Sunday, October 17, 2010

I Think Thinking about Thinking might be Thinking too much.

I don't like heart attacks. When people grab their left arms. He said it's pain unlike any other, but I don't remember the exact words. [I try to imagine it but it's hard to imagine something you don't know what it's like.] That's why I talked to my cat, you know, that's dead. Maybe it would have been different talking to a person. [I try to imagine who that would be, but I don't know.] I don't even remember who it was I talked to. If I breathe into this stuffed tiger, will it get lots of germs that will mold and give me diseases next time I breathe in it? I wonder if therapy works. If it's like talking to any other stranger or if there's actually some science in there somewhere.

[I see myself in the mirror I pass by.] I haven't looked in a mirror all day but I look pretty decent for an unplanned stay-at-home outfit. My haircut sort of failed. It looks good when I fix it but I'm usually too lazy. Wearing headphones make the sides look silly. I should try to write down the thing with the dude. If I write it in pieces it might work, but I might be too lazy to fill in the blanks later. There could be different sorts of powered humans, by science and by... I need to figure out how demon powers work. Like tesla? [I fold up the hood of my sweater and look in the mirror again.] Hair looks totally cool like this. I should brush my teeth after dinner too. Hm, although this was dinner.

[My roomie is going to do laundry, I peek out of the bathroom. She looks me funny and leaves.] Maybe she wondered why I had my hood on in the bathroom? Maybe I imagined she looked at my funny. If she got kidnapped I wouldn't notice if I go to sleep now. I should stay awake until she's done. "Don't get kidnapped by aliens," is what I should say to her. I wonder if that's code for me being worried but unable to say something more sensible. This is silly.

I could write a poem. I haven't done that in a while. I woke up ahead of the alarm this morning, so I'm not setting it now. Poems are annoying and inspiration-dependent. [I hear my roomie come back, I've closed the door to my room.] Now I didn't tell her to not get kidnapped by aliens. If she is kidnapped and murdered, when I find out, I'll think "why didn't I tell her to not get kidnapped by aliens", and if people could know that, they'd think I was a very odd person.

I wonder why people think people think odd things. Doesn't everyone have these kind of thought-chains? Is it really anything to be excited about? I enjoy being amused by my own brain. Fuck poetry. I should write this on my blog instead before sleep. Where should I start?

Thursday, October 14, 2010


Well, it's clearly not getting up in the morning that's the problem. I already knew that but decided to conduct a study to make sure. So for the past week I've been getting up at the same time every morning, and done my morning routine that I do before school, regardless if I'm supposed to be in school or not. It has not been a problem, neither has going to bed in time, and although I haven't slept very well I've functioned normally. I have also, without fail, not gone to school a single day. Getting up is fine. Showering, eating. Then the thoughts come a-crawling, specifically that feeling of wanting to run in so many directions at once that I freeze in place. I can fix my hair and dress, but usually the game is already lost at this point, and if it isn't, when the clock ticks over to the exact minute where I have to leave or get late, then I bail out. And I sit down somewhere, I watch the clock tick over another few minutes, and I don't go. Why?

I have a feeling that if I knew the answer to that, I'd be first executive in a small IT business by now, or an acclaimed author, or a fabulously popular girl. Maybe it's that thought, lurking at the back of my head, saying "why would you want to be any of that?". No one ever taught me how to deal with lurking thoughts. Actually, I think listening to every single thought I have is what has made me the writer that I am. So what? The only way to being who I am is to destroy myself? Fascinating, but very impractical.

Someday I'll be looking for a job, and someone will read this blog and go "hey, you're mentally unstable, sorry but we won't hire you". Well, fuck you.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

2 minutes

We'd just watched my brother almost get his knee kicked off in his first hockey game of the season (luckily the idiot hit his thigh instead and left him limping for two days but otherwise fine), and in the car on the way home I tried to explain League of Legends to my mother by comparing it to hockey. I realized why they call it e-sports, because it's very much exactly like any sport except digital. My mother didn't realize much at all, aside from that there was some kind of game I liked that ended with small colorful figures killing each other. I swear I made a valiant effort. It makes me a little sad that the things I care about are so far away from my parents. My brother can always talk hockey with my parents, with anyone really. And for the love of... why is is more violent to have small colorful figures killing each other on-screen, than kicking people's knees off with skates in front of an audience in the real world?

Although I suppose, what's the point with it always being violence and death? A game could be just as exciting, and as much of a challenge, with different graphics... right? But LoL doesn't even have blood... people could just as well be fainting as dying, who knows. Except some creepy voice announces someone has been slain when they... uh... faint... >.>

Saturday, October 2, 2010


I seem to be writing essays here lately...

Being in churches used to be like visiting other people's homes. It's not your stuff, you're not sure what is expected of you, but you want to show some kind of respect even if the decorations are terrible. It still is when I'm in churches alone, they are for example often great works of architecture and symbols of people's beliefs, along with many other things. Just like it can be fun and relaxing to hang out in other people's homes even if the decorations are terrible. Being in a church when some kind of ceremony - wedding, baptism, funeral - is going on used to be like seeing the family that owns the home interact with it, like having a ritual of who sits where at the dinner table or habits in terms of who uses the shower when. Confusing, sometimes frustrating, a little awkward at times, but in general just another part of life.
It seems with me growing into my own faith, however, the feeling has changed. Being in a church now, listening to the confession or to people singing psalms or praying, gives me an uneasy feeling. The only simile I can think of is if there's someone you really like, love even, but you're not in an outspoken relationship. However anytime you're out or talking to a really handsome person, it feels like you're cheating, even if you're not doing anything incriminating, and even if you did you wouldn't actually be cheating. I've subconsciously put down ground rules for the relationship already; such as don't listen to the heretic blabbering of a smiling dude in white clothes.
And it made me uneasy to see this child being baptized into this church, this belief. Probably like any religious people watching other religions do their thing. I felt like yelling "Hey, little one, they're lying to you, it's all bs! Don't let them do this to you!" but that wouldn't really be respectful. I guess I understand the ones who want to "save my immortal soul" a bit better. Although the thought is a little frightening.

Anyway, little one, I wish you great happiness and success in life. And I know you'll probably listen to the lies, and one day baptize your own children in the same church. If you do, I hope you'll remain blissfully unaware. If you don't, I hope you make a better path on your own. That's the best blessing I can put together right now, and I think it's a pretty damned good one.