Look at me, actually putting in a real attempt at a something I planned before the inevitable failing. I'm gonna try to rewrite my usual tired pessimistic disposition with a little cautious optimism.
I had a video idea back in the middle of may with the basic premise of fixing the funk I've fallen into. It seems to be something I fall back into every few months, but this time I've formulated a plan to fight back.
I've made a list, of course, seeing as that is how most of my grand schemes are realized, and the general idea is that I am going to start putting effort into myself again. I've been scraping by on bare-minimum effort and wondering why I constantly feel like shit. Hopefully with the motivation of making it into a video driving me, I'll finally get around to caring for myself again. But I mean in the sense of working out, eating right, and decluttering, I promise I've been showering.
It's odd because my bare minimum is a lot different from what it used to be, it's actually quite a lot more in terms of things I continuously keep up with, but I need to do more. I forget how my friend phrased it the other day, but it was something along the lines of, I need to stop surviving day to day and actually *living* in the days I have. And it's true. Aside from last week, May practically evaporated into one big blip. Months only start to feel short when your routine eats you alive. And especially if that routine either has little to no variation, or is just the basic necessities to say feeling human.
I can't say that I've felt all that human the past few months, thought I don't really know what I mean by that entirely. I am a human, therefore I suppose I feel like one. It is very inherently human to feel like shit and be aware of it, and be miserable because of it. But the human experience is also about hard work and pleasure and reaping the benefits of the places and things around you. I want to get back to that part of it all.
What is frustrating is that part of everything gets a hell of a lot more difficult every day the price of bare minimum effort is raised. Not just in terms of money, though that is a large component, but having the spoons for everything, in the steps it takes to feel like a person and gather the courage to do more than what is required to stay alive. I guess you have to look at life a bit broader and realize that the fun stuff and the hard work stuff are also an integral part of that "needing to stay alive" thing, because being alive is partially automatic, with the breathing and the eating stuff, but *living* and feeling *alive* I've found so far from personal experience of being alive, is the pursuit of enriching our bodies and minds. And that usually requires hard work in many facets, whether denying yourself a sweet treat to meet a weight goal, or lifting a heavy object to rearrange your room. Or something like that, I don't know.
Either way, I've written a script, a plan, a list, and now I just need to put it on my wall so I can get a sweet sweet dopamine hit every time I check off a task I would already be participating in to keep myself afloat on the bare minimum ferry. Or boat, it doesn't have to be a large water craft if you don't want. It's all up to interpretation. Personally I prefer flying.
I think June will be a good month. That could be the medication talking or the fact I almost completed the full checklist outline of my morning routine within the set time frame, or even the fact that I started my day with a track from the Star Trek: TNG ost. Time will only tell if this whole living thing becomes easier.
A bit of a later entry than usual, but seeing as it is also the weekend, we're already in slightly unfamiliar territory.
Today I'm thinking about otherness, more specifically the otherness that comes with being autistic. While I have yet to get a formal diagnosis because the most official one in my home city is pushing $400 usd, after 21 years of trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me, I can semi-confidently self diagnose.
I've been experiencing this otherness, this feeling of differentiality for my entire life now, but it's been especially hard these past few years now that I have a name for it. You would think it'd get easier with a label and resources, but it has somehow only further drilled into my brain that I am, succinctly, other. I find myself being acutely and unfortunately aware of my differences in the way I miss certain things, speak in a different manner, and process the entire world uniquely to that of a neurotypical person. Auditory processing is something I have a lot of issues with, I mishear most people all the time, but I have my work arounds. More often than not I've found as long as you play your issues off like a punchline to a joke, people don't seem to be as bothered by it. My most common mishearings are usually that of innuendo, so I can usually play it off similarly. It's hard though, because innuendo is not on my mind 24/7, I'd honestly prefer to avoid the subject save talking with a select few, but one must use any tactic they have proven successful in order to survive in a world that does not understand, and does not put effort in to understand.
