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Super Tuesday! And my head hurts. Big surprise. Cats jump out of trees. Don't touch that dial. Everybody hurts someday, eh. Fuck you, man. Good golly jeepers! Have you ever wanted to die? I don't understand my life. Joke's on you, pal. Killing in the name of! Lovers gonna love and haters gonna hate. Mass appeal... who has that? Nobody wants to know anything. Obama sucks. People voted for him--who are they? Quality matters. Robotic mannerisms in Rubio. Still trying to keep this alphabet thing going. Tomorrow I might finish it. "Underneath It All" by No Doubt. Veni vidi vici.
Gotta give up control. Can't have everything and can't make everything happen all at once, exactly when I want it to. Have to take what I can get when I can get it. I don't like this, but I have to get used to it. I'll be glad when this deadline is all over. It's causing me to freak out in unhealthy ways. Sometimes I wish I had some change in my life, but this may be spring fever and the unseasonably warm weather making me think this way. I heard "Separate Ways" on the radio. They play the darndest songs.
I have lots of things to write about, and I don't know what to write about. I can't pick one thing, and 100 words is too short to write about all the things I want to write about. I'll start off by saying that I dreamed about a man. The top two buttons of his shirt were open. For some reason, that struck me as hot. I know this is too much information, but I have no clue why it hit me so hard. It's not like I like girls and swoon over cleavage, but this must've been the equivalent.
Writing on 3/5: I was looking back into the past yesterday on a search for a phone number I had deleted from my phone and wanted to add back in. I am an indecisive person, and I aim too much to please people. This is a very bad combination, but it's what I have been given, so I guess I have to make do with it. I am sometimes so far into it that I don't know how to make myself happy, but does that matter? Making yourself happy, self-care, all that garbage, is the gospel of this age.
God says to love Him first, then to love your neighbor as yourself. Those are the first two commandments. I am under attack from the devil; I believe that. I have been tempted to go back into the wilderness from which I emerged four years ago. It is so hard to remember that it's not all about me; it's about love of God and others, not myself. I read somewhere that Satanism is really total selfishness. Worshipping of oneself. I do not know any Satanists, but that seems to be a valid assessment, again, based on what I have read.
Trying to make a valiant attempt to be happy. I don't know why I've been so unhappy and low lately. Combination of a bunch of things, probably, but I can't really put a name on any of them. The world tries to tell you one thing, faith tries to tell you another, and you get all confused. This is the way of the world. I'm trying to see ten and twenty years into my own future but not getting far with it. All I can see is death and nothing beyond that. This is the devil talking/lying to me.
It is well with my soul. That's a thing I have to repeat to myself when I am despairing. Different things work at different times. There is no one "bad mood cure-all." WordPress is such an odd site to be on. And I have such a wicked idea for a blog that I can't wait to post it, and that reminded me that I'm about to post it on the wrong day. Dang! I don't have much else to say other than that. My brother started a new job today; I hope he does well and that he likes it.
Chinese food is excellent. I don't care whether they use cat meat or whatever the cliche is; I will always be a fan of Chinese food. Sushi is also amazing (even though that's Japanese), but I know a lot of people who are afraid of it because they don't like fish to begin with, let alone raw fish. So maybe they have a California roll, where the fish is cooked. Or they use crabmeat instead of fish. I don't even know I got on this topic, but food is something that's been in my head most of the day today.
Holy multicultural crayons, Batman! They literally had multicultural crayons that were supposed to reflect the different skin tones of people all over the world. I found that kind of amusing, but there are definitely many instances where they'd come in handy.
Election: Bernie slayed in Michigan. I wish he'd get the nomination on the Democratic side, but at this rate, I just don't see that happening. Same with Marco and John Kasich; they might as well just drop out. Even if they win Florida and Ohio, respectively, I don't think they can win the nomination. Oh, well.
I just got out and voted early. I can't tell you who I voted for yet. It's a little like how you make a wish on your birthday cake candles; if you tell someone, it won't come true. Today at work was the weirdest day ever, and I'm still plagued with worries about it. Nothing better to do with my life than worry. I think I ought to go take a walk while it's still light outside. Haven't gotten around to finding a basketball court I can shoot hoops at. I really miss shooting hoops. I miss physical exercise in general.
