't actually think i have it all that bad. i'm completely mobile, i'm smart and mentally agile, i'm articulate, i'm physically attractive despite my best efforts to hide or ignore it, i can basically do, whatever i choose to do. because i'm also a white male, not overtly effeminate, born into a middle-class family of well-educated professionals, with enough money left to me by my dead grandparents to pay for college and allow me to feel safe and comfortable. i really, have it fucking made.
i'm just shocked, is all.
i keep expecting that at some point, i'll get used to it. one day, i'll wake up, and everything i eat, every action i take, all the things i do that count double, because of my diseases, well, i'll just be all right with them. i'll have "dealt with them," and that'll be that. but i don't get used to them. you apparently can't just put these things to bed and get on with your life. and its so amazing to me that every time i have to tweak my insulin doses, or force myself to go to the gym, or work really hard to not eat that one cookie, its like a slap in the face. its fresh again, real, visceral. and lately, its been driving me crazy.
i've mentioned (have i? i don't remember...) that my current "project" is to not invalidate my feelings, but rather to let myself feel them, and accept them as just as powerful a reality as "objective" reality. and i didn't expect that a great deal of feelings are wrapped up in my health issues. which is so silly sounding when i type it. but i really thought i had dealt with it; packaged it, boxed it, taped it up, and put it on a shelf with a label so i can find it if necessary. but with this whole last month, its really been one big frustrated and pissy "FUCK IT!" i'm tired of dealing with this shit. i'm tired of everything i do having both an immediate effect, and a long term cumulative effect. i'm tired of my future forever being a question of "i wonder if i'll get to keep both my feet?" i'm tired, and i'm sad, and i'm pissed of, and the wound isn't healed, it isn't even scabbed over at the moment, its open, and bloody, and it hurts and hurts and hurts.
so perhaps you can see why my sister's unnecessary surgery is bugging me so much. BEYOND the fact that i think plastic surgery, or cosmetic surgery, or "getting work done" is just, its so horrible. its such a hatred of body and self, to feel you need to erase, or jostle, or change what you were born with, and given by the universe. and obviously, i'm not talking about corrections of major issues, be they accident induced, or genetic. because we are a society that judges people on looks, and everyone deserves at least a fighting chance. supermodels are supermodels for a reason (and that reason is anorexia and cocaine) but no one should be relegated to the category of sideshow anomoly. (though i suppose there could be good money in the field. i don't know. i've never checked.) but my sister is beautiful. she's beautiful, and so gorgeous, and i don't want her to feel the need to change for anybody. i want her to see herself the way i see her. i want her to feel as beautiful as she looks. i don't want her to let people cut on her so her "saggy titties" don't bother her anymore.
but of course, i'm a little biased.
in other news, i think the jock-itch has cleared up. and that makes me pretty happy.
sigh...
they're making me think i should be careful about wistfully longing for change.
because karma has no, sense of humor. none. at least, you won't find the shit funny until some time has passed. because karma, is one bad ass, combat boot wearing, sniper rifle carrying, unfiltered cigarette smoking, whiskey chugging, souped up mustang driving, all bets are off motherfucker.
recent events:
1) my store manager was fired.
2) two thirds of the staff decided to quit in a show of solidarity. or something. reasons are varied, but the general consensus is that things are just not the same. also, lots of them are young, and "don't want to work for a corporation that would just fire someone whose worked for them for seven years!" i must bite my tongue to not yell that indeed, all corporations are like that. oh well. i'm cynical. bite me.
3) i'm staying. and the next two months are going to be chaotic, depressing, and a major pain in the ass. but i need the job, i need the money, i need the insurance, and i probably need to learn how to weather such storms and practice saying the serenity prayer. so i'm staying. perhaps a raise or promotion is even in the works! who knows, right?
4) i feel fat like easter candy. i feel like a cadbury creme egg (i HATE those fucking things! EWWW!!!). after a three week hiatus, i'm back on a workout schedule, but i'm tired, man. i'm tired, and i feel like a jiggly pudding cup, and i'm just... not pleased with my physical situation right now. my blood sugars took this brief opportunity to climb up to unacceptable levels, and when i close my eyes, i see doctors amputating my gangrenous toes one by one. also, not exercising makes me depressed. welcome to suckfest.
5) my sister's totally unnecessary breast lift (she's twenty-three and gorgeous. and i'm not saying that because i'm her brothers. she's fucking beautiful. no one has EVER complained about how she looks naked. and she ain't the neighborhood bike or nothin', but she's had her kicks, y'know?) is coming up in a week and a half. i keep hoping she'll wake up one morning and say, "wow, this is something i don't have to do, and don't want to do! i like my body, just the way it is!" she won't. and i have to be supportive. but coming from a place where i've been diagnosed with a number of actual physical diseases that don't "go away" or "get healed," things that i just have to "deal with," this is all just too strange.
in fact, let's explore this last one a bit more. because recently, i've been rather upset with my body. i feel as though i've been doing everything right: i eat really, really healthily; i exercise regularly; i try to stay on top of my psychological shit, so as not to go apeshit; i take all my medications, on time and as prescribed; i don't drink, smoke, or toke.
my repayment: low functioning thyroid. totally treatable, common, no big deal.
BUT IT BASICALLY FEELS LIKE MY BODY IS GIVING ME THE FINGER AND TELLING ME TO GET BENT!
born with club foot. operated on. leg looks funky, but i can walk just fine, and have never had a problem with the limb since.
never a jock, never a fan of physical activity. feel fat. always. will only wear sweatpants or shorts until fifth grade. my first appearance in jeans is remarked upon by all the cool kids. super.
diagnosed with insulin dependent diabetes. ten years this july. thrilling. just, thrilling.
depression, alcoholism, drug abuse. attempted slutty behavior (failed, despite my best, most drunken efforts).
hypo-thyroid condition.
and this is totally turning into a pity party, and i don't want it to be. i don't like spending time moaning about how bad i have it, because i don't actually think i have it all that bad. i'm completely mobile, i'm smart and mentally agile, i'm articulate, i'm physically attractive despite my best efforts to hide or ignore it, i can basically do, whatever i choose to do. because i'm also a white male, not overtly effeminate, born into a middle-class family of well-educated professionals, with enough money left to me by my dead grandparents to pay for college and allow me to feel safe and comfortable. i really, have it fucking made.
i'm just shocked, is all.
i keep expecting that at some point, i'll get used to it. one day, i'll wake up, and everything i eat, every action i take, all the things i do that count double, because of my diseases, well, i'll just be all right with them. i'll have "dealt with them," and that'll be that. but i don't get used to them. you apparently can't just put these things to bed and get on with your life. and its so amazing to me that every time i have to tweak my insulin doses, or force myself to go to the gym, or work really hard to not eat that one cookie, its like a slap in the face. its fresh again, real, visceral. and lately, its been driving me crazy.
i've mentioned (have i? i don't remember...) that my current "project" is to not invalidate my feelings, but rather to let myself feel them, and accept them as just as powerful a reality as "objective" reality. and i didn't expect that a great deal of feelings are wrapped up in my health issues. which is so silly sounding when i type it. but i really thought i had dealt with it; packaged it, boxed it, taped it up, and put it on a shelf with a label so i can find it if necessary. but with this whole last month, its really been one big frustrated and pissy "FUCK IT!" i'm tired of dealing with this shit. i'm tired of everything i do having both an immediate effect, and a long term cumulative effect. i'm tired of my future forever being a question of "i wonder if i'll get to keep both my feet?" i'm tired, and i'm sad, and i'm pissed of, and the wound isn't healed, it isn't even scabbed over at the moment, its open, and bloody, and it hurts and hurts and hurts.