The most peculiar thing I have observed is that as I have gotten older, I feel as though I have only gotten more autistic. I would have thought that by now, especially given the tools and proper locutions, that I'd have gotten better at combatting my symptoms, or at least that they would have lessened altogether. This however is not the case. No matter how many times I have tried to force myself to behave in a normal or socially palatable way, it never gets easier. It actually gets harder, especially knowing that I would probably function better if I was just given the right to behave how I do naturally without judgement. The only time I have that privilege is when I'm at home with my family, but even then, there are some limitations. I am lucky to have a family that is also extremely neurodivergent so that I'm not an outlier like I am in most all other social settings, but it doesn't mean there aren't still differences.
The reason the subject of otherness even made itself present in my mind was because for the past few days I've been spending time with my friends from out of town. The past two days, practically non-stop. I care for my friends and enjoy their company, and I'm fairly certain it's a mutual feeling, but I can't help but feel like an idiot around them sometimes, and not in the positive and carefree way that I've seen other people describe, the freeing nature of turning your brain off around someone and just being. I mean an idiot. I can't ever say the right things, and even when I'm not meaning to joke, it comes off as one, and they laugh, and I'm just barely aware enough to play it off as if it was a joke. This isn't the case all the time, but when one spends 9am to 9pm with a group, two days in a row, one begins to feel a little stupid. I feel intrinsically as though I always have to be entertaining and interesting and correct the entire way through to be seen as valuable in any given social interaction that I end up burning out halfway through and turning dumb and mute near the end. I am metaphorically and literally burning the candle at both ends, leaving a sickly waxy nub in the middle and not only still trying to offer it, but also providing everyone with a match and going, "Look, there's still some left, go for it," because it just feels right. It feels like it's what I'm supposed to do. How am I supposed to bring value if I am quiet?
But then, when I am not being quiet, I always say something wrong. Even when they don't mention or pay mind to what I have said, I can tell it was the wrong thing to say. I have to refrain from talking about special interests because they know nothing about them, and I don't want to sound like a broken record and annoy them. It's not that they berate me with hate or even correct me most times, they aren't even malicious about it, and this goes for most all of my friends, but I always feel some mysterious sense of otherness gently emanating from them. From everyone but myself, I suppose. It's like an inside joke I'll never quite get.
This happens a lot when rehashing past mistakes with friends in order to explain how we got to be how we are now. An old friend and I were explaining to a newer friend in the group how I had chose to leave the group for a few years because of some childish misunderstanding we had as children, and found it to be the easiest solution to the issue I had thought was my presence, and due to my verbatim memory, I recalled exactly what she had said to make me distance myself and stop being friends. They had changed the subject before I had gotten the chance to clarify that there is and never has been any ill will between us, and that I was simply trying to help her recall the correct information because I had it stored away in one of the many filing cabinets in my brain, but I could tell it was too late and that it had hurt her feelings slightly. It was completely by accident, I was only trying to be helpful, but I wasn't sure if I should've apologized either, because maybe I didn't hurt her feelings and perhaps I was being a little self centered thinking that something I said mattered enough to hurt her feelings. It's all so confusing and I hate the variation in many social interactions that have to do with emotion, especially considering that emotions are very hard to combat. Thats usually why I prefer defaulting to humor, because everyone likes to laugh and share jokes most of the time.
It's just frustrating knowing I'll never really feel understood, or like I don't need to put on a performance. Even with my best friend, though she's told me numerous times I don't need to, I feel an overwhelming urge to be entertaining. To be the best host I can be. Otherwise, there is no value in her coming over to my house, even though that is not at all the truth. We can enjoy each others presence either way, and could go as far as sitting near each other and not talking for hours and still feel fulfilled, but it never comes without the smallest hint of guilt. I must be the one that makes the visit worth something.
This could just be a me thing, though, and not totally related to autism. As I have said before I have a colorful plethora of disorders and diagnosis, some on paper and some hypothesized, but either way, still inhabiting my flesh suit.
