So I've gone and ruined another relationship.
Well, I shouldn't put all of the blame on myself. My friend had quite a bit to do with the decay of the relationship, but its just easier to blame me. Plus, only one side of the story gets to be represented here. Whatever. I try to be fair in my dealing with people, but sometimes I think that is part of the problem. I don't think about my own needs. I put everyone else on a higher level than myself. Their needs, their grievances are always more important than mine. My problems and heartaches are just the result of a weak and over-active mind. Perhaps that's not the case (read its a good bet), but you'll have one heck of a time convincing the rest of me of that. Just ask my therapist. (She can't legally answer you, but the answer would be affirmative.)
I have a long history of sabotaging my relationships. It appears that I can't just have friends; I have to either love them or hate them, and when I can't love them, I must drive them away.
Maybe I need to stop trying to be a good friend. Maybe I need to stop trying to find love. Maybe I just need to chalk it up to another bad roll of the dice and move on. Oh, how I wish it were that easy.
Monica, Katie and Mari, I'm sorry.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Love
Love is an unusual thing. I assume that it is for everyone, but I don't really care about them. I'm only interested in my own experience, at least, for the moment. It is a frustrating state of mind to be in for me - it's the one thing that I desire the most, yet it is the one thing that I despise and avoid the most, as well. What does that mean exactly?
Well, as far as I can explain, it goes something like this. I don't have many interests. I don't really get along with people in general, or I don't want to have to if I can avoid it.They talk about having Christ-like love, a general and universal love for all of your fellow man. I'm not a hateful man, by any means, but I certainly do not possess this sort of love. I honestly do not believe that I can really even achieve it in any fashion. The reason is that I don't have the energy to care. I hardly have the energy (be it mental or physical, but mostly mental) to take care of myself and my own problems. There's little to nothing that anyone can really do to help me out. I assume other people are in the same boat, and leave it at that. Besides, I've tried in the past to be a friendly and helpful person. I expended a lot of my personal energy on it in several cases (that's where all my motivation went, I believe) and rarely got any sort of result that made me feel good about it to any degree. People don't want your help unless its what they think it should be - which is rarely the case. Additionally, I'm not really interested in being the kind of helper that gets thrown under the bus so someone can 'have a seed planted' and experience the necessary changes later. There is no value in uncertainty for me.
As for love in term of interests, I don't have a lot of that, either. Few things truly excite me anymore. Those things that do are things that I will never be able to achieve or that I do not have the capacity to achieve just yet - that require a lot of mundane grinding to work towards. (Yeah, I know that's the story of everybody's life, but the point still stands.) As for everything else, I just don't give a crap. If it doesn't interest me, I either just couldn't care less or I have to put a lot of effort into making it look like I'm at least mildly interested. I don't have a lot of hobbies because I just can't muster the drive to check out new things on my own. I probably won't enjoy it anyway, and then I'll have spent money and time on something pointless. It's an awful way to view the world, but it's what I'm stuck with.
I don't have a lot, if any, of those types of love. For the most part, I don't really care too much; it doesn't bother me. But the third type... That is where the trouble starts. This is the type that I simultaneously desire with my whole being and loathe immensely. Emotional love, the love for individuals, the state of being in love. Fatol'khadak I hate it.
As I've mentioned before, I met this girl. That pretty much sums up the story. I met her and almost immediately liked her once she mentioned in passing conversation that she enjoyed those corny little math posters that you may find in high school math rooms. I think they're great. I fell in love with her the moment she first hugged me, the moment I got up the nerve to stick around with her after I was done with my chemistry lab one day last spring. I didn't fully realize just how much, especially since she had mentioned that she was dating someone at the time. Nevertheless, as we hung out more, which was a lot that semester, I became so totally enthralled by this girl that, well, when she broke up with that first boyfriend and started to date another guy that she had met around the same time as she had met me, I was devastated.