so perhaps you can see why my sister's unnecessary surgery is bugging me so much. BEYOND the fact that i think plastic surgery, or cosmetic surgery, or "getting work done" is just, its so horrible. its such a hatred of body and self, to feel you need to erase, or jostle, or change what you were born with, and given by the universe. and obviously, i'm not talking about corrections of major issues, be they accident induced, or genetic. because we are a society that judges people on looks, and everyone deserves at least a fighting chance. supermodels are supermodels for a reason (and that reason is anorexia and cocaine) but no one should be relegated to the category of sideshow anomoly. (though i suppose there could be good money in the field. i don't know. i've never checked.) but my sister is beautiful. she's beautiful, and so gorgeous, and i don't want her to feel the need to change for anybody. i want her to see herself the way i see her. i want her to feel as beautiful as she looks. i don't want her to let people cut on her so her "saggy titties" don't bother her anymore.
but of course, i'm a little biased.
in other news, i think the jock-itch has cleared up. and that makes me pretty happy.
sigh...
Friday, March 28, 2008
Mid-Course Correction?
i've decided i'm tired of being "the weird guy."
cuz that's totally what i am, who i am, the character i end up being in everyone's life, including mine. i'm that crazy, funny guy; i'm the guy who talks to himself, and who dances around, even when there's no music. i'm that guy that says funny things. i'm that guy who always gets played by a character actor. i'm the guy who isn't super-attractive (even though i sort of am) and who plays second fiddle to the guy who gets the girl. i'm the guy whose name is never above the title during the credits. i'm the funny-man, the second banana, the kramer.
i'm tired of it.
i'm tired of it not in that i think i'm being somehow not "genuine." i think i'm being perfectly me. i haven't even been thinking overly much about how i'm presenting myself to who, and how they are in turn perceiving me. well, my "not thinking much" is often your "thinking way too damn much." but still, i'd been doing well for me. i've to a surprising degree, just been living. but here i am, able to count the number of close friends in the area on one hand. to everyone else, i've been classified as the nutty dude who may or may not be a complete and utter pot-head. i'm the loopy one who no one wants to really pry open and take a look inside of.
i'm tired of it.
and i'm not tired of it in the sense that i want to fundamentally change who i am. nor do i like caring about how i'm being perceived. but i'm finding a dearth of people who are willing to look at me wholly and fully, not as simply a caricature of a few of my personality traits. i'm tired of being pigeon-holed. and much as i would resist it until fully ready, i'm tired of people having little desire to explore me more fully. i'm tired of weak people who are willing to take what i feed them, and have no interest in rising to the delicious and complex challenge that i am.
in short, i feel like i'm not allowed to be a protagonist in my own life. i feel like i'm perpetually there to amuse others, and even me, but that a constant parade of people are passing me by, spinning out their own stories and making progress, making love, making connections. and i'm the funny guy. the creepy guy. my story never gets told.
and i wonder, as i type this, how much of this is because i won't let my story go on. i'm on the right path, but i know i'm... still in a holding pattern? not moving on? i don't know. i'm working on it. but i'm still in first gear? i also wonder how much i'm simply creating my own reality with people. i know i project an air of unapproachability. sure, i'm goofy and funny and shit, but i'm very careful about what i see as "imposing" on other people, or looking desperate or lonely. so i don't ask to be included, and i don't do anything to invite them to. and i have a great many "protective mechanisms" in place, and even if people aren't consciously aware of them, or understand what i'm doing, i'm sure they sense them. i think i trick people into thinking i'm dangerous, and that they should stay away for their own good.
maybe i am dangerous, and they should stay away for their own good...
but for the love of fucking god, not EVERYONE should stay away!!!
geeze...
so i don't know. i don't particularly want to be "normal," but i sort of do. i don't feel like i'm THAT cracked out... but maybe i am. i just don't know. but i know i'm lonely, and i know i'm tired of being whatever it is that people take me for.
i'm tired of being taken for less than i am.
i'm tired of it.
cuz that's totally what i am, who i am, the character i end up being in everyone's life, including mine. i'm that crazy, funny guy; i'm the guy who talks to himself, and who dances around, even when there's no music. i'm that guy that says funny things. i'm that guy who always gets played by a character actor. i'm the guy who isn't super-attractive (even though i sort of am) and who plays second fiddle to the guy who gets the girl. i'm the guy whose name is never above the title during the credits. i'm the funny-man, the second banana, the kramer.
i'm tired of it.
i'm tired of it not in that i think i'm being somehow not "genuine." i think i'm being perfectly me. i haven't even been thinking overly much about how i'm presenting myself to who, and how they are in turn perceiving me. well, my "not thinking much" is often your "thinking way too damn much." but still, i'd been doing well for me. i've to a surprising degree, just been living. but here i am, able to count the number of close friends in the area on one hand. to everyone else, i've been classified as the nutty dude who may or may not be a complete and utter pot-head. i'm the loopy one who no one wants to really pry open and take a look inside of.
i'm tired of it.
and i'm not tired of it in the sense that i want to fundamentally change who i am. nor do i like caring about how i'm being perceived. but i'm finding a dearth of people who are willing to look at me wholly and fully, not as simply a caricature of a few of my personality traits. i'm tired of being pigeon-holed. and much as i would resist it until fully ready, i'm tired of people having little desire to explore me more fully. i'm tired of weak people who are willing to take what i feed them, and have no interest in rising to the delicious and complex challenge that i am.
in short, i feel like i'm not allowed to be a protagonist in my own life. i feel like i'm perpetually there to amuse others, and even me, but that a constant parade of people are passing me by, spinning out their own stories and making progress, making love, making connections. and i'm the funny guy. the creepy guy. my story never gets told.
and i wonder, as i type this, how much of this is because i won't let my story go on. i'm on the right path, but i know i'm... still in a holding pattern? not moving on? i don't know. i'm working on it. but i'm still in first gear? i also wonder how much i'm simply creating my own reality with people. i know i project an air of unapproachability. sure, i'm goofy and funny and shit, but i'm very careful about what i see as "imposing" on other people, or looking desperate or lonely. so i don't ask to be included, and i don't do anything to invite them to. and i have a great many "protective mechanisms" in place, and even if people aren't consciously aware of them, or understand what i'm doing, i'm sure they sense them. i think i trick people into thinking i'm dangerous, and that they should stay away for their own good.
maybe i am dangerous, and they should stay away for their own good...
but for the love of fucking god, not EVERYONE should stay away!!!
geeze...
so i don't know. i don't particularly want to be "normal," but i sort of do. i don't feel like i'm THAT cracked out... but maybe i am. i just don't know. but i know i'm lonely, and i know i'm tired of being whatever it is that people take me for.
i'm tired of being taken for less than i am.
i'm tired of it.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Feeling Kinda Hostile...
sooo i'm in a foul mood.
