|
|
Thursday, February 28th, 2002
| |
5:37 pm - Alone I'll stand as they all dance. I've tangoed one too many times, the floor is just not for me.
|
As I don't feel like misanthropic ranting or depressed rambling are working for me as literary styles, today will be an experiment in typical journal entry genres. Think of it as sort of an adventure. Onward!
Type #1 -- The Anecdote
The Saybrook dining hall is, in my opinion, somewhat poorly designed. I prefer to get my drinks after I've decided what I'm going to be eating, in order to better suit the drink to my overall eating experience.
It's like deciding between red and white wine, really. And by "between red and white wine" I mean "between cranberry juice and milk."
Anyway, a few days ago I was feeling a little spicy and decided to try a little ginger ale with my chicken and pasta. The problem with the ginger ale, though, is that for some reason it is *always* overcarbonated. Invariably your glass is half full of fizz, and you have to awkwardly wait for it to calm down so you can fill up your glass to a reasonable level.
So, I'm standing in front of the ginger ale, topping off my glass a little bit more every few seconds as the foam recedes, when a girl walks up to the drink machine and says, "Can I..." and gestures at the machine.
I assume that I must be blocking the Mr Pibb or something, so I obligingly take a step over.
She takes this opportunity to get some ginger ale, using exactly the same ginger-ale-getting method that I had been employing.
Sometimes I just don't understand other people. I mean, if they would tell me how much more special they are than I am, I would obligingly allow them to have their way. I shouldn't have to do this guesswork, it just works out poorly for everyone involved.
Type #2 -- The Ecstatic Declaration:
OMG my college transfer went through and I'm finally going to be able to live with my friends instead of all by myself in a college I hate! YAY!
Type #3 -- The Meaningful Song Lyrics:
I've been listening to this song over and over again. It makes me feel like someone, like, opened my head and poured out my thoughts. Wow.
"If I had a million dollars... (If I had a million dollars...)
I'd buy you a green dress (but not a real green dress that's cruel).
If I had a million dollars... (If I had a million dollars...)
I'd buy you some art (a Picasso or a Garfunkel).
If I had a million dollars... (If I had a million dollars...)
I'd buy you a monkey (haven't you always wanted a monkey?).
If I had a million dollars... I'd buy your love.
Because, really, haven't we all always wanted a monkey? Deep down?
Type #4 -- The DR Update (or, Me = tool):
I'm sooooo cutting it close on making my quota of Mentoring hours this month. I have to stop doing this. I mean, it's not like training an Empath is terribly more exciting than walking newbies through the favor puzzle.
Next month I'll start earlier. I will. And I'll circle the Empath to 30th at least. Yessss.
I haven't played the Cleric in a while, and I'm starting to miss being mean to people. My other characters are too nice; every so often I just want to tell all the morons who play this game exactly how irritatingly stupid they are. She also ought to circle to 30th, or at least get that little bit of a weapons rank she's got left to get her next spell. Mmmm, Curse of Zachriedek.
Baby moonie is plugging along. Power Perception is ridiculously easy for Moon Mages to learn. Dear god. It's my least favorite skill to train with the other two characters, but with him I just run a neat little script whenever he drops to perplexing or so and voila, locked again. Drooooool.
Type #5 -- The Shout-Out:
Last weekend's excursion to the away games was soooo amazing due largely to the fabulous efforts of the following wonderful people: JQ and MAW, of course, and my fun was greatly added to by DG, TK, GP, and ML -- not even the fat drunk JMcN could get on my nerves, although from his behavior one would almost assume he were trying to do so.
MEW and SV -- missed youse guys. Next away games you have to come. Pwease?
** end experiment **
Wow. I feel almost normal now.
Weird.
~Crys
|
|
(4 comments |comment on this)
|
| Monday, February 4th, 2002
| |
5:04 am - So, it's safe to say that we've been here before.
|
Why am I awake?
Not depression, this time, no -- although I'm currently swaying back and forth inside a spectrum of fairly negative emotions. Irritation at the world, irritation at myself, despair, resignation, despair, irritation at myself, irritation at the world.
Now what, you might ask, could possibly be the cause of this 5am mental anguish?
A phonology problem set.
Since I can't explain the set itself without sounding barking mad, I'll endeavor to use an analogy more people can relate to. At some point or another in our lives, many of us have been forced to complete Euclidean geometry proofs. The thing I always loathed about these was that they required me to have sparks of insight on command, to extract the solution from careful examination of the given data during the relatively brief period we were given within which to complete the exam. Similarly, phonology problem sets require me to stare glassy-eyed at long lists of phonetic transcriptions of words in some suitably obscure language, and somehow create a pat-perfect-interlocking set of rules that can explain all of the data away.
And so, I just spent the last ten minutes taking stupid online quizzes in the vein of "Which Carbonated Beverage Are You?"
Clearly, I will be falling asleep in class tomorrow. Today. Something like that.
I'm not unhappy in any deep way. Mostly, I'm just frustrated and annoyed with myself for being unable to make my data click on any level. Every problem set has these moments, and every time I vow that I'll start the homework a few days early, I'll go to office hours if I have a problem, I'll email my classmates (even though more than half of them are annoying foreign grad students)... But, of course, here I am, 5am the day the homework is due, unable to do anything except wring my hands and take insipid personality tests.
At this point, I'm merely trying to avoid going back to the work. Every time I look at it, I'm gripped by this horrible feeling of inadequacy, which my caffeinated, sleep-deprived brain expands upon until I'm spiraling out of control, concluding that I should never have even gotten into Yale in the first place, I'm a fraud, my intellectual life has been nothing but a sham. The problem set becomes everything I've never been able to do -- all of the puzzles I couldn't solve, all of the questions I've left blank. The pattern I can't see mocks me as a failure.
The only good thing that I can think of is that he grades these problem sets out of four... so he can't be weighing them *that* heavily when a single error knocks us down to perhaps the B range. Fortunately I have no work due for Tuesday, but I really wish that my other class hadn't shifted all of its problem set due dates to Monday. I feel like I spent all of today doing work and I still feel unproductive because this final set is giving me such enormous issues.
It appears as if I'm just not cut out to be a theoretical phonologist; I should fall back on my high school plans of becoming a writer. Although, I really don't know if my writing is terribly good -- I'm willing to believe that I turn phrases fairly well, but I feel like I lack the sort of creativity necessary to create something extensive, expansive, and engrossing from out of the swirling fog in my mind.
Fog currently being the operative word.
~Crystalline
|
|
(1 comment |comment on this)
|
| Thursday, January 24th, 2002
| |
5:10 pm - About time a black man demanded!
|
Updating my jour-NAL. Cha cha cha cha cha CHA!
I try to remember to update. Really. Often I'll start to write something, get bored, and end up reading other people's journals instead. So, if you've added me as a friend and you don't think I acknowledged it in any way... well, I didn't acknowledge it per se, but I do read your journal. Just so's you know.
I'm back at school, and have been for near on two weeks now. I'm sorry to say that the Yale administration has made me resent Martin Luther King, Jr., by giving us the holiday off but completely fucking up our scheduling to do it. We had to have last Monday off, but they decided that Monday classes were more important than Friday classes, and made the preceding Friday a Monday instead. So, my first week of school had two Mondays.
An ill omen for the beginning of a semester if I've ever heard one.
Now this week is fairly light, which is nice, but it doesn't make up for the fact that last week had two Mondays. I don't get lunch on Mondays. I have four hours of consecutive classes, all of which are in my major. I really didn't need to deal with that twice, nor did I want to have homework and reading due on Friday, as it was technically the third meeting of those classes -- normally, we would have had the weekend to do the work. Not so this time. Ugh.
