Crisp and Color

I caved and bought a few Craftsy classes this past week. I've had this idea about Craftsy, that it's a thing for people looking for things to do that they have zero to amateurish knowledge of to begin with. Judgmental? Yes, I'm aware. Anyhoo, I bought a bread baking course with Peter Reinhart, and from noon till five yesterday, I was making dough for the most part, and then baking it. Peter talks about the 12 step baking bread process, and describes bread making as metaphor; life and death. Activating the yeast, essentially bringing it to life, and let's be honest, what do I know about yeast in the first place. I thought it might be an animal with how he described it. I googled it. Yeast is classified as a fungi, so it's not an animal. *sigh of relief*



You, being reader, may not know, but I went off the deep end, I mean vegan/vegetarian back in March 2016. For those that are looking for an argument, go elsewhere. I'm not about to peg myself into a figurative hole and give up Triple Creme Brie for the rest of my life, or give up honey, or if I want a freakin' egg with my Brie once in a blue moon, or give up my leather and bags. It's diet only, and I don't pretend otherwise. Although, I could get used to not shaving body hair as it is practically winter...

So, as I was saying, I made and baked bread. I ended up with three French baguettes and a baby boule, which I don't have the heart to pierce and slice, decapitating  it's cute little button frame, yet. What am I saying; I can't wait. Especially with some vegan butter, it's going to be delicious. Just as the French bread was supposed to turn out, each loaf had great crisp and color. They even had some larger(er), irregular holes as artisan bread is supposed to have. There was a certain high to the day, in part due to the fact that I was doing something I enjoy. To be frank, I find there's a certain serenity in baking and cooking, which I don't find elsewhere. Getting my fat ass out of bed at 7AM, an ungodly hour, five days a week is a constant challenge. Corporate work feels like work, and ultimately, it's boring. It's not that I don't have work to do, it's that it's not "fun." At least for my brain anyway.

Take for today as example. It's cold and dreary and my pants are not as loose as they once were--like last week. I'd rather be stretching and folding dough, in my horrid Roots Canada sweatpants, than be sitting in a grey cube. *existential moment: how did I end up here* Did I mention I recently turned 25?

Life as it is seems

Reality is perceived, and solely by the mind. I was wondering if we literally live multiple lives through one physical medium. I know for myself, I can get caught up in ruminating thought which affects me physiologically. Often I wonder if imagination is just a secondary, or tertiary, or whatever level, life plane in/on which we live. It's like the end of The Magic Mountain. Did he even go to the sanitarium or while he was lying, dying, on the war field, did he escape into his mind and live another seven years? Was he living at all in the physical world? When we sleep, who is to say that we are just dreaming and not living? Sometimes I think we may be most self authentic in dream, because the physical world allows for serious physical consequence and constraints. With that said, is living living? I've found I am happier when I'm in my mind, on occasion. There's a sense that we have the ability to travel in time through the mind, and are trapped in the present, cut off from loved ones "stuck" in the past. Is death freedom from this constraint? There is much loneliness and nostalgia for what was, and in the mind we have complete and individual control over everything: the past, the present, the future. In this physical world, we have no control, and the little control we perceive ourselves to have, may be an illusion as well. Maybe everything has been written, and we are living out our narratives as one reads a novel, line by line, page by page, etc. There are books and people that say we are responsible for our thoughts, and thoughts are often said to be one behavior that an individual has total control over. But do we? How is it that I'll be going about my day and a thought pops up into my mind, seemingly from nowhere? Why do I hear the ticking of my grandfather's clock in my left ear when I meditate and am solely focusing on my breathing? Why is it that I'll be driving to work, belting out a song and suddenly, I experience fear and irrationality from, again, nowhere? 

From meditation I've learned I am responsible for giving power and emotion to memory, i.e., reliving events and being present in that past moment, for memory is just a mental picture. For those that experience and feel the way I do, about ideas I've presented in this post, does that mean that we all have post traumatic stress disorder (if you want to put a label on it)? Is it a fact of life? Our first experience coming into life is traumatic, hence a newborn's cry. It seems to me that we are mere automata, life breathing (whatever that means...), but that we are brought into the physical world experiencing fear and it is fear (the most primitive form of change) that propels us through life. Fear, in a sense, is life in the physical world. So what would it be or to mean to live freely? 

