Bright is flirting with my puppy. This makes me really angry, and I have no idea why. I'm okay with the concept of the puppy dating random girls I'll never meet, and perfectly content with Bright doing whatever she pleases, but somehow the concept of the two of them kissing raises my hackles and extends my claws. It Shouldn't Be.
The thing is, I'm pretty sure I'd be almost equally bothered if it were the Music-girl Puppy were flirting with. Or if it were my grandfreshman. But I'm pretty sure he wouldn't flirt with his freshman, so that's okay. Not that I'm not flirting with my grandfreshman, but I swear I'm not a horrible grandfreshman molester. She's encouraging me.
In other words the High School has invaded my love life, and is causing all this bullshit that isn't quite drama, but seems drama-like enough to me. It's more stupid than drama has any right to be, and is very much reminding me why Avi is a good idea. But I am determined to have a decent relationship with Beshi and do silly normal girl things this year. It's even enjoyable. Really.
And all of this is slightly tangent, and yet still completely relevant. But not really helping me figure out why Bright and Puppy aren't allowed to make out. I don't know if Puppy is allowed to make out with anyone I've actually met, now that I think about it. He's my puppy, and, though while not around me he has complete freedom, the moment I'm involved, I want him to be non-sexual and a pillow, or curled up in my lap. It seems to be a form of jealousy, which is patently ridiculous, but only to be expected.
So I need to start paying more attention to him as an independent being in the here-and-now. Probably, I should call him something other than Puppy. And, just seeing him around Bright and acknowledging that there's a sexual aspect of their interactions that's absent from my interactions with him should help. Also, remembering that neither of them are the type to stop cuddling with me just because cuddling with each other is special.
And the High School bullshit is not fundamentally and necessarily different from other social settings. And the grandfreshman and I will never have anything I don't want us to have. And it is not necessarily immature to have romantic stuff that happens while at school. I think that's everything.
On a completely unrelated note: remind me that I can fight my emotions when I need to, and that I don't need to be anything, even unpredictable.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
Things I Don't Really Want to Do
What, me, post? No, you're just hallucinating. I've given up posting.
I've decided I wasn't really serious about wanting to be a bartender. I'm sure my parents would be pleased if I'd bothered to mention the temptation to them. They'd also be glad to hear I'm not going to be a truck driver, a street musiciam, a secreatary, a mountain climber, a migrant farm worker or a hermit. I'm not going to earn a living by decorating cakes, sewing ballgowns, or selling bouquets. Nor am I going to be serious about my sculptures. I'm not going to design buildings, study plankton, or invent spaceships, either. I don't think my parents would have minded those last three so much, but I probably would have.
Every so often, I get tempted to waste life doing meaningless work, just 'cause that's what everyone does, and I ask myself questions like "who would want to be a truck driver?" And then I answer "me" and come up with a few good reasons why spending my life driving a purple peterbuilt up and down the same highway over and over would be fun. Or I'll think, how can I do this useless thing that I enjoy as a job? And I'll come up with florist or bartender. For a while, I'll seriously want to do whatever it is, too, and then I'll realize that it's actually a really bad idea for many very logical reasons.
It's a great stress reliever to come up with an improbable thing like that to spend the rest of one's life doing, though. It makes the realistic things seem interesting, or workable by comparisson. I think that's why I decide to spend the rest of my life mixing other people's drinks or whatever. It might even be an excuse to talk to people, says the optimist within me.
I've decided I wasn't really serious about wanting to be a bartender. I'm sure my parents would be pleased if I'd bothered to mention the temptation to them. They'd also be glad to hear I'm not going to be a truck driver, a street musiciam, a secreatary, a mountain climber, a migrant farm worker or a hermit. I'm not going to earn a living by decorating cakes, sewing ballgowns, or selling bouquets. Nor am I going to be serious about my sculptures. I'm not going to design buildings, study plankton, or invent spaceships, either. I don't think my parents would have minded those last three so much, but I probably would have.
Every so often, I get tempted to waste life doing meaningless work, just 'cause that's what everyone does, and I ask myself questions like "who would want to be a truck driver?" And then I answer "me" and come up with a few good reasons why spending my life driving a purple peterbuilt up and down the same highway over and over would be fun. Or I'll think, how can I do this useless thing that I enjoy as a job? And I'll come up with florist or bartender. For a while, I'll seriously want to do whatever it is, too, and then I'll realize that it's actually a really bad idea for many very logical reasons.
