If you weren’t born rich, you probably aren’t going to wind up rich.
Discovering things is not what Christopher Columbus did.
You cannot discover something that is actively populated with it’s own systems in place.
What he did was rape, pillage and plunder. That’s really it. There were already people there utilizing the benefits of the land, so he couldn’t have possibly “discovered” them.
What he did, in fact, was give us the perfect example needed to coin a new term — “Columbusing“.
What he did was succeed as an imperialist colonizer who stumbled upon a shiny thing he really, really wanted, and he did whatever he could to make it his.
He’s a fucking fucker, is what he is.
It can hardly be called a “debate” when there is only one prepared and appropriate opponent on the stage and the other is a trained weasel on the shoulders of an Oompa Loompa speaking in tongues.
I’ve taken care of a baby jade plant, as part of my greener family, for the better part of three years, now.
She’s sick. Her leaves are curling up and turning black and falling off. Her beautiful, once-strong branches and drooping and the leaves keep going from light green to dark green and back as she struggles to survive. I’ve cut her back so far and removed so much dead or decaying material that she’s hardly recognizable. I took her out of old oil and gave her new soil.
She LOVED the old window in our old apartment. She doesn’t seem to quite love the light in any of the windows in our new apartment.
Maybe I shouldn’t feel as sad as I do about this. It’s just a plant, right? But, maybe, it’s a death nonetheless and that’s what’s getting to me.
If you’re some dude, and you’re thinking about telling me to smile, you better make sure you have a million dollars in cash that you’re about to hand over to me no questions asked — because, otherwise, I don’t know what the fuck there is for you to tell me to smile about.
When you live your life scared of almost everything, you tend to have to give a lot of apologies.
Lots of apologies sent when breaking plans. Social situations make me incredibly anxious. It could be 1 person or it could be 30, it doesn’t matter. I’m anxious. If there is free/cheap/any booze to be had, I will be having some. I might accidentally over drink just to make things manageable, rushing through my first cocktail, making awkward jokes about “social lubricants” and laughing at myself. Then maybe I drink too much and I become unmanageable. I might say some stupid things. I might embarrass myself. And then all of this new embarrassment feeds into the next time I’m in public. It cycles. Like everything.
But, also, it’s hard when you have a lot of pain and you aren’t sure if you should or shouldn’t go out on a particular day. It’s hard to know if that’s a valid reason to break existing plans. It’s hard to know if insomnia is a good reason to break plans. It’s hard to know if massive anxiety is a good reason to break plans. It’s hard to tell people the truth when you don’t know what they’ll say. It’s hard to know if what they say is the truth because you can’t read their mind.
There’s the apologies after I ignore my phone for the umpteenth time. The phone sucks. I don’t know what happened between the phone-OBSESSED years I spent as a teenager I experienced and the absolute, heart-jumping fear I experience when the phone rings, now and for the last ten years. Part of me thinks that it’s about the time that landlines became a thing of the past and suddenly people could call you anywhere you were. We’re not alone anymore, we’re being stalked every day. You don’t go to the park and leave your TV, computer, and phone at home — you bring them with you in the form of a tiny infinity box. You never left your living room and you’re going to get a sunburn. I miss when leaving the house meant no one really knew where the hell you were. Like, you told your parents what your plans were… but how would they really know?
I send a lot of apologies because I don’t respond in a timely manner to things that make me anxious even a tiny bit. A person I’m nervous about, a subject I’d rather avoid, something I’m feeling particularly sensitive about that day, or because I am in such an ugly place that I literally can’t handle any part of my adult life and spend the day cleaning the house, crying intermittently.
I feel like I might have to apologize for this entry. There are always the inevitable people with whom I attempt to share my fears with who tell me “Oh, but you don’t have to feel that way with me.” And that makes my heart speed up. That makes me clam up. I’m done sharing with this person because they clearly do not understand how this silent terror tends to operate. The anxiety grows when they message me. They must be thinking that since we had our conversation and they assured me I had nothing to worry about that I’ll pick that phone right up! No ma’am.
And maybe they aren’t thinking that, but I don’t know that. I don’t know anything other than the crushing fear of potentially embarrassing situations. I don’t know anything other than the remembered pain of past regressions against some invented and unreasonable standard I’ve placed on myself and reality.
I’ve missed weddings. That hurts so many people. I feel awful. I stay up at night thinking about things that happened a decade ago, wondering how I could have changed them, fixed them, or lived them differently. I’ve missed graduations and deaths, births and birthdays, and didn’t even initially pick up the phone when my mother called me from my dad’s cell to tell me I had to come home and we were losing him. I still don’t know exactly how I feel about that. Some things don’t feel remotely appropriate to even attempt an apology, so I just stew and feel horrible and know that I messed up and continue to feel helpless.
