My great grandmother, Mae Dora McLellan, passed away on 5/7/08; my birthday, as has been mentioned. She was 96. It’s been an emotional period sense, but for reasons that I believe aren’t so simple. Some are closely related, like talking to my Dad today and him saying he had visited with Mary and Alan Netz, Mary being his aunt, and that he figured it would be the last time he would see Alan. That’s fucked up. Many times I’ve figured I wouldn’t see someone again for a long time, but I don’t know that I’ve ever thought I would never see them again.

Mae, by Dot Tozier

Way up in Portage, where the trees grew tall,
Lived the Garrity family with two boys- that’s all.
But the last of May in the special year
A dear little, blue-eyed girl did appear.
Her hair was curly, black as a raven’s wing
And she was really just the cutest thing!
At a convent her early schooling was got—
Now she paid attention and she learned a lot.
One of the jobs in her early term
Was with a Houlton plywood firm.
The salary looked better at a Sherman mill
And Mae had the chance to fill that bill.
She hadn’t thought of marriage so soon
She’d planned for a car and a coat – raccoon!
But when Dellie saw her – right off he knew
He’d change her mind about a thing or two.
When I came to Stacyville – the 3 R’s to teach
I learned right off, she was really a “peach”.
Anything needed in the costume line
Like outfits for plays, she offered her time.
She crocheted, sewed, cooked and led the girl scouts,
Things that were needed, she figured them out.
She had two children – a girl and a boy
Who over the years have brought her much joy.
McLellan’s store was known far and wide
The dishes they gave – in homes still reside.
I can’t tell you all of the things she did
But she did a lot – what more can be said?
And now she’s leaving – we’ll miss her so much
But with letters and phones we can keep in touch!

Some dwelling hasn’t been so directly related…

Hearing that my gram died didn’t upset me emotionally too much at the time. I definitely got worn out and headed home to relax. That poem made me cry, it was written some time ago when Mae moved to Windham to be near my grandparents as she was getting old. It was read by my aunt at her funeral on Monday as well. Telling my mother about her dieing (the family is a little split up due to divorce, old habits, stubbornness) made me cry.

Reading the introduction to Success on the Step: Flying with Kenmore Air written by Bob Munro (C. Marin Faure wrote the book) made me cry. How odd, I thought. But I recalled crying in movies and other times when I get emotional. Is it empathy? How is it that implied emotions of others, however cheesy, are more felt by me than my one?

Emotions aside, I consider myself a pretty sane person. When people ask me what I want them to do, I usually tell them to do whatever they want. I’m talking about situations where I could be emotionally affected and I’m not trying to be difficult. What is the point of an action done out of sympathy if it’s not what you want to do? I think it’s a farce.

That’s a pretty grandiose statement right there, I realize. And perhaps it lacks some much needed clarification, but I think I’ll forgo that for now as it is clear in my head at least.

At the campfire last night the conversation turned to music, and books. Most of what was discussed I felt was outside of my turf and honestly I’m not real interested in forming a mental list of music and books my friends like, and therefore I should take a look at. It’s not out of any lack of respect for their opinion, it’s just that I do things as they come. If I’m looking for recommendations on a sci-fi book, classical music, or something new from the seattle hipsters paradise, I’ll ask at the time. It is, quite simply, how I work. I’ve been told in the past that I lacked a satisfactory number of opinions yet spent too much time thinking.

I went and laid down and thought about things that have been troubling me lately. The truth is that I have opinions. If someone asked me what my favorite sci-fi book was, I would have a good set of answers, or bands, or whatnot. The less time I’ve spent around a subject, quite reasonably, the less I have to say about it; but most importantly is that I don’t feel strongly about any of these things to interject my opinion.

It’s a little odd, since I’m often throwing out stories that are only related because someone said a word that happens to be a word I would use in my story, thus I tell it. Generally they’re pretty alright stories but it’s not uncommon for people to look at me and ask what the hell the story had to do with the price of rice.

How can someone who gets so torn up inside about feeling lonely and wanting emotional closeness seem to feel so little about all these other things? It may be an esteem issue all the way around, such that I just don’t think highly enough of myself and thus my opinions, to feel justified in offering them and similarly be looking for someone else’s approval. That feels a little harsh, but it’s worth considering.

