Showing posts with label angst. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angst. Show all posts
Thursday, April 18, 2013
On Religion and Partisans (Part One)
So, I'm working on a class project about the partisan movements of the Baltic countries during and directly after WWII. It's both fascinating and incredibly depressing. Many (but not all) of the people I'm reading about had a deep and abiding love of their country, despite the incredible dangers and hardships they faced. Not all of them shared the same ideas as to how things should be done.
The best of them protected their weaker neighbours and harassed the enemy invaders of both sides who tried to eradicate them at every turn. The worst of them were violent and sometimes bigoted individuals who shot whoever they felt like or didn't like under the auspices of patriotism or while collaborating with the occupiers dejour. The best and the worst are worlds apart, yet they both get considered as partisans by the outside world.
And now I'm going to make an imperfect analogy, but one that feels very natural to me.
When I was ten, my parents started attending the Tridentine Mass. I will be the first to admit that ten-year-old me did not appreciate it as much as I perhaps ought to have. At the very beginning, I was actively hostile to the idea, insofar as a ten year old could be actively hostile. I didn't want to go. It took forever, it was in Foreign, it did not feel the least bit edifying and the old ladies pinched my cheeks.
After Mass, there were sometimes, but not always, social gatherings in the parish hall. And these were more interesting to ten year old me, because they were in English, for one. And for two, the people at these social gatherings were always interesting. They were mostly older, some the terrifying old ladies who pinched my cheeks, some the cranky grandfatherly type, some people my parents' age who always seemed a bit peculiar, a handful of older teens, most of whom didn't ever stay very long or talk to ten year old me.
But there were books to read, some of a 'usually out of print' nature and some of an 'out of print for a good reason' nature. These books intrigued ten year old me at least a little bit and I read some of them and I listened to the conversations of various grownups. From these books and from those conversations I came to the following nearly inescapable conclusions:
1. Once upon a time, this is what everyone did. Everyone prayed in Foreign and went to the church hall to speak in Local (and sometimes the Other Foreign, as appropriate to the ethnicity of the majority of the congregation).
2. Something Bad Happened in the 60s and everyone stopped doing what they had been doing.
3. Those who objected were ruthlessly kicked out of their home parishes which were then wreckovated to oblivion. Many of them were forced to attend Masses in hotel conference rooms, without the knowledge of their bishops, who were almost universally Bad Guys, or if not bad, then intimidated by pant-suit wearing nuns.
4. We, the attendees of this liturgy, were a small group of faithful people who were going against the larger group of people who had either tamely accepted everything the bishops had said and done as Word of God, or had left the church for various Protestant denominations.
From ages 10 through about 14 these ideas merely percolated. I still didn't particularly like the TLM, but the thoughts were there. Around age 14, I started to feel that even though I didn't _like_ the TLM, it was more spiritually beneficial for me to attend it. At age 16, I read the Silmarillion, which made a profound impression on me and to this day I don't know exactly how my brain tied the Silmarillion and the TLM together but it did. I actually started to enjoy attending and tried to puzzle out the Latin with varying degrees of success.
Around 16 or 17, I started flirting with the ideas of sedevacantism, a sort of back-burner thought process that continued up through freshman year of college.
To Be Continued...
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Improv + packages= NOT cool...
Okay, I have to rant here because if I do it in real life it'll get messy. WTF...
I asked my parents to send me some uniform items that I had to ship to them in the messy/confused process of moving myself and all my earthly goods to Ft. SINYF. I gave them specifics- coveralls, NWUs, ballcap. Nothing more, less or other, please. Then I remembered that I still had a package I was waiting for- a small one that I'd had sent to them. It was a custom made keychain. I asked for that to be included. For some reason unbeknownst to God or man, my dad thought I needed my crocs.
Let me elaborate on these crocs. They are a hideous shade of green- like Kitchenaid green. I bought them for about five dollars when they were no longer the hip thing. I bought them not because they ever were the hip thing, but because I was going off to summer camp and needed some shower shoes. Recap: they are cheap, hideous and not-cool. Why the hell did he feel the need to add them to the package and NOT my keychain?
Noobody knows...
