In college, I took a couple of philosophy courses. They really broadened my worldview and helped me a lot. I don't remember a great deal about who said what, so you will have to forgive me if I don't give credit where credit is due or get something wrong, but what I'm going to discuss here is important stuff that people need to know.
One of the best explanations of life, that is very easy to imagine and understand, is as a grand dinner, with lots of people eating at a long table. Food is passed around, with one person taking their share and then letting the next person take their share. The different foods are the different things we deal with in life. Using stereotypes, the steak represents the best parts of life, being happy and excited and not having any problems, while the asparagus represents the worst parts of life, being sad and troubled and overcome with problems. When the steak is passed to you, you can only take one portion. Take any more, and the other people will get upset because they won't get their share. Besides, too much steak is bad for you, and you have to eat other stuff, too. So, you have to accept that you can only get a small amount. When the asparagus comes around, you have to take your share of it, even though you don't want to. Everybody has to have some, and you not taking your share will force other people to take more. Besides, it's something that is good for your health, even if it tastes terrible.
This is life. We have to accept that the good times aren't everlasting and that the bad times are eventual. Trying to get around either of those will only result in trouble, either for yourself or others or everybody.
Onto religion - the most important that I've learned about religion from philosophy is that arguing about how one religion is better or worse than another is pointless. Christianity, for example, exists in many different forms, and a lot of smart people have said a lot of smart things about the different forms. Each statement makes sense, but they don't all gel. They can't all be right, but they're all valid, so how do we decide which is right and which is wrong? Is the existence of God obvious because there had to have been a creator-less creator, something that created everything without having to have been created, or does God have to exist because of the beauty of the universe and the rules that guide it? Even if you can proof the existence of God, can you prove that God is intelligent or involved in our lives?
The point is, people have been talking about God and morality and spirituality for centuries, and the philosophers that wrote books on the subjects worked much hard. They didn't just read the Bible, they read things written by other philosophers, they read the stuff that had already been written, centuries before they came along. To succinctly say it, if a person wants to talk about how the Bible says something, he or she had better have read Thomas Aquinas, at the very least. If the person hasn't, then they haven't really studied.
And that's the same with just about every religion. There is a ton of information aside from the holy texts that needs to be read, just like how you need to read about basic algebra before you start messing around with calculus. Or how you need to read essays written about William Faulkner before you write a thesis about him. You have to see what other people have said, the thoughts already communicated into the world. Until you do that, you cannot have a good grasp of the true tenets of the religion, and once you read the philosophy of the religion, you'll see that there are a lot of good points to it. If a Muslim reads Jewish philosophy, and really goes in with an open mind and trying to understand, he'll see that there are good points about it, and same with a Christian reading Islamic philosophy and any combination of any religion. The philosophers are the ones to heed, not the crazy bastards that make signs and scream. Pitching a bitch is easy. Spending countless hours reading and writing, that's hard, and it's the people that do that that deserve attention.
Friendship - the best thing I ever learned is that liking someone's character is what really matters. I tried to be friends with people simply for the sake of being friends, of being able to spend time with another person. But that only causes strife and turmoil. You have to like them as a person, not just for what they offer you. There are a lot of people that piss me off. I can be friendly to them, I can even genuinely enjoy their company, but sometimes, I want to strangle them, and not in a joking kind of way. It's because they do things I don't like or agree with. Now, some things I don't mind; I don't smoke pot, but I don't have a big problem with other people smoking it. But if a person smokes pot around a child, I do have a problem with that, and if I know someone who does that, I won't be happy with them. Hell, I'll be downright angry with them. I may still enjoy their company at times, but I won't consider them a true friend, and I won't do for them the things I would for my true friends. And that is because I learned that true friends are the people you are willing to do anything for; they are people you respect and admire, in some way. They don't have to be perfect, and no one else may respect or admire them, but if you do, that's what matters. If you try to make an unworthy person your true friend, then you're going to end up unhappy, because they will let you down and disappoint you.
For instance, I couldn't ever be friends with someone that does heroin because I couldn't ever respect anyone that does heroin. And it's not solely about the drug; using it shows a disregard for a law that could land them in prison for a long time, a lack of intelligence because you'd have to be stupid to want to keep pumping that shit into your body, and a lack of self-respect because they think they need it, think they are unable to live without it. If I liked everything about a person, but then found out that they were a junkie, I'd be so devastated that I wouldn't ever want to see them again. Just like how I don't want to associate with bigots or assholes, I don't want to associate with people that are throwing themselves under a bus. A friend is a person that makes you feel good about the world. not by doing things for you but by showing you that there are good people in the world. If you don't like your friend's character, who they are inside, then you shouldn't be friends with them.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Cartoons
I haven't posted in a while, mostly because I don't have much to say. Also, I'm busy with work and tired after work. And lazy. But I've been wanting to discuss animated series (or "cartoons," for those that don't give a damn about "sophisticated" titles) for a while, so I figured I'd make a post about them. And by "discuss," I of course mean "bitch about and praise."
