It's been a while, hasn't it.

My old use of this blog has been transferred to this tumblr, if anyone was interested in following along.

YOU'RE GODDAMNED RIGHT I WANT A FUCKING COOKIE

So Pyro and I were talking in Steamchat about our value as offspring not being appreciated and it put things into perspective for me.

I don't mean to sound conceited but fuck, mom, in relation to how I'm being treated around here, verbally abused daily about what's going wrong in your life and every little thing I don't get right, I think it's worth mentioning that you're really lucky to have me around. I care about this family, I'm the only legal link dad has to this family since the restraining order was put into place. Who do you think convinces him to pay all this child support without it even being court-ordered, who's the one who has to meet with him to pick up the cheques, because it sure as hell isn't you.

I help out financially, as much as I can afford. I've taken over cable and internet and the monthly payments over one of your damned credit cards, on top of my own expenses. My only vices consist of a screen and a keyboard/controller, and yeah, I can spend hours in front of a computer, but what do you think I'm doing? I'm connecting with people, I'm writing, I'm learning, I'm creating. I ain't just sitting here dicking around.

You never have to worry about where I am or who I'm with or what I'm doing or if I'll be home in the morning. I don't party or 'get smashed' or smoke or do drugs and if I ever call you to pick me up (which has happened once, may I point out) it's because my train back was late I missed the last bus home.

I've got four younger siblings--two younger brothers and younger twin sisters--so seriously, good luck handling the others when they get my age because I'll be long gone by then and they're going to be raised in severely different circumstances.

Sit alone in my room with a champagne bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling white grape juice.

Finish application for student loans.

Be ignored in the mini-New Year's Party some dotcomrades were having over tinychat, laugh along with jokes I'm not in on.

Leave.

Sing along with a Coldplay live album instead.

Cry.

The bottle says non-alcoholic but I've downed half of it and I feel funny anyway.

Happy 2011.

Chatlog.

sometimes I feel like my life is one big movie and ever since I was six or seven and old enough realize what was going on around me

it sunk into that plot-low where everything bad happens and everything takes a turn for the worse

thirteen years later I'm still in that plot-low and I've given up hoping for things to get better and instead decided to wait for a laugh track or the credits to roll early

but things keep getting worse and worse and whoever wrote this fucking screenplay is one of those people who doesn't give a shit about their characters just for the sake of depression fuel

so I'm stuck here in emotional limbo until there's not a dry eye in the house

and I don't even know if the writer's a sucker for bad endings

Happiness is relative, negativity is constant.

This morning, I was bitten by a ferret.

The scratch marks and puncture wounds swelled in tiny streaks on the corner of my hand. The rest of the morning was spent continuing Christmas shopping alongside NSIW I. His self-indulgent purchase of Starcraft headphones was involved. Cheeseburgers and Coke made for an effective breakfast. My present for him came in the form of a yellow envelope containing a Simpsons birthday card that had a pop-up cutout of Homer jiggling at the end of a spring on the face of it, and a gift card to The Lego Store because I remembered him mentioning once in passing he'd wanted to buy everything they sold in there. I also remembered him mentioning once in passing the fact that he hated having his birthday on Christmas if only because people felt obligated to do more for him. I found myself wondering if remembering these things he's mentioned once in passing amongst the torrent of information constantly flooding from his mouth is thoughtful or creepy or just plain foolish of me. He's only mentioned them once. In passing.

I made it to work on time that day. I've been getting in trouble for not keeping that up lately. Clients rushed in and out of the bank in waves, scattering about for last-minute funds for last-minute gifts for last-minute people. The scratches on my hand have turned a brilliant shade of red. I keep stretching out my fingers, making the skin taut and the slight injury sting, beyond my conscious control. Why do we enjoy playing with our wounds, anyway? Is it a compulsion? A need? A morbid fascination with being in control of our own pain?

I come home to pick up a ringing phone, and there's devastating news.

I never condoned the act of crying in front of other people, but in this case I think I'm allowed to make an exception, and I continued to make that exception until I reached that strange threshold where you run out of tears and every sob is dry and dwindling to the point of complete numbness and blank stares and shadowed eyes that feel more and more swollen the higher you lift your vision along that wall in front of you.

I'm at my mother's side as she ends up in fetal positions around the house, the majority of the time spent on the floor.

"I'm losing my mother," she repeats, on linoleum, on carpet, on my shoulder, on her mattress. "I'm losing my mother."

