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That was odd...

Holy S**t, that's a lot of bitching.

Holy S**t, that's a lot of bitching.

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Sadness, Sickness

What makes a parent unwilling to face the fact that when somebody has a change in sleep schedule, they cannot suddenly go back to what they used to have? And why does said parent get annoyed when the wee hours of the morning are now the evening for me? And that this is really the only time I have to write my thoughts out, and speak to my friends online? What, exactly, makes this fact elude her? And honestly, it's not like I'm listening to loud music, or moving around alot. I am just laying on my bed, typing away at my keyboard. The only sound you would hear is an occasional shift in position. Not loud, clomping steps. Not a television on. Nothing. Oh, sure, I have a light on, but only after she yelled at me for not having one on when at the computer. But SHE LIVES ON A SEPERATE FLOOR FROM ME! I am not prying her eyes open and shoving a flashlight in them! She just doesn't understand that If I turned my lights off and shut down my computer at 2200 like a good little boy, I'd just be laying in the dark until 0300, waiting to be tired enough to sleep, while story ideas, random thoughts, and a myriad of other things race through my wide-awake skull. *takes breath* And another thing. I cannot be online when Chuck is. He claims I take up tons of bandwidth. And, he completely ignores the fact that I am mostly visiting text-based websites, while his son, who is apparently JESUS CHRIST INCARNATE, plays MMORPGs, which are notoriously graphics-laden bandwidth hogs. But no, his son is perfect. It has to be my fault, because I am just a stepson. Which makes this time of night even more my only refuge for life on the 'net. Because I sure as hell cannot be online until around 2200. Unless, of course, I want to be yelled at about my usage of an incredibly small amount of bandwidth, which is MORE PRECIOUS THAN GOLD. And while we're on the subject of things that are precious, WHY THE FUCK CAN'T I REMEMBER TO TAKE MY MEDS DAILY??? I need the stuff, and just going two days without it makes me go into serious withdrawal. You'd think that I'd take the extra TWO FUCKING SECONDS it takes to swallow them dry, and go on with my day. But NO, I have to be a complete dumbass, and not take them. Because I know better than all of my therapists and family. Gawd, I can be such a dumbass. I just realised, this is exactly the time that I could be writing The Story of Ed, but I am too busy bitching about how horrible my life is, with all the plentiful food, steady work and fucking ROOF OVER MY HEAD! Gawd, I am such an emo bitch right now. I swore I'd never have a post like this, too. Looks like I'll have to break that promise, just like I've broken pretty much every single promise I have ever made to myself. At least I still haven't been forced to work fast food. That's a blessing. Christ. This is definitely stream of consciousness writing. I fucking hate when people don't understand why I do things the way I do. Oh, man, I'm not even gonna start on that topic. Or maybe I will. I don't know. No, it's getting slightly close to my bedtime, and I don't want to write what promises to be several pages of fun. I don't want to write about that, ever. Just too much of a topic that even I don't know about. Gawd, I fucking hae the fact that I cannot remember most of my life. All I really have are a bunch of stories I hear from family. It's almost like I'm a stranger, listening to the exploits of this strange, angry person. I guess that's why I like writing the Memoirs of Craig Retsnimde. It lets me decide how I want my life to have been, instead of hearing about a horrible monster who only finds joy in destruction. Every time I hear stories about myself, it usually highlights dumbassery, or it says that I am a violent psychopath who lives only to make other people miserable. I never hear about times where I make people smile, or do something nice. Nobody remembers those. But I suppose I should expect that, being a monster and all. Hell, I like the Story of Ed better than my life. The only thing I have going for me here is a girlfriend who loves me, and I am scared shitless that I will say or do, or not say, or not do something stupid, and fuck up all my chances with her. Christ, today we were talking about our future together, and I just could not believe anyone would ever choose to live with me. Aw, fuck. My nose is bleeding, now. Why the fuck does my nose bleed when I'm upset? It's fucking annoying, to think that the wetness on your legs is tears, but you look down to see, surprise! A pool of blood. I mean, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me? My hands and face and legs and sheets are now covered in blood, but I can't get up and do anything about it, because that would bother the rest of my family, and I am too damned considerate to even think about MY needs. CHrist. What should I bitch about now? Oh, yes. College. After failing this last semester, I constantly get this statement from EVERY FUCKING TEACHER, AND EVEN THE GUIDANCE COUNSELORS: 'Maybe college isn't for you.' You know what? FUCK YOU! If I want to spend my hard-earned money doing something that takes up my time, and gives me a pleasant alternative to just sitting at home twiddling my thumbs, then you have absolutely NO BUSINESS trying to keep me from doing that. Fucking academic probation. Also, being a full-time student lets me be on my Dad's health insurance, which means I don't have to pay UNGODLY amounts of money to get the medicines I really need to function from day to day. You know, I take THREE TIMES the recommended dosage of Zoloft? And that shit is expensive. Oh, good. I'm not bleeding anymore. Good. Don't have to worry about dying from blood loss, then. Back to the school thing. Everybody here knows that one way a bright young person rebels against inadequate challenges in school is to just fail the easy classes? I did that with Computer Science. What the fuck kind of podunk city needs to teach their college students the basics of computers? 'Now, class, the little thing that you use to move the arrow on the screen? That is called a mouse. Now, say it with me: moooooooouse. Good Job!' Fucking hate shit like that. And I doubt the guy teaching it likes it any better, so I shouldn't get my panties in a bunch about it. Christ, this is a lot of writing. And I plan to write just a little bit more. But now, I want to bitch about myself. I am, quite definitely, a whiny, pretentious, self-serving, gorram sonuvabitch. And yet, I somehow have friends. Despite my greatest effoerts, people still like me. But then again, I could go back to bein' paranoid, and think that everybody's just pretending to put up with me. Well, except for Stacie. Nobody would hang around me and do the stuff we did without genuine attraction. But that brings me to another point: Why on Earth does she like me? I ask and I ask, but the only answer I get is that I'm adorable, or cute, or some other one-word, unexplaining answer. I want Quantity! Here's the sort of response I would expect, as to why I love Stacie: She is kind. She is compassionate. No matter how shitty her day has been, she will always loan me a shoulder to cry on, whilst asking nothing in return. She has plans. She has dreams. She is intelligent, but she still lets me teach her stuff. She puts up with my ADD, and laughs at my stupid jokes. She is pure as the driven snow, and naughtier than Santa could imagine. She is the Essence of life, all sweet and bubbly. She is, in a word, perfect. Oh, she has her moments of being emo, and she has a tendency to take on more than she can handle, but she pulls through, no matter what. But, most important of all, I love her because she loves me, even with all of the shitty things I have done.