The way I feel simply isn’t something controllable by me in any way. I can’t decide that I hate someone and build a new world devoid of any feelings I have related to them as a result. Feelings are a separate part of me. When it pops up, it’s like a weight in my chest holding me down. I can find no solutions really, despite knowing the things that should solve such problems.

It’s easy for me to understand how people feel and accept it, but so much harder, near impossible, to have my understand drill down to the root of my feelings and manipulate them.

I desperately want to have better tools for at least shaping and working with my emotions, but I feel under-equipped for such a battle. Worse off, I feel alone in a world full of people that on a base level still have a “get over it” or “it’s their fault” attitude towards feelings; making them utterly useless, and frankly, patronizing, to me.

I was running out of battery power and had to plug in somewhere there, I don’t think I’m quite ready to stop  writing.

I had a girlfriend once who was perhaps the only person in my life who would tell me that I’ve had lots of opportunities that others haven’t and that I shouldn’t take that for granted. I’m not sure why other people hadn’t said such things, but I can’t recall ever feeling otherwise, or feeling that other people have life so much easier than I do. I sort of act accordingly, the best I can figure, to things as they come. I assume it was some sort of, “get off your britches, you have it easy” remark. But for all of us, the problem isn’t really how easy we have it compared to someone else, it’s what to do about what constitutes the problem to us. I suppose in that context it makes a little sense if you’re coming from the “don’t worry about things that don’t need worrying” sort of point of view. But we worry for reasons I think, so thinking we’re jerks isn’t the solution so much as thinking about why we’re worrying.

I’d like to find a day sometime to convert the old loftpost database to a wordpress compatible format. I can’t image it would be all that tough, but I don’t have a lot of time anymore. When people ask me what games I play these days it’s odd to respond that I don’t. I recall Abner making some comment years ago about growing out of it, and I don’t think it’s that for me, it’s just that I’m busy with other things that perhaps weren’t as attainable in the past, because of location and the level of my maturity.

Alright, I’m getting distracted with music so it’s probably a good time to try to wind down. Hopefully today’s nap won’t keep me up all night reading.

Someone at work recently commented:

You’re pretty lucky to be having another birthday after deciding to take on a large vehicle with nothing but a little motorcycle and your body at high speed

That means that you are destined for something great.

It’s interesting that searching on the internet for emotionally inspired content doesn’t quite produce the same results as one gets on the technical bits. The idea that being around unhappy people makes you unhappy chemically is interesting, and does have a interesting tie to the quote “The cure for unhappiness is happiness.” from my last post.

I tend to not be the type of person to get worked up too much. It’s be nice to explain it as being something I’ve learned over time, but I think it’s just the way I am, that is, the way I came. I’d agree that not getting upset by proxy is important in dealing with people’s emotions. Again, it comes pretty naturally and I sort of lose control when I get too upset; in a way that makes me feel like I’ve lost traction and I’m not going anywhere. It’s ironic that I feel like I haven’t found many that agree that arguments tend to go nowhere. I’ve always assume this was given and a personal goal of all searching for some kind of enlightenment. In retrospect, it hasn’t been. I’m still unconvinced I should be any other way.

You don’t look too messed up.

Yeah well, everything below the neck works fine.

I don’t know that I have evidence that isn’t anecdotal, but I consider myself a pretty emotional person. At least in my own head, I’m convinced it is something worth saying as I feel that there’s been some kind of social or societal pressure to be otherwise. I’ve mentioned my surprise at my father much more of an emotional person than I had gathered, which probably sort of lead to more wondering about what he was like in the before times.

As I scroll down through a page of rants in search of something about the thoughts I’ve had since printing photos of my parents in decades past, I realize just how pervasive thinking about what to do with emotions is in my writing.

And anytime you feel the pain, hey jude, refrain,
Dont carry the world upon your shoulders.
For well you know that its a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder.

I’ve commonly worried about my emotions being a burden on other people, which is likely something that’s very connected to feeling like I’m some kind of ugly duckling in a world that has it all figured out. With age/wisdom/experience comes bits of realizing that generally those that aren’t emotional are the ones the don’t have anything figured out at all. Despite being business focused, I found this interesting.

I used to believe my emotions were a weakness, and I’m sharing this information with the hope you can avoid the painful lesson I had to learn.