I hold her close, bearing the heart to share her sadness, not having the heart to indicate I could say the very same thing. She doesn't need any more changes for the worse. She's slipping.

The world is blurry through these tears. I stretch the skin on the corner of my hand and all I taste is Coke.

can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me. can't sleep. professor will fail me.

gpoy

[narrated]

My old co-workers always talked about parties and high school drama and recent drug experiences. Problems were limited to troublesome boyfriends and girlfriends along with parental disagreements and how hard it was to save properly for a car. We got to wear sneakers and trade shifts and leave early if we didn't take our break.

But now I have grown-up job. The business-casual kind. The kind where everyone around me is either married or engaged or finishing school and starting their career. The kind where I'm quite literally the youngest employee here.

Suddenly, I'm the five-year-old in second grade again, running around aimlessly like a beheaded chicken doing what I'm supposed to be doing on paper while still being generally inept when it comes to basic human relations, with every conversation a ham-fisted attempt at rapport. I can't deal with people unless I make them talk about themselves.

I miss my free rentals but this place looks far better on a resume.

My days usually go somewhere along the lines of...



...so I kinda wonder how I ended up in dress slacks and dress shoes.

Oh, well. At least I still get to wear a name tag.

Oh where oh where has my little time gone

I'm afraid I'm sinking into that torrential monotony of daily working student life, where time becomes nothing more than a measure of remaining / pending daylight and its once-numerical measurement is replaced by due dates and class schedules.

The height of these past couple of days is easily Pyro and I planning out our trip to Seattle next Spring. The second-best height would be defeating the Elite Four and Gary in FireRed, finally completing that which should have been done in my childhood. These events have made me realize a couple of things.

That I seem to be trying to catch up on the childhood I've missed in the most socially-acceptable of ways. And that the only events and people and devices which make me truly happy are nowhere near me in real life.

I thought I was getting this escapism thing under control. Turns out I've just learned to intensify it in a non-life-obstructing manner.

Better than nothing. Better than the alternative.

NSIW I and I are apparently on non-speaking terms. I've been put constantly in charge of monitoring my brothers' homework sessions in spite of how much or how little sleep I have beneath my belt. Mother is more and more on edge every time I see her.

I miss writing.

I pulled one of those took-a-nap-but-actually-didn't-wake-up-until-fourteen-hours-later things

(Following post written in terms of yesterday.)

The potential beau, hereonout referred to as NSIW I, is proving himself to be a busy little bee, seeing as he's cancelled on our plans for the fourth time since we last saw each other. Rather disappointing seeing as he didn't even have the decency to cancel today. No, he simply forgot altogether.

I've nothing against his schedule, I of all people know how overwhelming being a working, full-time student in the middle of a parental divorce can be. But I simply informed him that he should be sure of his free time instead of wasting mine.

But you know what the best part about everything was?

I got my Snorlax to level 50 today.

I'm so proud of my little Lardball!

FUCK YEAH PRIORITIES

I didn't go to school today because I didn't get enough sleep during the night

I didn't get enough sleep during the night because I was up too late

I was up too late because instead of studying I wrote porn

I regret nothing

It should also be worth mentioning that on the way to work this afternoon, I nearly tripped on a baseball left abandoned in the middle of the field. Needless to say the first thing I thought was that it was a good luck charm. So I put in in my backpack.

Shut up no one saw

Crying is like masturbation

in b4 'you always end up wet' jokes

I had an Economics mid-term today. Everything was going swell until I hit the last question. Too bad the last question was worth 1/3 of the entire test.

I need to figure out what I'm doing. I have the past settled and the future planned but as for the here and now things are very...hazy. I'd always envisioned the present as nothing more than a bridge to reach a goal, yet I've realized if the foundation of the bridge isn't strong, I'll collapse before I get anywhere.

As the title implies, I find that crying is a form a relief. I don't do it because I want to, I do it because as a human being, things get pent up to the brim of tolerance, and eventually I need...release. That's how things are. That's why I have a playlist constructed solely of songs that serve as bawwww-triggers. That's why, more often than not, I can keep my emotions strictly in check when around other people. Scoot doesn't know how lucky she is not to feel anything. I'd imagine that'd be much easier than having to keep basic human compulsions and emotions under constant supervision and control.

Pyro wrote me something to make me feel better, and god knows it did the job. She says she wants to help. I don't think she understands just how having her involved in my life is helping already. I don't know where I'd be without her.