Think Like A Dog

I'm reminded that most of things I worry about are in fact, utter bullshit. I know logically that it is absurd to be anxious, yet emotionally, suffering from anxiety is a chronic issue for me. I'm not controlling, nor am I interested in controlling every. single. thing., I just happen to have unexpected panic attacks, like when I'm sitting at my desk, or driving in the car alone whilst singing, horribly, to Adele's Hello. 

I like to think of myself as a pragmatic individual. A friend of mine seems to generally agree that I'm logical and reasonable, while still retaining an emotional side. I do believe I am in touch with my feelings. But, my emotions seem to be becoming rather controlling. Granted, I recently learned that my beloved, my soul mate, my baby (dog) has cancer. I'm kind of sort of devastated. It's not that I thought she'd live forever--I certainly hoped she might just turn out to be an immortal one--it's just the fact that I'm confronted with potentially losing the little big love of my life at any time. We've been together for almost half my life. She's my shadow, literally and figuratively. We've snuggled every day. She's been my personal heater during winter, and my road trip companion. She's my heart. 

I've thought of myself as a spiritual being, but I'm becoming to think I have a lack of faith. I've learned to keep my expectations and hopes low over the years. With my dog, we have a super cosmic-soul connection. The beauty of her spirit is that she doesn't have fear or anxiety, unless I do and then I feel like crap because I influenced her negatively. She's basically a little biofeedback machine. Logically, I understand and completely admire the dog model of thought; now. As a human, said to be a higher functioning being, I struggle with implementing that same model. My mind has great difficulty focusing solely on the present. Is this a survival technique? It can't be because dogs, domestic and or wild, have survived without thinking about the future. Maybe this is an Occam's razor moment; the simplest answer is the best. The simplest function is superior to the convoluted one. 

I haven't even mentioned yet how selfless she is--I've been too busy writing about me--but I digress. There's not a narcissistic bone in her little body. Maybe narcissism is just another form of anxiety. More importantly, a learned behavior. All humans are guilty of it--except a few--I know I'm generalizing, but not one dog I've ever known or heard of suffers from narcissism. Dogs are simpler creatures, which would mean dogs are the better and more highly functioning beings. Maybe dogs, let's say dog equals nature, are more in tune with faith. If we say nature has full and enduring faith, since tragedy doesn't stop them in their tracks, that eliminates anxiety (about death). Moral of the story--I should think like my dog--and love unconditionally like my dog--but act like a lady. 

Looking for a flower in a garden of weeds

I am beyond perturbed. I am pissed. I am disgusted with women treating themselves like a cheap commodity. In the past two weeks, I've been told by guys that they'd really like to fuck me. Flattering, romantic, sweet, eh? These men are not even that good looking, they wear ridiculously shrunken and inappropriately fitting argyle sweaters, or they're from North Africa visiting on a tourist visa. And they get laid. Or so they say. I've had enough of men devaluing women. I've had enough of being tested by men who think I do not mean what I say. Casual sex, promulgated by social apps like Tinder, are just a symptom of the bigger issue. My generation of fellow men and women, are, for lack of a better expression, fucked up. Where are old-fashioned values? I'm not making absurd statements, like premarital sex is a sin. I'm asking, where have an individuals self-worth gone? Don't women value themselves? And, how is it that an entire generation of men, with some exceptions that have yet to appear, finds objectifying and using women completely and undeniably okay?

It's impossible to state that women that participate in meaningless casual encounters with partners they won't ever see or speak to again, all suffer from low self-esteem, patriarchal childhood, or abandonment, issues. What does that mean for the men? Do you ever hear the excuse that men have low self-esteem, have father issues, have abandonment issues? No, you don't. Everyone has experienced some form of loss, so if one of these three possible reasons are acknowledged as a the culprit, that's still not an acceptable excuse. It's become quite clear that many men feel they are owed sex, for any type of time, or money, spent on a woman. An eight dollar drink equates to sex. Dinner and a movie means the girl should put out. Wanting a guy to hold off and get to know a woman before sex, well, that's just absurd. I've also heard the excuse that men become too old for masturbation. Uh, what?! If you believe that, there's something in your water turning your brain to mush.

