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If you want to feel really weak, I would recommend stress-induced vomiting. It's a spectacular phenomenon. Vomiting, in general, is great because it's your body's way of telling you you are full of poison. Like when you've had 5 too many shots of vodka and your body is just, "Hey, wait- dude- do you know what this is? Like, we're going to die...I gotta get this out of here" and you throw up all over the stall of a bar you can never go back to, because it was 7pm and they're definitely going to remember you.
But then you stress vomit. When someone has just been telling you that you live worse than a homeless person and you can't get a job because you physically look incapable. Your body gets the message that a bunch of little sad synapses are going off. Too many. Too fast. For too long. And then you have to leave so you can find a safe space to hide the embarrassment of needing to throw up because your feelings are hurt. I used to stress-vomit a lot when I was dating. I might not be cut out for this being around people thing.
It's funny, though. That search for a safe space to have a nervous breakdown. I guess panic triggers that flight end of the fight or flight.
So I survived the other night. I guess there wasn't anything in the other room. Or if there was it decided against coming for me.
Today is my sister's birthday. I need to get her something. It sucks being broke on the older edge of young where you should no longer be dependent on others. One of the things I miss about Austin is having money. I couldn't keep working at my last job anyway, though...so who knows if I would have had as much money when I got a new one. The world of finance pays pretty well.
I've been spending the last week and a half sleeping, watching Inuyasha and Contrapoints. As well as school-based activities, I suppose. And some work here and there. I want to focus on the Inuyasha and Contrapoints aspect, though. Well, I guess I don't want to focus on it so much as I want you to focus on it. I'm looking for a little kink-shaming because I don't know how I found myself living as this bizarre far-leftist otaku cat monster. It feels like I sleep 16 hours a day and then spend another 12 hours breezing through the almost 200 episodes of Inuyasha I should have watched as it was coming out (in 2000 when I was a teenager and it would have been age-appropriate behavior) and then staring at YouTube on my phone for 4 hours watching ContraPoints (which I wish I had found when I was a skinny 20 something so I'd have an easier time emulating it.) There was this one episode I watched recently, that made me a little uncomfortable, where she equated fascism to Islamism. That's mostly on me, though, because Islamism is actually wiki'd as like, fundamentalist/extremist- it's not just another word for being Muslim. It was the first time I had ever heard the term. So, I still kind of think it might not have been the best comparison, especially in the current political state, because there's probably a ton of ignorant people, like me, who will think initially that she might have been conflating fascism with Islam in general, but who might not look into it...and then just kind of feel justified in being a teeny bit more racist. But I guess you can't account for all misunderstandings. And in general ContraPoints is my new leftist philosophical goddess that I wish I could combine with John Oliver to create this snarky intelligentsia super-being that will teach me all about life, comedy and contouring (which I think is life at this point, thanks Drags and Kardashians)
P.S.- did you know that Intelligentsia is a brand of coffee?
That's not a real P.S.
It is really a brand of coffee though. And knowing this, and being a coffee drinker, I feel slightly more justified in my assumption that I'm better than middle America. They might be older, hotter and control the votes, but this urbanite who never reads and gets all her information in a sarcasm-based format.....I don't know where I was going with that....
Anyway, I did start doing some art things. I did this lovely watercolour of Mindy Kaling I'm pretty proud of. I did not think it was going to turn out that well. Although, now I have nothing to do with it, so I might have to just garbage it like NBC did Champions. If I had the resources maybe I could just anonymously mail some art to randos. I think I read about this secretly really prolific artist doing this...but I don't remember who that was. If you know let me know, because I will never find the right keywords to google that, I'm sure.
So, I never discussed it, because I was going to discuss it, but then the post ended up being erased because my Chromebook decided things I write when I don't have a working WiFi connection are garbage- my mom had her second surgery. Apparently there is to be a third and final one where they give her franken-boob a nipple. If it's Frankenstein's monster, it can be Frankenstein's boob, right? That reference works? Anyway- she was under for almost 8 hours a little over a month ago and it was weird and traumatic and I had things to say...but it's dead to me now. I also can't help but feel really guilty that I have so much to say about an experience that is so outside of myself. I didn't go through a really complicated surgery that ran the risk of my body rejecting my own tissue, so why do you need to know how I felt about it? Is the perspective of someone simply witnessing fragility that important? It was definitely weird to see my mother's vagina again for the first time since I was removed from it, but what does that experience teach you? That sickness is something that tends to rob one of tiny dignities and privacy. Never be unwell.
She's fine now. And I don't have to see her muff anymore.
Maybe I'll try to remember what I wanted to say that day at some point.
I'm also still in this weird unemployed low point. I've done a little bit of temping, though, so I feel more employable again and my faith is renewed that it's only a matter of time. Although, really, it's not like I have forever so it's not a terribly rousing sentiment. The anxiety is ever present, I don't know why I tried to make it seem like it's not, I'm sorry, please employ me.