There was no need to have all of this irritating mess, but the Yale administration is like a deer in the headlights whenever they get caught being anything but bend over backwards politically correct. Last year, African-American students protested that we were showing disrespect and whanot for MLK by not officially celebrating his holiday.
Anyone knows bored Yalies will arrange protests for anything! Look at the Students Against Sweatshops, they spent over a month camping out on Beinecke Plaza in order to protest the fact that Yale sweatshirts are made by poor Guatemalan children. They accomplished nothing, and everyone hated them for being in the way and annoying people with their constant requests for signatures.
No one on campus really paid attention to last year's Af-Am protests, but it got some press with the local newspapers, and so this year we had MLK day off, and tons of fun cultural sensitivity events were planned for our enjoyment and enrichment.
Har.
In case none of y'all administrators noticed, MLK Day happens to be a political holiday. The only vacations we get are Fall Recess, Winter Recess, and Spring Recess. We do not get vacation on Columbus Day, Veterans' Day, Presidents' Day, or Election Day. Hell, we don't even get vacation on Yom Kippur or Good Friday or any other religious holidays. None. Nada. Zilch. Zip.
However, our lack of respect for MLK Day in particular is clearly symbolic of how this university is always keeping the black man down. I mean, it's not like we have an Af-Am Studies major, or an Af-Am Cultural House, or a bunch of programs designed to attract black students and other minorities to contribute to the campus's diversity. Oh, wait...
I just hope they come to their senses before next year.
~Crystalline
|
|
(1 comment |comment on this)
|
| Thursday, December 27th, 2001
| |
1:55 am - Believe in me, help me believe in anything, 'cause I wanna be someone who believes.
|
Err, when I said I was going to remember to update more, clearly I meant the exact opposite.
It seems like the only time I even remember this thing exists is during vacations from school, when my brain is bored and looking for something to occupy itself with. However, I was reminded to update this time by reading someone else's online journal, and thinking about how awful their writing style was, and so I felt the need to raise the overall writing-quality average of online journals by updating my own.
I've been better, I think, on the whole. Especially after I dropped that seminar that was driving me up the wall -- enjoyed the reading, hated the class, was getting awful grades. And so, there is now a W on my transcript. Something tells me I should feel bad about that, or worry about how it will look to grad schools, but it's really just not worth the anxiety. I hated the class, I dropped it. And I'm glad, because I think I was able to do better on my other finals and other final papers because I didn't have that one hanging over my head.
Besides, the class isn't in anything even resembling my major, and I did well in the classes that are in my major, which is hopefully what the grad schools will be looking at more closely.
At least, I'd think.
So, Christmas came and went. I've been sick for the past few days, and the dratted symptoms keep changing in unpredictable ways, so I haven't been able to take the right medicine yet. I sit here and suffer in unmedicated silence. I've gone through boxes of tissues -- all of the tissues in the house, in fact, and I now have a roll of toilet paper sitting next to me for all of my nose-blowing needs.
I was well enough to go to the family Christmas party at my aunt's house, which was spectacularly boring as usual, but the food was good.
I'm a college student, so I am by definition a good food-whore. If you tack "free" onto that, all the better. Dining hall food isn't exactly gourmet, and often isn't exactly edible. Hence, when I'm home, I generally will do whatever my parents ask of me in order to get good food. "You feel like driving out and picking up Chinese, dear?" You bet your ass I do!
Mmmmm, Chinese.
But, I really have to cut back on the eating thing. I haven't felt like gorging myself recently, what with being sick, which is probably all the better. I was incredibly active in high school, and after I went off to college I pretty much stopped exercising regularly, and my body has voiced its displeasure by not allowing me to fit into the pants I wore freshman year anymore. So, I've been attempting to diet, but it's so hard at home where the food is good. I've vowed to get back on the diet much more strictly while at school, and I have even procured the key to the gym in my college so I can perhaps use a stationary bike for an hour or so every day.
This overweight thing is awfully bad for my self-image, which was never stellar to begin with. But I'm trying to get better, and I feel like if I lose weight and get in shape, perhaps the happy with self with spread to more aspects of my life.
At least, I hope so.
I managed to buy a new formal dress a few days ago with minimal self-hatred, which was surprising and wonderful. All of the females out there will probably sympathize with me -- buying dresses is similar to buying jeans, in that they always seem to be made for someone with exactly the body you don't have. My waist isn't huge, but apparently having hips is a no-no, and I want to know who the hell's boobs dresses are designed for, because mine are perfectly average and yet many dresses seem to squash me so I can barely breathe.
But this dress is nice -- navy blue, which goes with my complexion well, long, and flares out a bit from under the bustline, which means it'll still fit even if I gain a little weight or lose a little weight, since it's not fitted in the waist-hips area. Excellent.
I've been playing a lot of DragonRealms lately, as for once I have absolutely nothing better to do, and I'm enjoying it. I just wish my characters' friends were around a bit more, because I really enjoy the interaction and roleplaying so much more than the mindless training for circling. Even when I do train the girls, it's rarely purely for circling reasons. The Cleric tends to circle fairly often, but that's merely a symptom of her extreme focus and interest in magical study, which happens to be one of her guild's requirements.
I toyed with the idea of starting another character, but I really don't know. If I do, it'll be something in a guild with minimal teaching requirements, as I have plenty of that already with the Empath and the Cleric. More than I could ever, ever want to do. I'd enjoy being a Bard, but that's practically a cross between Empath and Cleric in requirements, and is less rewarding than either. So we'll see.
This has been enough updating for now; I'll probably get around to writing again after the New Year, to perhaps get my resolutions on record so I'll have more trouble wriggling out of them. I'm in a good mood, even though it's late at night and I'm alone and I'm sick, which is a fairly remarkable thing for me. It'd be nice if more people were online to talk to me, but as it is I'll probably end up going back to rereading The Fellowship of the Ring -- nothing to complain about there.
Wonderful movie, by the way. I was slightly saddened by the absence of Tom Bombadil, but the movie was already three hours long. The cuts and omissions were pretty well taken care of and covered, as well, and so I felt the movie did a good job of capturing the spirit of the book and staying close to the story within the time frame it had. Naturally things were compressed and lost, but I didn't particularly mind.
Legolas was beautiful. I have realized that my "type" must be tall, blond, and Elven.
~Crystalline
|
|
(5 comments |comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, November 7th, 2001
| |
3:28 am - Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick.
|
I always feel rather inadequate, or something, seeing how some people manage to post a journal entry every day, whereas I find one a week somewhat taxing.
I have decided that this post will contain nothing of my insecurites, nothing negative at all if I can help it. Happy thoughts for everyone, no?
So, midterm season is over, and I've completed all of them of course but I've yet to find out how well I did. I'd really like to do well. It's funny how doing well is always more important to me after I hand my work in than while I'm doing it. While I'm doing it I just want it to be over, mostly.
I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving vacation, and I'm so glad we get the entire week off, so I can just go *home* after we inevitably lose The Game. At least it's home this year, so I don't have to sit through the long bus ride down from Boston feeling dejected over the football team's inadequacies.
Also, I just want to vegetate and not worry about work, just for a little. And not worry about anything. I think, if there was one thing about my personality I could change, it would be my obsessive, neurotic worrying about the immediate future. I'm not one of those people who stops and says, "Jesus, where the hell will I *be* in ten years? What will I be doing? I don't know what I'm going to do with my life!" On the contrary, I somehow maintain this vague conviction that everything will work out in the end.
