Misanthropic Meanderings

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Location: California, United States

See the title? There you go.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Freely Given

I am sitting here, approximately 6 feet away from a stunning example of computing prowess. It is sleek, it is shiny, when I open the box it resides in, technological perfume kisses my nose. Everytime I touch it, all I see is possibility. I won't have to deal with the cost of a new machine for at least 4 years. Nothing this new and expensive has been mine before. Everytime I look at it, I feel wonder. Mind you, I don't look at it much.

Here's the thing. The bloody thing was a gift. Scott free, nothing owed, nothing implied gift. From a stranger, yet. I was alright when it seemed much more like a dare, a sort of philanthropical chicken contest. Who'd blink first, the giver or the receiver? I hate to lose and making people face up to that hideous other part of themselves that says and does not mean any good thing could be considered my hobby. I followed through to the end, honestly listing my heart's desire and growing need. By the goddess, I didn't expect to get anything.

This gift throws me. I'm too used to gifts coming with hefty price tags, both known and unknown. My mind wants to accept this has no strings attached and is simply for the joy of giving. My heart remains a tiny, poisoned wound. All I can think about are the consequences of gifts. If only I wasn't raised to understand everything as a quid pro quo, unless you do the gifting. I can't even touch this thing without wondering what the outcome will be. I can be very generous, but I can't accept in good grace. Not very open-minded of me. I'll have to get over it. I needed this gift.

Friday, August 18, 2006

House Hunters

What is home? Where is it? I'm plagued by desires for that elusive state called "home". Right now I share with my ex. This is the person that used to be "home" to me. We still have closeness but I ache for my own space. That's not likely to happen for, er, an eon or so. I wonder if when I go to my grave, I'll have to share a coffin.

Since I'd like to be at peace with this situation, I don't talk about how I feel. What's the point when nothing is going to change? My feelings get expressed in weird ways, though. I'm addicted to House Hunters on HGTV. I watch people select a house. My prognistication skills are put to the test trying to figure out which one will be the chosen one. All I see is me wandering some tacky hallway, entering a room covered in dowdy carpet, asking "is there wood floors under this?" I read house & land sales publications voraciously and daydream about what my own little piece of the world could look like. Little 3d floor plans litter my computer and once in a while, I pick up a magazine of floor plans. My bookshelves have tomes on sustainability, eco-housing and homemade everything.

I'm all set. If only I had the house to go with it.

Friday, August 11, 2006

Fur Politics

This is my hair. For most of my life, my hair has generated controversy simply by sitting on top of my head. I was once inspected by neighbor children, who pronounced me as having "good hair" due to the wide, soft curls at my nape, as opposed to tight, firm curls. I've been derided for my predilection for unnatural colours like green & purple or blond. Hairdressers tunred me down because it was deemed too thick and hard to work with, until the one hairdresser who would take me on showed them my hair was just fine. My hair is curly when it dries, straight if I brush it, is fine in all weather and needs a good moisturing conditioner. The odd red and brown striping is just, my hair.

Comments like "good hair" or "bad hair" confuse me. Hair just is. If you cut it, it grows back. If it doesn't, there are wigs. None of it makes any sense. Why does the black community do it? I don't know. Why does any community craft artificial structures to segregate and demoralize members? Don't we have enough to deal with? No matter how much a group is discriminated against, they will find a way to pick on each other. It must be human nature. Can't wait until we grow out of it.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Flawed Vessels

Here I am again, unwell again. The body has moved beyond what the mind can control. Pain is an amazing process, designed to do one simple thing. Stop doing the thing you are doing that is making this awful sensation. When the pain is internal and invisible, you're mostly hoping to get through it til the end. Nothing, and I do include any mental techniques, can stave off pain. Breathing, thinking about something else, that works when the pain is over reasonably quickly. If it takes a while, say 48 to 36 hours of constant waves of nauseating pain, you're rather fucked. Thank the gods for western medicine. At least if you have a prescription of highly narcotic substances in the medicine chest. Which I do not.

I know what I can do about this and it involves another trip to the doctor. Maybe multiple trips, another visit to a hospital, perhaps even more lovely needles in hands (yes, a 3 inch IV needle in the back of your hand. 3x.), a perfectly poorly crafted, humiliating, unflattering, backless gown, and, oooh-surgical panties! I can meet my doctor's team again, still anonymous behind their masks and maybe this time I can have a lollipop as I shiver for hours trying to overcome my reactions to sedation. But, the excruciating pain that drops me to my knees for a few days every so often will be over. An offending organ will be removed, taking with it all the holistic supplements, nutritional plans and exercise routines designed to change it's malfunction back to function. I'll be free.

I don't know what to do with this freedom. The devil I know is one I've lived with for ages. Let me be perfectly clear. I don't want things to remain the same. Change is also not terrifying, I'd welcome it. The detail I've left out is this, the original problem was much more livable than the current state. The only reason it has gotten worse, is that time and again I followed a doctor's recommendation. A small flaw has developed into a major fault, with much medical oversight and secondguessing. Let's not forget the heaping doses of 20/20 hindsight. Part of me looks towards a pain-free future, the other wonders if I'm getting the lady or the tiger.

Never fail to appreciate how good it is to have a body that works the way it should. It's funny how often the 1 in a million case of a problem is you.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

High Standards

Curious. It seems my ethics are going to cost me a few friends by the end of the summer. When did striving for a better self become an obstacle? I don't believe in an eye for an eye. I don't believe in doing unto others what they have done to me. I want to be a better person than whatever impulses drive me. Isn't it good to not do the same damn thing to others that hurt you? For some, the fact that you have a different moral standard-let's just say it-try to live to a higher standard, separates you. Maybe, and this is only a guess, they wonder if you're comparing them, if you find fault with them. They judge themselves for you, then reject you for the rejection they think is coming.

What's wrong with striving for nobility? The world could use a few more people who understand that word, who desire it far, far more than power or wealth. You see, I love a hero. I love idealism that's personal because you can change your heart faster than you can change the world. I was an Aragorn girl-not the movie version either, the book all the way. Any man who knew his destiny and could devote over 70 years to restoring something that never, ever looked like it could actually return, is my kind of man. Knowing lore and action, sword and lyre, Aragorn was a this perfected humanity. Even in the one most common flaw, mortality, he was perfect, going willingly with a sense of completion. I don't need physical beauty, the world has enough and to spare of that fleeting sensation. I want that character, that purest soul possible, I want the hero.

The night I finally moved to my current place, there was a terrible car accident at the corner of my street. I, my roommate and our two friends witnessed it from my balcony. It was awful. Before anybody else could move, my friends dashed from the balcony, running towards the cars to check on those inside. They didn't think about themselves, stay put to gab about after dialing 911, they ran to trouble to help. I couldn't have loved them more at that time. Amazing and selfless. Why not be the hero?