I could quote most of the articles on that site and I identify with it heavily, especially parts about the school system being fracked.

The most valuable skill you can possess is the ability to acquire useful knowledge and apply it to solve real problems. Once you own this skill, you have all the education you’ll ever need.

It would be interesting some day to make a list of things I think I learned in school. There are bits like the Pythagorean theory and what genetial warts look like. The failure in schooling came, and I’ve yet to be able to return to the times before this knowledge, when I realized I wanted to learn, and learned much more when I was allowed to do so, rather than when it was dictated. A house of card collapsed, I dropped out, and life started over. Years later a guidance counselor from a brief stint in a public middle school asked my mother of me and upon learning that I had dropped out expressed that she was glad, and admitted that seeing my chewed up and spit out by the system was some part of realizing that schools just aren’t good for some people.

I think the best part about sites like that, is that it shows that more people are thinking, and feeling. I truly think that is wonderful, it’s like an emotional awakening, a tide like in a celestine prophecy sort of way. It starts with finding any outlet, but will grow, and I’m very interested to see where it will be a couple of decades from now.

Who’s going to pay anyone to take a test? What does a test measure? It measures your ability to memorize stuff. Who is paid to memorize stuff? Actors? Pilots? I don’t know. I’ve never been paid to memorize stuff.

I suppose that I’m paid to memorize stuff. I’m pretty good at it, but what’s most important is that I can analyze and relate information. My mind is full of technical information, but rather than knowing exact steps to make something happen, my understanding of the parts leads me to know what steps to take to find the pieces I don’t know. Which is pretty essential in what I do (Systems Administration) because I use new hardware and new software to do new things every single day. It’s interesting to ponder how this has affected my mind. I often come up with stories in social situations that I’m reminded of, that may or may not be a great story or really relevant, but are connected. I think this is the same wiring.

I does seem that there is more discussion these days that you don’t have to be a carbon copy. I don’t really recall my parents fighting over how to raise me, but I know it was there. I’m fortunate because I grew up knowing that my mother loved me regardless of what I did and with my father reassuring me that he “always knew I was going to turn out ok”. Am I ok? I don’t know, I suppose that depends on what he meant. I’m “successful” in most the ways that people said I never would be due to dropping out of school. I’m across the country, in a big city, with a big job, doing interesting things. None of which is really how I take stock of my own life though. It’s interesting that the motivator for me is almost always how I feel about something. I like my job, and enjoy working with good people, and it’s why I do it. I like Seattle, and my friends here, and I’m glad I got here. I find little value in spending time thinking about how I got here, other than in realizing how those its affect where I’m going now.

I have high hopes for the future, some how. That’s a little surprising, but I think things are going to turn out pretty alright. I often find myself weighed down by all the things that need to be done, and the prospect of all the things that will need doing. It’s possible that keeping busy is a subconsciously learned lesson to avoid dealing with life, which is just another way of saying avoid dealing with how I feel. Because it’s never as hard actually doing what you’re worrying about as it is dealing with how you feel about it.

I’ve always thought of myself as low maintenance. In relationships I’ve kind of figured I trot along on my own accord and it’s sort of taken me a while to get the other side of that coin. As time goes along I’ve gotten a better idea of what I’m looking for in a relationship but I’ve always known that someone wanting to be around me is pretty high on that list. It doesn’t sound like it should need to be, although I realize upon thought that many people don’t share that desire; in a Denis Leary just eat, fuck, and stay the hell away from each other sort of way. But it has apparently been hard, for different reasons. I’ve dated girls that wanted to be left alone when upset and didn’t want someone near, for whatever deeper psychological reason (I tend to leave labeling those sort of problems to the college graduates with degrees and less indifference to the art). Which I realize is a bit of a personality thing.

I’ve quipped about it in the past, because I’m sarcastic I suppose, but mostly I want someone around to share life with. I don’t have an expectations of spending every moment around someone, although I’ve almost been accused of that before but it was more along the lines of being too intense. Because I am.