In a totally contradicting light, though, I have also heard many of my friends refer to themselves as autistic even though I don't see them as such, or they don't have similar struggles I do. I am aware that autism and asd as a whole is, in fact, a spectrum, but claiming that you're "high functioning autistic" because you're introverted and don't have very good social skills is borderline insulting, even though I know it isn't intended that way. But it leads me to feel as though my self-proclaimed title of "high-functioning" is not only a falsity but inaccurate, even though I have been dissecting my own brain since I was first able to think. Perhaps high-functioning isn't even the correct term, I don't really know what is, but it's what I've been going with since I am, with great struggle, capable of suppressing symptoms and masking enough to appear normal to the untrained eye, in most cases for the purpose of looking more palatable at work. It feels like it invalidates my entire experience.
It's frustrating, having these feelings pulled up like weeds with flowers growing atop them, feeling as though uprooting them only disturbs the soil and leaves me an undecorated indelicate mess. I guess it is something I will simply have to come to terms with, that I am, though surrounded by people that try, alone in the universe.
Kids, todays lesson is about older media. For those who know me and/or have kept up with these entries, I know you're already rolling your eyes because I've drilled this point so far into the ground it's poking out the other side. But I'm deadly serious.
There is an astounding lack of dedication and care in story writing nowadays. And I don't say this as a 75 year old man that wishes people would make movies as good as the "oldies", I say this as a know-nothing 21 year old woman that is actively living during an egregious oversight. One that is, to my knowledge, a fairly recent problem, too. Sure, there have always been cheesy movies and media created just to earn a buck, but from what I've experienced, the good used to outweigh the bad.
Now, was this entire entry provoked because I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation for 5 hours straight last night? Yes, however, I believe there is at least a note of merit in that. I am not someone who can sit still. My attention cannot be held for very long. I have watched many shows over the course of my short existence, and even if I've taken my ADHD medication, even if I like something, I will find myself glazing or losing focus because it's just how my brain works. Adhd is indeed a bastard.
However, last night, not only did I actively participate in watching Star Trek, but I yelped, hooted, hollered, kvetched, and giggled like a school girl. I have never been so intently enthralled and entertained by a show. It's as if my entire life I have only ever watched things and enjoyed one aspect of it, shuffling off the rest as embarrassing or badly written. Take Supernatural, for instance. Wonderful premise, great characters, I think of the show very fondly, but it is not in any way a good show. The writing has a range of fairly good or outrageously bad. That is simply the standard I have grown accustom to. I would not go out of my way to recommend it to other people, because it is a LOT of chaff to separate for a few grains of wheat. That grain being Castiel and Bobby respectively.
I have a similar sentiment towards shows like Doctor Who and Sherlock. Wildly interesting plots, characters, cast, overarching themes, etc, but if you think a little to hard about anything, the illusion of cleverness faulters. That is just how most cult classic shows go, because a fandom can only be strong if it agrees there are things to fix or change to fit their ideals attached to the characters they have grown fond of.
Now by no means am I saying these shows are bad, because technically, they are not. I love them, they are easily some of my favorite shows, I say this while typing on a keyboard positioned in front of Castiel and eleventh doctor pop figures. This is all simply my own opinion, if you do not like it, you can leave, or you can disagree with me in a comment, I don't care either way, this is my blog. However, and I say this with the largest crystalline grain of salt, they do not nearly match the quality of complex emotional storytelling that I have been met with in Star Trek: The Next Generation.
One common outlier between all of these shows is that yes, they all have their more campy episodes, all good shows do, but Star Trek somehow balances it far better than I have ever had the delight in witnessing. The countless allegoric storylines covering modern issues such as sexism, racism, slavery, gay rights, and even more specific struggles such as family lineage of mixed individuals, parental issues, family dynamics, the response and repercussions of trauma, and many many more, are all handled with the utmost sincerity. I will not say outright that there aren't a few...weird moments, I mean, come on, it was a tv show made in the 80's about the future, things are going to translate over oddly. It happened in the very same way with Star Trek TOS. The woman simply had to wear scantily clad short mini skirts, because it was the 60's version of the future. And while I love it, as I love most anything with retrofuturism, purposefully intended or not, one must recognize the effect time has on any given media made in a certain era.
