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dear everyone ever who ever existed ever and what notttttt
this house is cold
i have a sweater on and then a sweatshirt and then another sweater
and i'm listening to crystal castles and they're pretty sad people "how do you feel when ya can't feel nothing?" or "just because we don't feel flesh doesn't mean we don't fear death"
mewoowow myahhh
okay
so yesterday i picked back up on "The Summer of Naked Swim Parties" which my mom gave me last summer. I assumed it would be a boring chick lit read, but it was really cool. I finished it today. It was about a girl with nudist pothead parents. they're always trying to find something different to enhance themselves with. they're competitive with those around them in making sure to enjoy things that aren't white man sports, etc. But yeah. She goes to therapy with her family at one point, and every other family there is super duper fucked up. There's a little kid who's adopted name is tugboat, and everyone is super into talkin' about his masturbation. and there's an 8 year old girl breast feeding and the main character jamie gets molested by this crazy ass 15 year old girl who is the therapist's daughter. it made me think about how counterproductive it can be when everyone who is super fucked up joins together to figure out how to make things better. When you think about it, their fuck-up-edness isn't going to pull a double negative and cancel everything out and make them all understand how to act appropriately. It's more like... something psychologically poisonous happened once and now generations that succeed must decide whether to embody the fuckupedness and continue to perpetuate it and the cycle, or if they're going to try and escape to new surroundings and not be as indoctrinated with family fuckupedness. And some people might even choose to love their family, but work through the fuckupedness so that one day when it tries to come bubbling out when they are living their own life, they will know themselves well enough to change how they would naturally react into something that will cleanse the fucked up behaviours.
ramble ramble.
so i think about the whole, diluting disfunction thing a lot because of my family and the disfunction that has diluted through the generations.
i got off the bus yesterday to spend time at my dad's after reading those crazy californian nudist shenanigans, and in the car was feeling like i couldn't keep up my normal, "don't let the fuck-upedness out" barriers. I tried to just not talk. I tried to talk about him. I told myself how annoying I was to always need to talk about intense things. To tax others in this way makes me feel like a real leechy prick chick.
The desire not to tax people anymore is part of why I feel weird and alone in Sackville, even when I'm surrounded by people I've become friends with. I don't know what importance my past holds and my concerns hold. I don't know why I should shove my problems in someone else's face. I left Bellingham because I wanted to try and be normal. I really didn't want to be part of the dilution chain of disfunction when I planned to have a kid some day. I don't want to feel like I'm just putting shit into the world. I don't want to feel like I am a source of confusion. What if some day I'm the one someone has to talk to someone else about? What if I make the fucked up tangles someone else has to work out of their mind so they can be happier? I really want to be normal. I've wanted to feel like a healthy influence for the longest time. I usually feel like a psychological plague. This is an example of reciprocal altruism I guess: I thus always seem to want to talk to people about their problems and philosophy. Not only does it help me sort out my shit, it helps me feel like I can have a positive mark for once. So usually though, I try and be quiet. I don't do it well. I feel bad for not doing it well. I feel bad that I end up hinting at my own anxieties and unhappiness anyhow. But part of those anxieties and unhappiness also come because not a lot of people seem to realize when I slip into an introspection I really should talk about, but need permission to continue with so I don't feel like a total emotionally draining twerp. Either they don't notice I'm proposing something, or they don't think it's in their place to pursue the proposal of a more intimate conversation. Or, they don't want to. Or they just aren't up to it. And these are okay things, you know? This is why I propose the talks subtlely, I don't want to tax anyone. I got taxed a lot when I was younger, my mom would tell me her marital concerns, financial concerns, weird history, I don't know. Some raw stuff I shouldn't have known. Not being able to talk about personal things all the time has helped me to act like a more stable person sometimes I guess. I feel like I understand, at least, the ideal I'm working towards. I can see all of these people who've lived in one place their whole life. Who aren't using drugs to escape, who weren't put in too many weird situations as a kid. Back home in Bellingham, I would be a more stable fixture within my friend group, since a lot of them had gone through much weird stuff. I came here and suddenly felt like the mess.
So I don't know. I'm getting more male friends. I'm not really sure what I'm looking for. I don't feel like there's anyone I can trust with exposing my burdens to. I think this is normal. I think a lot of people feel this way.
Right now, I'm unsure of where my home is, or what my ideal is for who I want be. I can only appear less whiny for so long. I can only appear serene for so long when I'm worried about who I need to become to not dump more fucking emotional waste into the psyche's I'll interact with. I feel like the anxiousness continues to bubble inside.
My grandmother possibly had some brain damage. She had head trauma during birth and a couple car accidents. She was left alone to tend to her siblings like a mother, and doesn't talk to her other siblings much anymore. She had to eat nerve meats when she was younger, which can cause weird stuff to happen. Anyhow. So. All of her kids are cool but kind of still feeling the brunt of fuck-upedness in things they do. They burned farms, got prison tats, became evangelical christians, etc. etc. Or there are subtle ways their skewed views of reality would emerge. A parallel has recently been drawn between the way my uncle and mother immediately jump to fears of divorce during a marital argument- it's like they just know that things have to fuck up. I mean, they always did in their household growing up. My mother really took away a lot of bullshit from my childhood that she had to face in hers. She diluted it, but some of it still seeps through. I got her anxiety, for a while her eating disorders and I think I still have her insecurity and frustration and cynicism and love of metaphors and poodles. Anyhow. I don't want to put some of that shit that seeped through my momma into my kid. How do I stop that some day? How do I stop myself from trapping myself with shit I think I want that kind of helps to make my life the way I unconsciously have expected it to be from weird things I was taught as a kid? How can I learn to change innate impulses and. nyah. I don't know.
