Who knows what true loneliness is?

That the happier and more content I am with my life the less I feel the all-consuming desire to make the trudge down to the library and use their internet. I must have been brilliantly unhappy these past few years.

I really do need to work on getting internet at my apartment. It just seems like a bit more trouble than it's worth. Then again, this newfound happiness has put me in a nearly catatonic state where so very much seems like more trouble than it's worth. I was already too lazy to fully feel anger or hold grudges but now so much that isn't blatantly necessary for life seems banal and not worth my time.

This is both a wondrous and awful thing.

 

I met Kenneth's friends and family yesterday. That was a bit stressful and filled me with several hours of non-catatonic agony. Here's how the weekend went...

We had already arranged that I would meet his son on Saturday. Our plan was for an almost play date with his son and my niece at the Children's Museum. The day went wonderfully. My niece bossed everyone around and his son is brilliant. He's didn't have the glittering and astounding intellect as my brother but he's very very close. We went for pizza afterwards and then took the kids to the park. They wore each other out and my niece passed out in the backseat of my car while I was driving her home. From what I was told, she pretty much stayed that way until the next morning: asleep, I eventually removed her from the car.

 

The next day I was supposed to meet one of his friends. We were going to meet two of them for lunch or dinner but I accidentally met one a few days before when we ran into each other at Kenneth's apartment. I very strongly believe that you can only meet someone once, after that you're merely seeing them again. Therefore I was going to meet another friend and see the second one for a second time. Well, Kenneth's friends went to go visit Kenneth's parents while we were en route to meet them.

I was given an out because Kenneth was aware of the facts that a) I don't like meeting people and b) I was going to meet his parents later in a more controlled setting. But if I didn't go then he couldn't go because we were both in his car. I opted on going.

I met his parents, his friends, his brother, his friends' wife, his brother's wife and a whole slew of children. I remember the names of no one and personally don't ever want to meet any of them again. My hesitance isn't because they weren't all lovely wonderful people but because I think they all hated me. Kenneth said otherwise but I have my paranoid delusions and I refuse to allow them to be sated.

I was later invited to go hang out with him and his friends. I elected not to.

That said, I've also noticed that I use the word "Brilliant" a lot. In future entries this will be shortened to "Brill" and considered patented AnJuli slang.

 

I always try to put in videos that are at least relevant to the subject of the blog but... I just really like this one. So there's sharing to be done. I was really excited to hear them on the radio. I've followed them for a few years and this really isn't one of their better songs. I expect everyone will see their awesomeness soon.

One of my coworkers talked me into joining weight watchers with her. When I say she "talked me into joining" what I actually mean is she asked politely. She mentioned the fact that we were joining to her friend and my partner who bought the subject up with me because she thought the entire thing was odd.

I, apparently, do not need weight watchers.

I have a mass of fat around my midsection whose sole purpose of existence is to sit there, be unhealthy and every now and then get a thoughtful kneading when I'm too preoccupied to realize that I'm standing around massaging my fat.

I asked several people if I was the only one who sees this unhealthy glob around my waist and, as it turns out, I am. But it's there. I swear. I started to have flashbacks to times that people implied I was thin. Several shifts ago someone told me that I was "small". My first reaction, and I did bite this back, was to ask them what they were comparing me to: a blue whale? Alaska? Hagrid's mother?

I'm not "small". By no definition of the word can I be considered small. I'm 5'7, average / almost tall for most girls and 181 pounds. The only way I can be considered small is if we run off and have a height / weight based massacre of all the girls in the world. At best, I'm just about average; chunkier than average.

Point being, everyone seems to ignore this whole thing where the American Medical Association and AnJuli both think she can stand to lose a few pounds. Well the AMA, me and my mother but she recently moved from the state and now I can't use her to justify the fact that I'm fat.

For several hours yesterday I was actually upset that no one would tell me I needed to lose weight.

I think my frustration over the entire event was mainly because everyone else's inability to see the fat was starting to make me feel like a chubby Chicken Little. The sky is falling but society just thinks I'm insane. I was honestly starting to think that maybe I had body dismorphic disorder or something. It was greatly upsetting.