Damn. That's a lot of bitchblogging. The time now is 0230, and I need to get ready for bed, ladies and gentlemen. Comments on why I am worthy of life will be very appreciated, as I am not really feeling that good about myself. In fact, I am feeling slightly numb. But I definitely feel like I worked something out of my system, and that is always good. Good night everybody, and be safe out there in internetland.
  • Why I love you..

    You make me laugh, you make me feel like I am needed, you are there for me always ans always will be, you are wonderfully brilliant, *even if you dont think so* there's so much that you DO know, why worry about what you DONT know? And besides, who else would go worm hunting with me in the rain? You are dedicated to finding a way to get through life. Oh I'll go into more later, but right now I need to be on my way to wooooork! heh....Nick, I love you, always, don't ever doubt that.

    ~ <3 always ~
  • You have a great attitude, I like you !

    OMG, I could spend as many hours responding to this as you spent writing it. Suffice to say you are one remarkable young man. Here's the Readers Digest condensed version:

    Remember when you came home from the hospital after being born, how they didn't send a "how to be the perfect kid' manual home with you? They also didn't send the 'how to be a perfect parent' manual home with your Mom & Dad. Also, the episodes that make the biggest impression on a parent are the ones that evoke fear and frustration. The stories you refer to above are the ones that most likely are remembered because they were the ones that made your parents fear for you safety and well being and made them feel somewhat inadequate as a parent.

    Please, please tell me that you haven't really put that lovely lady up on the 'perfect' pedestal. It's cold and lonely up there and there's no room to move. It's easy to care about someone who's perfect. The real test is when you acknowledge that she has faults, gets angry, frustrated, and even selfish and you love her anyway and want share the bad times as well as the good.

    Last but not least, if I have to remember to guzzle gallons of water while building the deck, you have to remember to take your meds. It's all about making habits. (set an alarm if you must) Why is it that bad habits are so much easier to make than good ones?

    Sorry this is so long.
    • Re: You have a great attitude, I like you !

      What she said...although some folks tend to brood about the stuff that went wrong in their past (including the inevitable screwups that come with parenting) and not put enough effort into remembering the good times. Something to keep in mind.

