…I hereby close this blog.
It’s been a long time coming.
I’d rather kill it now than continue to watch die a slow, lonely, painful death.
I may pick up a bloggy-type thing again, eventually.
(In fact, I’m sure I will; I can never keep shut up for very long.)
I tried to help pay. I always do. He almost never lets me. He let me once in the entire time I’ve known him, and that was one of the first times we’d seen each other since I graduated college. (In fact that one time he not only let me pay for myself but for his beer as well.) Continue reading
Tonight on my way home from work I was charged by a raccoon.
It was in an unlit walkway between two streets and some shops (King’s Yard for those of you familiar with Yellow Springs, Ohio), and I sat the silouette of two creatures. I paused and took a step toward them, thinking them cats, which I love and always try to seduce. The one in the back I think was a cat. The one closer to me was not a cat. I saw this immediately and before I could do anything it came at me, running full speed toward my feet, making a noise like a small dog wrenching and writhing a small child.
I kind of yelled. Did I mention it was dark, and that it was a narrow footpath so I had nowhere to run and I probably would have tripped and then I would have really been in trouble? I had a baguette in my hand, not for me, I’m gluten intolerant but I was bringing it to this family I know. I swung the baguette and it whacked the raccoon in the face. It was tossed kind of behind me to the edge of the footpath, and I looked back at it assuming it would come at me again. It didn’t, so I walked quickly away.
I brought the bread to the family’s house, left them a note saying they might want to cut off the ends (I didn’t remember which end), and also that I wouldn’t be camping in their yard as I had intended because tonight I was terrified of raccoons (which also frequent their yard), and making a comment about how gluten isn’t all bad for me, it saved my life or at least my ankles.
I’ve grown to hate it when people tell me that I think too much. I don’t think there is anything inherently wrong with thinking a lot, only in that anything in extreme is probably not good for you.
But really. Of all the things ruining our society, I kind of doubt that thinking too much is one of them. On the contrary, I think that most people don’t think enough, which arguably is a lot more dangerous.
X-posted at Facebook.
Many of my ideas and desires and draws are surprisingly traditional. I don’t have a problem with it so much as I wonder why it is. The question of autonomous desire is an interesting one: Can we ever consider our desires outside the societal standards ingrained in us? I have chosen (or it has chosen me, or both) a decidedly unconventional path; many of my desires are unconventional, and I know that this is likely as much a subconscious rebellion of convention as it is my ability and willingness to think/feel/desire outside the box. Therefore, I question a “traditional” desire when I have one: Is this leftover from my conventional upbringing? Or is it natural? Is it because sometimes all this going-against-the-grain makes me tired, and I want to give in? A bit of all of the above?
I keep these “normal” desires to myself just as much as the real “freaky” ones that can scare people away. Many, if they knew of these desires, would think that I am conventional-at-heart, that the “counterculture” in me is just an act, or something. How annoying. As though having a certain set of thoughts—that doesn’t even come close to representing all my thoughts—defines me. Why, because the conventional is more legitimate? Is it more likely that I am faking the unconventional aspects of my character rather than just being incidentally conventional? What does conventional mean anymore, anyway? The age of mass media and globalization has given us so many ways to be, be they “socially acceptable” or not, can we pinpoint any set of thoughts as traditional or unconventional, without context?
If I express conventional desire and achieve it, will I be satisfied and discard my counterculture “phase,” like I’m told by so many I’ll invariably do? If I choose a totally nontraditional path, will I never have a “normal-fantasy” again? Whatever I do, will I feel as though I’ve compromised?
Looks like I’m taking a break from blogging for a while.
(Edit: There is a semi-secret blog I use for more personal things, or else random thoughts or test-posts. Contact me if you want to see it.)
I don’t like strangers. I just don’t. It’s not the individuals I don’t like, but rather strangers as a class. All these extraverts, or faux-extraverts, or whatever, I watch them together, socializing in large groups, and think about how ridiculous they look. Continue reading