It's 6:56 pm. I am mildly pissed, agitated and somewhat depressed. This isn't my normal self, well, almost. I am listening to the incessant hum and drip of my Haier mini fridge. It's now 6:58 pm. It's now 7:00 pm. You may be asking yourself, "what is wrong with this girl?" I'll tell you. It's the English. It's all their fault. I am sitting in my rectangular dorm room, furnished by Walmart and Kohl's - but mostly by Walmart - with a teal, magenta, mustard yellow and gray color scheme. It does look lovely, courtesy of Mommy and Daddy, but still. I have no dog, no Chihuahua nor Pekingese, nor my menacing cat that bites. At least I can watch Fox News Channel on my phone and Fox News Live Online...And for all of you who say FNC is a bunch of nonsense, I'll tell you that Fox News is "fair and balanced" and if you disagree, well then you're just plain biased and ignorant*.
*It's my blog so I can write whatever the hell I want and you can't stop me. Until the first amendment is repealed, I can voice my voice...so there!
So back to the English. It's all their fault that I, and thousands of others are at colleges and universities - ripped away from their families! I knew when I was six years old, SIX years old people!, that I didn't want to ever leave home. Right about now I expect some of you are thinking, "going away to college is a 'good' thing, it promotes personal growth." Well, what if I am already grown and I just happen to know that I didn't want to leave home. To society, children above eighteen living at home is like a disease- maybe like Bullous Pemphigoid, but I am certainly not a blister. In other countries, it's perfectly acceptable and 'normal' (American word of choice). I am sooooooo tired of people saying "It's normal to go away to school, is that behavior normal?, that's not normal to not want to leave home... And growth is another crap word too, "she''ll grow, you'll grow, you'll both grow..." You know what happens to things that grow? They eventually reach maturity and then die! So I guess, in effect, I'm like a droopy, discolored, depressing looking plant about to keel over the side of the terra-cotta pot. Why can't people let other people die slowly, happily and in peace? Why?
The English were the first to travel around the world and 'civilize' the poor, uncivilized people. The English do-gooders, with their "white man's burden" and frilly clothing forced their religion onto native persons, purged them of their culture, brought death and disease, and ugly ass wigs covered in dust. And that is what our society is based on, a bunch of meanness, narcissism, filth and ego.
Because of the English I am suffering. Suffering, yes, suffering from societal norms. I loathe these societal norms and this "peer pressure" from other human beings. Who gave humans this kind of power? Why, it must have been god because that is where the English and all the other ruling civilizations got their "mandate" to force their ideals onto innocent, happy people. It's all about fear. Fear - fear is power. Religion was created to instill fear within mass populations for one reason, to gain power.
Do you see my point? If you do, great, kudos to you.
If you don't, it's most likely because you are brainwashed. Your mind is saturated - polluted with these exact societal norms I speak of. Maybe you aren't a free thinker, maybe you'll never understand. The best thing you can do is to repent your sins by no longer casting these hellish ideas and pressures onto others because who are you to tell others that you know best? You and I are animals. Highly functioning animals that can be cruel, terrible and ghastly. We are mere creatures that roam the earth for a finite amount of time. So be kind and make no generalizations upon others because each individual knows what is best for themselves. I do not need nor desire anyone's advice or 'words of encouragement' (i.e. "you'll be fine"... [my ass]) from anyone unless asked. I just want my furry people, my blanket and pillow, and my home where the people who care most about me reside.
No comments:
Post a Comment