Ramshackle + grey skies

= wow depressing. Or maybe not. I'll call this sensation "slowing," as in the odd instinctive need, based on the circumstances, to do things at a snails pace. The flickering street lamp, barren foliage, and cloud cover all add up to Stay Inside Today, Don't Bother and don't get yourself bothered about anything in particular.

I have a final today, so I'm procrastinating, essentially. I should be studying my eyeballs out, but a disturbingly loud part of me wants to fail this class just to fuck everyone. Not smart, but it's the truth.

Someone told me art history was a much easier major, and I would honestly rather take art classes than language classes. I wonder what I'd have to do to switch...


And no sooner

was the preceeding post written than a handful of the wrong kind of crackers brought me absolutely to my knees. My diet is so regulated that it's pretty easy to tell when something upsets the order, so I can say with relative certainty that Honey Sesame TLC's are a no-go for me. Which is too bad, because they were tasty.

All those little aches and pains, eventually, they add up to something. Body, mind, body, mind, they gotta work together or they don't work at all. You gotta take care of your body. You gotta take care of your mind. You gotta love your body. Most people don't. Most people hate their bodies. You gotta get your mind to love your body. Even if you're fat around the middle, even if things don't work like they're supposed to you have got to love your body. 'Cause it's all you got to hold on to. It's all you got. I'll make a deal with you. I'll love your body if you love mine.

I missed half of work and all of a review for my upcoming Irish final because my body doesn't work right. It's like a dog that's constantly shitting on your couch. From day one since that mutt came in your door it's been leaving a steaming pile there fresh every morning. In all other respects it's a wonderful dog, but the little fucker won't stop shitting no matter what you do. At the end of the day you think to yourself, "well, I guess everything might be allright after all." Then you wake up 8 hours later and guess what?

Nothing's changed.


A Doozy

is what one might call that last post. For now I am feeling better, though an odd mental psyche-out remains. I still get nervous right before I have to leave the house for any sort of trip, especially if I'm going with other people. The odds say that nothing will go wrong, but there is always the chance that something will.

I came across something weird and transcendent this morning while searching for a Dr. Seuss video on that font of raw humanity, YouTube. Though it's hard not to feel like a stalker while you watch it, I reccommed it for the bit that begins at 3:02.

Kelsey's Video Loglette

This Midnight Sun caught me way off guard. Followed by The Lorax? Wow. Either this girl is brilliant and bored, or desperately starved for attention. Or any combination therein. I have a terrible feeling that I'm going to watch them all at some point too, since I'm in between Netflix shipments. And I'll feel guilty for doing it, for the forementioned stalker reasons, and also because no matter what someone seems to be on the internet, the are almost invariably not. Although there is a bit more honesty in posting a video feed of yourself than say, posting anonymously in a forum.


What Do You Want

out of life? I used to think that small moments of beauty, and the prospect of a better future for humanity were worth it.

Mainly, I am disappointed with myself for seeking answers where there are none. Intellectually I know that the universe owes me squat. I am so small that it's not even worth charting. And yet I still feel aggrieved and cheated out of a normal life when it's so completely unnecessary. There is no good goddamned reason that someone's body should work to reject and destroy one of it's own organs, but it happens all the time. It is happening to me, and above all things in this lifetime I would like it to stop.

I get depressed and angry over how completely this disease dominates my life. When I fight it I lose, and when I let it go it punishes me anyway. I can't eat anything, apparently, without blowing up into a huge ball of pain every afternoon. I have a huge mental block about going to class now, because those chairs are so damned uncomfortable and the room is so stuffy and I still can't bring myself to care about the subject. I made a promise that I would finish my degree here at Pitt, but the prospect of learning more about something that never interested me to begin with is depressing.

And I'm mad at myself for getting so depressed and emotional. I want so badly to believe that there's something that I can do, some hope that in the future I'll be able to walk around the world and not have this fear in my belly, but it's hard to fight the feeling that I'm just doomed to a life of pain and marginalization. And I can't even vent my rage properly now because my arms have seized up and the tendons are all inflamed and even my knee still crackles whenever I walk up stairs and I just can't fucking do ANYTHING but sit in my room and watch anime.

This is no way to live. I have to find a way to accept what I am, that it may never change, but still have some hope so that getting up in the morning isn't such an empty exercise.



Not being

a religious man, it pains me to admit that I think there might actually be some super-known force out there. I will not call it supernatural because it might be entirely natural, but it is not currently understood, thus my odd mash-up.

This week I recieved in the mail a used Mac Mini, a 19" LCD widescreen monitor, a new Core 2 Duo processor, and 1 gig of RAM. Arriving from disperate sources, I worried for it's quality and reliability.

It all works together perfectly. It's a wonderful setup and the most powerful desktop addition to our computer room, known alternately as Lanconistan or The Cancer Dome. So I would just like to give props to the Goddess of the Silk Tie, who watches over t3h internets, delivering tracking information and ensuring that the series of tubes is kept clean with horses and poker chips, occasionally blessing the lucky Geek with 1337ness. Give me a few days to come up with a suitable sacrifice.


Today would

appear to be the most perfect sort of fall day that there can be. For posterity, I shall elucidate.

The foliage is now more than 50% converted, with just a few trees bare. There is a low haze around the horizon that fades to a perfect blue above, and there's enough humidity in the air to make it inviting and warm instead of barren and cold. The air is crisp and cool enough to make a sweater a good idea, but the sun still warms your face and shoulders. I even slept in and feel well rested.

There are all sorts of things that could go horribly wrong today, of course, this being a cruel and indifferent universe. I know that the very foundations of the luxuries I enjoy today are unraveling, and that years hence this sort of simple pleasure will seem like a silly waste of time. There is such monsterous injustice in this world that it seems criminal for me to sit here in a climate-controlled bakery and sip a cappuccino and watch the season turn.

Maybe it will mean something later on. For now, at this moment, today is the perfect sort of day.