First up is Allen Gregory, which premiered on Fox in October of last year and has (thankfully) been canceled. It will hopefully never shame the world of television with its presence ever again.
I watched the premiere of this show, because I've always been a fan of prime-time cartoons, and I like to give them a shot. I avoided The Cleveland Show when it premiered only to find out during its second season that it was a pretty good show, as long as you didn't expect anything from it. I didn't want to make the same mistake. Besides, Fox wouldn't shut up about the damn show, airing promos for it months before it premiered. I had to see what it was all about.
It was offensive. On several levels. First of all, it wasn't funny. At all. It simply did not elicit laughter. But if that was all, then the show would just be another boring failure. No, Allen Gregory had other problems. It was a lame premise with an even lamer execution (and what an odd execution it was); a smart little boy has to go to a public school filled with, shudder, regular kids. Typical fish out of water story, right? Except Allen Gregory, the titular character, isn't actually a smart little boy. He's incredibly dumb, as a matter of fact. The show wasn't "Fraiser goes to elementary school," which it was marketed as. It was "insufferable asshole pisses off everyone around him." Allen acted like an adult but only in that he pretended to be an adult, by mimicking the things his father did. His father did fancy stuff like eat sushi for lunch, so that's what Allen did. That's as far as his maturity went. Otherwise, Allen was an annoying little kid that didn't fit in, something a lot of people can relate to. But instead of relating with the bastard, you hate him, because he doesn't try to fit in or be nice, at all. In the end, you feel bad for Allen because you can understand what it's to be picked on and have embarrassing things happen to you, but you also want him to get beat the fuck up, because he's the kind of kid that makes your life a living hell on purpose and has no regard for you whatsoever. It's impossible to love the character or even love to hate him, the way you might Mr. Burns or Peter Griffin. That's bad enough, but then the creators decided to toss in the gross factor and have Allen, a seven-year-old boy, fall in love with the principle of his school, a very old, very overweight, and very uninterested woman. She is not a bad person, but there is no reason why a little boy would fall in love with her, and the show doesn't even try to make sense of it. Allen simply sees her and somehow loses his mind. It's disturbing, the fantasies Allen has about her are exceedingly gross (so as to not even be funny), and the whole thing is disgraceful.
But the biggest problem, and what really made the show offensive, was the living situation of Allen's parents. Allen has two dads; that's right, a gay couple raising a child in a cartoon. Finally! Except they're not really a gay couple. I'll explain that in a moment.
Richard is Allen's biological father. Jeremy is Richard's husband. As his name suggests, Richard is a real dick. He's a selfish pain in the ass that ignores others and only cares about getting his own way. Jeremy puts up with Richard, for seemingly no reason, and is an all-around nice and cool guy. Allen takes after his father in nearly every way and, of course, also treats Jeremy like shit.
More than halfway through the first episode, we get a bombshell. Jeremy explains that he "used" to be a straight man, with a wife and kids. Then he came across Richard, who fell in love with him. Richard stalked him and badgered him so much that Jeremy left his family and became Richard's husband. That's right, Jeremy isn't actually gay. He never says anything about having gay thoughts or hiding his sexuality. The way it's explained, Jeremy is a straight man who just gave in to Richard's pestering. Do I need to explain why that is offensive, not just to gay people but to everybody? One of the few gay couples on TV, one of the only gay couples to ever be seen in a cartoon, and only one of them is actually gay. Not to mention how insulting that is to the audience's intelligence. Are we really supposed to believe that a man is going to give up his wife, his children, just to get an asshole off his back? And up his asshole? That's insane. I think that's what really offends me, that the man leaves his children to live an unsatisfying life with an insane bastard. His children are asking, "Where's daddy?" and all their mother can say is, "He's with a man he doesn't love, living a lie, for no fucking reason at all."
So, thanks for nothing, Allen Gregory! You were inexcusable.