So I was talking to Kenneth about it. I'm pretty sure that conversation was the first time he ever had a girl tell him "If you tell me I'm fat I'll feel better." and be serious about it. As it turns out, and this is more or less what he said, people look at your face first and my face is quite lean. It's not anorexic lean but it's not auditioning to play the part of Shamu's mother big. It's in that nice average zone of face size. So, since my face isn't fat people tend to overlook the midsection.

I informed him, after he clarified society's position on my weight, that anything else said about it, after that point, would be considered an insult and we could no longer talk about my fat.

It's nice to know that I'm right and that, without any actual effort on my part, I've managed to trick the masses. It's sad how easy it was. Almost as easy as everything else I do.

No, no I didn't.

Whenever I accomplish something and I go off to do the obligatory bragging someone always tells me that I worked so hard for it. This is just not true. I don't recall ever working hard.

There is a chance that I work hard and then promptly forget about this traumatic "working hard" event so that when I finally achieve something I seem to think I've done it with the ease and grace. I am decently disconnected from how I feel about most things so there's more than a chance that this scenario has happened at least once.

Most likely though, and this is what I think is going on, I don't work hard. Don't get me wrong, I generally get things done and I do them in a timely manner but I don't work hard for them. I'll tackle things that are generally considered difficult and, when I'm done, I feel as though I've done nothing at all.

That and the feeling of stagnation starts to sink in. I've been an official paramedic for all of a week and a half and I already find myself thinking it's not enough; that I need to aim higher and that the oppression of stagnation is going to suffocate me.

Also, a week or so after I accomplish anything I no longer want to talk about it. It's like "Yeah, I got my paramedic last week. Where were you then? You know what new, and much more interesting, thing has happened to me since then? I realized I need to get my car inspected for the state. That's a lot cooler than this nonsense you're congratulating me on. Pah. Last week man. Last week. We're all over it now."

Another thing that's more interesting... I upgraded my phone. It's the same company but a much better phone. The device itself is a lot sleeker, has a wider screen and better camera. I also find the texting screen a lot more appealing. The downside of this is that when I merged the phones I lost the email address for Vox. It's easy to get, mind you, but I'm lazy.

 One thing that worries me, and it doesn't really worry me because it's more of an idle flickering thought that crosses my mind moments before I shrug it off as beyond my present control and thus not worth wasting time on, is how my constant battle against stagnation will work out with Kenneth.

On the one hand, he may have to deal with me consistently wanting more from myself. I have a lot of slackers in my life and I adore their slacking abilities. In fact, I try to impersonate them while I'm running off and managing the impossible. Kenneth isn't a slacker though but if he were, I likely wouldn't care. It's just one of those things I accept instead of tolerate.

He would, however, have to deal with me and my inability to be happy with anything I do. That may get annoying after awhile.

I have a jovial way of not sweating the small stuff. In fact, when I took a Four Temperaments Personality test I scored freakishly high in the two temperaments that don't sweat the small stuff. I was trying to find a link with a brief explanation of the four but the best I found was this one which has a relatively long list explaining core traits of each temperament. To my credit, I didn't really put much effort into the search.

Point being, I scored excruciatingly high in Phlegmatic with Melancholic as a close second. I had one point in the general Sanguine section and Choleric was, according to my test, non-existent. I'm basically a combination of the two  most introspective temperaments. The Phlegmatic believes, and this is only partially contrary to the beliefs of the Melancholic, that everything is small stuff and thus, not worth sweating. I, being a combination of the two, have a few things, less than average, that will cause me to go into vastly unappreciated and unnecessary panic attacks.

For the most part however, I smile and shrug through life's difficulties, make a joke and then walk away. It's not that big a deal. Trust me, I called up Apollo, the Sun God, and he personally informed me that he's going to drag the sun through the sky tomorrow whether or not I worry myself into ulcers or cry until I fall asleep. Besides, why worry when you can joke and problem solve?

Apollo did tell me, and this is the Zeus honest truth, that the world will come to short and quick end if my car doesn't have more than a quarter tank of gas in it at all times or if I forget to apologize for saying something that, upon later reflection, was insensitive and unnecessary.