Our relationship survived and I got over that hurt, particularly because she became very busy over the summer and into the current semester, so I rarely got to see her. This semester, however, things changed. Her relationship broke apart and all the repressed feelings I had flooded back to the forefront of my mind. After discussing the situation with a few people who I trusted, I decided to talk to her about them. I hoped that she would agree to go out with me, when she was ready. I wasn't expecting anything right away, of course, but I didn't want the opportunity to pass me by again like it had the previous time.
So I prepared. I wrote down all the things that were on my mind, sorted it all out into something that was ultimately a lot more coherent on paper than being spoken. If love were subject to logic, it would have been an undeniable proposition. Alas, love is not logic. I was denied, albeit in the most (frustratingly) polite and soft-handed manner possible. Her reasons were just as legitimate as mine. I hate it. Now I must somehow figure out how to recover and move on again, for this is not the first time this has happened. I still love her and I honestly hate that I do. This love, this hindrance to my ability to function at a reasonably high level, this drain that saps my energy and motivation and emotional health so efficiently... I hate it, yet I so desperately want it.
I don't know what I'm going to do. She said not to wait on her, as she does not know how long her, for lack of a better term, sabbatical will last, but I wouldn't be surprised if I end up doing just that. Waiting, because I am afraid of approaching another, afraid that I won't find someone else as wonderful, kind and caring as her. I've loved other girls before, but none have ever returned the friendship that I gave them, not to anything close to this degree, anyway. I don't have faith that there will be anything for me through the Church - every Singles ward or branch I've ever attended has either been like my current, nice but generally too old for me, or like the others, dismissive and unengaging, full of young people who display no interest in getting to know me. Besides, anyone that I would have any interest in will already be taken, as it were. That's just how it goes for me.
I feel silly complaining about this like I'm one of the several nearly thirty year old single individuals in my ward - I'm only 24 - but... It still drains on me just as much. I'm certain that I will find someone some day, but I fear that it will be a compromise against myself to stem the loneliness that I feel rather than being what I need and am looking for. Perhaps I'm not so certain, after all. I just don't know.
I hate being in love.
Well, as far as I can explain, it goes something like this. I don't have many interests. I don't really get along with people in general, or I don't want to have to if I can avoid it.They talk about having Christ-like love, a general and universal love for all of your fellow man. I'm not a hateful man, by any means, but I certainly do not possess this sort of love. I honestly do not believe that I can really even achieve it in any fashion. The reason is that I don't have the energy to care. I hardly have the energy (be it mental or physical, but mostly mental) to take care of myself and my own problems. There's little to nothing that anyone can really do to help me out. I assume other people are in the same boat, and leave it at that. Besides, I've tried in the past to be a friendly and helpful person. I expended a lot of my personal energy on it in several cases (that's where all my motivation went, I believe) and rarely got any sort of result that made me feel good about it to any degree. People don't want your help unless its what they think it should be - which is rarely the case. Additionally, I'm not really interested in being the kind of helper that gets thrown under the bus so someone can 'have a seed planted' and experience the necessary changes later. There is no value in uncertainty for me.
As for love in term of interests, I don't have a lot of that, either. Few things truly excite me anymore. Those things that do are things that I will never be able to achieve or that I do not have the capacity to achieve just yet - that require a lot of mundane grinding to work towards. (Yeah, I know that's the story of everybody's life, but the point still stands.) As for everything else, I just don't give a crap. If it doesn't interest me, I either just couldn't care less or I have to put a lot of effort into making it look like I'm at least mildly interested. I don't have a lot of hobbies because I just can't muster the drive to check out new things on my own. I probably won't enjoy it anyway, and then I'll have spent money and time on something pointless. It's an awful way to view the world, but it's what I'm stuck with.
I don't have a lot, if any, of those types of love. For the most part, I don't really care too much; it doesn't bother me. But the third type... That is where the trouble starts. This is the type that I simultaneously desire with my whole being and loathe immensely. Emotional love, the love for individuals, the state of being in love. Fatol'khadak I hate it.