yes, i know, this isn't really a "suprise" or "something out of the ordinary" or "blah blah blah blah sarcasm!" i know i'm petulant and whiny. i know you know. but i'm the one writing this blog. i KNOW why i'm coming back. if YOU'RE coming back, well, maybe you should be looking at that, huh?
so everyone at work basically thinks i'm a total pot-head. AND NO, I'M NOT!!! i've actually been stone cold sober and unaltered for almost two years now. but apparently, i still act and look like a total druggie. this is not actually a surprise, per-see, but it was still sort of disheartening. like, if i'm going to be perceived as a smoked out weirdo anyway, shouldn't i at least actually smoke and have the fun?
and no, no, no, that's not really an option. because i get really non-functional when i'm stoned, and i don't like the person i eventually became when i was actively smoking. i'd like to not be that person again. so i'm not going to smoke. but really... geeze. i didn't know i was that ridiculous...
best part: i was so tired and mildly ill the day after i got let in on this rumor that i was COMPLETELY cracked out. full on spazz mode. that, and the fact that i was sort of fixated on the situation, made it all just look like the world's worst denial.
and really, i don't overly care. except that i've been working so hard to stay clean... sigh...
and today, i got written up for giving away free drinks to co-workers when they aren't actually working. a no brainer, right? sort of. allow me...
as much as i was aware that free drinks are only during a shift, and the half hours before and after a shift, it was made quite clear to me by co-workers that what you did, when someone from the store came in off-shift, was hook them up. end of discussion. against the rules, yes. but what you do.
now admittedly, i'm not that great at like, subtlety, or reading into the finer points of a situation. i should have been more careful, obviously. but i wasn't. i didn't think to distinguish between times when a manager in on the sitch was around, or when a manager NOT in on the sitch was around. i didn't think to keep it quiet and low-key. so last week, i got caught by our new manager (who i'm sort of friends with. except when she needs to lay the smack down. its all very difficult, this personal versus professional stuff. and i'm horrible at it.) giving free beverages to an off-duty co-worker, and she gave me a verbal warning.
which was irritating enough, because then i get mad at her as i would at a friend. when she's totally just got her boss hat on and is doing her job. i know it isn't a reflection on how she feels about me personally, and i know that i'm not good at separating personal and professional. in fact, i'm not sure how much i've EVER developed the "professional" side of that equation. anyway, i digress.
so today, the district manager was in the store all day (FUN!!!) working with our store manager. during a break, store manager pulls me into the office (he actually politely asked me to come into the back room for a minute. there were no goons. it was not a mob-type thing.) and tells me that during discussion, the manager who caught me mentioned the episode described above to the both store and district manager. so the same incident was filed as a written warning.
now, i'm told (and i probably AM) getting off lucky, as giving away drinks is tantamount to stealing from the company, and i could have been terminated instead of getting a verbal warning. and then, i could have gotten terminated instead of getting a written warning. now, i can just be terminated the next time i'm caught doing it. which will probably be never. sort of. i don't know.
but in the meantime, i'm irritated, because of a few things:
1) i'm irritated because i was caught, and i got in trouble. simple as that. everyone knows that rules are there, and that they're to be followed. i know this, i agree with this, but i also think that rules just shouldn't apply to me, especially when i've been breaking them. its a human thing, we all feel like that, its how we're wired. whatever.
2) i'm irritated because of my own problems with not being able to distinguish when things are personal, and when things are professional. the easy solution would be to always be professional when i'm at work. but that doesn't sound like any fun to me, and i would like to be able to relax and have fun while i'm working. by the way, i think i'm getting some sort of eye twitch from the sustained stress. that's something separate though.
3) i'm irritated because the store manager knows that basically, everyone and their dog gives away drinks to a few people. but i'm the one who happened to have done it most recently, i'm the one who was brought up in conversation, so i'm the one who got the slap on the wrist. dumb luck.
4) i'm irritated because i'm getting dinged twice for the same instance. i got my verbal warning, and trust me, i heard it. i don't like being in trouble, i don't like being irritated with my boss for being a boss because i'm personally hurt by something she did as a professional.
5) i'm irritated because it feels arbitrary. we all bend the rules, we all skirt some things. and i work damn hard. i take my job seriously, i make myself be pleasant to all the customers, i work really hard on the bar, i do what i'm told, even if its not my favorite task, etc, etc, etc. this is embarassing. i'll warn you now. but i really like starbucks, and i really like my job. i don't like starbucks as a corporate entity, i don't think, but i like them for giving me a job, and giving me a place to go and work. i like them for giving me benefits, and taking care of me. and i like the people i work with, and the store i work at. i like being a part of all of that. and the people i work with know it, i think. i'm pretty sure... anyway, to be so invested in something, and then get dinged for something that really seems like a technicality... well shit. what the fuck?
i do understand that the disciplinary action has nothing to do with how my managers feel about me. and i completely understand that we lose a good chunk of change every day from people giving away drinks. i understand that its technically stealing from the company, and i understand why its as serious an offense as it is.
but in the interest of not short-changing myself, i FEEL really upset. i FEEL really fucking pissed. i'm irritated, i'm annoyed, and i'm really fucking ANGRY. i'm not sure what to do with it, or where to put it, but its there.
and that was my day at work.
also, in the "Use It Or Lose It" department, my sadly neglected jockal area has jock itch. which is in actuality, a minor fungal infection. but i can't find my lamisil. and its gonna sting when i do.
all in all, what with the tiredness, and crap, and the dick issue, i feel like i'm falling apart, and i don't necessarily feel like its even worth the effort to put myself back together again.
and having written about my jock-itch, i am now absolutely certain that someone i know will find this all. because the chance of my cover being blown increases in direct proportion to just how embarrassing things get on this page. well, we have a new winner.
Jock Itch, everyone, Jock Itch.
yes, i know, this isn't really a "suprise" or "something out of the ordinary" or "blah blah blah blah sarcasm!" i know i'm petulant and whiny. i know you know. but i'm the one writing this blog. i KNOW why i'm coming back. if YOU'RE coming back, well, maybe you should be looking at that, huh?
so everyone at work basically thinks i'm a total pot-head. AND NO, I'M NOT!!! i've actually been stone cold sober and unaltered for almost two years now. but apparently, i still act and look like a total druggie. this is not actually a surprise, per-see, but it was still sort of disheartening. like, if i'm going to be perceived as a smoked out weirdo anyway, shouldn't i at least actually smoke and have the fun?
and no, no, no, that's not really an option. because i get really non-functional when i'm stoned, and i don't like the person i eventually became when i was actively smoking. i'd like to not be that person again. so i'm not going to smoke. but really... geeze. i didn't know i was that ridiculous...
best part: i was so tired and mildly ill the day after i got let in on this rumor that i was COMPLETELY cracked out. full on spazz mode. that, and the fact that i was sort of fixated on the situation, made it all just look like the world's worst denial.
and really, i don't overly care. except that i've been working so hard to stay clean... sigh...
and today, i got written up for giving away free drinks to co-workers when they aren't actually working. a no brainer, right? sort of. allow me...
as much as i was aware that free drinks are only during a shift, and the half hours before and after a shift, it was made quite clear to me by co-workers that what you did, when someone from the store came in off-shift, was hook them up. end of discussion. against the rules, yes. but what you do.
