I'm conglomerating all of my Blogger stuff. This post was originally from early 2011.



Today I woke up at 8:30am, 1:00pm, and finally 3:30pm. I had been up late playing Words With Friends with my buddy Fiske in San Francisco. We sat up on Skype while playing, discussing my recent absolute soul-shattering heartbreak. It shouldn't have even been that horrible, I should have bounced back sooner, but at this point I think I am lucky to be feeling halfway buried in mental quicksand six weeks after the breakup. 

My ex and I were still intermittently chatting, and I had been on an upswing of hope for a few days while he lavished me with attention, only to have it crashing back down once again into accusations and silence. He had accused me one evening, while drunk, of being "absolutely koo-koo totally crazy." He isn't the first man to say this to me, not at all. And he mentioned that I had said it about myself. And yes, there is some truth to this, of course. I am different, strikingly, than most people, in not only my personality but my inability to completely function like "normals". My hyper-analytical overreactions to things that wouldn't phase someone altogether healthy tend to freak people out, and my intensity of emotion (and absolute conviction of expressing my feelings) makes me an instant target for the more stoic to brand me "crazy". 

In any case, this latest pigeonholing had really crushed me, because this man had initially struck me as the kind of person who would never judge me for who I am. We opened up to each other over time, while I was in intensive PTSD treatment, and he was not phased by my extreme pain during the beginnings of our relationship. I utterly blanched and sputtered at his description of me, his disdain. The reality of his lack of care and concern for me sunk in. It reminded me too much of what I had allowed myself to endure in the past decade, and it hurt deeply. I spat back at him, "Don't you have anything nice to say about me?", and he replied by hanging up.

The next morning, realizing that in order to have any kind of healing occur in my immediate future, I had to cut him off. He texted me something innocuous and I ignored. I went to class, and Thursdays being my long day, I didn't reply to him. He sent me another text while I was in lab, snapping "I guess you're going to ignore me today!?". I wrote him back, caving, saying I wasn't ignoring him. Why? Because I can't stand him thinking I am a shitty person.
I SHOULD have ignored him forever. He doesn't even realize the amount of pain he caused. And at this point, I'm not even certain he remembers what he said to me.

Since then it's been sporadic. That night his brand new $800 bicycle was stolen right from under his nose. I felt bad, so offered my kindnesses. He asked me to stop using terms of endearment when talking to him, to keep things baseline. That was the final straw for me. I wished him well and fled. I haven't contacted him since. He sent me an email with a link to a speed-drawing video on YouTube, to which I would normally reply. But I haven't and I can't and I won't.

Somewhere in my heart I feel I deserve all of this. I don't feel like I deserve to be happy, I don't believe I should be allowed to get better, to thrive, to succeed, because deep down inside I am unfuckinglovable, crazy, incompetent, and desperately overwhelming to the people in my life. I read these self-help blogs, I read depression literature, I read read read. I cannot act. Because inside my most secret part of my soul, I feel like I do not deserve it. I deserve to suffer.

And until I can fix that, nothing can improve, and nobody will ever love me back.

Let's visit the real, pro-America Main Street, USA

The Daily Show does it right every time.

Obama crosses racial boundaries so deeply, he converts racists

So a canvasser goes to a woman's door in Washington, Pennsylvania. Knocks. Woman answers. Knocker asks who she's planning to vote for. She isn't sure, has to ask her husband who she's voting for. Husband is off in another room watching some game. Canvasser hears him yell back, "We're votin' for the n***er!"

Woman turns back to canvasser, and says brightly and matter of factly: "We're voting for the n***er."


United we stand, divided we fall.

Fighting the Culture War in America

A cultural war is raging across our land-storming our values, assaulting our freedoms, killing our self-confidence in who we are and what we believe. (The speaker then asked those present who support Obama to raise their hand.)

I wonder how many of you are Obama supporters but chose not to raise your hand? How many of you considered revealing your conviction about a presidential candidate, but then thought better of it?

If so, you are a victim of the culture war being waged against traditional American freedom of beliefs and ideas. You have been assaulted and robbed of the courage of your convictions. Your pride in who you are and what you believe in has been ridiculed, ransacked, and plundered! It may be a war without a bullet or bloodshed, but with just as much liberty lost: You and your country are less free!

- By Charlton Heston

(Editor's note: I substituted "guns" with "Obama supporters" and "constitutional right" with "presidential candidate".)


they come in threes

Damn, bad week for creative people.


Cornell Capa 
wiki entry

Robert Rauschenberg

Harvey Korman

Rest well, the three of you contributed so much greatness to this life. I thank you.



Friday morning I was startled to consciousness by my mother banging on my door and furtively shoving a soft grey diminutive thing into my hands. She rushed off with a terse "Take care of this! I'm late for work!".

I found myself holding an unconscious Eastern Screech Owl.



i'm naked

Don't worry. It's not always going to be rambling bullshit from the crapper of my mind.

me: psst
yu: aww
me: and so it begins
yu: lo, this crazy adventure called LIFF!
me: indheed
i expect feedback
thanks pal
yu: jew got it
me: israeli appreciate it
haw haw haw
yu: HAR
Sent at 3:26 PM on Thursday

a formal introduction

What an experiment I am about to undertake. There are endless lists of things I have wanted for so long to write and publish and generally shove out of the pit of my gullet into the world. They tumble around in my head day after night while I pick up dirty dishes, blow leaves off of the brick walkway in front of my cottage, snip flowers for my table in the garden.

"What the hell am I doing here." No longer a question. An expression of frustration.

The question used to be, "Where the hell am I?". I would find myself backwards in cabs speeding (in more ways than one) over the hills of San Francisco, and I would declare my question with a loud cigarette-caked voice. Everyone would cackle and feed me answers like drops of poison, all the funnier. I never had an answer. I could be everyplace at once. In my mind, I was omnipresent. At every party, in every fight, under every table, working every job, knowing everyone. I felt like a chameleon in a camouflage of social interaction. I could be the working-class diner waitress; smacking away at a wad of gum and pulling pens from the depths of her updo. I could be the club kid; dayglo raver or dark sparkling goth. I was the punk skate betty, the surfer chick, the dead tour girl with swirling skirts and bare shoulders. I was everywhere at once.

And now, I am back exactly where I began. The place of my birth, the Capitol of Backasswardnowhereshitsville. It certainly has its charms, and is nothing America's Most Boring Towns. However, it assumes the trappings of said burgs on occasion, and far too often. There is blight, ignorance, homelessness, racism, christian extremism, boredom, methamphetamine, and alcoholism in abundance. What saves this fair ville are its art museum, galleries, excellent library, bookstores, coffee houses, beautifully restored historic architecture, elegant lakes filled with waterfoul and lotus, fabulous new movie houses, and a formal garden filled with fruit and vegetables for the taking.

So, what am I doing here? Not to worry. I am gone again in 10 days.