I'm not happy about this. I called and asked my mom if I'd mentioned crocs at any point in the list-making process and she said no, but that Dad thought that I needed them. My dad has a history of thinking I need things that I have no earthly use for. He has the best intentions but it drives me nuts when his thoughtfulness is so completely screwy. I mean, I will never forget what happened when I was in first grade.
I was not a fan of breakfast at that age, I never really had time for it, I thought. A large part of the morning was Mom running a comb through my hair to get all the knots out and braid it so I could go to school looking halfway decent. I didn't need or want breakfast. At all. I might be persuaded to eat some oatmeal but that was it. My dad was concerned.
It was a day like any other. I picked up my pink backpack with my name written on it in shaky red sharpie and headed off for school. My lunch was in my lunch box and I was a relatively happy camper. I took the bus to school, stuffing my backpack between me and the side of the bus for added comfort. I dropped said backpack a few times at school because I was a clumsy kid, and then I hung it up and forgot about it until it was time to go home. And then the most irritating kid in my class, a white-blond twerp who probably thought that 'tact' was something you used to put up posters said "Hey, your backpack pooped!"
I stared at the nasty looking brownish smear on my beautiful pink backpack and a horrible feeling filled me. Something of mine was defaced, and not by me! The injustice of it all hit me like a hammer. I'd ruined things on my own more than once. I regretted those things, I felt so miserable when that happened, but it was my fault, I'd been the sole instigator. That another person with the best of intentions but the very worst of execution had ruined one of my things brought little me perilously close to tears. I came home and yelled at my dad for ruining my backpack. Now I feel a little bit bad about that, but still kind of not. If he'd treated me like a grownup, asked me if I wanted breakfast, what I'd like for breakfast, if I minded if he packed me a breakfast, I would have told him: "I would love some awesome organic dry cereal, or maybe a granola bar. That would be very yummy. You can put it in my lunch box and I'll eat it on the bus."
But there was no asking. There was no communication there was just a perceived problem and a messy, unfortunate solution, because I was a child.
When stuff like this whole package shebang happens, I feel like a child again. And I hate it with every fiber of my being.
Update: This post was going to languish forever in my 'edit posts' page. I thought I'd overcome my baser nature and decided to give the parents a pass as they're old and senile and if you want anything done right you've got to do it yourself. I was going to do that until I opened the other bags in the package.
They sent me a Navy ballcap all right. A Navy ballcap with an elastic headband and '1-800 Navy' embroidered on the back of it. I don't remember getting it from my recruiter but it probably came in my Navy backpack that I got for free after signing up. That was the straw that pretty much broke the camel's back. We'd packed all my earthly goods into four boxes that we shipped (at their expense, so I should try very hard to be more charitable) to their house. In one of those damn boxes is my actual Navy ballcap, the one I went through Battlestations to get. I know it's not a trident. I know it could be worse- they could have mailed me my 'Recruit' ballcap. They could have... I dunno. It's just so damn frustrating. I was really looking forward to getting to wear my coveralls at long, long last, but no such damn luck. I called, ready to give them a piece of my mind, but the phone rang and rang, so I called Tbro instead and ranted to him. He told me (pretty nicely) to quit whining and that he'd call and ask them about sending me my ballcap... at this point I think I may just buy a damn command ballcap. Or forget about it until the fourday when I can go and get my damn ballcap. I just want to throw a temper tantrum. This is as close as I'll get to doing that. I desperately want to though, I'm so pissed off that I'm not sure this is going to be enough. I seriously want to go out there and start hitting things.
Oh- and one final insult. In another well-intentioned but completely stupid gesture, they sent me my purse. I didn't ask for it. I didn't want it. I have TWO damn purses out here, and none of the THREE that I have now is within the damn regs. Not a single flipping one. I've had it, I've had it, I really would like to run around screaming now. I know, I sound like a complete and total ingrate, but I don't care. I'm so sick of being treated like a child. I know, part of the way to avoid being treated like a child is to stop acting like one. I know that having the temper tantrum I want so desperately right now would be part of acting like a child. I know I need to get everything I own from their place because right now that's still a dependence on them- free storage. I just don't want to move the books! They need to stay somewhere temperate and safe. I don't know what to do. I can't have that much stuff. I know I'll be able to downsize once I get there. I'm thinking of pulling everything that I hate but have kept because of Mom or another relative and taking it to the thrift store. Get rid of the ugly, get rid of the guilt, get a good dinner afterwards. I think that's a pretty awesome plan.