As I've mentioned before, I met this girl. That pretty much sums up the story. I met her and almost immediately liked her once she mentioned in passing conversation that she enjoyed those corny little math posters that you may find in high school math rooms. I think they're great. I fell in love with her the moment she first hugged me, the moment I got up the nerve to stick around with her after I was done with my chemistry lab one day last spring. I didn't fully realize just how much, especially since she had mentioned that she was dating someone at the time. Nevertheless, as we hung out more, which was a lot that semester, I became so totally enthralled by this girl that, well, when she broke up with that first boyfriend and started to date another guy that she had met around the same time as she had met me, I was devastated.
Our relationship survived and I got over that hurt, particularly because she became very busy over the summer and into the current semester, so I rarely got to see her. This semester, however, things changed. Her relationship broke apart and all the repressed feelings I had flooded back to the forefront of my mind. After discussing the situation with a few people who I trusted, I decided to talk to her about them. I hoped that she would agree to go out with me, when she was ready. I wasn't expecting anything right away, of course, but I didn't want the opportunity to pass me by again like it had the previous time.
So I prepared. I wrote down all the things that were on my mind, sorted it all out into something that was ultimately a lot more coherent on paper than being spoken. If love were subject to logic, it would have been an undeniable proposition. Alas, love is not logic. I was denied, albeit in the most (frustratingly) polite and soft-handed manner possible. Her reasons were just as legitimate as mine. I hate it. Now I must somehow figure out how to recover and move on again, for this is not the first time this has happened. I still love her and I honestly hate that I do. This love, this hindrance to my ability to function at a reasonably high level, this drain that saps my energy and motivation and emotional health so efficiently... I hate it, yet I so desperately want it.
I don't know what I'm going to do. She said not to wait on her, as she does not know how long her, for lack of a better term, sabbatical will last, but I wouldn't be surprised if I end up doing just that. Waiting, because I am afraid of approaching another, afraid that I won't find someone else as wonderful, kind and caring as her. I've loved other girls before, but none have ever returned the friendship that I gave them, not to anything close to this degree, anyway. I don't have faith that there will be anything for me through the Church - every Singles ward or branch I've ever attended has either been like my current, nice but generally too old for me, or like the others, dismissive and unengaging, full of young people who display no interest in getting to know me. Besides, anyone that I would have any interest in will already be taken, as it were. That's just how it goes for me.
I feel silly complaining about this like I'm one of the several nearly thirty year old single individuals in my ward - I'm only 24 - but... It still drains on me just as much. I'm certain that I will find someone some day, but I fear that it will be a compromise against myself to stem the loneliness that I feel rather than being what I need and am looking for. Perhaps I'm not so certain, after all. I just don't know.
I hate being in love.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Back in Austin
So I have spent the last week back in Ohio. I left for the San Antonio airport last Thursday shortly before noon, and I arrived back at my apartment today shortly after noon. I was away for almost exactly one week. Pretty neat.
Aside from being a nice change of scenery, my little excursion was also planned around getting a few medical items dealt with, as well as allowing me to pick up my cat, Salem, and bring him back to Texas with me. Everything went smoothly, including the nearly day-long plane trip back to San Antonio. I'm actually surprised that Salem did as well as he did, considering that he spent the entire time from leaving the house in Ohio to arriving at Rory and Rachel's apartment some eleven hours later inside a small animal carrier bag thing. He is a patient animal, however, and only complained when he was being physically moved about. He was very pleased when the door was opened up for him at the end of the journey, too.
Today has been a rather uneventful one. Once I got back to my apartment, I set up the cat's box and food, sort of unpacked and finished replacing the trash bags that I had left undone when I left. Oh, and I discovered the source of a rather unpleasant fruit-like smell that I encountered upon returning, too. I initially suspected was the apple cider vinegar fly trap that I left out over the week - which, happily, had collected at least another six gnats while I was gone - but the smell persisted in strange places after I had emptied and washed the jar I was using and still after I had sprayed some air freshener around. It turns out that the too-strong, fruity smell is coming from my shirts. I blame the dryer freshener thing that my Mom is using in lieu of dryer sheets for that. The smell is both too powerful (gives me headaches anytime I catch the scent), and is considerably not a masculine one. Yes, as if I was masculine to begin with. [Strikes pose.]
