An Answer

I read ShadowWolf's last post and was going to write a comment, but the comment grew into more of a kind of blogpost of its own, and I realized it was something I wanted to share not just with ShadowWolf, but my friends, and most importantly I think, the entire world. So there, exhibitionism ahoy, sorry SW. This is what I wanted to say about what you wrote:

Logical people like you and me, we feel that when we do something haphazardly or badly, the world would notice and punish us. This is how our brains are programmed; this is what makes sense. But the world doesn't. I've been so frustrated so many times because I've fucked up, I've been lazy, I've done wrong, and absolutely nothing happens. On the contrary, because we have some skills we consider basic and completely bland but that in all honesty not all people have, we are often praised for things when we would in fact deserve to be reprimanded. And this fucks with our heads, be sure that it does. It turns our worlds upside down, and gives a feeling of, what now? If it's this easy, then why try? If no one can appreciate the difference between something thrown together overnight and something I've put my soul in, then why do it?

Several people have addressed this before. I've read texts about it written by teachers, psychologists and the occational layman like me. We expect the world to give us the feedback we need. But those of us who do well, whether just above average or true geniuses, are expected to take care of ourselves. At least here in Sweden. And some do. Some manage to give themselves the motivation, or they find that some things are worth doing for the pleasure of doing it right. For me, that is writing fiction. I could spend my life writing a single text, simply for the pleasure of doing it perfectly. Sadly, that doesn't apply to anything else in my life, and thus, I've always been sleeping and cheating and lazying my way through school. No one's punished me, but of course it has consequences, like bad studying skills and difficulties motivating myself with anything, as well as a very unclear sense of what I actually want or not, since I never had to work for anything. But anyone who's read psychology knows that that kind of slow-acting consequences score very low on the scale of feedback that actually teach us behavior.

Some people know how to handle us. There are other us:es in grown up teacher-version out there. I have a strong resentment towards them when I meet them, because they actually force me to make an effort, but in the end it is good for me. The times I don't just roll over and give up as soon as an obstacle appears, even if I know I could get over it. But I wish there were more, and I wish I'd met them sooner, and I wish someone had spoken to me about this when I was younger.

My advice is as simple as it is difficult; confront the teacher. Question why it is good, admit you put no effort in it, ask if that shows. And if he says it doesn't ask why. By asking you show you actually want to know and am prepared for critizism. And it might be a wake-up call for him to keep a keener eye on you. But it's hard, because it means making an effort to make others expect more, and for me at least, that's willing suicide according to my inner instincts. No more lazying.

The second reason to do that is that, like a friend told me, sometimes we think things about ourselves that we subconsiously project onto the surroundings. I believe people always see my limp very clearly. I believe people think I'm too fat, and I believe people think I dress badly, and I believe people think I speak too low and unclear. If you pick out the "people think" part, you might have the actual truth. I don't know. But sometimes, we believe something so strongly that we're convinced everyone else thinks the same. So confront him, tell him you want the critizism, question how he thinks you could possibly grow as a writer if people hold back on you. Tell him you're not shy and fragile. Show him what you expect of him. If he can live up to it, he might. If he can't, well, there's a lot of teachers that can't, which is sad, but has to be lived with.

All this, because we expect or want people to understand us. Someone told me when I was writing instruction pamphlets; assume people are idiots and spell it out. Idiots are nice and gullible and frustrating as hell, but they can be educated. And if they're still doing it wrong after you've explained everything clearly, then they're not idiots; they're ignorant. Which is like being an idiot without the nice and gullible.

Update xxyy

Been a while, huh. My life lately has been food, Team Fortress 2 and the fascinating Left4Dead. I seem to have forgotten this blog, which is odd, don't think I've ever done that before.

Today is sunny sunny. I'll try for a tan this year, but I say that every year. Sunbathing is so very very boring, and the sun is so very very warm and uncomfortable. It's the same with the sun as with relationships, alcohol and a lot of other things. I don't actually like it or want it, but some part of me that belongs to the great hive-mind of humanity does want it and like it because it thinks it's supposed to. So there's some kind of drive to go after it, although I know I'll be disappointed.

I'm dieting. Bad stuff. I'll go through with it because I've said I would go through with it, and once I've done that, no matter if I lost any weight or not, I'll have a huge bag of chips. What dieting is good for, however, is erasing any shard of guilt or shame for shoving candy down my throat, because being without it has me realizing that yes, it is worth it.