I hate improv in packages.
Gentle readership, it is HIGHLY unlikely I'll ever ask you to send me random crap that I've left at your house. And honestly, since you're not family and you don't treat me like a child, if you DID send me the wrong stuff, I'd be sad, but I wouldn't be pissed like this. Honestly.
And if you ever just want to send me random stuff, that's cool too. I gladly accept books, sweets and cash. ;)
I asked my parents to send me some uniform items that I had to ship to them in the messy/confused process of moving myself and all my earthly goods to Ft. SINYF. I gave them specifics- coveralls, NWUs, ballcap. Nothing more, less or other, please. Then I remembered that I still had a package I was waiting for- a small one that I'd had sent to them. It was a custom made keychain. I asked for that to be included. For some reason unbeknownst to God or man, my dad thought I needed my crocs.
Let me elaborate on these crocs. They are a hideous shade of green- like Kitchenaid green. I bought them for about five dollars when they were no longer the hip thing. I bought them not because they ever were the hip thing, but because I was going off to summer camp and needed some shower shoes. Recap: they are cheap, hideous and not-cool. Why the hell did he feel the need to add them to the package and NOT my keychain?
Noobody knows...
I'm not happy about this. I called and asked my mom if I'd mentioned crocs at any point in the list-making process and she said no, but that Dad thought that I needed them. My dad has a history of thinking I need things that I have no earthly use for. He has the best intentions but it drives me nuts when his thoughtfulness is so completely screwy. I mean, I will never forget what happened when I was in first grade.
I was not a fan of breakfast at that age, I never really had time for it, I thought. A large part of the morning was Mom running a comb through my hair to get all the knots out and braid it so I could go to school looking halfway decent. I didn't need or want breakfast. At all. I might be persuaded to eat some oatmeal but that was it. My dad was concerned.
It was a day like any other. I picked up my pink backpack with my name written on it in shaky red sharpie and headed off for school. My lunch was in my lunch box and I was a relatively happy camper. I took the bus to school, stuffing my backpack between me and the side of the bus for added comfort. I dropped said backpack a few times at school because I was a clumsy kid, and then I hung it up and forgot about it until it was time to go home. And then the most irritating kid in my class, a white-blond twerp who probably thought that 'tact' was something you used to put up posters said "Hey, your backpack pooped!"
I stared at the nasty looking brownish smear on my beautiful pink backpack and a horrible feeling filled me. Something of mine was defaced, and not by me! The injustice of it all hit me like a hammer. I'd ruined things on my own more than once. I regretted those things, I felt so miserable when that happened, but it was my fault, I'd been the sole instigator. That another person with the best of intentions but the very worst of execution had ruined one of my things brought little me perilously close to tears. I came home and yelled at my dad for ruining my backpack. Now I feel a little bit bad about that, but still kind of not. If he'd treated me like a grownup, asked me if I wanted breakfast, what I'd like for breakfast, if I minded if he packed me a breakfast, I would have told him: "I would love some awesome organic dry cereal, or maybe a granola bar. That would be very yummy. You can put it in my lunch box and I'll eat it on the bus."
But there was no asking. There was no communication there was just a perceived problem and a messy, unfortunate solution, because I was a child.
When stuff like this whole package shebang happens, I feel like a child again. And I hate it with every fiber of my being.
Update: This post was going to languish forever in my 'edit posts' page. I thought I'd overcome my baser nature and decided to give the parents a pass as they're old and senile and if you want anything done right you've got to do it yourself. I was going to do that until I opened the other bags in the package.