I did accomplish one thing of relative (in)significance, though. I believe that I have discovered why I'm having so much trouble focusing on schoolwork and other such things requiring concentration. I realized that I spend the vast majority of my time in a semi trance-like state in an effort to not notice the passage of time as intensely as I otherwise might. I do this because I very often have absolutely nothing that I want to do. My rule of thumb is that if it involves me doing it by myself, I have no interest in it. In any case, while in this trance-like state, it is incredibly hard to actually put my brain to work. I'm basically forcing it to go into a liquid state, so of course its not going to perform very well under any sort of pressure. It is effective in making the sheer boredom of my life more manageable, but due to the length of time in which I've been doing this, it has apparently become my default mode of operation.
I've never enjoyed doing tedious and repetitive tasks in the first place, but alas, in order to master subjects like math, tedium and repetition are sort of required. I was good at it back when I was in high school, depending on the week - but I've gone several years now without having to strain my brain very hard at all for any reason. (That and a series of unfortunately stressful and dramatic social encounters have both led to my not liking to apply much effort to things in general.) Essentially, I am at a point where it's so much easier to exist in a vegetative state than to attempt actually using my brain - in which state the passage of time would be more acutely noticeable - that it is incredibly hard to be able to focus on anything, even things that I really rather enjoy doing. It's unfortunate and I'm not entirely sure what I will have to do to change it. At least I can see what the problem is, though. Well, at least I think I can, anyway.
Aside from being a nice change of scenery, my little excursion was also planned around getting a few medical items dealt with, as well as allowing me to pick up my cat, Salem, and bring him back to Texas with me. Everything went smoothly, including the nearly day-long plane trip back to San Antonio. I'm actually surprised that Salem did as well as he did, considering that he spent the entire time from leaving the house in Ohio to arriving at Rory and Rachel's apartment some eleven hours later inside a small animal carrier bag thing. He is a patient animal, however, and only complained when he was being physically moved about. He was very pleased when the door was opened up for him at the end of the journey, too.
Today has been a rather uneventful one. Once I got back to my apartment, I set up the cat's box and food, sort of unpacked and finished replacing the trash bags that I had left undone when I left. Oh, and I discovered the source of a rather unpleasant fruit-like smell that I encountered upon returning, too. I initially suspected was the apple cider vinegar fly trap that I left out over the week - which, happily, had collected at least another six gnats while I was gone - but the smell persisted in strange places after I had emptied and washed the jar I was using and still after I had sprayed some air freshener around. It turns out that the too-strong, fruity smell is coming from my shirts. I blame the dryer freshener thing that my Mom is using in lieu of dryer sheets for that. The smell is both too powerful (gives me headaches anytime I catch the scent), and is considerably not a masculine one. Yes, as if I was masculine to begin with. [Strikes pose.]
I did accomplish one thing of relative (in)significance, though. I believe that I have discovered why I'm having so much trouble focusing on schoolwork and other such things requiring concentration. I realized that I spend the vast majority of my time in a semi trance-like state in an effort to not notice the passage of time as intensely as I otherwise might. I do this because I very often have absolutely nothing that I want to do. My rule of thumb is that if it involves me doing it by myself, I have no interest in it. In any case, while in this trance-like state, it is incredibly hard to actually put my brain to work. I'm basically forcing it to go into a liquid state, so of course its not going to perform very well under any sort of pressure. It is effective in making the sheer boredom of my life more manageable, but due to the length of time in which I've been doing this, it has apparently become my default mode of operation.