This, I think, is one of the most common issues I see tripping people up when they watch old media. "Deanna Troi was a girly girl obsessed with chocolate, how sexist!" Yes, sure, I agree, it was overdone, but later in the series she gets the youth sucked out of her, manipulated, genetically and physically altered, kidnapped, and a multitude of other horrible things, and because she is a strongly written character, she rises to the occasion and takes charge of her situation as best she can despite the odds.
There is an infinitesimal amount of value to be derived from older media, especially certain ones like Star Trek, because it not only is a reflection of its time, for better or for worse, but it shows how things have changed. And while there are a plethora of differences that come to mind, the one that presents itself to me first is the simple fact that we are being starved of good media now. I could be completely wrong, maybe I'm just not in the right circles to find the good stuff, or perhaps I just have a bias for older media, which I do, however, never in my life has it been clearer to me just how blatantly starved we really are. There is so much nuance in the way things were done only a few decades ago, and hell, even in the early 2000's. Even though I previously put a few of those shows down, superwholock's shows are vastly superior to the things being made now, because at least one iota of thought was put into them. And before you boo me, I am acutely aware of the few rare outliers that have come out recently, such as the newest Superman movie, but my point still stands.
I felt a slurry of emotions wash over me last night as I watched Star trek. I think I watched about 5 or 6 episodes, since thats what my family does at night after both my dad and I get home from work. We don't usually get that much time, but I was desperate to start watching as soon as we could so we could fit in as many episodes as we could, since I knew there was a Data and Worf two-part episode arc on the way. But, we had a few episodes to go before that, so at around 6:15, we put our dinner in the oven, and began watching.
General spoiler warning for Star Trek: The Next Generation, season 6, episodes 13-17
The first episode we watched was season 6, episode 13, Aquiel. A Geordi-centric episode, which I was delighted to see, as he is one of my favorite characters. The basic plot of the episode can be chalked up to a romance-murder mystery, centering around a woman, Aquiel, who disappears and is assumed dead. It was, of course, wonderful. I'll have to write full on reviews about each episode, but that is for another time. Next was episode 14, Face of the Enemy, which was a striking episode. Deanna gets kidnapped and surgically altered into a Romulan, is given little details about what has happened, and has to act as part of the Romulan intelligence, and a ruthless one at that, much apposing her own character. She was absolutely incredible, fierce, and trailblazed the entire episode. I was honestly shocked every time she raised her voice, her presence was so commanding the entire episode. Our next episode was 15, Tapestry, where Picard dies and Q takes him back in time, allowing him to change the past and see what would happen. Again, very strong episode.
Then, at last, we got to episode 16 and 17, the two parter, Birthright. It's a duel-focused two parter about both Data and Worf discovering their own personal truths in the form of Data discovering he can now dream and meeting his father within said dreams, and Worf being told his father was not killed and searching for him, only to find the refugees of said battle in a Romulan hostage camp that has been there for generations now and has been colonized and kept within boarders, knowing nothing of their true Klingon culture.
Data spends most of the episodes in a dream state or frantically painting about said dreams, which as an artist and someone who favors Data quite strongly, this was nothing short of a treat. Someone from another Trek show, Deep Space Nine I believe though I haven't seen it yet, I believe his name was Bashir, I care for him quite a lot even though I have only seen him once. Good golly gravy his interactions with Data and overall energy was refreshing as hell. The dream sequences were absolutely phenomenal. Brent Spiner having to play across from himself as two vastly different characters never disappoints, he is brilliant.