Either way, this "Why worry?" behavior has, apparently, convinced a few of my coworkers and supervisors that I don't take my job seriously. To their credit, we're quite often put into the position that I don't feel needs to be taken seriously and that, if taken seriously, will significantly shorten what's left of my life. Yes, being a paramedic sounds like work is all life and death decisions but anyone in EMS knows that's not true.

People have called us because they had a headache and didn't want to take any of the over the counter medications they have at home because they feel is medication is evil. Instead they want to be taken to the hospital where, apparently, they no longer medicate people.

I once got a call because a woman watched as her younger daughter threw dirt in her older daughter's mouth. This woman became convinced that dirt in the mouth causes chicken pox and that the incubation period for the pox is minutes, not days. This was, in her mind, an emergency.

I won't even get into the number of times someone has called because they wanted a second opinion on something their doctor told them or they didn't feel that the medication their doctor gave them was working. I don't know how many times I've had to explain, in very small words, that the doctor has more training and most antibiotics, especially in pill form, take days to work; not hours.

I don't understand how someone can take these situations seriously and not develop a psychosis and a firm dislike for the populace. Honestly, as far as things go, when interacting with patients, I'm more serious than some of my coworkers. I at least wait until the patient is no longer in our care before making fun of them.

I was recently informed by a coworker that maybe, just maybe, I should "prove myself" before making jokes.

I was amused by this.

I was also amused by the irony of being amused by this.

Then I thought about it and my complete disregard for this proving myself idea. I have no desire to prove myself. I don't

really feel the need to do so. I'm good at my job. I've had multiple people tell me this. So, in my mind, there's no need to prove anything. I've done very little, significantly less than most, to make people think that I'm bad at my job. So, with all the evidence to the contrary, I'm being requested to prove myself so I can point out that some of the situations we're put in are blatantly ridiculous?

I don't see that as my problem. I see that as someone else's inability to acknowledge reality. They make pills for that now.

I've decided, since this all comes down to my lighthearted attitude towards things that really don't need to be taken seriously, that I'm just going to go back to not talking. I have no issue with this. I'm generally quiet until I get to know a person anyway. I can just remain quiet afterwards. Communication is a privelege afforded only to higher species in their respective kingdoms.

But back to this proving of oneself and my disinterest in it. When I hear the term "prove yourself" my mind immediately, despite the scenario, disregards it. Maybe the problem lies in the fact that I don't mind being underestimated. I know, when the situation presents itself, I'll rise to the occasion. I don't see it as my personal concern that someone else takes a few behaviors of mine and uses that to negate every other observation they've made of me. Maybe they should seek therapy for their inability to see the forest for the trees.

There's a bit of chance that this may be a race issue. I don't exactly relish the phrase and hate having to use it but this may be an opportune and appropriate moment to utilize it. I don't mean race issue in the sense that they exaggerate my flaws because I'm a minority. I mean it in the sense that, in my mind, I've already proven myself to society. Who is this maggot requesting I do it again and why do they believe I'll yield to their wishes?

When I compare myself to others that were born with my economic standing, race, gender and beliefs I find that I've managed to avoid so many of the pitfalls that trapped them. I "escaped" the drugs of high school. I didn't commit suicide when I spent five years wanting nothing more than to experience death. I didn't have a child early. I don't have any form of venereal disease. I don't have to worry about the lines at the free clinic. I have a steady job. Comparatively speaking, I'm a success. I proved myself. Society can't tell me anything about the trappings of your birth because I looked at the wall as it tried to erect itself and told it where it can shove the bricks as I took the long way around and emerged victorious.

You know what coworkers? Screw you. I proved myself in ways you never will and I did it before I turned 23. Beat that. Wait, most of you can't.

More importantly, when I get the situation you think I can't handle because I'm so mellow and easygoing, not only will I handle it better than most people, I'll handle it with more grace than you can even imagine. I'll make that situation my bitch and then shrug off your congratulations because, at the end of the day, Apollo is just taking a nap.