now admittedly, i'm not that great at like, subtlety, or reading into the finer points of a situation. i should have been more careful, obviously. but i wasn't. i didn't think to distinguish between times when a manager in on the sitch was around, or when a manager NOT in on the sitch was around. i didn't think to keep it quiet and low-key. so last week, i got caught by our new manager (who i'm sort of friends with. except when she needs to lay the smack down. its all very difficult, this personal versus professional stuff. and i'm horrible at it.) giving free beverages to an off-duty co-worker, and she gave me a verbal warning.
which was irritating enough, because then i get mad at her as i would at a friend. when she's totally just got her boss hat on and is doing her job. i know it isn't a reflection on how she feels about me personally, and i know that i'm not good at separating personal and professional. in fact, i'm not sure how much i've EVER developed the "professional" side of that equation. anyway, i digress.
so today, the district manager was in the store all day (FUN!!!) working with our store manager. during a break, store manager pulls me into the office (he actually politely asked me to come into the back room for a minute. there were no goons. it was not a mob-type thing.) and tells me that during discussion, the manager who caught me mentioned the episode described above to the both store and district manager. so the same incident was filed as a written warning.
now, i'm told (and i probably AM) getting off lucky, as giving away drinks is tantamount to stealing from the company, and i could have been terminated instead of getting a verbal warning. and then, i could have gotten terminated instead of getting a written warning. now, i can just be terminated the next time i'm caught doing it. which will probably be never. sort of. i don't know.
but in the meantime, i'm irritated, because of a few things:
1) i'm irritated because i was caught, and i got in trouble. simple as that. everyone knows that rules are there, and that they're to be followed. i know this, i agree with this, but i also think that rules just shouldn't apply to me, especially when i've been breaking them. its a human thing, we all feel like that, its how we're wired. whatever.
2) i'm irritated because of my own problems with not being able to distinguish when things are personal, and when things are professional. the easy solution would be to always be professional when i'm at work. but that doesn't sound like any fun to me, and i would like to be able to relax and have fun while i'm working. by the way, i think i'm getting some sort of eye twitch from the sustained stress. that's something separate though.
3) i'm irritated because the store manager knows that basically, everyone and their dog gives away drinks to a few people. but i'm the one who happened to have done it most recently, i'm the one who was brought up in conversation, so i'm the one who got the slap on the wrist. dumb luck.
4) i'm irritated because i'm getting dinged twice for the same instance. i got my verbal warning, and trust me, i heard it. i don't like being in trouble, i don't like being irritated with my boss for being a boss because i'm personally hurt by something she did as a professional.
5) i'm irritated because it feels arbitrary. we all bend the rules, we all skirt some things. and i work damn hard. i take my job seriously, i make myself be pleasant to all the customers, i work really hard on the bar, i do what i'm told, even if its not my favorite task, etc, etc, etc. this is embarassing. i'll warn you now. but i really like starbucks, and i really like my job. i don't like starbucks as a corporate entity, i don't think, but i like them for giving me a job, and giving me a place to go and work. i like them for giving me benefits, and taking care of me. and i like the people i work with, and the store i work at. i like being a part of all of that. and the people i work with know it, i think. i'm pretty sure... anyway, to be so invested in something, and then get dinged for something that really seems like a technicality... well shit. what the fuck?
i do understand that the disciplinary action has nothing to do with how my managers feel about me. and i completely understand that we lose a good chunk of change every day from people giving away drinks. i understand that its technically stealing from the company, and i understand why its as serious an offense as it is.
but in the interest of not short-changing myself, i FEEL really upset. i FEEL really fucking pissed. i'm irritated, i'm annoyed, and i'm really fucking ANGRY. i'm not sure what to do with it, or where to put it, but its there.
and that was my day at work.
also, in the "Use It Or Lose It" department, my sadly neglected jockal area has jock itch. which is in actuality, a minor fungal infection. but i can't find my lamisil. and its gonna sting when i do.
all in all, what with the tiredness, and crap, and the dick issue, i feel like i'm falling apart, and i don't necessarily feel like its even worth the effort to put myself back together again.
and having written about my jock-itch, i am now absolutely certain that someone i know will find this all. because the chance of my cover being blown increases in direct proportion to just how embarrassing things get on this page. well, we have a new winner.
Jock Itch, everyone, Jock Itch.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
soooo Jesus...
jesus was totally a zombie.
think about it. or allow me to illuminate MY thought process. (more fun, less effort. for you, anyway...)
he died on a friday. a good friday. bummer. didn't even get a last weekend. just a last supper.
three days later, he's "resurrected." yet his body is never found, as my step-mom brought up.
where did he go? where did his body go?
i, think its a safe bet that his soul went to "heaven," or wherever it is that souls go upon... going.
AND HIS BODY LEFT THE CAVE TO FEAST ON THE BRAINS OF THE LIVING!!!
jesus: king of king, and lord of the living dead. i am so making a line of t-shirts about this...
seriously though, i don't even have this strange zombie-fetish that so many people my age do. like, they just don't do "it" for me... like, they don't give me the big "O". i'm not a zombie-luvr.
but zombie jesus... that, THAT, is something i can totally get behind.
i still dislike christianity though. and jesus' life story makes me really uncomfortable. i hate martyrs. i hate cruelty. and i really dislike easter. i don't think the bible is any sort of definite authority on what is "sin" and what isn't. and i don't think anyone can absolve you of your sins but yourself, the ones you sinned against, and your own conception of any sort of higher power.
and yes, i will continue to be offensive and over-defensive every easter. possibly until i die.
there's just a lot of jesus in the air, and i can't help it. i'm allergic.
think about it. or allow me to illuminate MY thought process. (more fun, less effort. for you, anyway...)
he died on a friday. a good friday. bummer. didn't even get a last weekend. just a last supper.
three days later, he's "resurrected." yet his body is never found, as my step-mom brought up.
where did he go? where did his body go?
i, think its a safe bet that his soul went to "heaven," or wherever it is that souls go upon... going.
AND HIS BODY LEFT THE CAVE TO FEAST ON THE BRAINS OF THE LIVING!!!
jesus: king of king, and lord of the living dead. i am so making a line of t-shirts about this...
seriously though, i don't even have this strange zombie-fetish that so many people my age do. like, they just don't do "it" for me... like, they don't give me the big "O". i'm not a zombie-luvr.
but zombie jesus... that, THAT, is something i can totally get behind.
i still dislike christianity though. and jesus' life story makes me really uncomfortable. i hate martyrs. i hate cruelty. and i really dislike easter. i don't think the bible is any sort of definite authority on what is "sin" and what isn't. and i don't think anyone can absolve you of your sins but yourself, the ones you sinned against, and your own conception of any sort of higher power.
and yes, i will continue to be offensive and over-defensive every easter. possibly until i die.
there's just a lot of jesus in the air, and i can't help it. i'm allergic.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Anger
anger feels really, really good.
scratch that. not all the time. well... here. anger unfortunately can cause us to do things that are not in our own best interest.
but being angry, and releasing that anger in any sort of constructive (or at least non-destructive) fashion, feels fucking amazing.
i had an anger-gasm today. it was good. it was real good. i realized what a fucking knot i've been tied in over this "thirty percent body fat, hypo-thyroid condition" bullshit that i've been hit with. and i spent the day letting myself feel really, really, really angry. and i spent my evening trying to describe to mom just how fucking insanely irritated, irate, livid, depressed, frustrated, and pissed the fuck off i am about it all. and then i ate dinner.