They sent me a Navy ballcap all right. A Navy ballcap with an elastic headband and '1-800 Navy' embroidered on the back of it. I don't remember getting it from my recruiter but it probably came in my Navy backpack that I got for free after signing up. That was the straw that pretty much broke the camel's back. We'd packed all my earthly goods into four boxes that we shipped (at their expense, so I should try very hard to be more charitable) to their house. In one of those damn boxes is my actual Navy ballcap, the one I went through Battlestations to get. I know it's not a trident. I know it could be worse- they could have mailed me my 'Recruit' ballcap. They could have... I dunno. It's just so damn frustrating. I was really looking forward to getting to wear my coveralls at long, long last, but no such damn luck. I called, ready to give them a piece of my mind, but the phone rang and rang, so I called Tbro instead and ranted to him. He told me (pretty nicely) to quit whining and that he'd call and ask them about sending me my ballcap... at this point I think I may just buy a damn command ballcap. Or forget about it until the fourday when I can go and get my damn ballcap. I just want to throw a temper tantrum. This is as close as I'll get to doing that. I desperately want to though, I'm so pissed off that I'm not sure this is going to be enough. I seriously want to go out there and start hitting things.
Oh- and one final insult. In another well-intentioned but completely stupid gesture, they sent me my purse. I didn't ask for it. I didn't want it. I have TWO damn purses out here, and none of the THREE that I have now is within the damn regs. Not a single flipping one. I've had it, I've had it, I really would like to run around screaming now. I know, I sound like a complete and total ingrate, but I don't care. I'm so sick of being treated like a child. I know, part of the way to avoid being treated like a child is to stop acting like one. I know that having the temper tantrum I want so desperately right now would be part of acting like a child. I know I need to get everything I own from their place because right now that's still a dependence on them- free storage. I just don't want to move the books! They need to stay somewhere temperate and safe. I don't know what to do. I can't have that much stuff. I know I'll be able to downsize once I get there. I'm thinking of pulling everything that I hate but have kept because of Mom or another relative and taking it to the thrift store. Get rid of the ugly, get rid of the guilt, get a good dinner afterwards. I think that's a pretty awesome plan.
I hate improv in packages.
Gentle readership, it is HIGHLY unlikely I'll ever ask you to send me random crap that I've left at your house. And honestly, since you're not family and you don't treat me like a child, if you DID send me the wrong stuff, I'd be sad, but I wouldn't be pissed like this. Honestly.
And if you ever just want to send me random stuff, that's cool too. I gladly accept books, sweets and cash. ;)
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Blackcurrant Juice and Tragedy
Yesterday at my local commissary I was shopping for the bare essentials necessary to keep body and soul together- fruit, protein bars, yogurt, things like that. And I happened to spot blackcurrent juice. It was on the bottom shelf, all by itself. I looked around the aisle but it wasn't the imports aisle. Impulsively I grabbed it. Mine, all mine! I thought, shocked and surprised to find a relic of my past in what were to me completely new surroundings. I would savour this, I thought, because Ft. SudanIsNotYourFriend is hot and horrible and sticky (but not as bad as the actual Sudan by all accounts). I would pour myself a nice plastic glass of blackcurrent juice, carefully diluted with water (I, unlike some people have learned from my childhood- if no more than 'don't drink the concentrate straight out of the bottle') and if I was feeling spectacularly patriotic, ice to differentiate me from the Brits.
But alas. I came home today after my run, dying for a jamba juice (or just plain dying if you want to be mean), and of course this being Ft. SINYF, there was no jamba juice. But then I remembered the temporarily forgotten blackcurrent juice! Just the stuff! I got home and carefully poured myself the correct amounts of syrup and waster and took a taste. It was wonderful. It transported me to the good moments of England- the gardens of Kent, Selfridges, Valerie's Patisserie and the 73 train to London Victoria. It was lovely. And then, because there was a lovely taste I couldn't place (Licorice? I wondered) I read the bottle. This is my mother's fault. She always reads the bottle, carton, package or what have you. It's really depressing to find out that I am my mother's child to that degree. Anyway, I read the bottle and I saw one of the dreaded words- aspartame. My heart plummeted within me. Did the Tommies of the first world war have aspartame in their immortalized (and loathed, I might add) tins of plum and apple jam? Did Nelson have aspartame in the port he was transported in? (Ooh... bad pun...) Did King Harold have aspartame in his kippers? (I'm not exactly sure he had kippers. In those days it might have been eels... Perhaps aspartame would have been an improvement for the eels. I mean, unagi okay, but eel pie??)