So, all I have to do is stop "sweating the small stuff," as it were, and I'll be golden.
Happy thoughts happy thoughts.
I did laundry today, which always makes me feel ridiculously accomplished. I mean, people do laundry all the time, but I always find myself patting me on the back after successfully completing a load. Good for me! Silly, yet somehow nice, as well.
I love my boyfriend. I really do. He makes me happy, and comfortable, and contented. It's so hard for me to get up the willpower to finish my problem sets and do all my reading and translate all my passages, when I know he's out there, somewhere, and I could be with him instead. One of the most amazing things, for me, is to be able to fall asleep in someone's arms, and then wake up, and they're still there, the first thing you see when you open your eyes, their touch and presence the first thing you're conscious of as you drift back into the waking world.
It's so incredible, to feel... cherished.
I'm hopelessly sappy in this respect. Who'd've guessed, right?
I don't think he reads this journal. I've told him he's welcome to, but he has the impression that I unburden myself here and I wouldn't want him to see it. The former is true, but the latter isn't. I feel better after I put my insecurities into words, because it somehow renders them more insignificant. 'Oh, so that's what I've been doing,' I realize as I type stream-of-consciousness. 'Well, then. That's rather silly of me. I should stop.'
And I try, very hard.
My computer wallpaper is an adorable picture of Handsome Dan, our school mascot. He's a lovable old bulldog, complete with stumpy legs and enormous jowls and an awkward gait because his back legs are longer than his front ones. His mouth is open in a wonderful doggie grin, tongue pinkly lolling out. Terribly cute.
It's late, and I'm tired, and I haven't quite done the work for my class tomorrow, and my bed is still covered with socks that need to be matched up before I can sleep.
Socks, I'm coming.
~Crystalline
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, October 31st, 2001
| |
5:34 am - It's 3am, I must be lonely.
|
5:30am, really, but who's counting?
I'm having another I don't like myself spell. Actually, it's not that I ever really get out of the self-dislike, so much, as it is that sometimes I just... forget.
I wish I could forget all the time.
A few minutes ago, I made my boyfriend feel bad for something that wasn't his fault at all, but I was feeling insecure so I got snippy then sad then he got annoyed then he felt bad then I felt bad for making him feel bad and...
Funny, I could swear I've said this same thing before.
Story of my life.
This entry won't be long. I can sum up the past two weeks or so in a sentence: Long, full of midterms, and sadly lacking in sleep for me.
God, it's 5am now.
I have nothing to say.
Nothing.
~Crystalline
|
|
(1 comment |comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, October 17th, 2001
| |
8:45 pm - I never knew what everybody meant by endless, hopeless, bleak despair.
|
I will update my journal regularly I will update my journal regularly I will update my journal regularly.
Time seems to go by so dreadfully fast, and I do so much writing for classes it makes writing for leisure a much less scintillating option. There are so many other things I can do to procrastinate that require much less effort on my part.
I'm listening to the new They Might Be Giants CD. Happy happy.
I managed to finish that paper. The work always seems to get done, somehow, no matter how much I put it off until the last moment. I have a midterm tomorrow. The first of my few. Fortunately most are take home, which is preferable. But really, either a normal midterm or a take home exam means I miss a night of sleep. The only difference is whether I'm writing or studying.
Unfortunately, I ended up taking two seminars this semster. I was so excited about it in the beginning -- I had to write little justify my existence notes to the professors explaining why they really needed me in their class. I used the word "perspective" a lot. And then I remembered that I'm no good at the whole discussion thing. I'm not sure this is entirely my fault...
I often leave those classes squinting from the pain behind my temples with my notebook covered in doodles and comical notes. Excerpt:
"Nietzsche vs. Marx -- Mortal Kombat!
We ain't no commie bastards -- historical support for individualism in the US, contempt for 'sheep.' Baaaaaaaa."
Next to this is a sketch of a bunny holding a gigantic steak knife behind its back.
At the time I was probably thinking: "Okay, Mister Fluffy Bunny, you're going to kill that aggressively foreign grad student, and the entire class will cheer! Yessss, that is what will happen."
Seminars remind me why I tend to dislike other people. Seminars at Yale involve a lot of fairly pretentious people sitting together in one room, reading works by authors who were famous for their tough-to-decipher philosophical ramblings like Kant and Benjamin, and trying to discuss them in a way that will make them each seem to be the most intelligent person in the room. I wish this were an exaggeration, but it isn't. It's so frustrating sometimes, sitting there silently, feeling impotent, resenting them, and at the same time wanting them all to get over themselves so we could have a nice chat about these works that really are extremely thought-provoking.
Sigh.
I wish the newspapers would stop publishing the details of all of these anthrax scares. It makes my hypochondria kick in. I was convinced that I'd inhaled anthrax this morning when I woke up with a scratchy throat, and that's really something that my already high stress level just doesn't need.
Okay. I need to read two hundred pages of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire for tomorrow.
Wish me luck.
~Crystalline
|
|
(1 comment |comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, October 10th, 2001
| |
11:15 pm - Maybe it's for the best, maybe it's not for anything.
|
I'm supposed to be writing a paper.
I really should be. This is the first paper of this semester, and, by all rights, I ought to be mostly done by now and merely polishing my prose. However, I'm writing a journal entry (a thing I've neglected to do recently) instead because the words aren't flowing.
My best writing always comes in a rush. There's something wonderful about the feeling -- like I can hardly type fast enough to get the words on the screen before they spill out of my head, and I lose the usual feeling of distance between my brain and my hands and they feel like they're working in perfect synchronization, the ideas flowing like warm liquid down my arms and out through my fingers to metamorphose during the tiny journey across the synapse between my fingertips and the keys into the little 1s and 0s that reside within my computer.
Click click click, the keys say.
Possibly, if this paper were about something difficult to properly express, like philosophy or literature, I would have a better excuse. Unfortunately, my current writer's block is preventing me from writing a paper about a comic book. An incredibly intricate, many-leveled comic book, but a comic book nonetheless.
So, I'm hoping to burst the dam holding back the waters of my creativity by allowing some stream of consciousness rambling, to get the words moving and stop them from just sloshing around in my head.
I need to sleep, I think. I haven't slept a good, full night in probably over two weeks. It's not my insomnia, again, but my terminal case of procrastination. I find myself utterly unable to complete a homework assignment until the absolute last minute. The last minute is generally somewhere between 3 and 4am, depending on when I have to wake up for classes that morning.
So, as this paper isn't technically due until Friday, my brain rebels and attempts to persuade, the little devil with the raspy voice whispers in my ear that there's fun to be had, and the paper will wait, and I'll still do okay like I always have. The angel on my other shoulder with the voice like crystal chimes that I could get a great grade on this paper, and I should do the work because, moreover, I can do it well.
I'm tired, as the vague burning sensation lurking right behind my eyes reminds me. I could have napped, I suppose, and resigned myself to not sleeping tonight, but it's a little late for that. I told myself that this time it was going to be different, that I'd steeled my resolve and ironed my will... I was going to write that paper, goshdarnit, and I was going to revise it and rewrite it and proofread it and groom it until it practically sparkled in my room's fluorescent lighting. Instead, here I sit, nothing to say, nothing to show, nothing.
Even now, instead of working on the paper and cranking out the measly 5-7 pages that are expected of me, I sit here at my desk, fingers click clicking away on the keys, mind and eyes wandering. I could get a snack, the devil whispers hoarsely, and I hear the siren-song of caffeine calling to me from a distance.
I think I will.
It's going to be a long night.
~Crystalline
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, September 18th, 2001
| |
2:34 am - Here in my mind is a wall I can't climb.
|
Yeah, I know I haven't I updated in a while.