now, i'm feeling much more relaxed. i'm feeling tired, and better. i'm basking in the afterglow of having successfully started dealing with an extremely intense emotion. sighhhhh... it feels good.
i don't know if i'm done being angry about this. my guess is no. but for the moment, i feel really nicely cleaned out and hollowed, like i've let a hot wind blow through me, and scour out my insides, and now i'm all warm and clean.
and the best part is, for the most part, i didn't upset anyone else for the sole reason of spreading the misery.
nor did i eat a whole bunch of crap in order to take revenge on my body.
hey look! progress!
scratch that. not all the time. well... here. anger unfortunately can cause us to do things that are not in our own best interest.
but being angry, and releasing that anger in any sort of constructive (or at least non-destructive) fashion, feels fucking amazing.
i had an anger-gasm today. it was good. it was real good. i realized what a fucking knot i've been tied in over this "thirty percent body fat, hypo-thyroid condition" bullshit that i've been hit with. and i spent the day letting myself feel really, really, really angry. and i spent my evening trying to describe to mom just how fucking insanely irritated, irate, livid, depressed, frustrated, and pissed the fuck off i am about it all. and then i ate dinner.
now, i'm feeling much more relaxed. i'm feeling tired, and better. i'm basking in the afterglow of having successfully started dealing with an extremely intense emotion. sighhhhh... it feels good.
i don't know if i'm done being angry about this. my guess is no. but for the moment, i feel really nicely cleaned out and hollowed, like i've let a hot wind blow through me, and scour out my insides, and now i'm all warm and clean.
and the best part is, for the most part, i didn't upset anyone else for the sole reason of spreading the misery.
nor did i eat a whole bunch of crap in order to take revenge on my body.
hey look! progress!
Systems Failing!
you know what i love? and i mean that in both the completely ironic sense, AND the serious and honest sense. i LOVE (leaning towards ironic...) when my coping mechanisms get in the way of my daily life, or in fact, stop working all together.
let me unpack that a little bit for you.
used to be, if i was upset about something, i would sleep. i would just fucking sleep the clock around like belle and sebastien suggest. it was a coping mechanism, and i'm sure it wasn't actually all that effective, but dammit, it allowed me to mostly function, most of the time. whatever was upsetting me hung around in the background until it got actually dealt with. whatever.
let's not get into drugs and alcohol. suffice it to say, they don't really work. and they're a lot more harmful than sleeping. in fact, after i stopped using drugs and alcohol, i went back to sleeping to deal with my cravings for them, and the mess i was in, and the mess i was. sleep, and lots of cigarettes.
another fun one, is zoning out on the internet for hours at a time. you fool yourself, because its not as passive as t.v., so you feel like you must be a step up from watching "Golden Girls" reruns. but you're not, really. i waste, fucking days of my life on this stupid machine. i check my e-mail, check my networking/dating site profiles, look up cute/interesting people, watch music videos, watch porn, read blogs, write in my blog, catch up on news, catch up on my webcomics, see what my horoscopes have to say, wikipedia a few items of interest, and then do the whole damn cycle over again. over, and over, and over again.
i'm so exhausted i forgot to change out of my house sandals before going to work this morning, and had to A. look down at my feet to figure out why they felt so different, and B. drive home and put on my work shoes and drive back so i was able to grab a register and then pour hot water on my hand, and just let it keep pouring for a few seconds before figuring out what was going on and stopping the madness. and then i charged the district manager for her drink. and failed to give anyone their pastries for thirty minutes. i think my throbbing boiled hand might have been distracting me.
i am this tired. my eyes constantly feel gritty. my feet hurt. i act like a stoned cheerleader. minus the boobies. but here i am, writing to you (and watching episodes of "Home Movies" on youtube.com) instead of sleeping.
don't get me wrong. i fucking love "Home Movies."
but i really need to be asleep three days ago now.
i just can't get it together.
let me unpack that a little bit for you.
used to be, if i was upset about something, i would sleep. i would just fucking sleep the clock around like belle and sebastien suggest. it was a coping mechanism, and i'm sure it wasn't actually all that effective, but dammit, it allowed me to mostly function, most of the time. whatever was upsetting me hung around in the background until it got actually dealt with. whatever.
let's not get into drugs and alcohol. suffice it to say, they don't really work. and they're a lot more harmful than sleeping. in fact, after i stopped using drugs and alcohol, i went back to sleeping to deal with my cravings for them, and the mess i was in, and the mess i was. sleep, and lots of cigarettes.
another fun one, is zoning out on the internet for hours at a time. you fool yourself, because its not as passive as t.v., so you feel like you must be a step up from watching "Golden Girls" reruns. but you're not, really. i waste, fucking days of my life on this stupid machine. i check my e-mail, check my networking/dating site profiles, look up cute/interesting people, watch music videos, watch porn, read blogs, write in my blog, catch up on news, catch up on my webcomics, see what my horoscopes have to say, wikipedia a few items of interest, and then do the whole damn cycle over again. over, and over, and over again.
i'm so exhausted i forgot to change out of my house sandals before going to work this morning, and had to A. look down at my feet to figure out why they felt so different, and B. drive home and put on my work shoes and drive back so i was able to grab a register and then pour hot water on my hand, and just let it keep pouring for a few seconds before figuring out what was going on and stopping the madness. and then i charged the district manager for her drink. and failed to give anyone their pastries for thirty minutes. i think my throbbing boiled hand might have been distracting me.
i am this tired. my eyes constantly feel gritty. my feet hurt. i act like a stoned cheerleader. minus the boobies. but here i am, writing to you (and watching episodes of "Home Movies" on youtube.com) instead of sleeping.
don't get me wrong. i fucking love "Home Movies."
but i really need to be asleep three days ago now.
i just can't get it together.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Pneumonia Vaccine
also, i got a pneumonia vaccine yesterday while i was at the doctor's.
my arm fucking aches like a motherfucker.
i am not pleased.
i suppose that's all.
i hate everything. goodnight.
my arm fucking aches like a motherfucker.
i am not pleased.
i suppose that's all.
i hate everything. goodnight.
F.Y.I.
i have watched/listened to the video to Robyn's song "Be Mine!" about one hundred times today.
i am fully and completely addicted.
i even did that thing i do, where i just start writhing around on my bed in some strange uncontainable convulsion. you do those things too... when no one's looking, you do them. i have my bed dance. i don't know what you have. but like, i was all over the place. moving to the music made me feel really good. and hot (and bothered).
so yeah.
go, and watch the video (either one. there are two.) and like, do your own little bed dance. because i swear, the song is like crack. swedish blond crack. and beyond that, its really really good. its good crack. high class ho. like eliot spitzer was into, back when he was governer.
oh! OH! i went there... i am SO topical...
also, robyn totally reminds me of a girl in my architecture program. a totally awesome girl. i miss her. but she's also a really big personality. so i'm coping with her absence all right. but yeah. teh awesome. robyn, and the girl.
i am fully and completely addicted.
i even did that thing i do, where i just start writhing around on my bed in some strange uncontainable convulsion. you do those things too... when no one's looking, you do them. i have my bed dance. i don't know what you have. but like, i was all over the place. moving to the music made me feel really good. and hot (and bothered).
so yeah.
go, and watch the video (either one. there are two.) and like, do your own little bed dance. because i swear, the song is like crack. swedish blond crack. and beyond that, its really really good. its good crack. high class ho. like eliot spitzer was into, back when he was governer.
oh! OH! i went there... i am SO topical...
also, robyn totally reminds me of a girl in my architecture program. a totally awesome girl. i miss her. but she's also a really big personality. so i'm coping with her absence all right. but yeah. teh awesome. robyn, and the girl.