It's a great stress reliever to come up with an improbable thing like that to spend the rest of one's life doing, though. It makes the realistic things seem interesting, or workable by comparisson. I think that's why I decide to spend the rest of my life mixing other people's drinks or whatever. It might even be an excuse to talk to people, says the optimist within me.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
A specific post about change, for once
I haven't posted as regularly as I was "supposed" to. I've been busy, the last couple weeks, and I don't really have time right now. I ought to be sleeping and healing, but this post needs to be written before it loses all relevance and usefulness.
Over the last, say, three weeks, I've aged another mental year or so. It's quite sudden, but sudden, rapid bursts of really obvious changes are typical for me. The actual process of changing will have been more gradual, enough so that I didn't notice it, and the full effect of said changes will also be too gradual to notice. And that phrase made no sense whatsoever. Anyway.
What I mean by mentally aging is becoming more free from oppressive thought patterns, more mentally equipped to deal with the world, and more capable of translating mental readiness into the physical world. The latest set of changes have been focused on responsibility and independence. I find myself much more capable of pretending to be an adult, and doing things that are basic to life without parents.
It's nice to be motivated to take care of my own affairs in a timely and effective fashion, if a bit strange to adjust to. And I'm really not who I was, even six months ago.
This particular change is the last step in the process that began the day I decided I was never going back to school.
Since October: I know my limits. I know how to recover from being pushed past my limits. I know how to judge the quality of my own judgement. I know who to ask to review my judgement. I know the importance of a safety net, and the maintenence thereof. I know how to be a safety net, and when to let other people use their own judgement. I know what I believe in, in terms of politics. I know, to some extent, what I want for my future. I know how to discipline myself to reach for that future. And, most importantly, I know how to cook (enough) and clean (enough) and how to convince myself to do so. Huzzah, for six painfully productive months!
Over the last, say, three weeks, I've aged another mental year or so. It's quite sudden, but sudden, rapid bursts of really obvious changes are typical for me. The actual process of changing will have been more gradual, enough so that I didn't notice it, and the full effect of said changes will also be too gradual to notice. And that phrase made no sense whatsoever. Anyway.
What I mean by mentally aging is becoming more free from oppressive thought patterns, more mentally equipped to deal with the world, and more capable of translating mental readiness into the physical world. The latest set of changes have been focused on responsibility and independence. I find myself much more capable of pretending to be an adult, and doing things that are basic to life without parents.
It's nice to be motivated to take care of my own affairs in a timely and effective fashion, if a bit strange to adjust to. And I'm really not who I was, even six months ago.
This particular change is the last step in the process that began the day I decided I was never going back to school.
Since October: I know my limits. I know how to recover from being pushed past my limits. I know how to judge the quality of my own judgement. I know who to ask to review my judgement. I know the importance of a safety net, and the maintenence thereof. I know how to be a safety net, and when to let other people use their own judgement. I know what I believe in, in terms of politics. I know, to some extent, what I want for my future. I know how to discipline myself to reach for that future. And, most importantly, I know how to cook (enough) and clean (enough) and how to convince myself to do so. Huzzah, for six painfully productive months!
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Scheduled Thoughts whatever number it is now.
Playing my flute, like writing in this blog, is something that's really really good for me, but I don't do as often as I should. Every time I spend an hour I don't have making music, I say to myself afterwards, that was amazing, and I should do it more often. But then I don't actually do it more often. The flute becomes expendable. I convince myself I can live without it, which is actually pretty ridiculous. So right now, I'm in the sweet, exhausted foggy afterglow of a nice long time spent with my flute, and I'm writing this post to remind myself that I really should practice more. I can make time. And it is so worth it.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Change
It seems everyone in the blogging world is talking about change lately, how much they're secretly afraid of it, and how much they wish they weren't. Seems like it's time I did a post amounting to much the same thing, but I can't, because I don't feel that way about change at all. Part of the point of change is that it frightens people, so I guess I am a little scared of things like leaving behind everything I know and going out into a world where I may not even have a support system, but I'm not a person who needs everything to stay familiar. To me, that's the definition of a conservative. The idea behind being politically progressive is to support change, because the world won't stay the same even if you'd like it to. Things do change and nothing can come of resisting that. It's survival of the fittest, too. If you don't adapt, you die. So I live my life with fluidity, handle the changes the world brings to me without fear, and sometimes am the origin of that change myself.