Worf is absolutely no-nonsense, as he is most always, and when he is provoked with the suggestion of his father being alive, he does exactly what I had hoped he would and dangles the son of a bitch that provoked him with the information over a guardrail until he agrees to take him without payment until after. Worf is out of uniform for most of the two parter, in a solid black outfit, sort of like a cat suit, though I'm not entirely sure, either way, he looked incredibly intimidating. I knew it was serious when he was out of uniform, and as I had stated earlier, giggled like a schoolgirl.
He infiltrates the refugee camp and essentially brings Klingon culture back to the captured Klingons, what a bombshell. I felt such a visceral disgust when the Romulans in charge kept referring to them as "equals", even though they were clearly not. I squirmed in my seat when I found out Ba'el was the result of one of the Romulans marrying his enslaved Klingon. I cheered and sang along to the battle song when Worf and the young Klingon came back from the hunt.
It was all so well done and so incredibly emotionally provoking, and I have never, in my entire life, watched that many episodes of one singular piece of media in succession and been thoroughly enraptured the entire time. It could be because I am a simply minded fool, but I would like to think it was because these are genuinely some of the best episodes of television I've ever witnessed.
I'm so serious when I say I presently feel like those videos of white people trying cultural, or just generally seasoned and well prepared food for the first time. How have I not taken the time to watch any of this before? How has it taken me this long to find something this good? Why did I not listen to my parents and watch it with them years ago? And why aren't things this good being made any more? The fact I have finally experienced such joy from a show made well over thirty years ago is baffling and borderline insulting. Who the fuck used to be in charge, and why aren't they or like-minded people still in charge now?
We presently have a lot of injustice in the world. Manmade horrors beyond our comprehension, and that phrase has never quite rung as true as it does currently. I know that the recent file release has left me with countless anxiety ridden and fearfully sleepless nights, and I have even seen dear friends slipping into a maddening psychosis because of the sheer amount of terror in our world right now. I have no solution to this, I'm just some madwoman nerd on the internet, but if you are in need of a true escape, please turn to Star Trek. It has filled me with a joy I have never known before, because it is actually Good. I can say that with my whole heart and chest. Good. Great, even. And wonderful. I have loved many shows with my entire heart, especially Doctor Who, knowing that they aren't particularly well done, but by god, Star Trek: The Next Generation is capital G Good.
Good morning.
I've been in a weird transitional, cocooned sort of grey area as of recently. Things are mild, and while that isn't a bad thing, I am the root cause of it.
My highs and lows are very similar in that they aren't very potent. Sure, I feel joy, sadness, even despair and anger, but they all sort of just simmer down into this weird grey matter that I don't do much with. Because of this I've decided to finally bite the bullet and apply for college.
Now you may be thinking, Lina, college is essentially useless for most things in life now, having a bachelors in pretty much anything doesn't boost one's chances of getting a high paying job because so much of the job market has collapsed. And to that I say, yes, exactly!
I no longer, or at least partially, have to worry about my learning being monetarily beneficial to me anymore. When I was in high school I was so scared that I was going to choose the wrong degree to pursue and end up hating my job due to how limited my options would be, but now that a degree basically does nothing that weight has sort of lifted. I can kind of just go to keep myself busy and learn about things I'm interested in for the sake of learning and nothing else. Which to some may not sound very appealing, but to me, it's kind of a relief.
I know that getting a degree doesn't lock you in for life and you don't have to exclusively pursue things that align with it, but it always stressed me out so much as a kid because that's how I thought it worked, and the fact neither of my parents finished college sort of supported that theory. Though they both dropped out for vastly different and unrelated reasons, haha.
I'm hoping I can get a scholarship or a grant and start picking at the preliminary classes now while I'm still working part time. I've been so caught up in the fact that I don't have time to do anything that I haven't taken a step back to realize how much time I actually have. Once I get off from work at 12pm I literally have nothing to do but twiddle my fingers until 4pm when I pick up my dad, and in that time I could be studying and working on art.
