Problematic

I am- as ever- in my own desperation- obsessing over Sufjan Stevens. Neurograd and I discussed, in a span of texts that hardly qualify as discussion, our mutual affection...except that he kept referring to him as "they" as though he were a band...and let the typo of Surfjan Stevens slip through which I found to be an amazing concept. And I truly hope there is somewhere out there a weird Beach Boys surf-rock style cover band playing Sufjan Stevens music. This error was further improved upon when I told him this and he said he read "Beastie Boys" in my text at first and was truly confused. And that, a Beastie Boys surf-rock Sufjan Stevens cover band would be truly confusing and completely magical. I want to live in that world. Age of Adz can be so discordant anyway. It has occurred to me that I will likely never meet my hero. Or even get close. I read this article  as I decided to look into the religious undertones, or regulartones, of Sufjan's music because I

It's an anthem. I realized that I have like 6 posts that I started at various points that I no longer have the personality to finish. Like, they're from weeks to months ago and I'm not that person. I don't know who that person was- or who this person is- but I know they're not entirely the same. Not the same enough to know what one another was thinking that's for sure. Last weekend I drunkenly unraveled floss and made a little nest in Ryan's bathroom. To what end? Last weekend me is the only one who knew and she has died with that secret. Took it straight down. I am not entirely convinced that Issa didn't do it and blame me because I'm the usual suspect...but like, not in a gross Kevin Spacey way. Although, I did spend some of the evening sexually harassing Ryan. Issa is old hat. We've kissed performatively after t.A.T.u (All The Things She Said was a karaoke staple) - but...why is it spelled that way? Sometimes when I yawn really big I s

September- Three episodes in, I still feel like I have not depicted Robert in the appropriate light. Probably because I mentioned he sucked in bed, but that was factual and not his fault entirely. Learning how to read people takes experience. I feel like the fact that I'm still hung-up on expressing this non-relationship and trying to determine why Bastien pulled away indicates I'm not too different from him and his obsession with his month long girl. I'm suddenly very sleepy. This is not unexpected. I probably slept an hour and a half. A lot of things are fractured lately. Specifically by half. October- Today I am sitting contemplating what is sure to be a terrible meeting with what is sure to be a terrible person. Group projects are a nightmare. And, having worked in several offices, I feel uniquely a nightmare. There's people to intervene in an office. There's people to delegate. Not everyone is meant to be a leader, and not everyone knows how- it's

Originally- Awkward Conversations and Sliding Doors were going to be two separate posts. I now realize I should have named the post that, it would have made more sense...but there's no going back. The internet is forever. Or until the nuclear fallout...whichever comes first I guess. Awkward Conversations was actually going to be about, I suppose, 5 different guys I was talking to at the same time? One of whom I completely forgot about, and feel pretty guilty for that. Only two were actually mentioned: Robert and Bastien. The other two: Emre and Ardeshir (Arde) were unfortunately not as prominent characters by the time I finished the post. Time seems to be moving in a break-up pace, and there's no accounting for when anything is occurring and what will be relevant anymore. There's now a new batch, of which only one really stands out: Oliver, who is a nice little IT guy and very talkative and perhaps the only guy I've ever thought looks better without glasses. I should

I have learned some things, and there are some things I am still trying to figure out. I have learned I cannot take my anti-anxiety medication right after taking my anti-psychotics because it makes me too sleepy. I have also learned that if I take my anxiety medication in a situation I will eventually become comfortable in and drink I will get very sleepy. I have also learned that I should perhaps not disclose being bipolar in early conversations with guys. I should probably not act bipolar in early conversations with guys, either...but it's not like you can catch it. I am still trying to figure out how to stay awake after taking my anti-psychotics. I do like saying anti-psychotics. Even though, I feel in the grand scheme of things, I am not particularly psychotic. Perhaps a little paranoid. Maybe delusional. I am not out there stripping, grabbing people, licking things and talking obsessively about the marmots coming for your wires (because we are all actually cyborgs)...even if t

Ok... Some context to yesterday's bitter proposition that everyone be a little more suicidal. First, obviously, but perhaps not obviously, general feelings of helplessness or unwavering sadness suck and I do not want anyone to experience them. I also don't mean to trigger anyone. Or help feed into a cycle of self-harm. I wouldn't go so far as to say I don't condone self-harm, because that feels judge-y...but I'm not advocating for it as a positive coping mechanism. The relief is pretty temporary, and then, at least for me, it kind of creates a new source of anxiety. While things are all fresh and red, even through the healing process, my body is a curious thing that I see from a distance. It's fascinating. Maybe because something that was wrong is fixing itself? I can't really describe it better than a sense of relief to be outside of myself somehow. And I write about it probably to work through why I do it...like examining the process might make it ea

I feel so acutely my personal responsibility. Then I shirk it. I spend a lot of my time arguing that chance is a much bigger factor in people's lives than personal responsibility. People can do everything right, never smoke and still get lung cancer. People can do everything right and still just end up in the right place at the wrong time. People can do everything wrong and succeed. Down to the start and the only thing I took away from the Biology class I narrowly succeeded in- Darwinism is often misrepresented. DNA is the greatest game of roulette from which there are never winners. You're going to have some protein fuck up something, whether that develops into a perceptible hindrance is all chance. You could also get something that makes life easier for you, but that doesn't mean, down to the essence of what is survivable about you, there is nothing wrong with you. And that's fine. That's perfect and an equalizing concept. Humanity, unlike all other forms of lif

I like to think that there are few people who are truly malicious. In a general sense, I think it's probably better for everyone if bad things are just a mixture of woefully careless behaviour and passion. The intent is seldom there to do harm. At least, perhaps, consistently? I did a little reading for a law school event that was about intent- and the brush of legal intent is a large one. It is reasonable that we would want a wider stroke to work with, because criminality can be so nuanced. Pain is so personal. If intent were terribly difficult to trace then the legal system would probably be even more uneven in its distribution of justice. As individuals, outside and around this we can read further into the intent. That's probably how things should work through- a path that narrows toward empathy and rehabilitation. So, it is my belief that there are not as many people in the world who truly do things with the sole purpose of amusing themselves as all the dating profiles

I was going to complain about talking to people on Bumble BFF and it's arguably worse to find yourself unable to carry on a dialogue with someone who is not trying to fuck you, but my air- conditioner is not working...so, being in Texas, specifically Houston, in the summer...this is obviously all I can think about. I'm going to die here. This swamp is slowly creeping into my house through the cracks in the windows and the doors. This place is a hell-hole. I take back making any attempts at pretending this is a livable environment. This is the cusp of global warming, people. We're going to have to start making the Dakotas work, and you can blame your parents and grandparents for not giving a shit and forcing us all back to Iowa. My brain is literally melting. It will soon resemble the swamp. I need to move to Chicago. I can buy thicker blankets, I can't buy less sun. I could shoot it down though. I don't know if anyone has ever considered that as our answer to