Here are my key points, summarizing my thoughts on this issue:

(1) It is absolutely so disappointing to see people I know, or don't for that matter, that are so smart, so worthy of good things, choosing to participate in harmful activities, whether it be alcohol, drugs, or casual sex.
(2) Romance is dead. So is intimacy. Men cannot even fathom the concept of courting a woman. They have no idea what courting is, or how to do it.
(3) Parents should be held responsible. Mothers and fathers have not raised their sons to be good men, to have respect for women, to be courteous and loyal, nor have they raised their daughters to value themselves, and to expect to be treated by men with dignity.
(4) Women are not receptacles.

I'm tired of people allowing bad behavior to slide. I want women to expect better, expect more, and to not feel guilt about not giving in to a man's request for, or pressuring for, sex when they have not earned the privilege of being intimate with you. If a woman wants nothing more than a one-night stand, so be it. For those that want to foster a relationship, to build a friendship and intimacy, it shouldn't be a crusade.

Conversations

So, I've been online dating for almost two years now and I'm learning new things about these specimens, the ones we call men, on a daily basis. Most, if not all, of my observations are somewhat banal, but nevertheless, useful. I read, as I am sure many women do too, on men's profiles that they seek a companion or person or woman with whom they would like to be able to have and sustain (intellectual and/or philosophical) conversations. That men wish to be able to have thoughtful and meaningful discussions may sound promising, but in reality, the men requesting such events are unable to begin or maintain such a conversation. Men aren't good conversationalists. True, we know this and we've known this to be fact for forever. Men don't want to share their feelings and they sure aren't going to be vulnerable and put themselves out there, which oddly enough, that is what the woman does and is expected to do in a sense. With that said, one would think online dating would be a perfect platform for all men, especially the ones that are fearful or anxious about starting up a conversation with women. Unfortunately, this doesn't seem to be the case. All too often I am messaged stupid lines of text that require zero thought. I've also come to recognize a copy-paste message among other effortless attempts to engage me in conversation, such as the ubiquitous one liner, "hey." Men who don't ask questions seem disinterested and uninterested, which leads me to believe my role as the woman seems to be ego-booster or immediate cure-for-boredom. Thoughts?

Discovery: Fascinating Phenomena of the Male Mind

November, also known as my favorite month, has flown by rather quickly. Naturally, interesting things have happened since my last post. Previously, I was committed to "winning" NaNoWriMo...that is until I didn't write one day, and then I didn't write the following day, and, of course, a pattern ensued. I have been writing a poem here and there, as well as adding small additions to my novellas I'm working on. I also took a part time job. I never expected to be working in the wonderful world of retail, but hey, it's temporary. Actually, everything is temporary. Dating is temporary, or so I make it so.

I dated a guy for two weeks this month, but I was never exactly interested. In fact, after the first time I met him, I was watching a Sex and The City episode where Carrie goes out with a guy that just isn't her type. She refers to dating him as if she's trying him on like a dress. As I was watching the episode, a light bulb, figuratively, of course, appeared above my head. Well, after a second date, I couldn't take any more so I promptly ended it. Phew. My special friend in Hungary, whom I'm not sure I've mentioned, has proven himself to be quite the animal. He has been exhibiting a complete lack of self-control, as well as possessing no morals whatsoever. As a stereotypical representation of the contemporary man, I have to say I'm kind of, if not completely, disgusted with his behavior. This guy isn't the first Capricorn (yes, I did just make an astrological reference) I've come across. From my observations, they prove to be shitty long-term partners and share similar characteristics that I find to be savage and downright annoying. They have a need for speeding things up, and from the two I've encountered, both contend with an incompatibility between woman and commitment. Honestly though, what's the point in a guy 'buying' when he can get so much for free?

