I am on four hours of sleep.....I think I got that many, anyway. I have a final on Friday and two projects and an assignment to complete in the next 8 hours. Summer school is a bitch.
I do have enough time available to say how happy I am that DOMA has been ruled to be the bunch of bullshit that it is. Next on the chopping block will be prop 8 and then all of the religious, zealot, weirdo Tea Partiers can begin their whining about how the country is being stolen by fair minded and compassionate people, who understand that to be successful, everyone doesn't have to be just like them.
I won't get into this now, but I'll just say that the super white-bread, god n' guns, anti-everything-not-like-them fella does not a patriot make. I'd be really, super, extra, double happy to see 'Merica just go away. You people are fucking morons.
26 June, 2013
16 June, 2013
reliving
Aaaahhh psychosis.
If you've ever been on the receiving end of it, it's quite a(n unpleasant) ride. Two things happened recently....well two things relevant to this topic, anyway, and both made me revisit an extended brush I had with psychosis. Super fun. Can I just point out real quick that I have sooooo much more fun writing (and I type faster) when I have a good buzz going? Note to self.
Anyway, the two things were as follows. First, I reconnected, randomly, with a friend I knew from the dark time of an old, very awful relationship. The friend and I actually met as a result of that relationship and it was a great big clusterfuck of ridiculousness, so we stopped corresponding out of exhaustion from all of the bullshit. Now however, it's great to reconnect with a very kind and genuine person whom I am happy to know. Way to us for not being brought down. Huzzah.
Second, having recently moved house yet again, today I was going through some old stuff that had been shoved in a box for a long time and forgotten about. In said box, I found an old notebook. A tiny little 3x3 pad that had been given to my ex at some point and in which he took a bunch of random notes. There were a few contact numbers in there, his social security number (which I have ever so graciously destroyed, despite wanting to cause trouble), and a bunch of notes for his "writing".
The word writing is in quotation marks there, because it's faster than saying well-worded-yet-unbelievably-angry-and-deluded-self-discourse. There was a time, you know, when I actually justified all of the self-aggrandizing, everyone-hating nonsense. I actually tried to offer myself up as a buffer to the world for this socially inept, asshole. In contrast with my current world, it cracks me up how much energy I wasted.
I offer a few highlights:
**"Ratted out (tim)". This was probably in response to something completely rude and inappropriate that ex did, said, or conspired on, making him the actual asshole, of course. Darn you, Tim, for "ratting" though. This was among the milder of the 'notes'.
**"I should just spit on you. This place (restaurant redacted) sucks". My guess here is that the portion sizes at said restaurant were reasonable and they probably had a dress code beyond the standard fat fuck lacrosse shorts and stanky t-shirt, which invariably pissed him off.
**"26 year old drug dealer". This was noted with a 9 digit number that I assume was a social security number of said fellow. What a peach he is to note all of that, although he did use his "contacts" at the NYPD to run backgrounds on me and several of my friends, so perhaps I wasn't the only lucky one. I should note that he worked for the NYPD at one point, so it's safe to assume this is something along the lines of racist or corrupt bullshit.
**"You're the load your mother should have swallowed. I hate coming into the city". Isn't that lovely? What a gentle soul.
Why this was ever left in my possession I have no idea, but what a lovely little reminder of some very sound decisions I've made and a good laugh. Wouldn't it be amazing if the color of peoples' faces reflected their insides? I think his face would be a fantastically unpalatable purple-green-red-grey hue, like if you took all of those colors and tried to somehow blend them together in a pretty little puke.
Way to go EFS for providing the notebook, though. Well done.
If you've ever been on the receiving end of it, it's quite a(n unpleasant) ride. Two things happened recently....well two things relevant to this topic, anyway, and both made me revisit an extended brush I had with psychosis. Super fun. Can I just point out real quick that I have sooooo much more fun writing (and I type faster) when I have a good buzz going? Note to self.
Anyway, the two things were as follows. First, I reconnected, randomly, with a friend I knew from the dark time of an old, very awful relationship. The friend and I actually met as a result of that relationship and it was a great big clusterfuck of ridiculousness, so we stopped corresponding out of exhaustion from all of the bullshit. Now however, it's great to reconnect with a very kind and genuine person whom I am happy to know. Way to us for not being brought down. Huzzah.
Second, having recently moved house yet again, today I was going through some old stuff that had been shoved in a box for a long time and forgotten about. In said box, I found an old notebook. A tiny little 3x3 pad that had been given to my ex at some point and in which he took a bunch of random notes. There were a few contact numbers in there, his social security number (which I have ever so graciously destroyed, despite wanting to cause trouble), and a bunch of notes for his "writing".
The word writing is in quotation marks there, because it's faster than saying well-worded-yet-unbelievably-angry-and-deluded-self-discourse. There was a time, you know, when I actually justified all of the self-aggrandizing, everyone-hating nonsense. I actually tried to offer myself up as a buffer to the world for this socially inept, asshole. In contrast with my current world, it cracks me up how much energy I wasted.
I offer a few highlights:
**"Ratted out (tim)". This was probably in response to something completely rude and inappropriate that ex did, said, or conspired on, making him the actual asshole, of course. Darn you, Tim, for "ratting" though. This was among the milder of the 'notes'.
**"I should just spit on you. This place (restaurant redacted) sucks". My guess here is that the portion sizes at said restaurant were reasonable and they probably had a dress code beyond the standard fat fuck lacrosse shorts and stanky t-shirt, which invariably pissed him off.
**"26 year old drug dealer". This was noted with a 9 digit number that I assume was a social security number of said fellow. What a peach he is to note all of that, although he did use his "contacts" at the NYPD to run backgrounds on me and several of my friends, so perhaps I wasn't the only lucky one. I should note that he worked for the NYPD at one point, so it's safe to assume this is something along the lines of racist or corrupt bullshit.
**"You're the load your mother should have swallowed. I hate coming into the city". Isn't that lovely? What a gentle soul.
Why this was ever left in my possession I have no idea, but what a lovely little reminder of some very sound decisions I've made and a good laugh. Wouldn't it be amazing if the color of peoples' faces reflected their insides? I think his face would be a fantastically unpalatable purple-green-red-grey hue, like if you took all of those colors and tried to somehow blend them together in a pretty little puke.
Way to go EFS for providing the notebook, though. Well done.
13 June, 2013
trinkets
I have no ability to produce deliverables right now, for anything not ratio-oriented. My life, at the moment, consists of reading, cleaning, suffering through various new training challenges, reading more and calculating and interpreting ratios.
I have had no original thoughts and have barely been out of the 8 walls which make up the perimeters of my apartment and the business school.
But there were the fantastic moments when a girl waltzed into class thirty minutes late, plunked down her cavernous Louis Vuitton bag, checked her Chanel watch, clicked her Prada slippers, pulled out her iPhone, then pulled out her blackberry. And then, finally after all that, she pulled out a pencil and a very small 5 x 7 notebook and looked around quizzically. She got up three or four times and on the break I heard her oh emm gee-ing about some guy. Then she left early. So that was fun.
I have had no original thoughts and have barely been out of the 8 walls which make up the perimeters of my apartment and the business school.
But there were the fantastic moments when a girl waltzed into class thirty minutes late, plunked down her cavernous Louis Vuitton bag, checked her Chanel watch, clicked her Prada slippers, pulled out her iPhone, then pulled out her blackberry. And then, finally after all that, she pulled out a pencil and a very small 5 x 7 notebook and looked around quizzically. She got up three or four times and on the break I heard her oh emm gee-ing about some guy. Then she left early. So that was fun.
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