I've never enjoyed doing tedious and repetitive tasks in the first place, but alas, in order to master subjects like math, tedium and repetition are sort of required. I was good at it back when I was in high school, depending on the week - but I've gone several years now without having to strain my brain very hard at all for any reason. (That and a series of unfortunately stressful and dramatic social encounters have both led to my not liking to apply much effort to things in general.) Essentially, I am at a point where it's so much easier to exist in a vegetative state than to attempt actually using my brain - in which state the passage of time would be more acutely noticeable - that it is incredibly hard to be able to focus on anything, even things that I really rather enjoy doing. It's unfortunate and I'm not entirely sure what I will have to do to change it. At least I can see what the problem is, though. Well, at least I think I can, anyway.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Altered Reality
I'm having a minor crisis in my brain. Well, I've been having this crisis, to varying degrees, for years now, but I've fallen back into it rather abruptly and unexpectedly as of late.
I'm back to the unhappy, unmotivated existence that has plagued my development for who knows how long. The past three days have been spent at home, usually in the dark, doing little to nothing. It sounds fantastic, I know, but I hate it. I hate every second of it. And for some reason, I have this idea that by coming on here and writing about it, I will somehow manage to get something accomplished. Maybe even fix the problem. I dunno, maybe I have this idea that someone will read it and suddenly feel so moved for me that they spontaneously transform into my savior or something.
I want to whine and complain about how unhappy I am and how difficult things are for me. I want to lament the fact that I have so few friends and that those that I do have are rarely the caliber that I feel so dependent on or that they just don't have the time to spend doting over me as much as I might like. I want to bemoan this depressing and pointless cycle that I have to go through over and over again.
I know that technically it's not real. My brain, for whatever reason, cannot operate in a stable manner. My apparent reality is altered by chemical imbalances and minor tweaks in structure. Well, that's what I'm supposed to think, anyway, as if it would make me feel any better about it. What is one's reality other than what they experience, though? Reality is a subjective thing that cannot really be universally applied over the entire population. My reality is a dim, unhappy and broken one. One in which I cannot seem to make any true progress and one in which I can't make final decisions, either. I suppose that's a good thing in a way. I would have ended my pointless existence a while ago if I weren't so indecisive, if I weren't so afraid of making my own choices. I still think about such things to this very day. I long for silence, to be able to just float freely without having to worry, without having to think. I would probably follow through with my suicidal imaginings if it weren't for my understanding of what waits beyond this life. If I were to end my life now, I wouldn't just stop being. No, the torment, dissatisfaction and unhappiness would live on as my spirit passed from this world to the next intermediary world. Not only would I be just like I am now, but I would then have to exist forever with the knowledge that I had chosen to end my only chance to really become happy.
I suppose that it wouldn't be so bad, all things considered. I prefer structure and definitiveness. I would at least know for a fact that I would not be able to change. Maybe that would be more tolerable for me than this mortal existence in which there is always that glimmer of hope that maybe things *might* get better, that I *might* discover true happiness. Well, at this point in time, I highly doubt that I'll ever discover it. Chances are that its right in front of me, just waiting to be realized, but I just can't and won't allow myself to. It requires work and change, both being things that are difficult and painful. I've endured so much constant pain and difficulty through my meager existence so far that I just don't want to willingly put myself into even more of it. The prospect of working towards ultimate happiness reinforces some peoples' drive to reach it, but not mine. I'm lazy and I have no faith in myself anymore. I don't believe that I have what it takes to accomplish anything that I want or need to get done. I don't believe that I can find any form of happiness and just take it for what it is.
I put too much emphasis on my friends, I expect from them what I shouldn't. I take perfectly good relationships and destroy them through obsessive behavior and a lack of emotional self control. I dismiss the little things that happen because they aren't the changes I so desperately need. I am impatient and ungrateful. I can't rely on medicine to help me with my problems because I can't take a hiatus from life. Life goes on and I continue to fall farther and farther behind while we try one unsuccessful solution after another. I am a habitual failure and I don't believe that I'll ever be able to change that.