I've figured out my friend's pattern of behavior, so kudos to me, right? Generally, we talk or text or video chat on a daily basis, but every so often, he disappears for a few days. Well, I've done some investigative reporting (I've won an award for this for real) and the results are fascinating. Alright, so there are a little more than four thousand miles, and a decade in age difference, between us, and he's single. Putting that to the side, I've discovered that when he ceases to exist in my reality, he's sleeping around. I asked bluntly to which he confirmed my suspicions. What's so interesting is that we're friends, maybe a little more than your average friend definition, but he disappears every time he has sex with some woman (the last one being old, according to his own words). It seems he experiences some sort of guilt or else he'd be talking to me, after he's finished with whatever woman he's used as a receptacle. We entered into an argument, well, I started it when I told him he uses women. He sees his behavior as a positive where I see it as the objectification and commodification of women. He doesn't care for or about these women--he just uses them. He complains the women he dates are not bright enough, not well-travelled enough, not sophisticated enough, blah blah blah... for him. Of course, I am all of those things (grin to self). He has no desire to know the women, be friends with them, just nothing outside of the sheets, yet he disagrees with my stance. He thinks he's living an authentic life as part of counter culture: not letting rules limit his options and or choices, freedom of sexual expression, etc. Naturally I told him he is the culture of our time, he is the contemporary man promulgating this era of sex with no strings attached. It's casual, he says. There is no such thing as casual, but we're talking about a man, and men, that don't enjoy feeling feelings. I think his argument is bullshit. Absent from his behavior and mindset are morals. He says he has values, but who knows. Seriously, luring a married woman into a potentially compromising situation, just because sex is natural, doesn't speak sainthood to me. Parasitic amoebae are natural too. I think comparing him to a potentially deadly single cell organism is actually a well fitting paradigm for his character. Still, I'm drawn to his charismatic, charming, extroverted personality. Is he a caring, kind, sweet guy? Yes, yes he is. Can he be faithful, committed or loyal? He says so, but he has yet to prove his abilities.

Do you think I'm right (I doubt I'm wrong) about his behavior being stereotypical for a majority of men in our society/culture today? I'm not going to generalize and say all men are like my friend, but I've come in contact with many who share similar traits. I do think many men view women as things to be used, as if a woman is commodity, and I think my friend is trying to spin his behavior in a positive light when in reality, he's as far from being a gentleman.

It's Fall and things seem to be falling apart, so that's a good thing...

It's my favorite time of year, Fall, and things seem to be falling apart (but they're bound to come back together sometime!). Career, friends, relationships--everything is temporary even if they seem long term. I seem to be choosing the wrong men, but each new specimen is a drastic improvement over the previous, so I'm learning something. I try to have an open mind, I'm flexible about differences, and I'm trying to move past superficial bullshit as soon as possible. The latest guy, who lasted a whole three weeks, was rigid, ontologically focused on some nonsensical thing(s), and had a restrictive mindset. Although cute and intelligent, he's emotionally immature and confused. But…whatever. I'm just still trying to figure out what I'm supposed to learn from this experience.

Dating update, check. Career update, let's forgo that topic until a later date. Friends, yes lets discuss this. I loathe when 'friends' don't want me to know something, especially when it's about me. I can only take my friend(s) being arrogant, gossiping asses on a rare basis. Maybe it's a Southern thing, to talk about you to a mutual friend behind your back about some ludicrous thing, and when confronted, take offense. It's alright though, I have a Hungarian guy that I've become close friends with. We just clicked; we can talk about anything; and we can be honest with one another. So on the friend front, I've hit the jackpot.

I haven't written much lately, which could possibly be why I've felt anxious and moody. Or it's just me (probably). I've thought about writing, but my internship is time consuming. The drive, which is an ineffable experience, is mentally draining, and not sustainable or green, at all. It'll be ok though. At least I keep telling myself that...

I hate winter

I hope the title of my post made my feelings clear. I despise the cold, loathe the snow, abhor everything about winter…except, the clothes. I like the clothes (boots included). I'm feeling like I should have something really great to write, a poem of course, but nothing has come to fruition. Maybe it's because I'm writing it in my head first or maybe it's a lack of motivation. Hmm…I'm thinking it's because of the weather. I'll take the opportunity now, in this moment, on this line, to thank all my G+ follows. I appreciate it. Without you…I'd still be myself, but with less followers--no followers to be exact. I have no novel ideas, very very sad...

Just a poem

I'd like to preface this piece by stating that I normally don't post my poetry, here, or anywhere. Like most of me, I tend to keep it to myself. 

###

Dealer

It's difficult for me to let go, but when I do, I lay all my cards on the table.  I feel it all over, over, over again, flush in the face. I write it out in letters, revealing myself to you, to you I spell it out in a million maroon liquid spades. I walk away and won't, while my heart folds, look back to see—the pieces collapse into a bloodied pool of chips—and I wait for you by making myself up, back up, not waiting at all. No tricks again. The card is yours to deal and you’ll place it in the palm of my hand open.