I just haven't really had time, or anything that I really needed to say. I'd forgotten exactly how busy I am at school, with work and homework and classes and homework and organizing band events and home-- you get the idea.
A few days ago, I tried to write a normal, light-hearted, somewhat misanthropic update, and I even got a few paragraphs into it, but then I was struck by how insignificant and whiny I felt. Talking about how much work I've been doing lately, how badly my Glee Club audition went, how I don't know what classes I'll be taking... while a friend of mine's father had been missing since right after the first plane crashed.
If there's one thing I'm good at, it's mentally decreasing the significance of my own problems a hundredfold. I'm apt to say, "You know, I may feel like crap, but in the grander scheme of things, it really doesn't have to matter to anyone else but me. So, I should just suck it up and not express my feelings of crappiness, because that will unneccesarily bring the people around me down, and who needs that?"
Vicious cycle.
I feel bad, I can't help but express those feelings in some way, people try to sympathize and feel bad for me, I feel bad for bringing them down... It's just this awful downward spiral that I try to avoid by bottling up my feelings until I just can't hold them in anymore and I rage at everyone around me and then feel utterly awful about that.
Sometimes I wonder where my guilt complexes come from. Why exactly do I feel like I'm responsible for the mental states of those around me? That I have to try to please everyone? Saying what I think people want to hear is almost automatic for me. Sometimes I wonder if I really have any personality of my own, or I just change from moment to moment and conversation to conversation, bending and flexing and flowing like some sort of emotional shapeshifter. Even in this journal. Am I just writing down things that I think you all feel so you'll think you've found a sort of kindred spirit, which is what I'm sure you're all looking for?
I've been told by people that Of course I have personality and I'm interesting and I don't tell them what they want to hear... Well, really, I know you don't want me to tell you what you want to hear. So I don't. I'm still doing what I think you want, only in a rather indirect way. And see? Everyone's happy.
Guilt.
You possibly wouldn't guess it from this, or even while speaking to me over AIM or some other sort of impersonal medium, but I apologize constantly. In person I'm shy, quiet, deferential to others, and terminally indecisive. I don't make prolonged eye contact. I don't talk to people I don't know -- unless I feel like I ought to in which case I force myself to assume neutral friendly stance until I can better assess their specific conversational needs.
They should program chatbots to respond like me.
I've had plenty of time recently to take stock of how I interact with people, as the best part of being back at school is being around people. I have less time to be introspective and morbid, which is obviously a good thing. But then, I realize that I'm one of those people who tends to focus their life on their personal relationships. My friends are more important to me than my grades, my classes -- all those sorts of things take a backseat in my life.
It's probably extremely lucky that I've always been intelligent enough to skate by, as I'm sure I don't give half the attention to my studies that some of my friends do to theirs. I find study engaging, but I find work to be... less than scintillating. I will always choose to spend time with friends over time with books, and I probably do suffer because of it... but I don't really notice.
Occasionally, I dwell on the fact that I probably care more about my friends than they do about me, but it's unneccessarily depressing all around, so I try not to think about it too much. Firstly, I'm just like this and I can't help it, and secondly, my low self-esteem causes me to feel like I don't deserve their love, anyway, so I should be happy with whatever I can get, and maybe my unflagging devotion will win me a better place in their hearts than the one I previously occupied.
I can hope, anyway.
I'm not depressed, and I don't need reassurance, although it's always appreciated. I don't think I'm anything other than apathetic at the moment, and letting me know that you read this and you feel bad for me does nothing but make me feel awful for dragging you down.
I'm fine.
I sometimes wonder why people never seem to believe me when I tell them that.
~Crystalline
|
|
(4 comments |comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, September 12th, 2001
| |
9:28 pm - .......
|
|
| Monday, August 27th, 2001
| |
4:07 am - Hello again, don't say goodbye...
|
Haven't updated in a while, in case anyone actually notices that sort of thing.
I've been away, at The Most Commercial Place On Earth. Ah, Walt Disney World, host to zillions of ankle-biting brats and lots of dorky honeymooning couples wearing bride/groom mouse-ear hats.
Did you know that you could get married inside Cinderella Castle with Mickey and Minnie in your wedding party for the low low price of $40,000 for an hour ceremony? Where do I sign up?!
Complaints about WDW:
1. Seriously, is it necessary to charge $6.50 for a burger and fries? Yes, we're stuck eating in your goddam park because leaving is too much of a hassle, but bleeding us dry is hardly fair when you've got morons who're willing to stay in your hotels for $500 a night.
2. Children. Dear. Sweet. God. I'm reverting back how I was in high school when I decided that me breeding was a bad idea simply because I would probably kill any offspring. "Mommy, can I go on Dumbo again? Pwease pwease pwease I wanna go on Dumbo hey can I have some ice cream mommy mommy pwease can I have some ice cream and some Mickey ears and hey I wanna go on Dumbo!"
3. Would it kill you to be a little accomodating for the handicapped? My mom can go on maybe ten rides total in all of WDW, and when she tries to go on the ones she can the ride attendants always look a little annoyed. I'm sorry we're interrupting your busy schedule of drooling on yourself, but do the damn job Mickey's paying you mongoloids 5 bucks an hour for.
4. Make all of the theaters indoors and air condition them. I can't enjoy the Indiana Jones Epic Stunt Spectacular (which was, speaking of, a little short on both the Epic and the Spectacular parts) while crammed in an outdoor theater with poor air circulation and 500 other people. I drank, like, 5 bottles of water a day (by the way, complaint 4b - tap water in Florida sucks! ugh.) and was still dehydrated because of the constant sweat leaking from my skin. Yeah, well, it wasn't pleasant for me, either.
5. In all of WDW, there is one, count it, ONE good roller coaster. And no, I don't mean Space Mountian which is pretty lame, all things considered. It's at MGM and was unfortunately dubbed The Rock and Rollercoaster Starring Aerosmith. I'm not joking. Anyway, as I'm one of those people who prefers rides that make her scream and wobble a bit after getting off (take that however you like, heh), Disney isn't exactly thrilling for me.
6. Stop selling the same damn shit in every single gift shop. Shopping is much more interesting when every shop isn't exactly the same. Trust me. That Goofy hat won't start to look appealing no matter how many times it's presented to me.
It was a long week and a half. Vacation time means enforced family togetherness, which means that I am very very grateful that I'll be going back to school in a few days. Not that I don't love my family, because I do, but being with them constantly with no hope of respite begins to grate on me after a while. Especially my sister. Uggghh.
I probably gave the people I spoke to when I got home the impression that I didn't have fun. Truthfully, I'm not sure whether or not I did. The point is still up for debate. I was definitely entertained, and the week passed not much more quickly or slowly than weeks do generally, although I probably was conscious for more of the daylight hours than I'm accustomed to being awake for.
That sun thing is *so* bright, man.
And, of course, since the gods wish to spite me, my polarized sunglasses broke the first day in Florida, and as I'm blessed with myopia I can't just buy sunglasses like most people, unless I want to wear my glasses underneath them. So, I spent a good portion of the week squinting until my cheeks hurt, when I wasn't slathering on sunblock.
Sometimes it really sucks to be so white.
I should start packing for school, but I just haven't been in the mood. I have way too much stuff, and I'm really starting to think that my sister won't be able to come simply because I need the space she'd be taking up for my stuff. It's not even that I have so much clothes, or that I'm bringing more things than I need -- it's that since I'll be in a single, I have to supply everything myself. I can't count on a roommate to bring the VCR while I lug up the TV, and I'll bring my carpet while she brings a vacuum.