It's been so long since my confession. It feels like an eternity since I last sat and typed out my soul, my sins and my love to the eerie, unnatural glow of the monitor. It's been, simply put, too long, since I last heard the sounds of my fingers tap-tap-tapping across the keys as my mouth muttered the words slipping, sliding and dancing from my brain to the screen.

Everyday I note something that I want to blog about. Sometimes I take a picture. Sometimes I get too preoccupied and forget. Even if there are pictures or firm memories I can feel the details, the perfections, of each blog entry slipping away as the earth turns and the sun rises. Finding a computer where I can sit for the two or so hours confession will take me has become a quest. Half the computers at work won't load the Vox forms and when I'm in the presence of the half that will... I'm too busy working to get away with tap-tap-typing for two hours.

So much has happened and I feel as though I can no longer justify the brilliance of each event. I can't paint them in lucid color anymore. The pastels have faded and the monsters have escaped the shadows of the past to dwell in the shadows of the future. All I can give is a vague outline of what happened but the words will no longer be affected by the intense emotion I felt about the event when it initially happened.

One day, I'll get internet at home. I'll blog everyday again and the little bits of my memories, the orifices of my brain where such thoughts fall into and get lost, will be available at the beck and call of the world wide web.

Our birthdays have passed. Mine was September 23rd and his was the 25th. I didn't get a picture of the gift I gave him. In blogger hindsight, I should have. I do have a picture of the severely awesome gift he gave me that I plan to keep and treasure even if he becomes a distant memory and a vague description.

This computer won't load the popup that allows me to put pictures into the entries. My sense of irony is amused.

I passed my great big nerve wracking test. My study buddy was the first person I told and Kenneth was the first person I hugged. I didn't tell my mother or sister until after I texted everyone else. It's their own fault for not being texters.

I had a moment of thoughtful anxiety when I was finished sharing the news of my passing to those "closest" to me. I once heard that the most important person in your life is the person you think about when something good happens to you. It's that first person that pops into your mind when you think "I have to share this with someone!" I didn't have that person.

My study buddy found out first because we studied and tested together. It's a computer based test and the results are generally available the next business day so she called me while she was logging into the website so we could check our results together. That's why she was the first person to know. I was at Kenneth's house when I checked my results. That's why he was the first person I hugged.

I did three separate mass text messages depending on how much the person would know about the test and what it means. I was just telling people to tell them at that point. I called my mother and sister later because I knew they'd be proud and happy for me. I called my father much much later because I knew he'd be proud and happy. In fact, the doors that test opened for me are doors he once tried to open for himself but was unable to so the entire thing meant more to him than it did to anyone else; including myself.

There wasn't a single person whose image popped into my head when I saw those results. There wasn't a sole soul that I felt the great and all consuming desire to share my happiness with.

Who am I that I have no one to share my joy with? What am I that I have no one to seek out when I want to share a smile, a laugh, a hug?

 

I've had several awesome-tastic blog ideas that never came to fruition due to the fact that I still have no internet, or any form of media, at home. At this point in time I've gotten so used to the silence, and the new noise of Angie, my sister, being there that I'm hesitant to spend the money on getting anything installed. I'm really enjoying my newfound devotion to efficiency and productivity. Although the lack of TV does mean that the only way I can effectively "veg out" is by staring at the wall.

It gets a bit awkward when I have my sleepy hallucinations and imagine the wall staring back.

Either way, I finished the fireplace curtains! It's an almost sheer black fabric with spiderwebs sewn onto a discarded curtain, the other half of the set apparently ran away to Mexico with half of the kitchen drapes, I found at my mom's house. There are two little black trees, designed to mimic death by glitter, on the foundation and a curvy little "Beware" sign. The trees really don't show up well. I've been thinking about whiting out the interior of the fireplace, mayhaps with some very creative use of a posterboard, and putting the entire setup inside of it.

No, I don't plan on using this fireplace anytime this millenium.