And another thing I think might be pushing me in this direction is the simple fact that I work so much better when I've got an assignment due somewhere. Sure, it's sort of miserable having to do the work occasionally, but when I was in high school it was like, *because* I was flexing all of these learning skills for other reasons they transferred over so much better into my creative endeavors. I mean, hell, I began writing my life's work of a book series during high school, and once I graduated I essentially lost the spark to write. Whether that be because I'd finish my assignments early so I could write more, or because I was being given the tools to write better via classes and assigned reading, the result was still the same.
Not to mention the big looming feeling of "having an assignment" made any procrastination I participated in extremely efficient. Something about having A Thing to do makes me really good at pre-prepping for Said Thing by bettering myself, because if I want to do my best academically, I've got to be doing my best mentally and physically as well. Well I mean not totally but you get what I mean.
Will I probably be very busy again? Probably. But when will I ever be this young with this much free time again? Realistically I can't really know. So I'm trying to go by Shawn Spencers S.E.I.Z.E. program, don't worry about each letter of that acronym, the meaning itself is most important. I need to kick and scratch my way out of the grey area by shaking things up and doing something I've been making far too many excuses to avoid doing. So, here goes something.
Well, dear Anon, I don't have a super solid or singular answer to your question. There are quite a few reasons. I think it's mainly because it's nice to have an easy, low-effort outlet to talk about my own experiences. Given the time I'd love to make YouTube videos and other forms of media, but since I rarely have the energy, blogging has become the best option.
I started back on spacehey because I liked the idea of talking to an endless void and maybe, just maybe, someone could read something I wrote and relate to it, laugh, or just derive any value from it. Aside from that, I don't really have any other reasoning that comes to mind aside from the fact i absolutely loooove typing. If you've read any of my entries you'll know. Sitting at an abhorrently loud, clicky keyboard, and just going to town.
Or actually more like weird morning. I come to you live from my desk at work, and my first ever solo shift. My dad had an earlier gig today and couldn't get our usual guy to cover his shift, so I offered to. Usually whatever days he takes off he just automatically takes the day off for me as well, so a day like this has not occured until this very minute.
A part of me really thought today was going to feel different or weird, but I surprisingly feel very prepared and shockingly confident in my competency. To be fair, I don't have a hard job, at least not in the traditional sense. I don't have to do any difficult paperwork or sell someone something they don't want, but it's nice to feel secure in my own capabilities for once. I think my dad was more nervous than I was.
Why I chose to make a blurb entry, I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps because it is the closest thing I have to making a real-time log of what's going on without breaking several confidentiality laws. Or at least, I think we have those here. Whether or not I'm allowed to record prolonged footage at my place of work has been clarified a total of zero times, so I figured it'd be best not to risk it. Aside from that, I just really like typing. It's so rewarding being able to take down words at about the speed I think, because if I handwrite at that speed it ends up looking like doctor's short hand written by a stroke victim. Sometimes *I* can't even read what I wrote, let alone possibly entertain the idea of someone else being able to read it. So yeah, typing is a lot better. I am also an avid button-presser. Give me buttons, I will press them. My ass could not resist a big fat red button of unknown capabilities.
I am definitely taking a big risk having my laptop out at my podium, seeing as I usually just have my sketchbook to pass the time. I tend to keep it out all day incase I want to doodle during slower parts of the day when I don't have to attend to anyone. But the humidity is so thick I'm pretty sure my sketchbook would turn to paper mache if I left it out for too long, and I've already tried bringing out my art tablet (it's about the same size as my sketchbook so it's usually a good substitute) but the moisture in the air is literally so dense it was clinging to my screen protecter in a layer of dew drops, which, if you aren't aware, makes it impossible to draw on the screen.
But I figured, what the hell, I'm all alone today, so if I get in trouble for it, at least I can't get my dad in trouble. That's all I really care about. Though thankfully my work reputation is in good standing so I'm not particularly worried.