Writing on 3/12: Yesterday was a madness. I finally got over my deadline, but I have had the same two songs stuck in my head: "Bring Me to Life" (not the Evanescence version) and "Hemorrhage" by Fuel. A little bit of "Separate Ways" (Journey) and "It Is Well" (the Kutless version). I miss music, but it's just so loud. As much as I crave the silence, I don't like all the other things that come in to fill that space. Like talk radio and my own anxious thoughts, spiraling out of control. My brain is a rabid butterfly.
My subconscious hates me. Last night I dreamed that I was picking on myself. Poking myself on the shoulder just to annoy myself and for some reason I was very small in the dream. My third-person self was tiny. And in the dream, there was a kind of ray gun that let you shrink people. I wonder if that means I want to diminish people to make myself seem larger. Like how a cat poofs up its tail when it gets freaked out. Anyway. I love my subconscious, even though sometimes I suspect she is trying to murder me.
Every time I pick up a book that rants about feedlots and factory farming, I get all depressed and wonder if I should start eating everything organic, like the folks who go to Whole Foods do. It's ridiculously expensive, but I guess if it's a choice between your health and your money, you choose your health, right? A lot of it depends on how much you eat, too. I try not to eat a lot simply because if I gorge I feel weighted down and immobile. I keep saying that maybe when I grow up, I'll do this... but I'm grown up.
Just realized I don't have Sunday school for the next three weeks. That's such a long time. I can see why we wouldn't have it for the next two weeks, but the next three? It doesn't make sense. I'm tired of being so ditzy all the time. There needs to be a pill you can take for that. But that's the easy way out. The hard way out is to try and fix it naturally, without medication. But I'm not sure ditziness can be fixed in the first place. One more day till the primary, and we find out who takes all!
So tired. It has been one exhausting Ides of March. I need to stay up a little later than usual to digest my dang food. I'm so tired that I want to close my eyes for the rest of the day. I am confident that if I were to get into bed and close my eyes, I would be gone in five seconds. But this is the most boring topic I could possibly find to talk about today. I'm just trying to get these 100 words done so I can get off the computer and do something else.
To be honest, I'm actually getting sick of and tired of writing about politics. Love is also a ludicrous topic to write about. It's true that once you get out of your twenties, it's harder to make friends, so you have to try and fit yourself into a particular group that's already established. With Facebook the only true way to keep in touch with people, I have lost all my friends. I'm not on Facebook, so I don't exist. That's fine with me. If you were going to be so snobbish, you were never my friend to begin with. Fine.
I am tired of feeling like time is getting away from me. I guess it will feel this way my whole life. Almonds are good. Everyone should eat more almonds.
Hating on WordPress right now. Why do they gotta go and make things so complicated? This picture isn't making much sense.
The reason I'm not thinking straight is because I'm hungry and I keep getting these weird spam emails from Facebook. I hate that site with an all-consuming passion and madness. Nothing that can be done about it. It exists, so I have to deal with it.
Writing on 3/19: What is truth? If all religions are equally true, then they all must be equally false? If two things contradict each other, then both cannot be true.
In other news, that vertical slash mark is my new favorite punctuation mark. I have no idea what the name of it is (and I admit that's pretty bad). I don't like how some people call a slash a shill. And I hate the word "hashtag." Hash either makes me think of weed or of that meaty stuff that you sometimes eat in the morning. Like corned beef hash.
I like getting book recommendations, but in my small library, it's rare that I can actually find the books even though they may not be that rare. I am looking to start reading something by Pynchon, even though he is way over my head. Sometimes people are so dang smart I don't even know what to think about them. I don't know if I envy them, because I sometimes feel like ignorance and stupidity are bliss. At the same time, you could be damaging yourself without really knowing what you're doing. People did that a lot back in the day.
The things that run through my brain in the dead of night are so bizarre. I remember, word for word, the coming attraction for a movie that was on a tape I had as a child. I must have watched the movie a thousand times and never fast-forwarded through the coming attractions. Yet twenty years later, that line is still in my head, repeating itself at the strangest times. It's funny how all your memories form an interconnected web and you don't even realize that they are doing it in your subconscious mind, when you're safely and soundly asleep.
Today I was having an existential crisis as I was driving home. I was thinking about the point of life. Is the point of life to reproduce? Or to produce something or leave some kind of legacy for others to discover after you're gone so that, in a sense, you live longer? But why would you want to prolong your time on a plane like Earth? Some people say that this life is hell and heaven must certainly await you afterward. I am not sure about that. Life has so much sweetness that it can't be all that bad.