I haven't made the valance yet but I did get the fabric. Now that it's Halloween all the major craft stores, and Wal-Mart, are selling skull fabric so I no longer have to troll ebay and pay exorbitant funds for it. I bought way more fabric than I need. I'm definitely stocking up now while it's at the stores and I'm going to stock crazy at the post Halloween sales. That's two separate fabrics in the picture. The valance will be made from the one on the right aka the one with just the skulls. I don't know what I plan on doing with the girlier one but it was way too cute to leave behind. It was also only 5$ a yard. That's about average for most fabrics. Anything with a skull on it has an automatic 200% markup so it was actually insanely cheap.

I'm trying to find a softer fabric so I can experiment with making pajama pants. My eventual goal in sewing is to make myself a skull centric nineteenth century style dress. Today, a valance. Tomorrow... a dress. And by "tomorrow" I mean "middle of next year".

I think the best thing about sewing, or crafts in general, is the accessories. I found an old tackle box in my mom's garage so I'm using it to hold my craft supplies. Naturally I spray painted it black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, due to family drama, most of this drama being because of the fact that my mother is a bit of a negligent diva, my sister has moved in with me. She said it's only for a few days / weeks but I'm thinking, in ten months when my lease is over, I'm going to have to break the news to her that I'm moving out and she has to find somewhere else to stay.

She moved in, officially, two days ago. I was working the day she moved in so I didn't have the joy of interacting with her until yesterday night. And again this morning. And later today when she called me. Twice. For favors. It's a bit annoying. To fully understand why this is annoying I must backtrack and attempt to tell the entire backstory.

I can't get into family dynamics without writing a fifteen page blog entry. I don't have the time to write that or edit it and I'm sure, despite how fascinating it likely is, no one has the time to read about how dysfunctional the core of my family is. A brief breakdown of the major players, however, can be done in an efficient manner.

1. My mother - should have taken a parenting class before breeding. Negligent. Sporadically loving. Cause of undue stress on my sister. Will give me the world if I ask nicely.
2. My sister - best person in the world. Superstitious. Previously chronically unemployed, now chronically underworked. A mother. Is stalked by various entities including, but not limited to: Stress, Anxiety, Drama
3. Me. Negligent. Independent. Expresses affection in odd ways. Hates being asked for favors but will likely to most favors if asked ahead of time. Had the best bachlorette pad ever.

My mother is planning a move to Nevada that should occur sometime this month. She's been trying to move for about two months now but was hindered by her inability to transfer to another branch of the hospital she works at. She got the transfer, finally, and now plans to leave as soon as humanely possible. She and my sister never really got along. I think their first major disagreement happened the night my sister was conceived and my mother, being big on he grudge holding, never forgave my sister for it.

One of the precipitating events for my move to the apartment was the fact that I'd soon have no place to call home. My sister, having a daughter and  job that paid less than mine does, was unable to move as quickly. My mother finally became fed up with her and pretty much kicked her out. This is where I, who spent the past month and a half blessedly away from the drama of a family full of divas, comes in. My sister is now living with me. "Temporarily".

Yeah. Bye bye awesome bachlorette pad. Bye bye knowing exactly the exact etiology of all the messes in the apartment. Bye bye peaceful, serene home. Hello family. Hello noise, drama, compromise, bitterness, angst, anger and depression that they all carry and induce in droves.

My sister has a proclivity for getting herself into strange, and generally preventable, circumstances. In the two days that she's been living with me, I've been asked to get her out of two of these. I lied about my whereabouts on both occasions because I selfishly didn't want to take time out of my day to help her.

Did I mention I'm letting her squat in my previously awesome bachlorette pad rent free?

The first instance of her needing additional assistance happened last night. She very firmly believes that a full tank of gas in her car is bad luck. Did I say "full tank"? What I meant was half a tank. A fourth. Any fuel at all. Due to this belief her car runs completely out of gas every week and a half or so. When this happens she either has to call someone and get them to bring her gas or call the roadside assistance offered by the insurance and get them to bring her gas.

Did I mention this happens at least twice a month?

Last night she called me because she ran out of gas at the gate to the apartment complex. I told her I was an hour away but would start heading down there. In truth I was like ten minutes away but didn't want to fix a problem that no one else in the world has every f'ing week.