I'm feeling better, anyway. I had a lot of time to think while I was waiting on line for various rides (an hour wait for the Spiderman ride? ohhh jeez.), and this time the thinking was good. I felt like I was able to be more objective and logical while I was pretty much away from everything. And it was interesting. Usually I try to stay away from that whole "thinking" thing as I just tend to get depressed (see: my last journal entry), but occasionally it's a necessary evil and occasionally I surprise even myself.
Besides, what else am I going to do while my sister's talking if not think about various things?
~Crystalline
|
|
(1 comment |comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, August 14th, 2001
| |
12:38 am - Seeing myself this way, I am a monster I believe.
|
Well, I'm home for good.
And by for good I of course mean "until school starts."
It's really nice to be home, and to sleep in my own bed, and to watch tv, and to eat good food (i.e. not ramen). I don't bother cooking food when I'm on my own, partially because I'm an absolutely awful cook, and partially because I just don't have any desire to cook good things for myself. I don't really care what I eat as long as it tastes okay, and the extra energy that would be expended to cook something nice for myself just really isn't worth it. If I had someone to cook for, I'd probably be much better off, since it's well established that I generally am more willing to put forth effort for people I care about than myself.
But I'll skip the self-analysis for now, and talk about my weekend.
It was much more eventful than my weekends generally are, which is good. Friday evening I went to see a movie with my flatmate Amy and some other people. We saw American Pie 2, and I enjoyed it. This isn't to say it's a good movie, but my standards were low, they were met, and I was entertained. Which is, really, all I wanted. Then we all went out to Denny's, as it's open incredibly late, and I got to watch little tiny Amy devour an order of smothered cheese fries while I sipped a coke float and talked to my friend Mike. Although I was insanely tired, as I've recently been attempting to alter my sleep schedule to something approaching normal, it was just kind of a nice, mindless, relaxing evening.
I occasionally enjoy turning off my brain (being tired helps the shutdown process go smoothly) and just... flowing, I guess I'd describe it. I'm almost always so mentally active that I'm perpetually on edge, analyzing my actions, other people's, what's going on, what's not going on, what will be going on... you know the drill. So, when I get an opportunity to just flick the off switch, I try to take it. I tend greatly towards escapism, which is rather unhealthy but there's not so much I can do about it. It probably stems from the fact that, while I can come off as arrogant and whatnot, I just don't like myself very much most of the time, and I want to get out of my own brain and either be someone else or be nothing.
See, I said I'd get to the self-analysis part later.
I'm not sure which would be healthier for me, to try to blame other people for my low self-esteem (but pointing fingers is bad), or blame myself (like I need to tack another shortcoming onto the list). I could trace the root of this problem back to my childhood, I guess, and I'm sure I could talk for hours and make some psychologist very rich and very happy, but I just don't want to. I've told various people what I think it is, and while verbal catharsis usually makes me feel better, it never has in this case. I just start blaming myself more and more and feeling more and more awful and digging the hole deeper and deeper.
It's very, very hard for me to try to pull myself out of a slump like that. I appreciate it when people (you know who you are) try to help me, and I'm sure they feel like their efforts are in vain, but they aren't. They can't make the larger problems go away, but they can help me feel better. And, while I probably don't really admit it and I try to isolate myself when I'm sad so I won't inflict myself on other people, but I really do want y'all around, but I know I'm just disgusting and horrible when I hate myself and I don't want you to hate me because of how I am when I'm like that. So I go off and play DragonRealms, or I read, or I sleep, and eventually I manage to forget about it, but then I go back to feeling just eh, without the much-needed bonus of having someone there who cares about me. I don't pull myself out of slumps, I more wait them out and hope they'll tire of me and go 'way.
I'm sure I'm a very frustrating person to care about because of this. I know. It's why I try to push people away, because if I care about you I don't want you frustrated because of me.
Frankly, I don't think I'm worth it.
It's funny, as I write this, I'm carrying on two very normal, civil IM conversations with friends of mine. Maybe they'll read this later and look at the time it was written and realize it was them. So, if they do: Guys, don't worry about me being all depressed like this and not mentioning it. It's not worth mentioning. It's late, and I'm alone, and I should sleep soon so I can forget. I'm absolutely positive that the mood I'm currently in will pass without much fanfare, which is why I'm keeping it to myself. If I were ever really seriously depressed, I'd make an effort to tell people.
I promise.
So, for all of you who've been reading my journal entries, you'll see I'm back to depressed ramblings and off of misanthropic ranting for the moment. I apologize, and I'll attempt to return to amusing y'all instead of earning y'all's pity.
No one likes a whiner, after all.
~Crystalline
|
|
(3 comments |comment on this)
|
| Monday, August 6th, 2001
| |
11:16 am - A is for attitude I can't help but wield, A is for arrogance; emotional shield.
|
Yawn.
I'm attempting to coast through the last week of this. It's getting to the point where I really, really want to go back to school, and the little elementary school kid inside me is hollering "Noooooooooo!" at the very idea of Back 2 School being a happy time. But, damn, that Staples commercial is starting to make me happy. I catch myself thinking, "Ooh, I wonder if they have those nice uniball pens I like... the thin ones that don't blob ink... and I *do* need to restock my highlighter supply..."
It's the most wonderful time of the year, indeed.
Speaking of, for some reason I've been on this satirical Christmas songs kick. I'm not quite sure what prompted this, it being August and all, but I'm not complaining. Society's current little Christmas rituals are really ripe for mocking... although, to be fair, it's a tad like shooting fish in a barrel, but that does make me appreciate a well-placed jab all the more. Blink182's "I Won't Be Home for Christmas" is probably one of the funnier one's I've heard, and I'd like to hereby retract all the comments I made to my sister about them being talentless hacks who can't sing worth a damn. They still can't sing worth a damn, but one of them can write hella funny lyrics.
"It’s Christmas time, again, It’s time to be nice to the people you can’t stand all year... I’m growing tired of all this Christmas cheer." There's a reference to a guy named Bubba unwrapping a package, but I'll leave that as an exercise for the reader.
Second song is by the ever-classic Weird Al Yankovic, with the bouncily morbid tune "Christmas at Ground Zero." I can see it now... After the Tet Offensive, one would think that holiday time would be an excellent time to eliminate your enemies in a wide-scale nuclear offensive, especially if you're enemy's the good ol' US of A with it's odd dedication to commercializing the already-co-opted-from-paganism holidays of a questionable religion. If there's any holiday that causes more of a nation-wide shutdown than Xmas, I don't know what it is. So, yeah. All of you psycho dictators/ rabid theocracy leaders/envious third world nations that've been stockpiling weapons-grade uranium, Christmas is your time to shine.
Just let me get out of the radius of slow and painful death around Manhattan first.
In a roundabout way, we've gotten back to what's occupying me currently -- other than the whole "losing my last shreds of faith in mankind" thing. Concurrent to that, not coincidentally, I'm perusing www.rantandraves.com (ignoring the blatant lack of parallel structure in the addy, as if that weren't a tip-off right there). This charming website allows people to post little rants on things that piss them off. While venting is a good thing, I had been under the impression that having at least a basic command of the English language was necessary.
Apparently I was wrong.
One of the first rants I read was re: Christmas, and was lamenting the sad lack of true meaning in Christmas. My words, obviously. Boo fucking hoo, kiddies. I personally am of the opinion that we're better off distancing the holiday from the whole "Jesus" thing, however big they make that "Put the Christ back in Christmas" sign outside my church at home. The person suggested donating coins to the homeless for food and shelter, in order to spread some good old Xian loving kindness (?). I don't know about the homeless people where this person lives, but I'm pretty sure the ones around me are using the dollars they milk out of college students' crippling White Guilt to feed their chemical dependence. I'm all for the spreading warm fuzzies amongst people I like, but attempting to claim that we should try to love mankind a little bit more during the holiday season is chancy at best, laughable at worst.