I apologize for apologizing so much. All the time. For everything I do, say and think. I apologize for my very existence sometimes. At least that’s what it feels like. Like, I have to apologize to the people in my life constantly for the mere fact that we are existing on this same terrestrial plane and they have to deal with me.
Already in my head I’m thinking, “I’m going to have to take this entry down,” because it’s just too embarrassing. It’s too self centered, or something like that. It’s too painful and weird. Someone is going to have something to say and they must be right, right? But that all goes back into the cyclical nature of fear and how it can affect the human mind. My human mind, specifically.
I don’t understand it when people say they like music ironically.
It doesn’t make sense. You either like something or you, really, just don’t.
Have we confused that childish, joyful laughter and smile accompanied by a skip in heart beat and a jovial surge of energy when we hear some new magical music? If we laugh at something new, does that mean we only like it ironically.
You don’t learn the lyrics and obsess over something you like ironically. You like it, dude. It literally makes you happy.
So, maybe just go on liking the shit you like and fuck what other people think.
(Listening to Weird Al. Unironically. Which I’ve decided is a real word. Also unironically.)
I’m not sure when it happened or why, I’m not even sure there was a particular catalyst that ended my prolific content assault on the internet. One day I woke up and it just felt really hard to be honest and open online.
When I first joined the internet, it was through AOL. My screen name was CandyJRT. I lived in chat rooms and quickly started seeking out social websites to join like Bolt and, later on, LiveJournal. I made friends over AOL Instant Messenger when I was 16 that lived on other other side of the country that stayed so relevant in my life that they wound up in my wedding just a few months ago. I got in all kinds of arguments on Bolt — from reproductive rights to right to die laws. At one point, getting into flame wars with strangers online was my one singular joy. I would be up all night, and wake up before the sun. Then it was Gay.com, fighting with the troll bigots that would sneak onto the site just to abuse people. I was barely sleeping. But DAMN I was writing like 5 or 6 posts a day. Forget about it when MySpace came around. THE SURVEYS.
I don’t think I can name the one thing that happened that changed my online world because I think it was a number of things.
There was, first, that inevitable growing-up time, with all of it’s associated pains. Lots of people tend to lose some of their very best friends in their early twenties. People grow in different directions, others move, goals change, loves change, life experiences happen and judgements are made and we all say a bunch of stupid shit to each other. On the other side you come out the stronger for it and surrounded, hopefully, by those that were always supportive and loving. This period of your life, however, can be made particularly strange with the invention and connection of social media. I changed LiveJournals 3 or 4 times, back then. I’ve edited privacy settings from public to private more times than I could possibly count, for phantom reasons. Then there was that whole Facebook thing that really spoiled everything that was wonderful about the internet. Suddenly parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, family friends, cousins, teachers, pastors, exes, choir directors, school administrators and everyone else was on the web that you wouldn’t necessarily let in on every aspect on your life — especially your internet life.
When I first got on the internet it was because I was a HUGE FUCKING NERD. The “cool” kids weren’t asking if you were on AIM during my freshman year of high school. The “cool” kids weren’t teaching themselves basic HTML and building geocities websites or creating custom LiveJournal layouts and pretending to by Britney Spears in their spare time. There wasn’t even a word for that, yet! Catfishing? Jesus. People looked at you like you were some kind of freak if you spent all of your spare hours staring into a screen chatting with people you’ve never met in real life. It was a safe haven for weirdos, before cyberbullying blew up. It was where I made some life long friends. I bonded with people in real life, learning how to take apart our PCs and put them back together again. A trip to Fry’s was a treat, purchasing an upgraded video card or a new monitor.
But, everything’s so easy now. Macs really changed the accessibility game and they’re still at it today. I still think there could be a swing back toward PCs, it’s just a matter of hitting on something magic. That’s what happened to Apple with the iPod, because lord knows it wasn’t the candy colored iMac that brought them back in to the mainstream. So, now, everyone calls themselves a nerd, sometimes “ironically”. Everyone is on the internet, all the time. There is no tight community, there is only now a virtual representation of the most fucked up parts of real world, concentrated on several huge, epic social networks. Bullies alongside language policing and “you shouldn’t really post that on Facebook”s and all kinds of other garbage clog the flow of information. A lot of us used to say things on the internet and DARE anyone to come for us on the subject. Now, I just don’t feel the same way about it all. Some people do. I don’t.
Like, my dad used to think that every single person I talked to on the internet was a phony. And before he passed away he was cruising his smart phone like nobody’s business. I woke up yesterday to an alert that my mother had joined Twitter.
Anyway, what I’m trying to say is I experience a lot of anxiety and fear when I sit down with the intention of writing in a public blog, now. This is especially true if it’s something that other people will have equally strong, but dissenting opinions in regards to the matter being discussed. It just so figures I would be most passionate in situations of injustice and inequality. It’s not like that gets people all fired up or anything.
I figure I better end this because those feelings are creeping up on me and I don’t want to back down. So I’m going to schedule this post and move on to something else in my day.