      I can't give you any useful advice on dealing with your mom & stepdad, since I don't know him at all and your mother and I never got along all that well even before the divorce. Cultivate patience, maybe. Good luck.
    • Re: You have a great attitude, I like you !

      I really wish he would understand that I am NOT perfect. And that I dont want to be perfect...

      I have more that I would like to say, but I shall save that for yet another time and place..
  • I had tears in my eyes by the time I finished reading this. Not because of something stupid like pity. . . but, well. . . emotion is a difficult thing to describe. Which is probably why you don't always get as quantitative an answer as you'd like from Stacie about her love for you.

    . . . Anyway. Remember how I said these kinds of entries are always fun? That is because this is a positive way to release a whole lot of tumultuous, and potentially dangerous, emotions. . . some people turn to harming themselves and others when feeling so upset, but a few gems (such as you) realize that writing is much more expressive and powerful.

    I'm sorry that things with your family aren't always admirable. I assure you, if my mother wandered out of her bedroom and saw me on the computer right now she would freak out too. I only got away with it during the school year because I usually was also working on a loathsome homework assignment. Of course, our situations are different. . . Different families, different lives, different personalities. . . you know. So, I suppose all I am getting at with that is. . . although I genuinely empathize, I can't fully sympathize. I wish you the best of luck with dealing with your family in the future. . . Just remember, everything will change with the passage of time; after all, you probably won't always live with your step-father, right? Heehee.

    As for how people can possibly like you. . . Well, that is easy! :D You have a terrific outlook at life, you're intelligent, good-humored, and great with advice. You're just an all-round great asset to society. Remember that!!
  • What do you call that feeling when....

    << snip >>
    But I definitely feel like I worked something out of my system, and that is always good. Good night everybody, and be safe out there in internetland.
    << snip >>

    It's called catharsis:

    ca·thar·sis ( P ) Pronunciation Key (k-thärss)
    n. pl. ca·thar·ses (-sz)
    1) Medicine. Purgation, especially for the digestive system.
    2) A purifying or figurative cleansing of the emotions, especially pity and fear, described by Aristotle as an effect of tragic drama on its audience.
    3) A release of emotional tension, as after an overwhelming experience, that restores or refreshes the spirit.
    4) A technique used to relieve tension and anxiety by bringing repressed feelings and fears to consciousness.
    5) The therapeutic result of this process; abreaction.

    [New Latin, from Greek katharsis, from kathairein, to purge, from katharos, pure.]

    I'd say that definitions 2 through 5 pretty much sum it up. ;-)

    BTW - for all the good and bad in your recent life - you made for me my favorite birthday present this year. :-)

    I'm extremely proud that you've discovered your latent ability to write, and even more so that you were able to put your feelings into words - even if it wasn't all of them (although I'm really sorry about the pool of blood!).

    You're a person of extremes, son. For all the bad or unwise things you'd done - I'd have to say that you also show an uncommon degree of compassion and generosity - often to a fault. Your sense of fairness is also a double-edged sword. It serves you well when you deal with others, but cuts you deeply when you feel you aren't being treated well.

    I remember the good times - and I cherish them. Not because they are few or far between, but because they are special to me - and they remind me of the kind of man I see you growing into.

    Life is a journey, not a destination. We all make mistakes along the way. What is important is not that we be perfect, but that we learn from our mistakes - and resolve to better ourselves. It's even better when we can learn from other's mistakes, so we don't have to make the same ones too!

    I hope things settle out for you soon - and I look forward to seeing you this weekend.

  • I can't tell you "sorry" for everything wrong and unfair that's been happening to you. I would if it would help, but that kind of power just doesn't lay with me.

    I can, however tell you, without a doubt or any hint of hesitation, that you are worthy of living. If I had never read anything BUT this from you I would be able to tell you that because what all of your bitching has told me is that your a good guy with issues, just like most other people have issue (though your issues and the world's issues are bound to all be different) and you deal with said issues as best you can, and that is all anyone can really ask of you. This also tells me (I'm still pretending to not have read anything else of yours) that there is a creative vein in you. That makes you infinitely valuable. Imagination, creativity, the ability to express yourself without fear of what others will say, are qualities rarer than I would like (Hats off to writers and artists! I love you and wish there were more of you!).

    What I found from this though that is most important is your devotion and love (to/for Stacie). Anything as strong and good as that needs to exist for the sake of everyone living without it.
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