In all honesty, I just want to die and be done with it all. I won't ever be able to take my own life, but I wouldn't have any problem with just passing on in my sleep. To do so peacefully would be fantastic, but with how poorly I sleep anyway, I doubt I would even be allowed that luxury. I just want to be done. I have no purpose left that I can achieve. I won't find the happiness that has eluded me here, back home or anywhere else. I just want to be done and not have to worry about it anymore. I want my life here to be done and my intelligence wiped from existence. Maybe then, in that state of nothingness, I will finally find peace?
I'm back to the unhappy, unmotivated existence that has plagued my development for who knows how long. The past three days have been spent at home, usually in the dark, doing little to nothing. It sounds fantastic, I know, but I hate it. I hate every second of it. And for some reason, I have this idea that by coming on here and writing about it, I will somehow manage to get something accomplished. Maybe even fix the problem. I dunno, maybe I have this idea that someone will read it and suddenly feel so moved for me that they spontaneously transform into my savior or something.
I want to whine and complain about how unhappy I am and how difficult things are for me. I want to lament the fact that I have so few friends and that those that I do have are rarely the caliber that I feel so dependent on or that they just don't have the time to spend doting over me as much as I might like. I want to bemoan this depressing and pointless cycle that I have to go through over and over again.
I know that technically it's not real. My brain, for whatever reason, cannot operate in a stable manner. My apparent reality is altered by chemical imbalances and minor tweaks in structure. Well, that's what I'm supposed to think, anyway, as if it would make me feel any better about it. What is one's reality other than what they experience, though? Reality is a subjective thing that cannot really be universally applied over the entire population. My reality is a dim, unhappy and broken one. One in which I cannot seem to make any true progress and one in which I can't make final decisions, either. I suppose that's a good thing in a way. I would have ended my pointless existence a while ago if I weren't so indecisive, if I weren't so afraid of making my own choices. I still think about such things to this very day. I long for silence, to be able to just float freely without having to worry, without having to think. I would probably follow through with my suicidal imaginings if it weren't for my understanding of what waits beyond this life. If I were to end my life now, I wouldn't just stop being. No, the torment, dissatisfaction and unhappiness would live on as my spirit passed from this world to the next intermediary world. Not only would I be just like I am now, but I would then have to exist forever with the knowledge that I had chosen to end my only chance to really become happy.
I suppose that it wouldn't be so bad, all things considered. I prefer structure and definitiveness. I would at least know for a fact that I would not be able to change. Maybe that would be more tolerable for me than this mortal existence in which there is always that glimmer of hope that maybe things *might* get better, that I *might* discover true happiness. Well, at this point in time, I highly doubt that I'll ever discover it. Chances are that its right in front of me, just waiting to be realized, but I just can't and won't allow myself to. It requires work and change, both being things that are difficult and painful. I've endured so much constant pain and difficulty through my meager existence so far that I just don't want to willingly put myself into even more of it. The prospect of working towards ultimate happiness reinforces some peoples' drive to reach it, but not mine. I'm lazy and I have no faith in myself anymore. I don't believe that I have what it takes to accomplish anything that I want or need to get done. I don't believe that I can find any form of happiness and just take it for what it is.
I put too much emphasis on my friends, I expect from them what I shouldn't. I take perfectly good relationships and destroy them through obsessive behavior and a lack of emotional self control. I dismiss the little things that happen because they aren't the changes I so desperately need. I am impatient and ungrateful. I can't rely on medicine to help me with my problems because I can't take a hiatus from life. Life goes on and I continue to fall farther and farther behind while we try one unsuccessful solution after another. I am a habitual failure and I don't believe that I'll ever be able to change that.
In all honesty, I just want to die and be done with it all. I won't ever be able to take my own life, but I wouldn't have any problem with just passing on in my sleep. To do so peacefully would be fantastic, but with how poorly I sleep anyway, I doubt I would even be allowed that luxury. I just want to be done. I have no purpose left that I can achieve. I won't find the happiness that has eluded me here, back home or anywhere else. I just want to be done and not have to worry about it anymore. I want my life here to be done and my intelligence wiped from existence. Maybe then, in that state of nothingness, I will finally find peace?