© AC 2013

14 weeks till parole, I mean graduation

This has been a tough few months. Those of you who read my posts and/or follow me, or maybe the collective 'you' in you're are really just a bunch of bots (yay for alliteration!), who knows, ahhh I digress, you know I'm rather sensitive for an INTJ. Actually, I'm just better at expressing my feelings through written word. I figured that out when someone was talking to me about an opportunity and I said "I'm really excited, I would love to do that," and I could feel my face and it didn't exactly feel as if it was giving off the "I'm really excited, I would love to do that"face. At least I acknowledge my shortcomings. I keep dreaming about a certain someone, maybe once a week, and I'm not the type of person to talk myself into hating someone I couldn't exactly stay mad at, let alone get mad at, so it's making it very difficult to 'move on,' more specifically, I haven't met anyone recently where there's a spark…I need the damn spark! What's not helping either is the sample pool of potential dating specimens. I've met some quirky guys, nothing wrong with quirky, I'm quirky, but I've also encountered some not so nice ones too. It comes with the territory, but it's kind of hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that I 'met' (only messaged online) a guy that told me I don't eat enough (who the hell do you think you are?!), I shouldn't and don't need to work out (again, really who the hell do you think you are?!), and in order for us to have a relationship (again, I never met him!), I'd need to compromise with him (isn't this like a we've been dating for six months talk??) and allow him to cook for me (maybe this could work…), but his cooking would have to be his way because he refuses to cook "healthy hipster Whole Foods crap" (ehhh, I don't think it's gonna work...) and I would need to gain a few pounds (nope. Definitely not gonna work…). I've very picky, I've come to terms with this too. I'm not asking guys out for coffee either anymore. Sometimes I think I'm the one with balls, but I just can't find them…Besides looking for someone I'd actually be willing and wanting to spend time with, I'm working on my last semester. Hopefully I'll graduate with my remaining hair and the migraines and anxiety will magically go poof. Until then, I'll cry just a little each time I find a strand of hair not on my head. One day, my hair will be as magnificent as it was in Kindergarten.

It's Wednesday...it's chump day!

Yesterday was horrible. Just horrible! It was gray outside, raining and humid. The first few minutes of the day were fine. But then, it took a turn for the worse at around 8:40 am, about fifty minutes from when I woke up. I decided to make coffee. I like coffee. I put two teaspoons of the freeze dried coffee into the cup, heated the water until boiling and that is where my problems began. The plastic was hot so I burned my fingertips. I then poured the hot water into the cup and again, I was burned from the splashes of boiling water droplets. I then took the spoon, mixed the coffee and water, left the spoon in the cup, turned around to get my mini -moos, picked of the spoon and of course it was hot and I burned my fingers again. I then put the lid on the coffee mug and took a sip. I should not have done that. I burned my lip.

Let's fast forward to around 1:00pm. I just got out of class and am now standing - wait, I need to go back. I just got out of class. I left the building through a side entrance and before me stands a massive puddle (and it's still raining). I'm not wearing rain boots. I repeat. I am not wearing rain boots. I see a ledge across the puddle, maybe a foot and a half away. I tried. I failed. I made it onto the ledge but inertia decided to bounce me right back in the opposite direction. I landed with both feet in the massive puddle. I sighed and tiptoed my way through the puddle to the concrete walkway. Yay, I made it. I continued on and reached the bus stop. I went underneath the covered 'shelter' at the stop. The sign said the blue bus would arrive in five minutes. Five minutes. Okay. While I was waiting, some real piece of work in a white Pontiac (I think) with a pizza delivery sign drives right along the curve at at least twenty five miles and hour and the water conveniently forms a wave that hits the concrete and hurls toward me. I take two steps back, stepping on another person waiting for the stop, missing the wall of water by one foot. Thanks a lot pizza delivery man.