I strongly suspect the answer in all the cases I just mentioned would be a resounding 'No!' but I can't prove it. Anyway, today I am sad because I had to give away my lovely blackcurrent juice. Aspartame gives me a headache. Give me naturally occuring sugars any/every day of the week and keep your nasty aspartame, sucralose or other sugar substitute.
Sigh... is there no winning? I will keep looking for other imports from my past but this has been discouraging. Oh well. For one lovely glass all seemed to be well.
But alas. I came home today after my run, dying for a jamba juice (or just plain dying if you want to be mean), and of course this being Ft. SINYF, there was no jamba juice. But then I remembered the temporarily forgotten blackcurrent juice! Just the stuff! I got home and carefully poured myself the correct amounts of syrup and waster and took a taste. It was wonderful. It transported me to the good moments of England- the gardens of Kent, Selfridges, Valerie's Patisserie and the 73 train to London Victoria. It was lovely. And then, because there was a lovely taste I couldn't place (Licorice? I wondered) I read the bottle. This is my mother's fault. She always reads the bottle, carton, package or what have you. It's really depressing to find out that I am my mother's child to that degree. Anyway, I read the bottle and I saw one of the dreaded words- aspartame. My heart plummeted within me. Did the Tommies of the first world war have aspartame in their immortalized (and loathed, I might add) tins of plum and apple jam? Did Nelson have aspartame in the port he was transported in? (Ooh... bad pun...) Did King Harold have aspartame in his kippers? (I'm not exactly sure he had kippers. In those days it might have been eels... Perhaps aspartame would have been an improvement for the eels. I mean, unagi okay, but eel pie??)
I strongly suspect the answer in all the cases I just mentioned would be a resounding 'No!' but I can't prove it. Anyway, today I am sad because I had to give away my lovely blackcurrent juice. Aspartame gives me a headache. Give me naturally occuring sugars any/every day of the week and keep your nasty aspartame, sucralose or other sugar substitute.
Sigh... is there no winning? I will keep looking for other imports from my past but this has been discouraging. Oh well. For one lovely glass all seemed to be well.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Letters to a Younger Me
Saw this on another blog, thought it was interesting so here goes. I might do letters _from_ a younger me sometime. Oh, and I also figured out back-dating on this so I'm doing that. And it's not cheating because when I wrote it I didn't have internet access but fully intended to post this. So there.
Dear Five Year Old Me,
Just because there are other kids around doesn't mean they'll be your friends. Kindergarten is not as neat as you think it's going to be. Dinosaurs are dead so don't worry about them. TBro isn't going to go away. I'm proud of you! You're the youngest kid in the class and you're doing just fine!
Love,
Me in 2010
Dear Eight Year Old Me,
You're right- you won't ever be like the other kids, so don't even bother trying. Some stuff is going on that you don't get, but that's okay. The chronic nightmares should go away in a year or two. I think you're adorable when you try to make friends with the big kids! Try and return some of your library books on time, okay? Or at least remember where you put them if you don't remember what day they're due! And just to let you know, your future self still loves the Air and Space Museum!
Love,
Me in 2010
Dear Eleven Year Old Me,
You'll meet someone very special soon, just when you're starting to feel like you're completely alone in a foreign country. Enjoy Guides! Earn badges! Go for walks! Eat toffee! I don't have to remind you to do that last one. And hey, try and behave for Mom. You really don't want to go to school in this country. Trust me! And buy more Biggles books! Your future self still doesn't have all 94.... Above all, don't fall into self-conscious behaviors! You don't need them!
Love,
Me in 2010
Dear Fourteen Year Old Me,
I know you think you're the coolest thing since the fridge since you've discovered you can fall asleep listening to heavy metal. Just keep a low profile on that or Mom is going to smash all your CDs. The theme you want to go for is low profile altogether. Otherwise you're going to run into trouble. I know, you think your profile couldn't get any lower, but some people are watching you and they're concerned about your friends or your lack thereof. I wish I could tell you more. Just please, please watch what you say and who you say it to! Right now it seems like everything's going more or less okay, but if you're not careful, things are going to come unstuck- horribly. Also keep writing fanfic! You'll be a better writer sooner if you practice more!