That's not to say I'm good at trying new things, but that's mostly fear of exposing myself to ridicule from other people. I'm trying to change how motivated I am by that fear, but it proves to be a slow change.
In fact, I'm more afraid of rididity than of change. If I define myself, I immediately feel the need to prove that definition inacurate by changing whatever part of myself I defined. That's part of why I started using the name Riva in person. I was tired of living under a defined personality, and it was limiting my ability to change.
Change to me is beautiful. It's miraculous and wonderous to realize that I don't have to be in the same patterns for the rest of my life, that I can escape from them with usually no more than a day's worth of thought. I wouldn't say God is change, or anything like that, but I'm certainly not as bothered by the idea of people and things changing as I see that people around me are.
That's not to say I'm good at trying new things, but that's mostly fear of exposing myself to ridicule from other people. I'm trying to change how motivated I am by that fear, but it proves to be a slow change.
In fact, I'm more afraid of rididity than of change. If I define myself, I immediately feel the need to prove that definition inacurate by changing whatever part of myself I defined. That's part of why I started using the name Riva in person. I was tired of living under a defined personality, and it was limiting my ability to change.
Change to me is beautiful. It's miraculous and wonderous to realize that I don't have to be in the same patterns for the rest of my life, that I can escape from them with usually no more than a day's worth of thought. I wouldn't say God is change, or anything like that, but I'm certainly not as bothered by the idea of people and things changing as I see that people around me are.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Scheduled Thoughts 4
If I wear all my green early this week, I can accidentally have nothing green left to wear on the 17th... eheh, right. I don't own any orange.
It's not that I support the Irish Protestants, or that I'm making any kind of judgement of who was in the right originally. I'd just like it if people knew that there were people out there who didn't wear green. I'd like it if most people knew why they were getting stupid drunk (ah, stereotypes...) and dyeing their pubic hair green. I actually met a part-Irish guy recently who thought I should wear green and get really drunk even though I told him I'm part Irish Protestant. This, incidentally, was the same guy who landed on my ankle. I'm sure he'd be pleased to know that my ankle will probably be quite green even by Saturday.
It's not that I support the Irish Protestants, or that I'm making any kind of judgement of who was in the right originally. I'd just like it if people knew that there were people out there who didn't wear green. I'd like it if most people knew why they were getting stupid drunk (ah, stereotypes...) and dyeing their pubic hair green. I actually met a part-Irish guy recently who thought I should wear green and get really drunk even though I told him I'm part Irish Protestant. This, incidentally, was the same guy who landed on my ankle. I'm sure he'd be pleased to know that my ankle will probably be quite green even by Saturday.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Scheduled Thoughts 3
I have an ankle that seems to have been pretty weakened. I've been spraining it about once a month for a while now, only lately it's been closer to every two weeks. Yesterday, a large, heavy, wrestler dropped a lot of his weight onto it suddenly. I actually took painkillers/anti-inflamitary pills for it last night, but it was still impressively swollen and painful all last night, and would not support weight this morning. I've been icing and elevating it all day, pretty much, and it's still swollen in pain. Also, the inside of it hurts, which is one of the warnings I was supposed to look for as a sign that it needs to be x-rayed.
I also bruised a rib and a cheekbone, and have many many sore muscles from lap tag, which involves a sort of wrestling (ask if you really wanna know how it's played). So why does all of this make me happy?
I think it comes down to the same reason I can't consider myself entirely female, ever. I'm fucking macho. Sad, I know. But I enjoy being in pain so I can shrug it off, pretend to ignore it and smile when it hurts because I'm not caring.
I also bruised a rib and a cheekbone, and have many many sore muscles from lap tag, which involves a sort of wrestling (ask if you really wanna know how it's played). So why does all of this make me happy?
I think it comes down to the same reason I can't consider myself entirely female, ever. I'm fucking macho. Sad, I know. But I enjoy being in pain so I can shrug it off, pretend to ignore it and smile when it hurts because I'm not caring.
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