After reading that website, any possible vestigial love for mankind I had a-runnin' through my veins was killed faster than [insert a member of a persecuted group] in [insert the name of a corresponding police state]. I had typed up several different suggestions, but ended up scrapping them all as "too offensive." So, I'm allowing y'all to choose your own, kinda like those books I read all the time in, like, third grade (was I the only one who cheated at Choose Your Own Adventure?).
I advise only those of you with the strongest constitutions to peruse that website. If you're my friend or if you've enjoyed reading my journal, chances are you're going to be harrowed as much as I was. And people look at me like I'm crazy when I suggest that stupid people be sterilized for the good of humanity. I'll cut and paste a few gems, to help you understand what I mean without actually venturing into that hellhole of a website.
The comments of Heather, 17, under the topic Guys/Girls, the thread: Guys who are their girlfriend's little bitches!
"aight i jus gota say women rule this fuckin world so fuck that. whos got the lil dick? its u cuz u would rather jack off with ur buddy then be with ur girl. my boyfriend knows if i call him hes gona be with me if he had plans or not cuz im more important then scheckin out some other girls hopin he could get some cuz why would he behopin to get some from some other chick when hes got me. hes a real man cuz he knows he is SUPPOSED to listen to me and not his horny lil friends."
This girl will probably become a teen mother and name her son Dakota, or her daughter Khrystyn because the spelling is kewl!!!111.
A typical "comeback" once the thread degenerates into random flaming:
"Oh, and I'm really sure that your 25."
Okay, at what point did they stop teaching the difference between your and you're in schools? I'd really like to know, as it seems like this is getting more and more widespread. God forbid I keep seeing things like this and it stops jarring me as completely wrong. The day I start not flinching while reading things like: your stupid (owwwwww), ten items or less (a cookie if you know why this bothers me), shouldn't of (yes, of and 've are phonetically the same, but jesus, people, semantics), their dumb (same homophone-induced pain as your/you're), "a few fuck's" (unneccessary apostrophes! unneccessary apostrophes!), a mute point (oh, for the LOVE of), hypocrit/hippocryt/etc (if you're gonna use a big word, kiddies, don't look like a moron by spelling it wrong pls ty)... is the day I Oedipally gouge my eyes out with pins.
This one's only *really* funny because it was posted on a thread under Controversies called "Man never landed on the moon!"
"What the hell is up with crapping drivers?!! o was driving the other day and this guy with no endicater lagths changes into my lane then slams on the brakes cause he was turning the corner i almost smashed onto the back of him!! if you cant drive then get off the damn road do poeple just drive good for their tests then drive like shit when the driving inpecter leaves!! there should be jail time for shit drivers"
This one's got everything from too much punctuation to a laughable misspelling - "endicater." Kudos to Kenneth, 22, from Canada, and why am I not surprised? I'm hoping it was translated directly from Quebecois French, that might help explain a few things...
But, really, the Guys/Girls topic is the best for feeding my misanthropy. It's tons of 14-16 year olds using their immense personal experience to dispense relationship advice! Woo, where do I sign up?
Under the thread, Girls are a fucking joke these days!, Alex, 14, has this to say:
"allright yo, i have read all these fuckin debates all over this topic, adn all i have to say ,is chicks who give head:Right on man thats chill, girls who dont give head:there's a first time for everything, and girls who say thay're gonna but dont': we should bring all of you to and island and blow it up. Its just like the damn girls in my school, they wear little skirts and tight pants,low cut shirts, then tehy act all surprised when you lok down their shirts. And then they have the nerve to start bitchen at you after yuo politly ask why the fuck they wear such nonsense clothes if tehy dont want any dick. what goin on here ladies????"
Ahh, Alex, you're probing into the deep inner workings of womankind. Kudos, Alex, you are a true pioneer. It's true, women who wear "nonsense" clothes deserve all the sexual harassment they get. I mean, jeez, what're they trying to do, show off their looks or something? Damn. Lay the smack down on those whack bitches, Alex, for you and all of your 14 year old friends who attempt to force your tiny cocks into the mouths of unsure and unwilling pre-teen girls, possibly emotionally scarring them for life and only hopefully causing them to clamp down and lock their jaw.
I'm not approving of the way pre-teen girls dress, I'm disapproving of the fact that it's okay for them to dress that way. When a girl my sister's age has to wear a halter top and frat pants in order to be trendy and fit in with all the Britneys and Tiffanys, there's something grotesque and pedophilic about society as a whole. I feel that any girl my age who dresses like a hooch and gets drunk at frat parties must be doing so with full knowledge of the consequences, but I'm doubting that Alex's little girlfriend has the same intimacy with, er, intimacy.
I do, however, fully support any full-grown chick's right to dress slutty and be disinterested in servicing boys. You go, grrrl.
To anyone who may suggest that I made these up: You're giving both me and our youth far, far too much credit.
Next time someone gives me some speech about protecting The Future of America, Our Children, I'm going to point them to this website and tell them to have a nice day.
~Crystalline
|
|
(3 comments |comment on this)
|
| Sunday, July 29th, 2001
| |
9:47 pm - Such a lovely day, and it's nothing more than ordinary.
|
Spent the weekend at home again.
It was nice.
Took the train home, for the first time. Usually mom freaks about the idea of me riding the subway, but since I'd arranged to meet Vider at Grand Central Station and see a show or something, mom must've figured Vider's assured, self-confident, masculine presence would be enough to deter any possible rapists/murderers.
So, anyway, Vider and I ended up seeing the play Proof, which was simply amazing. If you get the chance to see it, do. It was about math, but it wasn't. I mean, anyone who knows me knows my exceptionally low tolerance for things mathematical.
And I slept. Wonderful, blessed sleep. Sleeping so well in my bed at home really highlighted the fact that I simply don't sleep as well when I'm away. I'm not sure what it is, but I rarely if ever sleep through the entire night here, while at home I don't regain consciousness until someone actively wakes me up. I spent the entire ride back home asleep, too, and promptly fell asleep as soon as I got inside my apartment. Had such strange dreams, too -- I was in an elevator, but the floor was shrinking, so we all had to kinda perch in the middle and try to hold onto the rails on the sides as it zoomed up to the 20th floor. I'm sure Freud would have a field day with me.
"I am seeink... some control eessues, nein?"
But at the moment, I feel very relaxed. Which says a lot, considering that I usually have such difficulty forcing myself to not worry about things. Mom thinks that's one of the reasons my acne hasn't gone away completely yet, that it's stress related. This is, in fact, rather likely, because it generally gets markedly better during vacation from school. So far it's been better all summer, which baffles my dermatologist because skin actually gets more oily during the summer -- in theory, my skin should be much harder to manage now, and it's not.
Not that I'm complaining.
I really have to go grocery shopping. I'm getting dangerously low on important things like, er, food in general. There's only so long that I can live off Pop Secret Light and Poland Spring water.
Although that might help me lose weight, or something.
~Crystalline
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Sunday, July 22nd, 2001
| |
7:42 pm - Would he fly from heaven to this world again?
|
It really sucks to wake up crying.
Had someone asked me last night if it were possible to do so, I would have given them a strange look and said no. However, this morning I woke up with tears streaming down my face, unable to think clearly. I managed to stagger out of bed, get to a phone, and attempt to call my mother -- she wasn't home, and I left a message. It's probably better that she wasn't, because I really don't know what I would have said other than sobbing into the phone.