Well, this has made me feel better, stable, and then worse...so I think we accomplished the cycle that we set out for today. Thank you for joining me on this journey.
But then you stress vomit. When someone has just been telling you that you live worse than a homeless person and you can't get a job because you physically look incapable. Your body gets the message that a bunch of little sad synapses are going off. Too many. Too fast. For too long. And then you have to leave so you can find a safe space to hide the embarrassment of needing to throw up because your feelings are hurt. I used to stress-vomit a lot when I was dating. I might not be cut out for this being around people thing.
It's funny, though. That search for a safe space to have a nervous breakdown. I guess panic triggers that flight end of the fight or flight.
So I survived the other night. I guess there wasn't anything in the other room. Or if there was it decided against coming for me.
Today is my sister's birthday. I need to get her something. It sucks being broke on the older edge of young where you should no longer be dependent on others. One of the things I miss about Austin is having money. I couldn't keep working at my last job anyway, though...so who knows if I would have had as much money when I got a new one. The world of finance pays pretty well.
I've been spending the last week and a half sleeping, watching Inuyasha and Contrapoints. As well as school-based activities, I suppose. And some work here and there. I want to focus on the Inuyasha and Contrapoints aspect, though. Well, I guess I don't want to focus on it so much as I want you to focus on it. I'm looking for a little kink-shaming because I don't know how I found myself living as this bizarre far-leftist otaku cat monster. It feels like I sleep 16 hours a day and then spend another 12 hours breezing through the almost 200 episodes of Inuyasha I should have watched as it was coming out (in 2000 when I was a teenager and it would have been age-appropriate behavior) and then staring at YouTube on my phone for 4 hours watching ContraPoints (which I wish I had found when I was a skinny 20 something so I'd have an easier time emulating it.) There was this one episode I watched recently, that made me a little uncomfortable, where she equated fascism to Islamism. That's mostly on me, though, because Islamism is actually wiki'd as like, fundamentalist/extremist- it's not just another word for being Muslim. It was the first time I had ever heard the term. So, I still kind of think it might not have been the best comparison, especially in the current political state, because there's probably a ton of ignorant people, like me, who will think initially that she might have been conflating fascism with Islam in general, but who might not look into it...and then just kind of feel justified in being a teeny bit more racist. But I guess you can't account for all misunderstandings. And in general ContraPoints is my new leftist philosophical goddess that I wish I could combine with John Oliver to create this snarky intelligentsia super-being that will teach me all about life, comedy and contouring (which I think is life at this point, thanks Drags and Kardashians)
P.S.- did you know that Intelligentsia is a brand of coffee?
That's not a real P.S.
It is really a brand of coffee though. And knowing this, and being a coffee drinker, I feel slightly more justified in my assumption that I'm better than middle America. They might be older, hotter and control the votes, but this urbanite who never reads and gets all her information in a sarcasm-based format.....I don't know where I was going with that....
Anyway, I did start doing some art things. I did this lovely watercolour of Mindy Kaling I'm pretty proud of. I did not think it was going to turn out that well. Although, now I have nothing to do with it, so I might have to just garbage it like NBC did Champions. If I had the resources maybe I could just anonymously mail some art to randos. I think I read about this secretly really prolific artist doing this...but I don't remember who that was. If you know let me know, because I will never find the right keywords to google that, I'm sure.
So, I never discussed it, because I was going to discuss it, but then the post ended up being erased because my Chromebook decided things I write when I don't have a working WiFi connection are garbage- my mom had her second surgery. Apparently there is to be a third and final one where they give her franken-boob a nipple. If it's Frankenstein's monster, it can be Frankenstein's boob, right? That reference works? Anyway- she was under for almost 8 hours a little over a month ago and it was weird and traumatic and I had things to say...but it's dead to me now. I also can't help but feel really guilty that I have so much to say about an experience that is so outside of myself. I didn't go through a really complicated surgery that ran the risk of my body rejecting my own tissue, so why do you need to know how I felt about it? Is the perspective of someone simply witnessing fragility that important? It was definitely weird to see my mother's vagina again for the first time since I was removed from it, but what does that experience teach you? That sickness is something that tends to rob one of tiny dignities and privacy. Never be unwell.
She's fine now. And I don't have to see her muff anymore.
Maybe I'll try to remember what I wanted to say that day at some point.
I'm also still in this weird unemployed low point. I've done a little bit of temping, though, so I feel more employable again and my faith is renewed that it's only a matter of time. Although, really, it's not like I have forever so it's not a terribly rousing sentiment. The anxiety is ever present, I don't know why I tried to make it seem like it's not, I'm sorry, please employ me.
Well, this has made me feel better, stable, and then worse...so I think we accomplished the cycle that we set out for today. Thank you for joining me on this journey.
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