I hadn't even been home at this point, mind you. I worked 36 hours straight and she had moved in about midway through my shift. After work I went to study with a friend and then went visiting. The fact that I no longer lived alone combined with the fact that I was now living with one of the neediest adults you've ever met which combined with the fact that I had just finished working 36 hours. I was officially stressed out. I slept in my car in a parking lot last night because I didn't want to go home to someone else's problems.

Yep. That was my night.

I woke up, snuck into my own apartment, changed clothes and laid down in bed. I laid there for a good ten or fifteen minutes before my inability to lie still and not fall asleep kicked in and I fell asleep.

I woke up again to her calling up the stairs with another favor. The car still didn't have gas, I don't know what she did with last night, and she had to go pick up my brother. She wanted to borrow my car. I muttered something unintelligible and rolled over. I very quickly went back to sleep and had a horrific nightmare about birthing a child.

The doctor didn't cut the cord and the spawn started eating it. Each bite bought it closer and closer to my abdomen. I knew the child wanted to consume me and I attempted to fend it off by swinging the cord and then spinning violently around and stopping in hopes that it would fly off and not lose momentum until it reached the depths of Hell.

Instead I woke up nauseous, cold, sweating and grasping my stomach. On the upside, the house was empty.

I cleaned up a bit and emptied my car of my work belongings. Guess who, at this point, called with a favor? My sister. She was somehow, in her car with little gas, responsible for taking herself, our brother, my niece and her ex-bofriend to the doctor. Four appointments in one day. She needed help and was hoping I could take one of them. I lied about my plans to get out of it.

She called a few hours later to ask if I had completed my plans and, if so, could I take my niece to the doctor? I lied again.

I managed to go two and a half months not telling a single lie or half-truth. I've lied so many times in the past 24 hours I can't count them if I wanted to. I can't even remember half of them.

Three or so hours ago she called me again wanting to know if there was anyway I could pick up my niece and brother from school.

Excuse my profanity but what the fucking hell? I vaguely recall agreeing to let her move in, ruin my perfect silence, my calming bachlorette pad and the wonderful life that was magically thrust upon me the minute I stopped living with my family and now she wants me to play axillary support to her inability to say no?

I haven't experienced a moment of stress since leaving my mother's house. It was like living with my family, I'm not even sure which family member it was, was a massive weight that I couldn't support. In the six or so weeks I've been gone I've been happier, less bitter, less cynical, less jaded, I've smiled more, I've eaten less. I've experienced a general happiness that engulfs my day. It's not as strong as the passionate happiness I randomly experience when I find perfection in an object or thought but it's been the constant unfluctuating joy of freedom and full-fledged independence.

Now I'm stressed out and lying.

About two weeks ago I had two separate conversations, neither of which I initiated, regarding happiness. More specifically, they regarded my ability to feel a Bone Deep All Consuming Contentment that Brings About a Peaceful Silence and Fully Encompassing Joy versus everyone else's ability to feel... merely happy.

I still think that can't possibly just be me and the wee people under the age of five and thus too oblivious to all the problems of life to experience anything but sheer rapture.

Here's how things work out in AnJuli land... I'm going to use a bookstore scenario because I adore books and one of the conversations occurred at a bookstore due to my response to a wonderful nonfiction that I happened upon.

AnJuli walks into a bookstore. AnJuli browses. AnJuli selects multiple books on three or four separate subjects and sits down to peruse and compare them. AnJuli rejects all but a few. AnJuli eventually, and this only happens every three or four trips to the magical wonderland of the bookstore, finds the perfect book. This book, upon reading the summary and a few excerpts, fills AnJuli with a deep sense of love, merit, quiet enthusiasm, enthrallment and a deep happiness that she swears not only found her soul but reached into it and warmed her all too cold heart.