I am an emotionally intense person, although they’re sort of the runts of the litter sometimes. When things are gloomy though, little cheers me up as much as being close to someone I like. I just saw a quote in a book Tori bought me that said:

“The cure for unhappiness is happiness. I don’t care what anybody says.” – Elizabeth McCracken

Cats seem to get it, which was kind of odd and made me giggle. They’d come in and lie down with me and it’s nice to think it’s because I’m upset and they know that I’d like someone near even thought it seems real folk don’t. I can’t complain a whole lot that anyone should be around that isn’t, I don’t believe that, I suppose it’s just that it feels there’s too much loneliness going around right now. And it seems like a shame that is something that never got figured out and communicated in the past. It’s far too easy to think about communication when there’s no need to though, and that much harder to do it when feelings are at stake.

On a side note, my mom’s mother told me tonight I should go drink a nice cold Irish Ale. I’m not sure if it was an attempt to connect with me or not, I’m not real sure how to take that. It was a weird conversation.

I feel like a broken record saying I’ve sort of figured out more and more bits about what I like in life, and speak up about them a bit more, which is something I’ve definitely slacked on in the past. I suppose more and more I pick up on the uniqueness of people and live with it better, which is good because I think the two are inexplicably linked. Ah, my heads pretty much a wash today. Thus leaving work early. I think it’s time to see if I can find some food.

Eric let the cat out of the bag about my birthday after he and Pete saw a really cute e-card my mom sent me. Zac, the UX dude at work, sent me a cute card that had a tea party with bears that said “i hope your party doesn’t fucking suck”. I was going to copy the image onto flickr or something to link it, or just link it, but as usual my clipboards are all messed up on my windows boxes and I haven’t figured out how to reset them without restarting yet.

What a mixed bag today is. It is, of course, my birthday. As you may have heard. I woke up to a ‘Happy Birthday’ sign in the kitchen with presents from Tori. She’s so awesome.  Work has been birthday like, as previously mentioned, and Eric took me out to lunch at Typhoon! (or Thai-phood as we joke). I almost invited Julie but remembered it’s only been like three days since I said I’d step off.

On the losing end of the stick, my great grandmother passed away this morning. I think I’m going to leave work early and go think about that. Most of the time since I’ve heard about it has been talking to other people about other people about it; talking to my dad who’s subtle loneliness always does well to remind me that I don’t feel all that bad, and talking to my mom about it because so much of my family are hard asses and play that whole “who called who last” game that does little more than raising a flag above their heads saying they don’t want to deal with shit. That’s vague, I know. The worst of all that is that it sort of cascades, and I don’t really want all that shit interfering with thinking about my gram, but it is inevitable.

I’ve never really gotten why people get so caught up in their business. I kind of figured that it helps to have something to be caught up in, like accepting religion as a means to an end. That is, if believing in a deity keeps people from savagely killing each other, great! Of course the trouble comes when they start Killing in the name of.

I’m a fan of music. Most often I like the alternative bridges between rock and country, with some 80s pop thrown in there. I think it’s because I like lyrics I can not only understand, but that have a meaning that I can conjure up without having to sit around debating metaphor with musical elitists. That’s right, elitists.

It’s like the kids smoking pot when I was growing up that had made such a lifestyle out of it. Man, if they took it any more seriously you would have thought it was their fucking job to get high or something. I can’t get behind that, and the same goes for music, and most other popular bits like fashion.

I’ve taken to heart more and more that my fashion is a utilitarian one. No, you won’t see me sporting utili-kilts or whatever craft they make rounds these parts, but I’m wearing Carhartt’s every time I can sneak them by the judges. Not because it’s somehow cool now, but because I like them. The more I’ve thought about this, the more empathy I have towards hip folk, because I have to imagine some of them just like it. Still, I lack the patience to separate them from the posers pretty much all of the time. Anyhow, I think I get it; more at least.

I didn’t really consider until tonight that this very act is my own raving about. I’ve always spoken with the caveat that my rants are exactly that and don’t form any sort of masterpiece on the human condition that others should give the time of day, which I suppose does make it a little different. But here I am carrying on anyways, and why? Well, because it’s important to me, although most look at it and have perfectly succinct explanations about why I should shut the hell up that boils down to Courtney telling me back in high school that I “think too much.” But in comparison I see that I am as much a zealot about thinking as others are about arguing chords and paints and lighting; all that artistic hoohah that I prefer myself to not give the time of day.