But I'll try making diet-ok orange mousse tomorrow, and maybe that'll put a stop to my unproportionate cravings for Euroshopper chips.

A Simple Joy

One of my interests that rarely comes into play anymore is that of reading; books I mean then, because I read comics all the time, and I think we would need a different word for that. Because it's different from reading, yet on the same value level. Anyway. Books is another of the subjects where I rarely say anything; like with boys, and my writing, and also schoolwork, which often makes the sharing of such things difficult. Communication is rather a necessity of sharing, sadly. I think I choose not to speak because sometimes more information is less good. Sometimes sharing things with words break them. So I bide my time looking for a better way, sometimes it shows up.

I'm just filling out this blogpost to be of reasonable length. What I wanted to write here was:

Lee Child - the Jack Reacher novels.

Simple as that. I could write a 5-page essay about why or how or what, but I think you understand.

The Alphabet Song

Time to break form and do something silly. I get sudden inspiration during some of my walks, sometimes for the best poems ever, sometimes things I forget soon afterwards, and sometimes... sometimes things like these come to me without any effort... :P

The Alphabet Song
A is for Anarchy,
B it is for Blood,
C is for Carrie White,
D the Devil's hood.
E is for Extacy,
F is Famine's breath,
G stands for Griseliness,
and H's the last in Death.

I is for Eye sore,
oh, I got that wrong
J is for Jabberwook,
oh, what a silly song.

K's first in Killing spree,
L's a Lamia,
M is the Madman's dream,
of Necrophilia.
O is for Opium,
P is Pedophile,
Q has gone out of town,
in R for Reaver style.

S is for Cyanide,
oh, I got that wrong,
T is for Terrorist,
oh, what a silly song.

U is the Underworld,
V for Vatican,
W is so very Wrong,
and X is all that's banned.

Y is for Why, why why,
oh, I got that wrong,
Z is for inbred Zwine,
it's time to end this song.

The Butterfly of Troy

I've had lots of thoughts to blog about, but without even a hint of easy access to a computer those get lost in the vastness of space and time.

Watched Troy last night. It's not quite as painful as watching Tristram and Isolde was but that moment when Hector walks out to meet Achilles, or the moment when Paris says "Father, burn it!" about the Greek's wooden horse, it still cuts to my bones. Because I'm a person who likes to fix things. And to watch others' mistakes, to know the humongous consequences of those mistakes, pains me.

In the case of Troy they mostly make those mistakes because of honor or because of religion (except selfish Achilles, who does them of stupidity), and then they're easier to bear. In Romeo and Juliet they make them because of youth and love, and it makes me disgusted with them. In Tristram and Isolde they make them at the wicked twist of chance, because of the tiniest circumstances and the goodwill of some, selfishness of others. Because of humanity and nature, you could say. So I watched until the pain got too great and I turned it off. I had to. My mind was imploding of sadness, and of fear for those tiny, tiny circumstances being the founding ground of life-altering decisions. The flapping of butterfly wings in Africa, that becomes the storm here.

I see these butterflies, and at times, the pain of their consequences becomes too great for one mind to handle. So I close my eyes. But the butterflies keep flapping whether I see them or not... and they're lucky to not have the brain tissue to care about the responsibility.

Picking up on K

Watched the documentary about dog breeding that Kristin has linked. And let me tell you. If The Sims didn't convince you, this is actual, real life proof that humans, on no level, should ever be given the powers of the gods. That show-version of German Shepherd isn't a German Shepherd, it's a real, man-made mutant freak of nature, and it has to suffer from it. And give me a gun and let me shoot the bitch that thinks putting down healthy puppies because they miss the right fur mutation on their backs is perfectly sensible. Mutations are mutations for a reason; they have no evolutionary advantage so they never become the standard. Until we start fucking with them and produce animals who by all rights should all be put down at birth out of compassion. No. Give me a working dog or a mix.

I saw the awesomest dog, on that note. Head shape and tail like a (healthy) shepherd or a spitz, (sharp, I mean) but size like a Saint Bernhard. And white. I wonder what it was? It looked very fluffy and cozy. If those are mixes or sensible animals I would want one. Although it would probably fill up an apartment real good :P