At this point in time AnJuli is so happy that the emotion itself can only be likened to a severe pain. Time stops. The colors of reality bleed into each other making a mass that can't be sorted because it doesn't want to be and AnJuli, so content with this object, doesn't care that the sky has turned purple and is now raining black blood. She has the perfect novel and things will never be the same. Her limbs tingle. Her heart rushes until it infects her lungs and they start filling with air and rejecting it as rapidly as possible because it's not oxygen she needs but the book. Her pulse slows until she's sure that she just died, her hands clench, her eyes fall and in those cold, dying hands is the book.

The brink of death is resisted. The Grim Reaper looks at the book and knows, knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there will be no souls taken today. That book must be read before any thoughts can even be given to something as mysterious and banal as death.

Then time slowly starts up again, her pulse evens out, her breathing slows and reality gets a new set of crayolas and starts drawing again. Why? Because the book can't be read without all of these stabilizing. AnJuli finds herself clutching the book to her chest so hard that it leaves indentations on her arms. She wonders, idly, if the book was trying to crawl into the ventricles of her heart so the words contained within can infect her bloodstream. For several minutes, she can do nothing but sit there and hold the book.

End Scenario.

Is that just me? Because that feeling normally hits me two or three times a week. It's only related to books a few times a month. There are days where I'll get text messages and I'm so full of wonder and adoration that world stops spinning. I'll see something out of the corner of my eye and turn, almost fearful that it doesn't exist, and find myself entranced by some common, dull item that I've overlooked for the past two years but today, today, I can see that there isn't anything "common" about it. It has struggles. It once had hopes and dreams. That whole "I'm inanimate" vibe is just a facade. Deep inside beats a heart and soul that wants nothing more than recognition and maybe love.

I go through so much of my day feeling as though every little thing is beating down on me. It's almost like walking in the rain except each droplet carries the weight of the world and I'm the only one in the storm. Then, every now and then, I have this unfathomable inner peace triggered by some random happenstance.

I refuse to believe such a thing only happens to me.

I don't have internet at home. This has already been noted at least once before. This lack of internet means, in order to update, I have to either a) Find public wifi b) Journey to the library and use their internet or c) Blog at work. Each of these scenarios comes with its' own set of issues. Finding public wifi involves me sitting in a parking lot, normally, and updating from my car. This can involve up to two hours of me trying to find a comfortable position that allows for complete hand and partial arm movement. Yes, I could go inside but half the time I update so late at night the business has already closed for the day. This leads to the issue with option B: the library. Updating using their wifi means being at the library when they're open. Granted, I don't normally frequent the building after hours how can you steal something that's already free? but I also, despite my love of books, rarely find time to frequent it when they're open.

Then there's blogging at work. I wouldn't mind the distractions if they weren't so numerous and frequent. If it's not me having to the do the necessary parts of my job it's me having to do the superfluous bits that really mean nothing, do nothing and accomplish little unless the supervisor catches you doing and thinks "Oh, there's someone here that actually does that. Interesting." I never get caught doing such good things despite my habit of doing them. Normally, after I run off and do something that everyone else has been avoiding for the past month, I get caught lounging about instead of rushing off to do something else that doesn't necessarily have to be done for the next three or four hours.

Eventually this leads to all the awesome things I have to update on. Okay. Well, I have nothing but I'll make it sound like something.

I've been making the effort to be a bit more social. I've taken all my usual loner activities and am now inviting people

 to come along with me. The end result is that, surprisingly, I almost never go anywhere alone. What started as me merely spending time with others to marginally increase my brains' efficiency has turned into me finding out that I'm apparently not as boring and unlikeable as initially thought. Either way, Jenifer and I spent a good chunk of the day together earlier this week. We watched two movies and then went to the Halloween stores to start planning our costumes / my wardrobe for the next year / looking at the awesome Halloween stuff.

This is where I found my future bastard offspring. I sent that picture, via text message, to various people. Most of the responses involved something like "wtf?", "Wth?" and "You're not babysitting my child." Kenneth, on the other hand, responded with "Jackson! Stop being so ticklish!" Sadly enough I read that message right as a mouthful of diet coke was going down my throat. It went up my nose instead.

There was burning. I really hope this is the only time he causes burning in a mucosal orifice.