I wonder if I ought to start writing poetry again. I know I should at least read poetry again, but I just don't have the time to be bothered with it. I remember a while ago, I used to read the poem of the day from some website. I think Garrison Keillor used to send them in an email. Anyway, I don't remember. I don't believe I have the experience to be a poet. I don't drink enough, I'm not insane enough, I haven't loved enough, I haven't lived enough. Maybe as the years go by, I'll write poetry again.
If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?
Well, person who wrote those lyrics, I'll tell you why. Perhaps you are so insanely in love that you realized that being with this person reminds you of the need for clarity. This person brings you enough clarity that you realize that you are not meant to be with them. You are not meant to be in love, and you are so confused that everything finally became clear in a bright instance of light from within a dream. Light that woke you up at night and forced you to see.
Mosquito bites and flea bites don't really faze me. It's tick bites that are the absolute worst. The smaller the tick, the worse its bite. Last summer, I was bitten by a tick and I got the bull's eye that supposedly means you're going to die of Lyme disease, but I didn't die, fortunately. I just itched like a son of a bitch for several days and the bite looked awful. It swelled up and itched all around the perimeter of the bite, not just the bite itself. It took a hell of a lot of will power to stop scratching.
Writing on 3/26: When I wrote in notebooks as a teenager, I used to write in "secret code" (that's now not a secret because I'm writing about it here). I wrote on every other line, then when I reached the bottom of the page I'd go back to the top and write on the lines I hadn't filled in. If you read it all the way down like normal, you'd come up with some hilarious stuff. It was a simple code, and anyone could have figured it out, but I did it to entertain myself when I was bored in class.
Holy Saturday. A day to unplug and meditate on Christ's sacrifice. And dye Easter eggs. I do plan to unplug once I get done with my Internet tasks. Then I'll write in my story, which has been badly neglected. Maybe try to plan what I'm doing for Camp NaNo. Think about something other than work, which I have a break from next week. Think about beauty and death and life and springtime and pollen and allergies and Mass and how lovely the altar looks on Good Friday when it is bare and empty. Full of hope, waiting to be full.
In my Sunday best Easter dress waiting to go to church. I had a dream I was searching for a college classroom (I have this dream very often), but I was going through this mall-like place with a ton of people everywhere. There was an Ozzy Osbourne concert going on with a ton of people who looked like my ex-boyfriend (tattoos, wearing black, dark eye makeup, that "punk-rock" attitude), and I was trying to pick him out, but I told myself, "It doesn't matter. They all look the same. I'll never find him." Kind of funny, I guess.
I really like the name Andrea for some reason. In Italy, it is basically "Andrew," which is another name I like, but in America, it's a girl's name, I guess the feminine of Andrew, like we have Joanna and Paula and Petra. (Petra was another name I really liked when I was younger; not so much anymore. I still prefer Peter for a boy name, though.) Teresa is still my number one pick for a girl name. It's not super common and it's not hard to pronounce or embarrassing. Not sure what stupid nicknames can be derived from it.
When I was younger, I used to watch Hamtaro and found it adorable. I also thought the Powerpuff Girls were cute, too. I guess there's something about bug-eyed, anime-style characters that just tugs at your heartstrings. I never cared for Samurai Jack or Invader Zim, even though everyone else seemed to think they were the bee's knees (who uses that expression anymore?).
The best part of waking up is Folger's in your cup. Holy hell, this coffee is good. It is rare when I have fresh coffee. I usually heat up what was made the day before.
I went to the eye doctor yesterday and got my pupils dilated because I am horribly nearsighted (and apparently I have some astigmatism, too), but every year, it seems like it takes forever for the dilation to go back to normal. This year, I had blurry eyes for a couple hours, so I used that time to dust my knickknacks and listen to Rush. The guy makes a whole lot more sense than Savage, but politics is still making me ill. I don't like when talk show hosts throw all their support behind one candidate and basically tell their listeners who to vote for.
I'm thinking of a story idea, but I have more ideas for how to lay out the story and present it than I do for a plot or characters. I had a fairly successful story on FictionPress a long time ago, and I'm wondering if I can reproduce its success using the same principles: very short chapters, pretty language, daily (or at least regular) updates, and cliffhangers at the end of chapters. I remember not having to edit much because the story was so short and I could remember all of the plot threads. It might be a good idea.
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