Friday, March 14, 2008
It's Glandular!
remember how homer simpson is always saying that when people tell him he's fat?
well, he said it at least once. i remember. where were you?
anyway, the point is, NOW I GET TO SAY IT!!!
isn't it exciting!
actually, its really depressing, and i feel like a whale. i don't look like a whale. i just feel like one. its a feeling that has no basis in objective, physical reality. but in my brain, man... its fuckin' REAL! i hate brains. i think they should be outlawed.
no, the thing is, i apparently have a hypo-thyroid condition. the thyroid controls your metabolism. hence, if its functioning at diminished capacity, you may feel very tired often (check), feel sluggish and slow (check), and have trouble with prolonged activity and losing weight (aaaaand CHECK). also, i got the news about this new bit of fun (completely treatable with a simple pill, mind you) the same day i get told twice that my BMI is twenty-nine.
for those of you blessed enough to not know or care what one's BMI is (and go to hell, every last one of you...), its a measure of the percentage of your body weight that is made up of FAT. anything over twenty-five is overweight. over thirty is obese, or fat as hell, or something like that. over forty means you are a failure as a human being and completely unlovable. not really. that's just how it all FEELS...
feelings are real. they are real, and completely valid. they may not be an accurate reflection of reality, but they are totally real.
ain't that a fuckin' bitch?
so anyway, i'm having an issue with this. because i've been working out, hard, for the past nine months. and i'm pleased with the results i've attained. but i feel like they've been slow in coming. and now i can't even get to the gym as often as i want to (thyroid) and when i go to yoga, i feel weak (thyroid), even though i'm now on my feet and moving at the store most days and shouldn't reasonably expect to be able to exert myself as much because of that.
it all just makes me want to stop. its really discouraging.
and the fuck of it is, i know that the BMI results i'm looking at are wrong. they're skewed. i haven't had any actual BMI tests run on me, which means the results are using my height and weight. and those mathematics are flawed. they don't take into account your frame, (i.e. someone with size forty-two shoulders versus size thirty-six shoulders. ditto a woman with wide hips versus one with narrow hips.) nor do they take into account the fact that the taller a person is, the more bone and basic connective tissue mass there is to support the larger frame. that relationship isn't linear. you can't "start at five feet and one hundred pounds. add a pound for every inch. when you hit your height, that's the middle of your ideal weight range. anything fifteen pounds above or below that is within your thirty pound window." it doesn't work that way.
case in point. for the sake of argument, let's say a man is six feet tall and two hundred pounds. we don't know exactly what his body looks like, but we have a basic idea of how he might be put together. the tallest man in the world, was eight feet and a couple inches. he weighed, four hundred pounds. you wouldn't know it to look at him. he didn't look like what we imagine four hundred pounds of human would look like. but to keep the human body functional at a two foot height increase (133% of our six foot man) another two hundred pounds were needed (200% of our six foot man).
the ratio is exponential, not linear.
so i know, rationally, i know, that these measurements are incorrect. not that you can't do a real and accurate BMI exam. but i haven't had one done. these results are incorrect. and all my other numbers are good. my cholesterol, my hemoglobin A1c, etc. i have none of the indicators that an overweight person would have.
but it's still fuckin' me up.
on the plus side, brother's birthday was today. we had breakfast as a family at the geunther house by the river, and there was totally a hen mallard duck nesting in the hedge. it was the cutest thing i have seen in recent memory. she had the nest all lined with down feathers, and she was snuggled up, presumably on some eggs, with her head resting on her wing. and it made me really, really happy.
the meal made me sick. i cannot, eat waffles. they make me sick. i thought i would vomit.
duck...
i love ducks. i almost typed "i love dicks" by accident. which is totally true, but not what i was actually thinking about right now. i was thinking about ducks. and my strange, extreme love of them. i just think they're like, the best fluffy cute things ever. and i want some of my own. which is not going to happen. right now.
oh, but the best/saddest part of my BMI crisis was when i was telling mom about all this, and ended by saying "i would rather expend my energy freaking out about the results than on examining my assumption that i must be skinny and attractive, otherwise i don't deserve love and affection." which we both know is not how things work in reality. i mean, how many ugly people are in perfectly satisfactory relationships? then we both laughed. we are sooo going to hell...
i totally love dicks...
do you know how long its been since i've seen a dick in real life, other than my own? years. YEARS!!! too long.
this is degenerating. i'm done.
well, he said it at least once. i remember. where were you?
anyway, the point is, NOW I GET TO SAY IT!!!
isn't it exciting!
actually, its really depressing, and i feel like a whale. i don't look like a whale. i just feel like one. its a feeling that has no basis in objective, physical reality. but in my brain, man... its fuckin' REAL! i hate brains. i think they should be outlawed.
no, the thing is, i apparently have a hypo-thyroid condition. the thyroid controls your metabolism. hence, if its functioning at diminished capacity, you may feel very tired often (check), feel sluggish and slow (check), and have trouble with prolonged activity and losing weight (aaaaand CHECK). also, i got the news about this new bit of fun (completely treatable with a simple pill, mind you) the same day i get told twice that my BMI is twenty-nine.
for those of you blessed enough to not know or care what one's BMI is (and go to hell, every last one of you...), its a measure of the percentage of your body weight that is made up of FAT. anything over twenty-five is overweight. over thirty is obese, or fat as hell, or something like that. over forty means you are a failure as a human being and completely unlovable. not really. that's just how it all FEELS...
feelings are real. they are real, and completely valid. they may not be an accurate reflection of reality, but they are totally real.
ain't that a fuckin' bitch?
so anyway, i'm having an issue with this. because i've been working out, hard, for the past nine months. and i'm pleased with the results i've attained. but i feel like they've been slow in coming. and now i can't even get to the gym as often as i want to (thyroid) and when i go to yoga, i feel weak (thyroid), even though i'm now on my feet and moving at the store most days and shouldn't reasonably expect to be able to exert myself as much because of that.
it all just makes me want to stop. its really discouraging.
and the fuck of it is, i know that the BMI results i'm looking at are wrong. they're skewed. i haven't had any actual BMI tests run on me, which means the results are using my height and weight. and those mathematics are flawed. they don't take into account your frame, (i.e. someone with size forty-two shoulders versus size thirty-six shoulders. ditto a woman with wide hips versus one with narrow hips.) nor do they take into account the fact that the taller a person is, the more bone and basic connective tissue mass there is to support the larger frame. that relationship isn't linear. you can't "start at five feet and one hundred pounds. add a pound for every inch. when you hit your height, that's the middle of your ideal weight range. anything fifteen pounds above or below that is within your thirty pound window." it doesn't work that way.
case in point. for the sake of argument, let's say a man is six feet tall and two hundred pounds. we don't know exactly what his body looks like, but we have a basic idea of how he might be put together. the tallest man in the world, was eight feet and a couple inches. he weighed, four hundred pounds. you wouldn't know it to look at him. he didn't look like what we imagine four hundred pounds of human would look like. but to keep the human body functional at a two foot height increase (133% of our six foot man) another two hundred pounds were needed (200% of our six foot man).