CAVU,
Me in 2010
Dear Seventeen Year Old Me,
Told ya so. But that doesn't really help right now. I know you're feeling miserable right now so that's the first and last time I'll say you were warned. Take care of yourself! Take long walks! Work hard on scholarship applications! Don't let anyone see you cry! Get involved in volunteer stuff... like Civil Air Patrol. That's a really good idea. You'll like it lots, I promise! You'll meet new and interesting people! You'll go to cool airshows! I can promise you the pain and misery won't go away overnight. You're going to have difficulty dealing for a long time. But keep active and keep your chin up! Keep writing too, but try and open up some new genres! Work on original stuff!
Hang in there!
Me in 2010
Dear Twenty Year Old Me,
Well, you're finally at your first choice college! You're finally meeting great, interesting people who share your values! Isn't this awesome? It was worth it! Don't worry about boys- in fact, I know I'm asking the impossible but try not to think about them either...
And on an unrelated note, here's a warning you absolutely have to take to heart. Trust no one. Especially don't trust the people in your life who say that they love you. because they'll say that and then knock your feet out from under you.
Keep your eyes open and get things in writing,
Me in 2010
Dear Twenty Three Year Old Me,
See what I meant? Of course you do... Things will get better- kinda. At least you'll soon be out of the house and making money. Those are very important things. You're not going to get over that shit any time soon, just so you know. I think that's normal. You won't forget any time soon that anger and helplessness you felt. Anger, betrayal, helplessness, despair, hatred, apathy, exhaustion, frustration, sadness, fear, self-pity and claustrophobia will all take their turn on the spin-cycle from hell until you get out. Quite the range, hm? It wasn't what they thought, but that didn't matter, did it? Just to let you know, your current self is still not over the whole damn thing and has no plans on that changing any time soon.
On a more positive note, nice B-day party in Old Town! Wasn't that fun? Just so you don't forget, the year before (22) was the year you got Porfiry who can't say 'grapefruit'. The 21st was pretty unforgettable in Ireland and the one before that was a step up from a pity party courtesy of TexasTara
Um... to return to a difficult to understand subject. With regards to a certain individual (hereafter referred to as CI) You had unreturned feelings of CI. CI was special. And just so you know, you still haven't let go of CI. You've got to work on that. Let the dead bury their dead. You've got a cross to plant on that hill.
Taking the long route,
Me in 2010
Dear Five Year Old Me,
Just because there are other kids around doesn't mean they'll be your friends. Kindergarten is not as neat as you think it's going to be. Dinosaurs are dead so don't worry about them. TBro isn't going to go away. I'm proud of you! You're the youngest kid in the class and you're doing just fine!
Love,
Me in 2010
Dear Eight Year Old Me,
You're right- you won't ever be like the other kids, so don't even bother trying. Some stuff is going on that you don't get, but that's okay. The chronic nightmares should go away in a year or two. I think you're adorable when you try to make friends with the big kids! Try and return some of your library books on time, okay? Or at least remember where you put them if you don't remember what day they're due! And just to let you know, your future self still loves the Air and Space Museum!
Love,
Me in 2010
Dear Eleven Year Old Me,
You'll meet someone very special soon, just when you're starting to feel like you're completely alone in a foreign country. Enjoy Guides! Earn badges! Go for walks! Eat toffee! I don't have to remind you to do that last one. And hey, try and behave for Mom. You really don't want to go to school in this country. Trust me! And buy more Biggles books! Your future self still doesn't have all 94.... Above all, don't fall into self-conscious behaviors! You don't need them!