All the shit I sometimes want to talk about, am I a fool for thinking I can talk it out of myself? Is it instead an affection engrained in my personality, to make problems? Can I figure myself out like a little logical word puzzle or a story character?
I think my dad is a huge difference that my mother didn't have growing up. My dad really paid attention to me for a while, and gave me a great upbringing for a while. And after that wasn't too bad at all, he just stopped being present.
So back to getting in the car off of the bus with my dad after reading this book... suddenly I realized how I wasn't going to be able to ignore the hurt I felt much longer of all the times he left. About a month ago I had a dream where the gardens around my house died. My dad was supposed to be taking care of them. My mother's role was kind of to show off the garden, to make it accessible. My dad being a large amount of the magic from my childhood, entering and exiting the scenes as he wished but he really was the sun I tilted to. Sorry for shitty metaphors.
So eventually in this car with my dad, I got over my anger that I couldn't be calm and accommodating for others, that I couldn't keep out of their emotional space. I told him I couldn't just forget all of the times I had really needed him and he hadn't been there. That there were so many times it was like he abandoned me and I wasn't allowed to feel emotional about it. I had gone through so much stuff without an emotionally stable person to help me. My friends loved me, but were going through really similar situations themselves. There were not people in the community I could go to, since I had moved so often. My mother cared. She really cared. She just also couldn't help me/talk to me since she had a lot of the same problems as a kid that she never totally dealt with. I don't know. I had, for a long time, not told my dad just because I needed his guidance so badly whenever he was around and didn't want to drive him away. I finally told him how crazy him entering and leaving mah life had been. And then I even told him about my plans, to be someone who neutralizes fuck-upedness. I want to be someone who can help others realize that what happened in the past doesn't need to affect the present. I think partially because that idea's been so important for me. I still feel guilty about being a dramatic person. But I think I first realized how important that is by oggling my friend Andrea's attitude in 9th grade. :D She would totally appreciate things like cherry blossoms and coffees and the sea and the sky!
I am kind of redundant.
The author lady of the book I just read had this story in the back about how in the 70s, she applied to be a flight attendant and had to answer questions about the colour of her vaginal discharge and fit a certain height to weight body ratio they would be routinely tested on with a scale- if you went over their ratio, they wouldn't hire you. Can you believe how long it took to get some respeks up in here? Isn't that cool that stuff doesn't suck so hard normally? That reminds me of this one story my momma told me about taking a job placement test in school. She got nurse or something I think. And she said... it says I'm in the 98th percentile for 3D rotation knowledge, what does that mean? And the lady said, well that's not included in the criteria for the girl's test. And my momma said, can you run that through like I was a boy? And she got architect as her recommended job.
I've got to call my mom to get a ride with her out of the valley tomorrow, cause she's sleeping in the valley tonight too but goes home to where my bus leaves out of. Anyways. My dad just said, "Your mum really loves you, you know that?" I do. I feel bad I don't praise her that often or anything. I think partially I don't have a crazy intense relationship with her because I can take her for granted since I'm always welcome where she is. I don't know. I feel like a teen buttface in that regard.
I am listening to the cousins. They're a super awesome band. I'm running through the album for the second time tonight.
I am glad my dad gets to be a dad to Marina's kids. He is so good at it when he's around. And I think he's less likely to leave this time.
I should be thankful there's so much I even care enough about to miss, you know? I know some people's dads who don't make eye contact or communicate even in the same room as their kids. What fresh hell is that if their excuse can't be being the only breadmaker?
I freak out about how to be a good person in a relationship. I'm so sure there's something I'm missing that's going to fuck stuff up. Do a lot of people go into relationships hoping to make them work for as long as possible? Have ever gotten into something knowing it won't go anywhere? Are we supposed to only do that if we're sure of our convictions? Do you believe happy long term things can happen? I want to but really kind of assume they'll take a weird turn and fizz out with me being involved. So dang. I guess I just kind of absorb every moment individually, as a separate entity to either immortalize in the happy part of my memories or try and learn from. Is that kinda detatched? I don't like that I analyze as much as I do.
This is a long ass post.
I think I'm going to be an art therapist. Should I not be a therapist? Who is appropriate for that job? My friend in 9th grade had a therapist mom who smoked pot constantly and was kind of emotionally abusive or just not present.
The dog let a really rank fart. So toxic. Not in a sexy way.
My dad has amazing gin called Hendricks. It's got roses and stuff in it.
"The world is full of nice people"- my dad right now talking to himself in the kitchen.
Hope I can get a job for the summar.
I want to learn how to suuuuurf.