the ratio is exponential, not linear.
so i know, rationally, i know, that these measurements are incorrect. not that you can't do a real and accurate BMI exam. but i haven't had one done. these results are incorrect. and all my other numbers are good. my cholesterol, my hemoglobin A1c, etc. i have none of the indicators that an overweight person would have.
but it's still fuckin' me up.
on the plus side, brother's birthday was today. we had breakfast as a family at the geunther house by the river, and there was totally a hen mallard duck nesting in the hedge. it was the cutest thing i have seen in recent memory. she had the nest all lined with down feathers, and she was snuggled up, presumably on some eggs, with her head resting on her wing. and it made me really, really happy.
the meal made me sick. i cannot, eat waffles. they make me sick. i thought i would vomit.
duck...
i love ducks. i almost typed "i love dicks" by accident. which is totally true, but not what i was actually thinking about right now. i was thinking about ducks. and my strange, extreme love of them. i just think they're like, the best fluffy cute things ever. and i want some of my own. which is not going to happen. right now.
oh, but the best/saddest part of my BMI crisis was when i was telling mom about all this, and ended by saying "i would rather expend my energy freaking out about the results than on examining my assumption that i must be skinny and attractive, otherwise i don't deserve love and affection." which we both know is not how things work in reality. i mean, how many ugly people are in perfectly satisfactory relationships? then we both laughed. we are sooo going to hell...
i totally love dicks...
do you know how long its been since i've seen a dick in real life, other than my own? years. YEARS!!! too long.
this is degenerating. i'm done.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Flossing
ahhh, the suckage... i am really, really, obviously shitty about updating this blog on a regular basis. a fact that my editor is totally going to have a cow about (rightfully so. and not my editor. i guess she's the queen bee of our little blogging-for-film enterprise. she's the baddest bitch, y'know?) anyway, yes. i'm still alive. the sickness did not consume me. and in fact, i managed to fully avoid vomiting. which is AWESOME!
cuz vomiting, fucking sucks, yo.
so its march now. the sun is in the sign of pisces. brother's birthday is coming up. as is Steven's. and C's. my life is full of pisces. we are, after all, opposing signs. opposites breed curiosity. and with my brother, they also breed frustration. but what can you do? i've decided that if he doesn't plan on being home with the fam on his birthday, i will totally work that day, and not feel bad about it. it is not my responsibility to be at his beck and call, and ever wait in the wings in case his other plans don't work out, or whatever. fuck that. i'm done.
work continues. i still really enjoy it. i'm getting markably better at it. and i got my official certification in the mail this last tuesday. of course, i forgot to bring it home for reasons i'll get to in a second, but its there, waiting for me. i am now an official barista. as my manager said, "you're a real boy now." yup. there are no strings on me, save my crippling fear and my all-consuming avarice. but other than those, and my inability to trust people, i am completely stringless. free as a bird.
but this tuesday... i was reeeally tired at work. because i finally got to pull ye olde Demon Shift. the one where you close the store one night and finish up at midnight, and then have to be there to open the store up again at five the next morning. the schedule where you wonder whether its even worth sleeping at all, and if you do opt for sleep, you're tempted to just sleep in your clothes so you can roll out of bed and right into your car four hours later. now, i did do this by choice (see the reference to "all-consuming avarice" above), and i figured it was bound to happen eventually, so i decided to just make it happen and get through the first one so i know what i'll be dealing with in the future. and it was rough, but it was fine. the best, the BEST part, though, was tuesday morning, when i was at the register trying to smile and going off of three hours of sleep, and the person who was supposed to get there at seven or so (in time to help the two openers field the morning rush) didn't show.
AWESOME!
but my manager was really pleased with me, which is good, and i'm pleased with myself. i like having a job that forces me to roll with punches and deal with situations that are beyond my control. those are things i'm not great at, and need to practice. and the pleasant thing is, i really don't tend to get mad at this point. so i work four hours without a break. fine. eventually, someone will get there to relieve me. every situation must end, and until then, you simply deal. and it really isn't that bad.
however, there is also another undercurrent of ... stuff ... in my life at the moment, and that's where the title of this post comes into play.
i am really excited to be in a position to make some money right now. and really, if i were ridiculously avaricious, i wouldn't be working at starbucks, because let's face it... they don't pay all that great. scheduling flexibility, benefits, fun times, sure. but i'm not like, hauling it in. which is fine for now. i'm learning things right now. i'm where i need to be. but my sickness of two weeks ago, and my willingness to work the Demon Shift, are also part of my failure to floss regularly for a few months. gross, right? but in truth, all three of these things are about my willingness to balance my greed, or my comfort (i hate flossing...) against doing what is truly best for me.
because money is nice, and nobody likes flossing, but in the end, if you don't take care of yourself, you get sick, spend your salary on doctors, and your teeth fall out of your head. the flossing argument comes from my friend E, who is in a program that is aaaaall about learning to take care of yourself. because some of us aren't good at it, for a variety of reasons, both genetic and behavioral. and E is one of those people, and so am i. E's big thing is flossing her teeth. she hates flossing too. (who doesn't?) but taking care of yourself sometimes means engaging in activities that aren't comfortable or pleasant, or that stand in the way of doing things that parts of you want to do, and think you SHOULD do.
so i flossed tonight. i brushed, i flossed, i brushed again, used the anti-bacterial mouthwash, and then put vaseline on my lips (which is sort of like dessert, because i really like my lips, and i don't take care of them unless i'm flossing). and i also spent the entire day in bed, except for when i went to my yoga class. because that's part of taking care of myself too. i also need to not schedule myself into exhaustion, which leaves me much more open to getting sick and then missing work later on.
its all more of that goddamned, middle-of-the-road bullshit that i hate and am no good at.
its lessons, and processes, and time and effort and energy.
but its something i need to learn, and better now than later.
on that note, i get benefits now! and i am BEYOND excited to start therapy again. it's been a long time coming. and believe me, i need it. because i joke about my unwillingness to trust people, my inability to let down my defenses enough to let any new people in, and my paralyzing fear that leaves me just able to hold down a job at starbucks. but really, i'm not fully a fan of any of those things. i would like to be healthier. i would like to be able to feel more at ease around people. and i would like to feel more at ease with having feelings.
feelings are not easy.
i am not a fan of people who make me feel things. i make things miserable for people who make me love them. because that is such a scraping raw nakedness, to love somebody. its being naked in the tundra, the wind whipping across the frozen waste and rushing ice crystals across you that leave your skin red and burned. loving someone is an abdication of a portion of my well-being to another person. its a surrender to that tundra, or the perpetual potential of that tundra. so i push those that make me feel things away. i say horrible things to them. i ignore them, and then make ridiculous demands of them. i try to push them away away away from me. because the fear of that pain is oh so great...
and i know that this is a way-beyond-rational, over-extreme reaction. but i haven't had great luck with intimacy this lifetime. and i'm not talking just romantic whatevers. i'm saying my models for intimacy, my relationships with my parents, and my parent's relationship to each other, are not great. i'm talking Daddy Issues. i'll just start calling them DIs. i won't. but yeah. and mommy issues too. all the romances are simply copies of those primary relationships. xeroxes where some of the details are fuzzy, and parts look different, but the overall picture is the same.