And to what end? I like to think that subconsciously all this thinking adds up and at least keeps me somewhat sane. It’s a venting of sort, a bit of trying to make sense of my world, because I still consider myself a bit slow, especially when it comes to people. I get by being nice and keeping confused looks off my face most of the time. The facial neutrality doesn’t actually solve anything, but merely delays the inevitable however.

With the first quarter of my life coming to a close I have no misgivings about lacking a wife and kids and the whatnot. I wouldn’t attribute it to father’s constant reminders that the American dream failed him and is therefore an utter farce. What’s interesting is I think the bulk of what I’ve accomplished is a sort of awakened confusion. I went from trotting along a road of expectations to actually sitting on the side of a path staring keenly at bits that seem somehow off to me, lacking the understanding to do much more than look at them funny and thus having little wisdom to offer the passer bys.

I prefer to think there’s more to life than meets the eye, but try to get along with having a good go of it most of the time. All the same, I’m having much difficulty dissecting myself and labeling my physical and emotional desires as such. I don’t want any scientific explanations about hormones and sex; nor anyone to tell me that love is a genetic construct to keep the race procreating. I guess I’m a romantic still, a dreamer. After all, reality is merely a bit of a critical mass of social consciousness. I can still believe whatever I want on my own terms.

I stayed up to read the bulk of and ultimately finish About a Boy. There’s a quote on the cover about about Nick Horby being the “… maestro of the male confessional”; this being his second book after High Fidelity. I saw both the movies before reading the books, but the film adaptation of this one maintained most of the British bits that were americanized in High Fidelity.

The books ends speaking of main characters changing in someone opposite ways, that is into people that each other was, but all the same being the best for everyone. Chapter thirty four ends with:

This thing about looking for someone less different . . . . It only really worked, he realized, if you were convinced that being you wasn’t so bad in the first place.

I called my mom tonight and the conversation started something like this.

How’s the weather?

Good.

Do you think Dad is more likely to blame himself for his problems, like emo, or to externalize his problems on to others and not take responsibility for them; sub question, what about twenty five years ago?

The twenty five years part started at twenty, and it slowly hit me like a brick shit house that I turn twenty six in a few days and twenty kind of missed the point; not that I was asking about before I was born, but before everything, in a Field of Dreams sort of way like “Oh my God….It’s my father…My God! I’d only seen him years later when he was worn down by life. Look at him. He’s got his whole life in front of him and I’m not even a glint in his eye. What do I say to him?”.

It seems at times that people are either convinced they’re a gift to the world and assume that they’re good people, or they think they’re shit and no good at all. Both are problematic, although I’ve tended to prefer those people that consider that they’re not the embodiment of God. What’s important is that you take a step back now and then and try to observe where you’re swinging, do some dead reckoning and continue on. I picked up on a thread that was only shortly bright in About a Boy in one passage that I recall that it seems people in my life have been reluctant to say/admit/pass along: There is not an answer.

The abundance of drama over the last season has been a catalyst for many conversations about whining, venting, and bits in between. We’re quick to point out that other people vent to let of steam and that they’re not looking for you to necessarily fix anything, about I feel like there haven’t been any conversations about the lack of an answer altogether that would fix anything. I suppose it comes off as a bit pessimistic, that we’re destined to a lifetime of toiling forward towards an obscure but definite end.

Events of late have left me thinking about what I think about myself. I had this notion in my head that just doing some of the things I was afraid of would not only reduce the anxiety through showing myself that there was little to fear in the first place, but show others that I was somehow more capable. The latter is really a sham, as I realize I have no idea what most people think about me, less that I’m a swell chap mostly.

I mentioned to my mother tonight that I have a nice binder of my computer certifications on my shelf in my bedroom and I really don’t know what to do with it. That is that I feel like it’s supposed to be representative of some kind of accomplishment in my life, but I’m not particularly proud of it, and it’s just sort of sitting there like a question mark on the shelf. She says I should be proud of what it represents and she’s probably right. Am I caught up in some sort of attempted exertion nonchalantness that doesn’t quite make itself public and is therefore missing the mark of the shrugging martyrdom? Possibly, I’m not sure about it. It sits there, gawking at my with an eyebrow raised every time I sit quietly in my room.