Next is Napoleon Dynamite, the movie-turned-cartoon that arrived eight years after the movie. Long before this show started, I hated it. I didn't care much for the movie, which is boring and odd in ways that did not please or interest me, and I didn't see how it could translate to the world of television, let alone a cartoon, at all. I watched the first two episodes, which premiered the same night, to give it a shot and wasn't impressed. I watched the next episode out of boredom, and . . .
It was great. I can't explain it, except that the premiere episodes, especially the very first episode, weren't very good, but another factor may have been that I watched the third episode without any expectations, good or bad. The other four episodes of the season are all top-notch and made me laugh a ton.
Part of what's good about the series is that it isn't like the movie at all. The characters are all there, but they're not doing boring things with blank faces. They're doing crazy shit, like racing beds and pointing guns at each other and fighting ghosts. Yes, there is a ghost in one episode, and the characters try to fight him. I'm sure part of the reason for this, and the show's quality, is that Mike Scully is involved. Scully has worked on The Simpsons, and the years he was involved in the show were the years that Bart's t-shirt incited a riot, Homer wanted to have as a villain a shifty-eyed dog, and a busload of kids got stranded on a desert island, where they would be "damn hell ass kings!"Scully makes things crazy, and it's good for a cartoon. It keeps the viewer interested, and it takes advantage of the fact that with animation, you can do things that cannot be done with live-action.
I really like this Napoleon Dynamite. Instead of taking pity on the characters, I like them and wouldn't mind hanging out with them. They're not annoying or pathetic. Napoleon himself gets quite a change; he actually seems badass in the series, instead of being just an awkward boy that puts on airs. I hope the show gets renewed and does well. It's time Fox has something in their animation domination that isn't The Simpsons or made by Seth MacFarlane. And yes, Bob's Burgers is great, but Fox seems intent to not show new episodes of it when airing new episodes of everything else.
Damn, I can write a lot, can't I? Maybe next time I'll actually write about something of import. Like The Simpsons.
 |
| This show belongs in the shitter. |
First up is Allen Gregory, which premiered on Fox in October of last year and has (thankfully) been canceled. It will hopefully never shame the world of television with its presence ever again.
I watched the premiere of this show, because I've always been a fan of prime-time cartoons, and I like to give them a shot. I avoided The Cleveland Show when it premiered only to find out during its second season that it was a pretty good show, as long as you didn't expect anything from it. I didn't want to make the same mistake. Besides, Fox wouldn't shut up about the damn show, airing promos for it months before it premiered. I had to see what it was all about.
It was offensive. On several levels. First of all, it wasn't funny. At all. It simply did not elicit laughter. But if that was all, then the show would just be another boring failure. No, Allen Gregory had other problems. It was a lame premise with an even lamer execution (and what an odd execution it was); a smart little boy has to go to a public school filled with, shudder, regular kids. Typical fish out of water story, right? Except Allen Gregory, the titular character, isn't actually a smart little boy. He's incredibly dumb, as a matter of fact. The show wasn't "Fraiser goes to elementary school," which it was marketed as. It was "insufferable asshole pisses off everyone around him." Allen acted like an adult but only in that he pretended to be an adult, by mimicking the things his father did. His father did fancy stuff like eat sushi for lunch, so that's what Allen did. That's as far as his maturity went. Otherwise, Allen was an annoying little kid that didn't fit in, something a lot of people can relate to. But instead of relating with the bastard, you hate him, because he doesn't try to fit in or be nice, at all. In the end, you feel bad for Allen because you can understand what it's to be picked on and have embarrassing things happen to you, but you also want him to get beat the fuck up, because he's the kind of kid that makes your life a living hell on purpose and has no regard for you whatsoever. It's impossible to love the character or even love to hate him, the way you might Mr. Burns or Peter Griffin. That's bad enough, but then the creators decided to toss in the gross factor and have Allen, a seven-year-old boy, fall in love with the principle of his school, a very old, very overweight, and very uninterested woman. She is not a bad person, but there is no reason why a little boy would fall in love with her, and the show doesn't even try to make sense of it. Allen simply sees her and somehow loses his mind. It's disturbing, the fantasies Allen has about her are exceedingly gross (so as to not even be funny), and the whole thing is disgraceful.
But the biggest problem, and what really made the show offensive, was the living situation of Allen's parents. Allen has two dads; that's right, a gay couple raising a child in a cartoon. Finally! Except they're not really a gay couple. I'll explain that in a moment.
Richard is Allen's biological father. Jeremy is Richard's husband. As his name suggests, Richard is a real dick. He's a selfish pain in the ass that ignores others and only cares about getting his own way. Jeremy puts up with Richard, for seemingly no reason, and is an all-around nice and cool guy. Allen takes after his father in nearly every way and, of course, also treats Jeremy like shit.