like i told you, i'm not that healthy.
but i can make a list of things that i am. it recommended i do that in a book i read yesterday; "Toxic Parents: Blah Blah Blah Blah You've Got Issues". or something like that. i'm not fully sure about the second part of the title.
i am funny.
i am smart.
i am compassionate.
i am sensitive, and caring.
i am empathetic.
i am nice, and mean well, and try to see the best in people.
i am a hard worker.
i am a good team player.
i am able to make people laugh, and feel good, just by being my regular old self.
that's probably enough for now. no, i forgot some important ones:
i am a vessel of god.
i am holy.
i am sacred, and profane.
i am human.
now i'm done. for now. ohhh self help books... the things they make me do. this is really an truly embarassing, and that means i totally have to leave it here for anyone who wants to look and see. because its about taking steps towards being vulnerable, and being all right with that.
what, you thought this blog was for you or something?
well yeah, i suppose its for you a little bit too...
cuz i'm nice like that. right?
cuz vomiting, fucking sucks, yo.
so its march now. the sun is in the sign of pisces. brother's birthday is coming up. as is Steven's. and C's. my life is full of pisces. we are, after all, opposing signs. opposites breed curiosity. and with my brother, they also breed frustration. but what can you do? i've decided that if he doesn't plan on being home with the fam on his birthday, i will totally work that day, and not feel bad about it. it is not my responsibility to be at his beck and call, and ever wait in the wings in case his other plans don't work out, or whatever. fuck that. i'm done.
work continues. i still really enjoy it. i'm getting markably better at it. and i got my official certification in the mail this last tuesday. of course, i forgot to bring it home for reasons i'll get to in a second, but its there, waiting for me. i am now an official barista. as my manager said, "you're a real boy now." yup. there are no strings on me, save my crippling fear and my all-consuming avarice. but other than those, and my inability to trust people, i am completely stringless. free as a bird.
but this tuesday... i was reeeally tired at work. because i finally got to pull ye olde Demon Shift. the one where you close the store one night and finish up at midnight, and then have to be there to open the store up again at five the next morning. the schedule where you wonder whether its even worth sleeping at all, and if you do opt for sleep, you're tempted to just sleep in your clothes so you can roll out of bed and right into your car four hours later. now, i did do this by choice (see the reference to "all-consuming avarice" above), and i figured it was bound to happen eventually, so i decided to just make it happen and get through the first one so i know what i'll be dealing with in the future. and it was rough, but it was fine. the best, the BEST part, though, was tuesday morning, when i was at the register trying to smile and going off of three hours of sleep, and the person who was supposed to get there at seven or so (in time to help the two openers field the morning rush) didn't show.
AWESOME!
but my manager was really pleased with me, which is good, and i'm pleased with myself. i like having a job that forces me to roll with punches and deal with situations that are beyond my control. those are things i'm not great at, and need to practice. and the pleasant thing is, i really don't tend to get mad at this point. so i work four hours without a break. fine. eventually, someone will get there to relieve me. every situation must end, and until then, you simply deal. and it really isn't that bad.
however, there is also another undercurrent of ... stuff ... in my life at the moment, and that's where the title of this post comes into play.
i am really excited to be in a position to make some money right now. and really, if i were ridiculously avaricious, i wouldn't be working at starbucks, because let's face it... they don't pay all that great. scheduling flexibility, benefits, fun times, sure. but i'm not like, hauling it in. which is fine for now. i'm learning things right now. i'm where i need to be. but my sickness of two weeks ago, and my willingness to work the Demon Shift, are also part of my failure to floss regularly for a few months. gross, right? but in truth, all three of these things are about my willingness to balance my greed, or my comfort (i hate flossing...) against doing what is truly best for me.
because money is nice, and nobody likes flossing, but in the end, if you don't take care of yourself, you get sick, spend your salary on doctors, and your teeth fall out of your head. the flossing argument comes from my friend E, who is in a program that is aaaaall about learning to take care of yourself. because some of us aren't good at it, for a variety of reasons, both genetic and behavioral. and E is one of those people, and so am i. E's big thing is flossing her teeth. she hates flossing too. (who doesn't?) but taking care of yourself sometimes means engaging in activities that aren't comfortable or pleasant, or that stand in the way of doing things that parts of you want to do, and think you SHOULD do.
so i flossed tonight. i brushed, i flossed, i brushed again, used the anti-bacterial mouthwash, and then put vaseline on my lips (which is sort of like dessert, because i really like my lips, and i don't take care of them unless i'm flossing). and i also spent the entire day in bed, except for when i went to my yoga class. because that's part of taking care of myself too. i also need to not schedule myself into exhaustion, which leaves me much more open to getting sick and then missing work later on.
its all more of that goddamned, middle-of-the-road bullshit that i hate and am no good at.
its lessons, and processes, and time and effort and energy.
but its something i need to learn, and better now than later.
on that note, i get benefits now! and i am BEYOND excited to start therapy again. it's been a long time coming. and believe me, i need it. because i joke about my unwillingness to trust people, my inability to let down my defenses enough to let any new people in, and my paralyzing fear that leaves me just able to hold down a job at starbucks. but really, i'm not fully a fan of any of those things. i would like to be healthier. i would like to be able to feel more at ease around people. and i would like to feel more at ease with having feelings.
feelings are not easy.
i am not a fan of people who make me feel things. i make things miserable for people who make me love them. because that is such a scraping raw nakedness, to love somebody. its being naked in the tundra, the wind whipping across the frozen waste and rushing ice crystals across you that leave your skin red and burned. loving someone is an abdication of a portion of my well-being to another person. its a surrender to that tundra, or the perpetual potential of that tundra. so i push those that make me feel things away. i say horrible things to them. i ignore them, and then make ridiculous demands of them. i try to push them away away away from me. because the fear of that pain is oh so great...
and i know that this is a way-beyond-rational, over-extreme reaction. but i haven't had great luck with intimacy this lifetime. and i'm not talking just romantic whatevers. i'm saying my models for intimacy, my relationships with my parents, and my parent's relationship to each other, are not great. i'm talking Daddy Issues. i'll just start calling them DIs. i won't. but yeah. and mommy issues too. all the romances are simply copies of those primary relationships. xeroxes where some of the details are fuzzy, and parts look different, but the overall picture is the same.
like i told you, i'm not that healthy.
but i can make a list of things that i am. it recommended i do that in a book i read yesterday; "Toxic Parents: Blah Blah Blah Blah You've Got Issues". or something like that. i'm not fully sure about the second part of the title.
i am funny.
i am smart.
i am compassionate.
i am sensitive, and caring.
i am empathetic.
i am nice, and mean well, and try to see the best in people.
i am a hard worker.
i am a good team player.
i am able to make people laugh, and feel good, just by being my regular old self.
that's probably enough for now. no, i forgot some important ones:
i am a vessel of god.
i am holy.
i am sacred, and profane.
i am human.
now i'm done. for now. ohhh self help books... the things they make me do. this is really an truly embarassing, and that means i totally have to leave it here for anyone who wants to look and see. because its about taking steps towards being vulnerable, and being all right with that.
what, you thought this blog was for you or something?
well yeah, i suppose its for you a little bit too...
cuz i'm nice like that. right?
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