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Strange Things are Afoot
Has anyone ever had the experience in which you lose the drive to do basic self maintenance things? I'm at that point for some reason, and it's really weirding me out. Some context: I hold personal hygiene to an incredibly important level in my life. I hate the feeling of grossness that comes from not taking an somewhat excessive amount of care of myself for even a short amount of time. Most of this maintenance involves taking showers, which I take at least once a day, depending on how extraordinarily hot it is in this blasted state. Now, lately I've been having this very strange sensation of drivelessness that is even creeping into my holy sanctum of personal cleanliness. The past several weeks, I've had the experience where I will be getting ready to get in the shower, and then I suddenly feel like.... Meh. I'll do it later. What the heck? Creeping me out, man.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Timing
So I've finally found it. Finally, I've discovered that thing that could very well change my life. There is only one thing that can really do that, after all, and I've put enough thought into the situation to be certain of that. There is a problem, though: It's not mine. I've tasted the effects and felt the potential for improvement, but it seems that this one is not the one, at least, not at this moment. There is a small consolation prize, however. If what I've felt has come from something that was not meant for me, the effect of that which is to be mine will be so much the greater. It's a happy thought, but only does so much to stem the frustration of the instant. It's a complicated situation that is driving me up the wall. Oh well, I suppose I'll get through it all the same. I've not killed myself from frustration yet, so it's unlikely that it will occur here, either. That's good.
If this makes no sense to you, that's okay. It is what is on my mind and it doesn't necessarily require comprehension. Even I don't fully understand it.
If this makes no sense to you, that's okay. It is what is on my mind and it doesn't necessarily require comprehension. Even I don't fully understand it.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Writing Names
So, while sitting here on Sunday morning doing absolutely nothing - my body decided to kick me out of bed after only three hours... I blame the medicine - I began re-experimenting with my 1-to-1 coding translation of the English arabic system to my own made up one. Well, that got boring pretty fast. My characters don't flow as well. A number of them look a lot more like Ancient glyphs than modern letter or letter equivalents. Once I was sufficiently bored of writing out peoples' names in my system, I began writing them out in English, too. And here is the point to this post: I have noticed that I have a very distinct way of writing various names.
My own name is always written in sub-caps and slightly italicized and sloppy, it is a slowed down version of my signature, after all. If I happen to like the person whose name I am writing or spend a good deal of time thinking about them (you all know who you are), they tend to come out neatly written, squared and centered. The rest tend to be my more typical fast and blocky text, considering most have no great meaning to me. (Yes, that does sound a little stranger than I wanted.)
I amuse myself greatly from time to time with the small random things that I notice. It's always nice when there's someone else to share it with who then can laugh at and with me about it. Like the chicken-related dinner I had last night tasting suddenly and inexplicably like corn on the cobb... That's you, Mari!! :)
One last thing, the greatest and stupidest thing I've ever said: "That's what was thinking in my head." Ah, cognitive dissonance and confusion created from lack of medicine... If it weren't for the headaches and mood swings, I'd love it. xD
My own name is always written in sub-caps and slightly italicized and sloppy, it is a slowed down version of my signature, after all. If I happen to like the person whose name I am writing or spend a good deal of time thinking about them (you all know who you are), they tend to come out neatly written, squared and centered. The rest tend to be my more typical fast and blocky text, considering most have no great meaning to me. (Yes, that does sound a little stranger than I wanted.)
I amuse myself greatly from time to time with the small random things that I notice. It's always nice when there's someone else to share it with who then can laugh at and with me about it. Like the chicken-related dinner I had last night tasting suddenly and inexplicably like corn on the cobb... That's you, Mari!! :)
One last thing, the greatest and stupidest thing I've ever said: "That's what was thinking in my head." Ah, cognitive dissonance and confusion created from lack of medicine... If it weren't for the headaches and mood swings, I'd love it. xD
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