All in all, I don’t like feeling vulnerable, yet here I am, unsure what to do about it exactly. The fear of becoming cocky as a result of thinking more of myself really isn’t a concern, yet I’m not quite sure that thinking more highly of myself is a solution in and of itself.  I suppose Mom’s advice from the other night translates though; if you didn’t ever feel vulnerable, what would be there when you feel the opposite? Would you be feeling at all?

I think I’ve mentioned a bit about how having printed photos of mine that I like has made the house feel more at home for me. I like that. There are other things, like taking care of it, mowing the lawn, housey things. I think since Maria and I broke up I’ve been using one of my dad’s LL Bean sleeping bags as a comforter until recently; when I bought a nice soft blue comforter from goodwill. It’s an interesting sense of comfy, and I like it too.

Today went alright, obviously from my earlier posts a lot was on my mind. I got up to Snoqualmie for a couple hours of snowboarding today, the only time this season, which was nice since this weekend is basically the end of the season. It was pretty alright riding. The terrain was a little slushy which was nice for falling down the side of a mountain but since I don’t wx my board or anything elite like that it was a little sticky on the flat parts.

I ran some errands and picked up Tracy, David and Ken from the Awful Shark. I saw Tanya, Anthony and Julie briefly but mostly enough to say hi and we came back home to Georgetown for some poker, drinking, and then a nice long excursion across the South Park bridge, up the west side of the Duwamish and back across the 1st Ave Bridge. Ken and Jason went down to Randy’s with us to finish off the night with some breakfast and now I’m pretty pooped since I was at Randy’s last night until about 4am and only got a few hours of sleep.

I feel like this morning’s post never got to the meat of what was on my mind at the time but I’m unsure I have the energy to return to that place right now. I spent a good chunk of today thinking about how I feel. That’s broad, I know. Basically I’m trying to somehow filter down my desires and find more happiness with less distraction. Time spent alone lacking distraction is generally lonely, so I’ve been thinking about why that is a bit. There was a time recently enough that I would have figured it was a sort of genetic programming but I don’t think I’m apt to let myself off that easy at the moment.

As I’ve thought a bit as of late about competitiveness, because of people around that have been and how I’ve been pretty avid about avoiding participating in such feelings, I still yearn for approval from people I like. I’d say that’s mostly an emotional bit, as I’m fairly comfortable with the approval from people I respect, which I don’t feel is emotionally motivated. It’s interesting if it’s that cleanly split. I’m gonna crash now.

More Bryan Adams, from convenience. On a side technical note, I’m a big fan of not having to use the mouse most of the time and get all up in the keyboard shortcut business. I’ve used Shift+F10 for a long time for system administration tasks, it’s basically a right click. In firefox when you misspell a word it will underline it for you and if you right click on it you’ll get a list of spelling suggestions. Well, if you type a word that firefox highlights, you can move the cursor back to that word and hit shift F10 to get the same menu, then use the arrow keys to select the correct word and hit enter to replace. It’s much faster than stopping typing and reaching for the mouse.

I printed a bunch of photos recently and they turned out pretty decent. I was surprised as I got into photography for fun and was really more into the taking of the pictures than anything else. But it’s nice having them in the house now, especially since many are of outdoor scenes and bring back good memories of being out and about. My dad’s pretty grumpy these days, so I can’t really get a good picture of him, but a friend of his sent me some photos of him and mom at camp in the 70s and 80s that I’m pretty attached to as they represent a time before things started falling apart. A bunch of stupid shit happened at camp, I was young enough to feel helpless to do anything as I really didn’t have a clue what to do about it, but old enough to get that it was stupid shit and remember the lot of it. We stopped going to that camp after, the parents divorced, and pretty much Dad and I stopped going to camp altogether; which was unfortunate as it was mostly all we ever did together, besides eating dinner together occasionally.

There was a period when my grandparents expressed some concern to me about Dad’s wellbeing and not going out and doing much anymore and it was a little surprising to me at the time because I felt like it took them a long time to get there. Granted, they’re not the blogging generation and skeletons are traditionally kept in closets I suppose. Actually my grandfather only brought it up because he wrote an email he didn’t intend to send to me but got confused and did.