I have also noticed I write very differently depending on what medium I'm using. Handwriting is usually very archaic prose, little to no flowery text, just getting the job done type wording. Texting is very similar in the sense of simple text, obviously with a lot of added short-hand and slang. But when I have a keyboard in front of me, it's like I've got the ability (at least more often than not) to write not only what I'm thinking, but also write it fairly well. I tend to speak in more riddles and metaphor with the keyboard than anywhere else.
For instance, I had initially started this entry on my phone in an attempt to be more inconspicuous with my extra curricular time at work, but I got about two sentences in and realized it was not only extremely dry and repetitive, but an absolute pain in the ass to transcribe. It was like I had this giant cinderblock sinking into my cerebrum. As you can see from the sheer volume of words in this new draft, thoughts flow in a lot quicker when I am met with physical keys.
Thinking about it I bet you there are at least two other entries on this blog that are similar in subject, because I really do like typing, haha.
Anyway, I think that's about all I have for you. At least, I don't want to ramble much more than this, I try to keep these entries shorter so they're more easily digestable, cause I know most people can only handle so much of my ranting before it becomes tiring, lol.
Good morning.
Been getting better sleep the past two nights so big yay for that. Not really sure if I've got anything of value to say today, but here we go.
I think I just like clacking of my keyboard as a capper to my morning routine. These entries have sort of become both a finish and starting line, although I suppose most times the line doubles in a looped race track. I guess that's an easy way to look at a work day, a race track. Going in the same circle with a few pit stops until you win or lose the race, except the win or loss isn't what numeric place you're in, but your mental state. If you're feeling good, you won. That's how I like to think of it, anyway. Feeling good is always my end goal. I just need to have enough spoons to do the extra stuff to cash in for Feeling Good Premium™. Although you could also think of the numeric place as the amount of money you make each day, but I'm paid biweekly, so it doesn't register in my brain in that particular way.
It is a sort of miserable metaphor as well, because going in a circle, the same circle, everyday, for years on end, sounds sort of really bad. But that is what life hands us, we merely get to decide if we are thankful for the participation trophy or strive to get first place. Or something. I think the metaphor is falling apart. I wouldn't be a very sound inspirational speaker.
But yes, a start and finish line. It's like, yay! You did it! You're ready for work! Go enjoy some clicks and clacks on thy keyboard, most favored peasant. But it's also sort of like preparing for battle. At least right now it is anyway, because of how hot it's been and will continue to be until nearly october. I hate hot weather man. I mean, I don't hate warm weather with a cool breeze, or hot weather when I'm in the mood for saltwater and eighty-five pounds of sand in my buttcrack, or even hot weather when I'm at home and can sit around in a sports bra and shorts, but having to work in it, I hate it. I really, truly do. Because I'm in florida, too, so it's *soggy* hot. I'm getting slow cooked at a high temperature and everything is wet. Is it my sweat? Is it the crippling humidity? Is it an oddly small amount of rain despite the sun somehow being out and continuing to stab me thirty seven times in the chest?? You guessed it! It's
It really is exhausting man. Especially since I was really gonna start trying to do the whole working out thing again. I usually have enough energy after work to force myself to do it as long as I have a change of clothes, but man let me tell you, the sun has been sapping me of every single ounce of my mana. And I can't even cast spells anymore. It's absolutely unfair.
I do really feel as though the essence is sucked out of me as soon as I leave work these days, which is seriously annoying considering I've done some of my best work and play during my free afternoons. Sometimes I consider trying to maybe get another job or finding something more permanent to do in the afternoons, but I'm already drained near that time so it probably won't be happening. I seriously need to lock the hell in and use that time more wisely, but it's hard trying to figure out exactly what I can accomplish in such a medium timeframe. Especially considering if I want to do anything at home I have to drive thirty minutes home, which takes up a good chuck of that time anyway. Maybe I need to get back into video editing on my laptop, but I need footage for that. Everything I want to do requires me to complete so many preliminary tasks man uugghh.