More than halfway through the first episode, we get a bombshell. Jeremy explains that he "used" to be a straight man, with a wife and kids. Then he came across Richard, who fell in love with him. Richard stalked him and badgered him so much that Jeremy left his family and became Richard's husband. That's right, Jeremy isn't actually gay. He never says anything about having gay thoughts or hiding his sexuality. The way it's explained, Jeremy is a straight man who just gave in to Richard's pestering. Do I need to explain why that is offensive, not just to gay people but to everybody? One of the few gay couples on TV, one of the only gay couples to ever be seen in a cartoon, and only one of them is actually gay. Not to mention how insulting that is to the audience's intelligence. Are we really supposed to believe that a man is going to give up his wife, his children, just to get an asshole off his back? And up his asshole? That's insane. I think that's what really offends me, that the man leaves his children to live an unsatisfying life with an insane bastard. His children are asking, "Where's daddy?" and all their mother can say is, "He's with a man he doesn't love, living a lie, for no fucking reason at all."
So, thanks for nothing, Allen Gregory! You were inexcusable.
 |
| Pretty mind-numbing, in a good way |
Next is Napoleon Dynamite, the movie-turned-cartoon that arrived eight years after the movie. Long before this show started, I hated it. I didn't care much for the movie, which is boring and odd in ways that did not please or interest me, and I didn't see how it could translate to the world of television, let alone a cartoon, at all. I watched the first two episodes, which premiered the same night, to give it a shot and wasn't impressed. I watched the next episode out of boredom, and . . .
It was great. I can't explain it, except that the premiere episodes, especially the very first episode, weren't very good, but another factor may have been that I watched the third episode without any expectations, good or bad. The other four episodes of the season are all top-notch and made me laugh a ton.
Part of what's good about the series is that it isn't like the movie at all. The characters are all there, but they're not doing boring things with blank faces. They're doing crazy shit, like racing beds and pointing guns at each other and fighting ghosts. Yes, there is a ghost in one episode, and the characters try to fight him. I'm sure part of the reason for this, and the show's quality, is that Mike Scully is involved. Scully has worked on The Simpsons, and the years he was involved in the show were the years that Bart's t-shirt incited a riot, Homer wanted to have as a villain a shifty-eyed dog, and a busload of kids got stranded on a desert island, where they would be "damn hell ass kings!"Scully makes things crazy, and it's good for a cartoon. It keeps the viewer interested, and it takes advantage of the fact that with animation, you can do things that cannot be done with live-action.
I really like this Napoleon Dynamite. Instead of taking pity on the characters, I like them and wouldn't mind hanging out with them. They're not annoying or pathetic. Napoleon himself gets quite a change; he actually seems badass in the series, instead of being just an awkward boy that puts on airs. I hope the show gets renewed and does well. It's time Fox has something in their animation domination that isn't The Simpsons or made by Seth MacFarlane. And yes, Bob's Burgers is great, but Fox seems intent to not show new episodes of it when airing new episodes of everything else.
Damn, I can write a lot, can't I? Maybe next time I'll actually write about something of import. Like The Simpsons.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Love
I'm in love. That's an unusual thing for me. I'm not very experienced with love. I've had plenty of crushes, but those are so simple, it's ludicrous. And this is honestly the first time I've been in love as a mature adult. Even at nineteen, I was immature with how I saw the world and pretty stupid, to be blunt.
So, I'm kind of freaking out.
But I'm freaking out for a weird reason. See, to me, love has always been a thing from movies. That's where I learned about love, and what I learned was that being in love meant doing outrageous things together, having beautiful talks while walking through snowy streets, and making bold declarations of love to a girl in a upper-story window from a sidewalk or lawn. But that's not life, not at all, and while I realize that, this deep-seated idea of love as a movie cliche lingers in my head, like a hypnotist's command.
Right now, I'm happy. Yet I'm not full of energy or bursting with affection. I was, definitely, but now, I feel content. More than content, but I'm not very good at describing my feelings, of course, so that word will have to do. So I'm kind of freaking out, because my learning is telling me that I'm supposed to still be hyper and overcome with chemicals, but I simply am not. But I am happy, and I am in love.