Love,
Me in 2010
Dear Fourteen Year Old Me,
I know you think you're the coolest thing since the fridge since you've discovered you can fall asleep listening to heavy metal. Just keep a low profile on that or Mom is going to smash all your CDs. The theme you want to go for is low profile altogether. Otherwise you're going to run into trouble. I know, you think your profile couldn't get any lower, but some people are watching you and they're concerned about your friends or your lack thereof. I wish I could tell you more. Just please, please watch what you say and who you say it to! Right now it seems like everything's going more or less okay, but if you're not careful, things are going to come unstuck- horribly. Also keep writing fanfic! You'll be a better writer sooner if you practice more!
CAVU,
Me in 2010
Dear Seventeen Year Old Me,
Told ya so. But that doesn't really help right now. I know you're feeling miserable right now so that's the first and last time I'll say you were warned. Take care of yourself! Take long walks! Work hard on scholarship applications! Don't let anyone see you cry! Get involved in volunteer stuff... like Civil Air Patrol. That's a really good idea. You'll like it lots, I promise! You'll meet new and interesting people! You'll go to cool airshows! I can promise you the pain and misery won't go away overnight. You're going to have difficulty dealing for a long time. But keep active and keep your chin up! Keep writing too, but try and open up some new genres! Work on original stuff!
Hang in there!
Me in 2010
Dear Twenty Year Old Me,
Well, you're finally at your first choice college! You're finally meeting great, interesting people who share your values! Isn't this awesome? It was worth it! Don't worry about boys- in fact, I know I'm asking the impossible but try not to think about them either...
And on an unrelated note, here's a warning you absolutely have to take to heart. Trust no one. Especially don't trust the people in your life who say that they love you. because they'll say that and then knock your feet out from under you.
Keep your eyes open and get things in writing,
Me in 2010
Dear Twenty Three Year Old Me,
See what I meant? Of course you do... Things will get better- kinda. At least you'll soon be out of the house and making money. Those are very important things. You're not going to get over that shit any time soon, just so you know. I think that's normal. You won't forget any time soon that anger and helplessness you felt. Anger, betrayal, helplessness, despair, hatred, apathy, exhaustion, frustration, sadness, fear, self-pity and claustrophobia will all take their turn on the spin-cycle from hell until you get out. Quite the range, hm? It wasn't what they thought, but that didn't matter, did it? Just to let you know, your current self is still not over the whole damn thing and has no plans on that changing any time soon.
On a more positive note, nice B-day party in Old Town! Wasn't that fun? Just so you don't forget, the year before (22) was the year you got Porfiry who can't say 'grapefruit'. The 21st was pretty unforgettable in Ireland and the one before that was a step up from a pity party courtesy of TexasTara
Um... to return to a difficult to understand subject. With regards to a certain individual (hereafter referred to as CI) You had unreturned feelings of CI. CI was special. And just so you know, you still haven't let go of CI. You've got to work on that. Let the dead bury their dead. You've got a cross to plant on that hill.
Taking the long route,
Me in 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Marriage, Babies, Growing Up
Okay. What precipitated this post was a seemingly endless stream of comments/status updates and whatnot on FB about people getting married or having babies, or in other strange ways being 'Grown Up'.
I have nothing against marriage, babies or growing up. I think these are all great things. Nor do I deny that anyone/everyone has the right to post whatever they please about any of these three. Yay, freedom of speech/net neutrality/whatnot.
I love my married friends. (MarineJoe and MarineWife! SailorD and Coriel! WriterJohn and EmilyPost!)
I love my married friends with kids. (MiniMaz! BB! SmallMark!)
I love my 'grown-up' friends! (Una! TeacherMatt!)
I just am starting to feel a bit out of the proverbial loop. I want marriage and kids and 'grownup' status (which for me means living in my own apartment with or without roommates, and having a car). I know I have a long way to go. I know God's plans for me are good. It's just hard to keep it in mind sometimes. It's hard to not get frustrated or angry or impatient. It's hard to wonder how much of your aloneness is your own fault and how much it's just the luck of the draw or divine providence. And I'm afraid that I'm failing to be properly thankful for the time I have right now to go out and do what I like until the wee hours, or to hone my writing skills, or to do other fun things without anyone accusing me of being selfish or not holding up my end of a relationship. How much am I missing out on the things that are appropriate to my station in life? How much time am I wasting watching TV or even just sleeping? What else could and should I be doing? Aside from studying of course.