It also sucks when, on top of all of this, I find myself in a slight creative slump. The worst world between worlds. I'm still in my Star Trek hyperfixation, so no complaints there, but I've just got no juice in the juicebox to do anything interesting. I'll figure it out. You just gotta promise to clap if I actually do anything cool, alright?
I'm kidding. Don't do that. Not unless you want to. I've found an irrefutable key to happiness is refusing to respond to things you do not find entertaining. Joke wasn't funny? Don't laugh. They'll do better next time. And when they earn your real laugh, it'll feel twice as good. The only time this backfires is when my humor bar drops drastically during the later hours and everything is funny. Then they get confused. But thats okay, it's only natural.
Okay I'm rambling again, I'm gonna get going. See y'all tomorrow for our regularly scheduled yap.
Hey there, been a while.
I went on a trip to attend my cousins wedding, and when I got back I totally lost the will to do anything productive. I had a visual reminder of this, as I hadn't flipped my calendar over to may, nor crossed off any april days past april 20th. It was like after the trip I never really came home, as though I was lackadaisically floating from task to task. I was doing things, the bare minimum, for this entire time, y'know, going to work, showering, eating most of the time, that stuff. But as far as folding the clean clothes that sat in a pile on a blanket in front of my dresser, that was never to be folded.
It's like I mentally checked out after that, and I'm not entirely sure why. Part of it could be because of how nice the place was we stayed at during the trip, being subconsciously envious and longing to go back to the beautiful, open, uncluttered house with steps at the door and a garage beside it. Maybe it was the ability the house gave me to be truly present with the people around me, as the internet barely worked so we all actually spent time with each other. Or maybe it was the sin of comparison, constantly beating myself up for not being like the cousin that was getting married. She's always been far ahead of me in life despite being a couple months younger than me, and I attended her wedding while single and still living with my parents while she graduated from college the same week. Not long before that, my other cousin had her baby. The first great grandchild in our family.
Thats how old I'm actually getting now. I'm not one of those kids running around at a wedding reception celebrating someone I don't know so that I can get up to no good in a ridiculous dress and eat cake. No, I'm the weirdo that is supposed to be the adult in this scenario. But I'm really not. Not the type of adult I'm expected to be, anyway. And I do my best not to complain, but I do really think that entire experience messed up my brain.
I'M supposed to be the adult at that party. I'm not a kid anymore. I'm supposed to be in college and living on my own and getting married and having kids, but I'm not doing any of that. Instead I'm having trouble folding my clothes and writing several paragraphs complaining about how everyone else is better than me.
And I'm fully aware that realistically I am useful, I am good, I am grown and I am growing at my own pace, and that not everything everyone else does, can or should be what I live up to, but I think I'm allowed to be mad about that. I think I'm allowed to be mad that my life is not going how I wish it was.
But when I take a step back from that anger and that comparison to others, I realize I may not mentally be ready for all of those things anyway. I'm not ready to get married yet, I haven't even ever had a relationship that lasted more than six months. I'm not ready to have a baby, my body would be fucked for the rest of my life. I may be ready for collage, but I can't chose what I want to do. And by god I am so ready to have my own place, but momentarily it's monetarily impossible and improbable.
All of this to say, I folded those clothes today. I finally got around to it. No cheating, no leaving them on the bed or floor, fully put away, even the socks. And I turned the calendar to may, even if it is almost a week away from being over. At least I did it.
In part I hate with all my heart that that's what a victory looks like for me sometimes. No matter the fact I'm fully cognizant of my variety pack of mental illnesses or disabilities, no matter the fact that my best is not comparable to someone elses. It still angers me. And yeah, I wish i got points for being aware of it and being able to point out why I'm angry. But self awareness only makes you slightly more miserable. I think I need a new therapist or something, because I feel so static and I need someone to punch me in the metaphorical minds eye to jostle it again like when i first started going to therapy when I was 18.
But yeah, folded my clothes. So i guess that's something.
I also straightened up the rest of my room and actually ate breakfast. Maybe the key to getting things done really is early 2000's girly frutiger aero music and a rich coffee candle.