Last night Jennifer and I, note the change in spelling they're two separate people, went to see Rocky Horror Picture Show at midnight. It was my third or fourth time in total but my first at the venue they were having it at. It was her first. I think she enjoyed it more than I did. I personally go for the movie itself though I normally dress up because I can and I want to. She had no idea what was going on but, by the end of the movie, had fallen in love with the equally loud and lewd audience commentary.

I don't really think one can adequately enjoy RHPS with the commentary. They tend to disrupt the movie at oddly appropriate moments.

I had about fifty million separate things I wanted to blog about but, in the time since the ideas spawned and now, I've forgotten seventy-eight million.

Yesterday we spent the entire day together. First we museumed hopped...

When I suggested museum hopping I was thinking about going to the nice normal museums that aren't the slightest bit demented. Houston has a decently large choices of museums so it wasn't hard to pick a few and then suggest those. In order to go from my house to the museum district we had to access the main road, access the other main road and then access the freeway. On the second main road is a sign pointing to the National Museum of Funeral History. I've always wanted to go to that museum. I didn't mention it to him because, well, I'm trying to keep the weird at bay until I'm sure he doesn't scare easy.

He asked if I wanted to go to that one. I was so happy inside that I died a little.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I learned multiple things. First of all, going to a funeral museum with someone that doesn't think it's weird that you want to go to a funeral museum may not be the best feeling in the world but it's close. Second, they use black horses in funeral processions for males and white horses for females. The fact that white horses are rare and cost more to rent makes funerals for women cost a good deal more. Third, people do strange things to coffins.

There was also an exhibit on death in various cultures and I snapped this picture at the one for Mexico. Wouldn't it be creepy to wake up and see that standing in your window? I've officially cemented my Halloween plans.

We went to lunch and started talking. As stated before we can talk for hours. We made a firm decision to cut off the conversation early and go museum hopping.

Then we went to the Houston Center for Contemporary Craft. I insulted his family. He took it well. Afterwards we went a full block away to see the Lawndale Art Center. We had an interesting conversation regarding one of the exhibits entitled "Me, Mine and Not Yours." It was about a couple who, being a little tired of each other after a hard day's work, stop being polite about their desire for alone time. It was set up as three areas in one exhibit. Each area had a separate art formation and then a TV playing a silent movie.

First area: Guy watching TV. Woman walks in and starts talking. He turns up the televison.

Second area: Woman drinking tea. Guy walks in and starts talking. She makes a little wall between them out of things she finds in her direct vicinity.

Third area: Woman reading on couch. Guy walks in and sits on different couch in room. She makes a little fort and continues reading.

It was cute. Our debate was over whose fault it was. I was like, "She was getting progressively angrier the entire time and then he came in and sat down purely to make her mad!" and he was like, "Okay, well, I've done that before." The entire conversation took twenty or so minutes though. That was just my victory moment.

He did promise to never bother me while I was reading. That's an important promise right there.

Afterwards we went to the Contemporary Arts Museum, not to be confused with the Center for Contemporary Craft. There was an exhibit there about being black. I flippantly explained most of what was going on to him because I totally got it the moment I walked in. He half-jokingly said, "I feel a little white guilt right now." so I pointed out that he's Asian and has also been oppressed also so there's no need to feel bad.

We went to the Half Price Bookstore. I warned him that he wasn't prepared to see me in a bookstore. I get a little giddy when faced with wall to wall books while being around others who are giddy when faced with wall to wall books. I picked out the best book ever and I was so ecstatically happy that he noted how happy I was and said he wished he had something that made him that happy.

This isn't the first time I've had a conversation about being happy over little random things with someone else. I honestly thought that everyone had strange little things in their day that increase their happiness rating by 300%. Apparently not.

I was phenomenally happy. The process of finding and reading that book took me a place so full of happiness and joy that my entire being quieted down and, for several moments, I could do nothing but just sit there and be content.

Afterwards we went to dinner. And talked. A lot. Then we went to his place to watch Run Fatboy Run.It was the only Simon Pegg movie neither of us had seen so he Netflixed it and we watched it together.

And for my next entry.. I'll analyze this happiness that apparently only I can feel and not bring him up more than once.