And that's no good for anyone.
I suppose it's a good sign that I hadn't cried in a little over a week, and the dream I had was strangely... comforting, although it was upsetting.
I dreamed that I was in my high school, but I was alone, walking down the music hallway to get to the classroom at the end. All of the sudden, my parents were there, leaning over me, and I was holding Tiger in my arms and crying. She was dead, and I was crying and my parents were trying to console me. But then, as I held her, she seemed to wake up, and she looked at me and I stopped crying and was so happy. My parents were happy, and for some reason it was extremely important that we get Tiger home -- if we got her home fast enough, she'd be okay and everything would go back to how it was.
I was carrying her and running and my parents were behind me, my dad pushing my mom. My house was only a block away from my high school, but the trip seemed to take much longer than it ever had before. But, we made it back in time, and I was holding Tiger and petting her and telling her that everything was okay.
For some reason, at that point it occurred to me that I might be dreaming, and this might not be real. So I said, "Tiger, I think that this is a dream, and if it is, I just want to say that I love you, and this just shows how special you are and that I can't forget you, and part of you will always be with me."
And then I woke up.
~Crystalline
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Friday, July 20th, 2001
| |
12:37 pm - My latest attempt at pretending I'm someone.
|
I find myself consistently amused by stupid pop "personality" tests.
For a while, that was the only reason I still got Seventeen Magazine. Okay, so maybe it was always obvious what the "right" answer was, but I somehow managed to get a kick out of finding out whether or not I was a flirt/cheater/slacker/snob.
So, one of my internet pastimes, if you will, is finding websites that are compendiums of tests and proceeding to take all of them. There's www.queendom.com, the ever-classic www.keirsey.com for the Keirsey Temperament Sorter, and my new favorite, www.emode.com because its quizzes rival Seventeen's in trashiness.
And that's quite an accomplishment.
One thing all the more serious tests seem to agree on is that I have a tendency towards introspection and self-analysis... which is supported by the fact that I'm taking all these tests. So, every once in a while, when I get tired of figuring out what my career should be or whether or not I'm a dependent personality or what my IQ is, I head on over to Emode and find out who my best celebrity match is, or what my deadly sin is.
(It's sloth, but that's beside the point. So I have a slight tendency to be lazy. My laundry gets done, eventually, just like my homework. When I absolutely need to do it.)
Anyway. Today's quiz promised to help my figure out the color of my aura. As someone who will occasionally own up to the facts that she used to read a lot about Wicca and still owns a whole lot of crystals, I thought that sounded like a cute idea. I mean, just because I'm currently in a cynical phase doesn't mean I'm not interested in these sorts of things at all. I just find it slightly suspect that the people who claim to see auras have probably been high for weeks, if not months.
And I'm not talking high on life.
So, my results are as follows:
We don't need a psychic to tell us that you're giving off a Gold vibe. You couldn't ask for a better color — a glistening gold aura is as good as it gets. A lively blend of yellow and orange, gold people are happy, playful, energetic, sensitive, and generous. Always up for adventure, you'd give a friend in need the shirt off your back. You're spiritual, too — all those halos in old paintings aren't colored gold by coincidence. Almost childlike in the carefree, joyful way you live your life, you're popular and outgoing with your large circle of friends. Chances are you're so full of light and energy that you sometimes find it hard to sit still and chill out. Instead, you're constantly looking for excitement, no matter how risky or impulsive the occasion. Happy-go-lucky and always laughing, you truly are as good as gold.
I find this really, really funny. I think if they had decided to calculate this using the exact opposite choice of the answers I gave, they couldn't have been more inaccurate.
The "What's my color?" quiz gave me the much more sensible answer of "Brown." I can see me being a brown. Somehow, I'm not seeing myself as a childlike, playful, outgoing, and spiritual person with a glittery gold aura.
Although that would be fun to show off at parties. "Hey! Check my aura!"
The Keirsey Temperament Sorter informs me that I am an INTJ, a Mastermind. Amusingly, thespark.com agrees, labeling me a Mastermind -- and that's the only classification the two have in common. I'm an abstract thinker, introverted, somewhat manipulative (at least I admit it... but maybe I'm admitting it to get you to think I'm at least honest... or maybe this is a cry for help and sympathy... or maybe I'm just manipulative).
My friends take mental health tests, they get the typical teenager "depression" or "eating disorders." I find out that I'm somewhat schizoid with tendencies towards both narcissism and dependence.
Maybe I'll call myself "complex," and leave it at that.
~Crystalline
|
|
(2 comments |comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, July 17th, 2001
| |
11:40 am - If you will not have me as myself, perhaps as someone else.
|
There are times when I really dislike other women.
Not for anything they do to me, understand, but for the stupid things they do to men that end up ultimately affecting me. The ridiculous expectations some women have can end up making men bitter for life, and I'd just like to ask all men to keep in mind that not all women are screeching, manipulative, gold-digging harpies.
And, please keep in mind that despite this journal entry I am not, in fact, a raving bitch.
As a general rule, I have more male friends than female friends. Men are, really, so much easier to understand than women. Women don't make *sense*. Women snivel about their feelings and good intentions and ask me to donate 35 cents a day (as much as a cup of coffee) in order to help some little AIDS-ridden Somalian rugrat eke out a few more years of unpleasant existence. Follow your heart, they nasally whine, trust in your feeeeeeelings, and love your brother man.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not a heartless schizoid who has no conception of other people's feelings. I just think that if they had any inkling of my feelings they'd leave me the hell alone. Not that I'm offended, just that being killed tends to put a crimp in one's schedule -- you'd think they'd attempt to not bait me into a homicidal rage.
Where was I?
Ah, yes. Women are, apparently, from Venus, an utterly separate planet to either Mars (where men are purported to come from) or Earth. I find this unsurprising at least, and rather fitting at best. Ah, charming Venus where the rain has the pH of stomach acid and the atmosphere is thick enough and toxic enough to kill any person who attempted to walk on the surface without layers upon layers of protective covering and an airtight seal.
Speaking of toxic women, the fabulous sounds of Ms. Celine Dion are currently echoing throughout my office. Ah, Ms. Dion, you remind me of a shaved, leathery mongoose. Go lie in a tanning bed for a few more hours, and maybe the skin cancer will be enough to end Dion-induced misery across the globe.
Wonderfully, my tangental sort of writing style has brought me back to the topic that first inspired today's dose of vitriol -- superficiality. Ms. Dion's tanning habits aside, most women seem to have a delightfully hypocritical attitude towards this that I'm still working on fully comprehending. There are a phenomenal amount of beauty products available for every possible cosmetic need -- makeup, perfume, nail polish, fake tanning lotion, skin cream, you name it. Half of the aisles in your local drug store are a veritable testament to the emphasis most women put on their physical appearances, and the large amount of tv ads for various forms of plastic surgery are only a confirmation of what is already patently clear: in a poor attempt at justification, women will declare that this is not, in fact, all done for men as one would be led to believe. Oh no, this is so that they can feel good about themselves! That makes it all okay!
If you're going to lie to yourself and others, at least be minimally convincing. The only way you're getting self-worth out of this is if you're externally deriving said self-worth from, you guessed it, men.
Men are superficial creatures. However, I'm willing to pass a portion of the blame for this off on genetics. Mating with young, attractive women is good, because you want the best possible combination of genes for your offspring. This makes perfect sense, and would be hard to get rid of entirely because of its underlying truth. Hot young teens, beyond being the subject of more porn sites than I'd care to think about, are genetically and physically suited to bearing children.