I’ve grown up with a nostalgia of those places and while I have all the memories, I’ve never filed them under ‘bad’. A time came that I wanted to go back and lacking a float plane I was going to hike in. Father wasn’t supportive of the idea, but of course like a badass I went anyways. Mom and a couple friends came along. The friends mostly enjoyed the hike and back country wandering (the trails are all gone due to logging) but I think it was actively closing a chapter for Mom and I. We didn’t go back again and now the camp’s been sold. I doubt I’ll ever go back, although if it’s easy at some point maybe I’ll stop by in ten years to see what has happened to the place. Lunksoos lake is a memory for what it was though.

So I have some photos of my parents there, and I enjoy them as they emanate much that I don’t think was still around when I was growing up. I have a couple printed now, and hanging in my room. They’re still people I like having come from and I’m proud of, regardless of where we’ve all ended up.

This is pretty awesome, a cellphone with built in Breathalyzer that not only tells you that you’re over the legal limit but can prevent you from making calls to selected people at the time. I somehow lost a text message I sent myself this morning, which is unfortunate. I pretty much just send myself text messages when I drink now, I’ve found it safest due to my lack of communications skills when sober. I always figured a drink an hour or so kept one sober, I was pretty surprised by a chart at the state liquor store that I saw the other day that implied it’s actually much more than that. Here’s something similar. The idea of losing 0.15/hour kind of reminds me of the Hours of Service rules from CDL driving, particularly the ~34 hour reset.

I’m going back through text messages from my mother last night and one reads “All the same, I’d rather be emotional and sane than flat uneffected and sane. The same depth of emotion brings great joy.” That reminds me of Dad saying that our heritage brought “Great strengths and tremendous weaknesses”. I have a difficult time not being an emotional person, I don’t really know how, so I don’t expect to happen. Of course some things I’m more empathetic towards than others due to my past experiences. I look back and I had texted mom “You know. Not to sound too depressed, but sometimes I feel so alone when it comes to being so emotional yet feeling sane. I don’t know who else to share that with.”

Which makes her response make more sense with the little context. But that’s true, I feel like such a heavily emotional person because I feel so much. I often feel like people don’t get that. When I hear or see myself recorded I feel confirmed that I’m somewhat closed off to the world, but enough friends have told me I wear my heart on my sleeve that I’m willing to believe it gets through. I suppose this is where I feel like the lack of communication in the world comes from, but I’m still mulling that over as I’m not ready to right in stone that I make enough valiant attempts to be communicative myself.

Tori’s up and about, time for breakfast and adventures.

random title based on randomly chosen tunes. I’m making myself stay up to write a little, some excuse like listening to the dryer, which can totally wait, but whatever.

I like that I’m old enough now that when I talk about ex-girlfriends, people can’t tell who I’m talking about unless they have specific experience. Many today don’t know the early girlfriends, and those from the past don’t know the more recent ones. Somehow I feel like that’s indicative of some kind of change, even though it probably really isn’t.

stop treating me like a girl and treat me like a person.

I’ve had a few drinks tonight, as a caveat, but that was a while ago and among other things I’ve had breakfast in between. I sat earlier staring at the light the city produced combine with the sky and the trees from the arboretum and thought about all of this, combined with text messaging my mother a bit about it for advice. She is of course biased as she likes me and thinks of me as some kind of catch, but she’s always there for me and has much of what I consider valuable life experience (wisdom).

I have had conversations as of late about being the “black sheep” of the family, and most have centered around going out and doing ones own thing, but none have focused quite so much on how emotional I am and having a really tough time finding people that a) I like, b) get my state and appreciate it  it’s raw honesty. Often, oddly enough, that makes me feel more lonely than anything else. I suppose it’s a risk of _feeling_, that such feelings may be spent for naught but I have a difficult time convincing myself that I should have it any other way.

Perhaps it’s because I simply don’t know how, as my emotions are a strong force of their own and shouldn’t be taken lightly. It’s been expressed to me more than once, however mostly indirectly, that people have felt my emotions have been the catalyst for a feeling of things moving too fast. When confronted in the past I’ve expressed such things as “Well, we’re not getting married or anything, right?” but it is common enough at this point to characterize myself as an ugly duckling.

Alright, closing that book. Maybe I’ll get out of town and go snowboarding tomorrow or something, and see if I can get my mind off girls.