Christmas Contemplations

How do you be a loner? Like. How do you maintain relationships that inevitably require an amount of output that is inconvenient to yourself while also prioritising your own need for isolation and self-care (your own relationship with yourself) as Priority Number One?

When you’re a person who, nine times out of ten, prefers your own company to that of anyone else, how do you let your loved ones know that their demand for your company, attention, and emotional energy is draining you to the point of physical exhaustion and mental instability? How do you reconcile that with your own demands for attention from people whose company you do desire? How do you explain that out of all the interactions you’ve ever engaged in 90% of your mental capacity was devoted to meeting the expectations of the other party for fear of offending them or hurting their feelings or having to engage in an exhausting discussion about a basic difference in taste? (And because you’ve developed a survival mechanism that forces you to subconsciously mirror the people you spend time with and give them the reactions they want so that they’ll like you, but you know, how do you explain any survival mechanism developed from traumatic conditioning without sounding like you’re playing the victim and making excuses for yourself?) Why is it that, despite my not wanting to be around other people all the time, I still want to share exciting news with as many people as possible?

Would it be rude or in any way unreasonable to develop a manual to help users better understand my operating system? That way, whenever I meet a new person or come across a persistent misunderstanding with an old companion, I can simply direct them to the manual and they can learn what they’re doing wrong and determine what input I require for best operating experience. I just feel like this would help to clear up so many misconceptions about myself that I’ve never been able to articulate because I didn’t want to seem selfish or demanding, or hurt anybody’s feelings because I can’t make them understand that my wanting to be left alone has exactly nothing to do with them and everything to do with my own requirement for isolation and private reflection to “recharge my batteries”, as it were.

And this concludes my Christmas contemplations for the year. I’ve learned a little more about myself, gained something of an understanding regarding what I want from life, and am now faced with a new personal project in self-care and relationship management. When all I really wanted was cash and weed. Go figure.

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Fireworks

I’m living in a pretty rough area, and there are always a lot of loud, rowdy noises through the night, on any given day of the week. Tonight, being a Friday, I suppose my neighbours are feeling especially celebratory because it sounds like they’re letting off a series of fireworks. This actually happens pretty often – once on like, a Tuesday, which was kinda weird.

Now, I love fireworks more than any other thing in existence. They are my all time favourite thing of all things ever. Once, when I was about 19, I was living with my best friend, Katt, and we heard fireworks one night. I was so excited, and I ran outside to see them straight away, but we lived in a duplex and only had a small, covered courtyard out the back, so I ran down the driveway to watch them from the street. It seemed that I had been too late – I didn’t even hear any more fireworks noises – so, with a heavy heart, full of disappointment, I went back inside and that was that. The next day, however, Katt informed me that the fireworks had, in fact, been gun shots from a drive-by shooting incident. I was suddenly not so disappointed that I hadn’t seen the “fireworks”.

Ever since that incident I have never again run outside to try and see the fireworks when I hear them going off in the neighbourhood.

Journal Entry

Today has been the most ridiculous day of my entire life. I had a not-so-great night last night, but I’d gone to bed feeling optimistic that I’d get up early today and get my chores done, and be productive, and it would feel great, and I’d feel on track and capable. Instead I dragged my ass out of bed around 8:30am, got stoned, and put on the laundry. I cleaned up all of the crap my dogs have destroyed and spread across the yard over the past couple of weeks and I was feeling pretty good, despite the fact that I desperately wanted a cigarette and couldn’t have one because I’d left them at my friend’s house last night. Then, as I was hanging out the linens, my dogs – Brutus and Murder – started play-fighting, and Brutus came sprinting out the back door. Of course, Murder came barrelling behind him with zero coordination and ran into the back door. This is a common occurrence, and I always rouse on them for running in the house because Murder has no spatial awareness at all, and he crashes into everything at top speed – I don’t know how he hasn’t broken his skull yet. And just as I had always feared, Murder’s fat ass knocked the sliding, glass door off its tracks, and I watched in slow motion as the door stood for a moment, wobbled in the strong breeze, and slowly crashed forward onto the cement patio, completely shattering the top panel.

I couldn’t do anything but stand there in complete shock for a few minutes, then I finished hanging up the sheets and went to the fridge for a cider. I cleaned up the loose glass and stood the door frame back up before calling my mum and telling her about the situation. I happened to glance into my bottle at one point during our conversation and I discovered a large fruit fly had died in my drink, which was still mostly full. I continued drinking it anyway, but the more I looked at it, the more it looked like a normal fly and I just couldn’t shake that icky feeling, so I didn’t even get to finish my drink. Also, while talking to my mama I was pulling the remaining shards of glass out of the rubber seal so that they wouldn’t come loose and fall of their own accord and possibly impale one of my not-undeserving dogs. So naturally, while trying to pry free a particularly stubborn shard, my hand slides slowly down the edge, slicing open my pinky finger. It didn’t seem much deeper than a papercut, but there was quite a lot of blood, and it stung like crazy. I put a band-aid on it, because I’m a grown-up and that’s what grown-ups do, and it’s doing fine now, but I still haven’t bathed the dogs, and I really need to bath them today since we missed bath day last week and they smell like ass after a rainy week.

Ironically, I had been looking forward to spending the morning being productive, thus filling myself with inspiration to write a positive post for the first day of the NaBloPoMo challenge. In fact, just a couple of days ago I drafted a post about making a conscious effort to appreciate the positive things that happen in my life, rather than constantly cataloguing and capitalising on any slight negative. I guess I’m still working on putting that into practise, and I mean, come on, who has this many things go wrong in such a short space of time? My dogs have also destroyed a patch of carpet in the living room, which I still haven’t told the real estate about, but I don’t know how long I can go without telling them that, technically, the house doesn’t have a back door anymore. Also, I’m broke and have no way of being able to afford to fix it any time in the foreseeable future. So you can understand my succumbing to the negative and brooding over the injustice for a moment, I’m sure.

On a positive note, I have ordered a kebab feast (with my mum’s PayPal) to be delivered at 6:15 tonight. I am very much looking forward to this, I have been craving a kebab or burrito for so long. It’s been months since I had a kebab, and longer since my last burrito. I miss burritos.

Let this post stand as an example of almost everything you can expect to encounter on this blog – good intentions, inevitable sulking and self-pity, dogs ruining my life, movie-style “accidents” that would never reasonably occur in real life, food. I had hoped to come up with something much better for my first NaBloPoMo post, but I’m honestly feeling so unmotivated and disinterested now (and I’ve had some more cones and another drink), and I actually think this is a pretty fitting start to things. At least I still posted something, rather than backing out before I even start, like I do with everything else – but that’s a story for another time.