Sometimes it's overwhelming. Like right now. Finals are in less than a month. I know what I need to do. I know I don't have much time in which to get the needed studying done. But in some very dangerous respects I'm finding it difficult to care. I have material success of a sort right now. I'm essentially being paid to go to school. I think up until now I've done an all-right job in keeping myself motivated. I've acknowledged that my job isn't all I've hoped for, that I don't have to like it, I just have to do it.
But I can't help but feel that if I was sharing my life with just one other person, it would be easier for me to deal with it all. Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn't. I could see things being exponentially harder if I had a kid right now. But some selfish, materialistic, comfort oriented part of me wants someone to come home to every night. I want that so much I'm having trouble enjoying being single and that has got to stop!
I'm young! I have so much to live for! Why is it so much harder to go out there and live than you think it will be? It requires effort- requires rolling out of bed and getting dressed, and putting on a smile even if you don't feel like smiling and facing society at large. What a pain... But it's something you've got to do every so often or you go off the deep end. Besides as a writer I can't afford to isolate myself from the rest of humanity. The rest of humanity makes for great story material!
Wow... I've gotten a bit off topic.
Basically, the flaw I have here is jealousy. This is me recognising it, quantifying it and attempting to combat it. We'll see how it goes.
The next month or so will be insanely busy. I shouldn't have time to post. If I do, it means something is seriously wrong. If anyone reads this blog, say a prayer for me, okay?
Thanks....
I have nothing against marriage, babies or growing up. I think these are all great things. Nor do I deny that anyone/everyone has the right to post whatever they please about any of these three. Yay, freedom of speech/net neutrality/whatnot.
I love my married friends. (MarineJoe and MarineWife! SailorD and Coriel! WriterJohn and EmilyPost!)
I love my married friends with kids. (MiniMaz! BB! SmallMark!)
I love my 'grown-up' friends! (Una! TeacherMatt!)
I just am starting to feel a bit out of the proverbial loop. I want marriage and kids and 'grownup' status (which for me means living in my own apartment with or without roommates, and having a car). I know I have a long way to go. I know God's plans for me are good. It's just hard to keep it in mind sometimes. It's hard to not get frustrated or angry or impatient. It's hard to wonder how much of your aloneness is your own fault and how much it's just the luck of the draw or divine providence. And I'm afraid that I'm failing to be properly thankful for the time I have right now to go out and do what I like until the wee hours, or to hone my writing skills, or to do other fun things without anyone accusing me of being selfish or not holding up my end of a relationship. How much am I missing out on the things that are appropriate to my station in life? How much time am I wasting watching TV or even just sleeping? What else could and should I be doing? Aside from studying of course.
Sometimes it's overwhelming. Like right now. Finals are in less than a month. I know what I need to do. I know I don't have much time in which to get the needed studying done. But in some very dangerous respects I'm finding it difficult to care. I have material success of a sort right now. I'm essentially being paid to go to school. I think up until now I've done an all-right job in keeping myself motivated. I've acknowledged that my job isn't all I've hoped for, that I don't have to like it, I just have to do it.
But I can't help but feel that if I was sharing my life with just one other person, it would be easier for me to deal with it all. Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn't. I could see things being exponentially harder if I had a kid right now. But some selfish, materialistic, comfort oriented part of me wants someone to come home to every night. I want that so much I'm having trouble enjoying being single and that has got to stop!
I'm young! I have so much to live for! Why is it so much harder to go out there and live than you think it will be? It requires effort- requires rolling out of bed and getting dressed, and putting on a smile even if you don't feel like smiling and facing society at large. What a pain... But it's something you've got to do every so often or you go off the deep end. Besides as a writer I can't afford to isolate myself from the rest of humanity. The rest of humanity makes for great story material!
Wow... I've gotten a bit off topic.
Basically, the flaw I have here is jealousy. This is me recognising it, quantifying it and attempting to combat it. We'll see how it goes.
The next month or so will be insanely busy. I shouldn't have time to post. If I do, it means something is seriously wrong. If anyone reads this blog, say a prayer for me, okay?
Thanks....
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