I get on the second blue bus. I get off the blue bus and I attempt to close my umbrella which opened without my permission. It's not closing. Why is it not closing? I think there may be a piece of the fabric stuck towards the point where all the little evil spiky things reside. No nothing is stuck, but are you not closing?! I wrestle with the stupid umbrella until it bites back. It closed. While slicing my finger which is stuck where the sharp, pointy button thingy is. Is it bleeding? No, I don't think so. It's just a little red, but no, no. Still no blood. I take two steps and think, my, my finger really does hurt. I look at it. Bright red blood is trickling down the side of my finger. Blood is bursting through the cut, it's dripping onto the pavement. I can't get it to stop. It won't stop. I am now feeling faint...not really. But it really did bleed. And it freakin hurt (and still does more than 24 hours later)! And it didn't stop bleeding for a while. But that's not all that went wrong...

I finally make it back and by now, I'm a bit hungry. I decided on a frozen all ready been prepared entree, 'glazed chicken.' From the picture it looks, eh, somewhat appetizing. I opened the box, stuck the frozen tray in the microwave and waited for exactly five minutes and thirty seconds. Beep! Beep! Beep! My frozen entree is now unfrozen and from the looks of it, very hot. So I carefully choose to touch the tray at the corners. The tray is hovering about a millimeter above the microwave base when a puff of ridiculously hot steam erupts from the exact edge that I happen to be holding with the tips of my fingers. I drop the tray, try to reassure my fingers that they will be okay, say a few choice words to myself and then, again, I pick of the damn tray. I am now burned and it hurts. It REALLY HURTS. I take this 'food' back to my room after acquiring a lovely paper plate to carry the infamous tray. And I begin to eat. The 'chicken' is interesting. It's bouncy. And sometimes crunchy(?). The 'glaze' is more like brown, sticky, unappetizing goo. The rice, well, it's, it's...it's crunchy on the left and not crunchy on the right. The few slivers of green beans look as though they have been petrified and just walked out of hell. Apparently, there were peanuts. I thought I saw a piece of one. I ate. I wish I hadn't.

I almost forgot that I also took my trash out. You may say, you took your trash out and you're telling me that you had a horrifying experience? Yes. Yes I am. I had my keys on a crappy lanyard that the school gave me - thanks school for the crappy lanyard. I went to the trash room. Opened the latch and through the garbage down the hatch (heh :) rhyme ). I walked back to my room and, I can't figure out to  spell a throat sound of pure horror, when I realized I had one key but I was supposed to have two! I retraced my steps, nothing. I began to sweat within 15 seconds of losing my key. I looked everywhere. Did I lose it in the classroom? No, you had just unlocked the door. Oh yeah. Did it go down the trash shoot? Huhhh!!!?? I didn't hear clinking... It has to be here...and I found it. It was hiding under the corner of the rug.

I decided I wasn't going anywhere else today. I didn't until 8:12pm. Right when I was fifty four minutes into The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus (awesome movie, highly recommend, it reminds me of something, maybe how I think? could be...) there was a fire drill. I wore flip flops. I like flip flops, I've never said anything bad about flip flops. Anyway, They (the evil ones) made me go on the grass, which was wet and muddy. 'We know it's wet and we're very sorry' says some asian guy. Whatever. I took one step and my foot squished and sank into the grass. It reminded me of a school field trip to a marsh. If you are ever near a marsh, RUN AWAY. If you think you want to go to a marsh, YOU DON'T. Anywho, my foot was filthy. I made my way to the wet concrete and wiped my foot off. I couldn't decide if having my foot covered with grass and mud was worse than taking a chance and getting little worms squirming up and into the bottom of my feet. I gambled with the worms. And as soon as I got back, I rinsed them off in the tub. But instead, the water came through the shower head...and then the bottom faucet. I then slathered my feet in antibacterial gel :) . And went to bed. Because I couldn't take anymore.

I didn't get to write a post last week. But, I figure you were all dying to know what kind of bad stuff happened. I did burn my finger, but more importantly, I fell off a bus. I don't know how. I just know it happened. I think I may have fallen asleep for a millisecond of time as I was attempting to exit the bus. I can distinctly remember the concrete curb. At one point it was right in front of me - then towards the upper left of my sight - then to the right of my sight and then right in my face. I scraped up my knee, but suffered no major physical injuries. The emotional injures can go away for a small, small donation of $5 to whatever amount of money you would like to donate to my 'rainy days' fund (notice the s on the end of days...)

I hope you all take the time to appreciate this post because it took away valuable study time... Be grateful people. Be grateful.

My first spout...awww...how adorable...hissssss

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.