Fine.
My problem is the fact that women *encourage* this sort of thing, coddle it, feed it with cellulite cream and hot wax, while at the SAME damn time making goo-goo eyes and simpering, "Will you still love me if I get fat?" Hell no, bitch. Once you've made it clear that you're willing to trade off your looks you can't expect love for your sparkling personality, should you be lucky enough to have one in the first place. This must be disgustingly confusing to the simple creatures that are human males. We want you to love us for our looks, we want you to love us unconditionally. We want you to compliment our appearances, we want you to lie and say it's really our personality you love more.
I don't mind shallow women as much as I mind hypocritical women. Those are the bitches that screw over well-meaning guys who'd prefer not to admit that we're all a little superficial sometimes. It's a noble cause, boys, but don't expect gratitude for your efforts. We expect you to be a bit concerned with our appearance. It's okay to admit that you'd probably prefer that we didn't gain 200 pounds. Hell, I'd appreciate your honesty. Anyone who says looks don't matter to them at all is either lying, deluded, or both.
Personally, I'd like to be loved for my personality and my appearance, as these are the things that make me... well... me. Attempting to dissociate them to grasp at some sort of higher, spiritual "love" that can only be felt for a nebulously-defined "who person X *really* is" is silly at best and an embarassment at worst.
I refuse to feel guilty for admitting that, when you get right down to it, looks do matter a bit. We're human. We're animals. We do that whole "mating" thing. Physical attraction is somewhat key in that area. There's nothing wrong with a little superficiality.
There's something wrong with catering to superficiality while attempting to deny its existence.
~Crystalline
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Monday, July 16th, 2001
| |
2:21 pm - I have faith in medication, I believe in the Prozac Nation. You play doctor, but I've lost patience.
|
Typically, I don't feel the need to comment on current events. As a halfhearted libertarian, I can't shake the conviction that government is a Bad Thing, and I am hence unable to work myself into even a mild frenzy over politics.
However, with my proclivity for misanthropy, I find the little tidbits of societal news to generally be of interest.
The sorts of things I can snicker about over my morning Mountain Dew, if you will.
People are funny. They do funny things. This is undeniable. I generally attempt to place things in this perspective, making an effort to refer to things my brain gawks at as either "grotesque" or "horrific" as just "funny." Unfortunately, I just read a little snippet of news that's currently causing my Mountain Dew not to sit so well.
Apparently, another idiot mother has given birth to a litter.
Refusing to learn a lesson from the misguided McCaugheys and their horribly sickly little brood, people continue to use fertility drugs and give birth to enormous numbers of offspring that the human body was not intended to incubate, much less squirt out after nine months.
I don't believe in God. I don't have anything against people who do. I think God is a nice idea.
I do, however, dislike how God is used to justify the carrying of these little pre-tykes that weren't even meant to be ovulated all at once to term. These new proud, beaming parents are Muslim. I have nothing against Muslims, I have things against stupidity.
Having that many babies is not a good idea, and attempting to justify it by saying that this wouldn't've happened but for the grace of God/Allah/Vishnu/Zeus is, quite simply, crap. These same people who wail and tear their permed hair screaming that life begins at conception really need to take a few basic biology classes.
Unless they're willing to say that everything that happens to everyone, everywhere, including the "Bad Stuff" is a result of the Big Guy's direct intervention, they really shouldn't have the arrogance to presume that He was glancing their way when the distraught wanna-be brood mare was popping fertility drugs like tictacs.
Free will, much?
Beyond the issue of whether having a myriad of little ankle-biters all in one shot is due to some sort of divine intervention, I'm inclined to think that desiring to put yourself through the sort of hell that only seven screaming infants can provide is a mark of stupidity, or, more charitably, masochism that should be weeded out of the gene pool rather than applauded.
We will provide for them somehow, they say. God will help us. Guess what, kiddies, it ain't God but corporate sponsorship and charitable donations and applications for government aid that'll get you through this major economic drain.
And, really, are you willing to say that God's hand is prodding Pampers into donating a year's supply of super no-leak diapers? Or that it's God encouraging the government to help pay for the health care of your inevitably sickly offspring that *you* condemned to have a short, probably unpleasant life because you "just couldn't choose to let any of your pwecious liddle babies die"?
But hey. Go right ahead. Have your squalling bratpack and your fifteen minutes.
Then get your goddamn tubes tied.
~Crystalline
|
|
(2 comments |comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, July 11th, 2001
| |
11:09 am - The truth is not kind, and you've said neither am I.
|
I'm back in New Haven.
It's the same as it was, of course. And I'm okay. And by "I'm okay" I of course mean "I don't cry constantly anymore and can function somewhat normally, if you're considering the way I function normal in any respect."
I had intended to write all about the last few days, to unburden myself as it were, but I realized I don't really want to do that. Suffice it to say, I attempted to excrete my grief through my tear ducts, and I was vaguely successful to a point.
So, I am back at work. Working at the moment, in fact. And by "working" I of course mean "writing a journal entry while my DragonRealms character listens to a teaching class so she can circle."
Today's just a day for definitions, it seems.
The secretary who works in the same office that I do has a penchant for Michael Jackson music. I wouldn't have too much trouble with this if she listened to, say, "Billie Jean," or "Bad," or something. No, she likes the *new* MJ, meaning I get to hear "You Are Not Alone" and that freaking song from Free Willy on loop half the time I'm here.
I tell you, testing Arabic tapes to see if they recorded properly is easier on the ears and more fun, to boot.
It's getting to be lunchtime. I had a nice breakfast so I'm not particularly hungry, which would usually mean that I'd pick up some peach soda and some chips. However, I am getting very very irritated with Gourmet Heaven. It seems like every time I walk in there they charge me different, seemingly random prices for the exact same items. For example, while attempting to purchase my precious peach soda, I have been charged $1.25, $1.30, $1.35, and $1.39. Yesterday he asked for $1.39 and I kind of just blinked at the guy, but was of course too spineless to say anything. One more time, though, I think would be enough to shove me over the edge into the Point of No Return(tm) at which point I can't be held responsible for what I do.
Hello, Gourmet Heaven? This is a freaking clue calling. Get me.
I have a bunch of chores to do today. It's once again laundry time, made more urgent by the fact that I'm running out of clean underwear, and I really ought to clean my room and do those sorts of things. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm not exactly the neat and tidy type (by "not exactly the neat and tidy type" I of course mean "someone who sees her carpet/flooring maybe once every few months."), so it's really a special effort on my part. I've gotten good at doing the dishes, though.
Go me.
~Crystalline
|
|
(2 comments |comment on this)
|
| Sunday, July 8th, 2001
| |
6:45 pm - The mystical divinity of unashamed felinity; Round the cathedral rang "Vivat!"; Life to the Everlasting Cat.
|
My beloved, wonderful, darling, intelligent, well-behaved, soft, cuddly, reassuring, caring, sweet-faced, adorable, immaculately groomed, bright-eyed, perfect cat is dead.
I love you, Tiger. I miss you so very very much. I wish I could hug you one more time, and tell you I love you and hear you purr and look at me with your yellow-gold eyes, shining with love and trust.
Goodbye, kittykitty, Tiger-angel, sweetheart. My friend, my companion, the one who always acted like she understood and loved me no matter what I did and no matter how I felt about myself. Thank you for being my cat, and for loving me when I needed it the most.
"No, heaven will not ever
Heaven be
Unless my cats are there
to welcome me."
- Anonymous
~Crystalline
|
|
(1 comment |comment on this)
|
|
|
|
|