I think about her constantly, and it's like what I think is different every hour. Sometimes I think about the passion between us and want nothing more than to tear off her clothes and have at her. Other times I think about how she gets me and understands me, how she seems to know what I'm thinking at times, and that makes me feel so wonderful, I can't come close to being able to express it in words. Other times, I think about how great it would be to just lay beside her in bed, to sleep beside her or close our eyes and relax with our arms around one another. I think about the ways she can help me, and the ways I can help her. I think about protecting her from any harm, physical or mental or emotional. I think about her protecting me, rubbing my head when I'm angry and telling me to calm down or letting me rest my head on her chest when I'm depressed. I think about watching movies with her, watching TV with her. I think about planning for the future with her, mundane things like saving up money and what sort of necessities need to be bought and when. I think about holding her hand just as often as I think about having sex with her. And because there are few places my mind does not wander, I sometimes (rarely, thankfully) think about her dying, and how I'd want to give up on life but wouldn't because she has two daughters I could help, if they ever needed me. And I think about myself dying, and that's even scarier, because I don't know what that would do to her, and I never want to put her through that.
It's scary, just how much I care about her, and how I can't poke any holes in it. I always poke holes, that's been my job for most of my life, to point out the problems and mistakes, whether so they can be fixed or to convince myself that the whole thing isn't worth the effort or to prepare myself for a possible failure, but I can't do that here. I know we'll have rough times, and we'll still need to work on some things as time goes on, but I can't imagine living without her. Not just because she's the only one that would ever have me, and not just because she understands me and wants to make me happy. She makes me smile, just being the person she is. I can tell her anything, not just because she will listen and accept what I have to say, but because I want to tell her, want to share my life with her.
This is being an adult, huh? It's really scary, because it's so different from being a kid. But I prefer it, definitely.
So, I'm kind of freaking out.
But I'm freaking out for a weird reason. See, to me, love has always been a thing from movies. That's where I learned about love, and what I learned was that being in love meant doing outrageous things together, having beautiful talks while walking through snowy streets, and making bold declarations of love to a girl in a upper-story window from a sidewalk or lawn. But that's not life, not at all, and while I realize that, this deep-seated idea of love as a movie cliche lingers in my head, like a hypnotist's command.
Right now, I'm happy. Yet I'm not full of energy or bursting with affection. I was, definitely, but now, I feel content. More than content, but I'm not very good at describing my feelings, of course, so that word will have to do. So I'm kind of freaking out, because my learning is telling me that I'm supposed to still be hyper and overcome with chemicals, but I simply am not. But I am happy, and I am in love.
I think about her constantly, and it's like what I think is different every hour. Sometimes I think about the passion between us and want nothing more than to tear off her clothes and have at her. Other times I think about how she gets me and understands me, how she seems to know what I'm thinking at times, and that makes me feel so wonderful, I can't come close to being able to express it in words. Other times, I think about how great it would be to just lay beside her in bed, to sleep beside her or close our eyes and relax with our arms around one another. I think about the ways she can help me, and the ways I can help her. I think about protecting her from any harm, physical or mental or emotional. I think about her protecting me, rubbing my head when I'm angry and telling me to calm down or letting me rest my head on her chest when I'm depressed. I think about watching movies with her, watching TV with her. I think about planning for the future with her, mundane things like saving up money and what sort of necessities need to be bought and when. I think about holding her hand just as often as I think about having sex with her. And because there are few places my mind does not wander, I sometimes (rarely, thankfully) think about her dying, and how I'd want to give up on life but wouldn't because she has two daughters I could help, if they ever needed me. And I think about myself dying, and that's even scarier, because I don't know what that would do to her, and I never want to put her through that.
It's scary, just how much I care about her, and how I can't poke any holes in it. I always poke holes, that's been my job for most of my life, to point out the problems and mistakes, whether so they can be fixed or to convince myself that the whole thing isn't worth the effort or to prepare myself for a possible failure, but I can't do that here. I know we'll have rough times, and we'll still need to work on some things as time goes on, but I can't imagine living without her. Not just because she's the only one that would ever have me, and not just because she understands me and wants to make me happy. She makes me smile, just being the person she is. I can tell her anything, not just because she will listen and accept what I have to say, but because I want to tell her, want to share my life with her.
This is being an adult, huh? It's really scary, because it's so different from being a kid. But I prefer it, definitely.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
What to Say?
I haven't posted in a while. I haven't know what to say, honestly.
I said that I would talk about the birthday party from hell, and how I got the cut on my arm, but I was wary of delving into the details for fear that I would get depressed or overly emotional or stuck in the past that is gone forever and can never be changed. Now, I simply feel no need to revisit those scenes. There is no catharsis to be gained from them.
Two days ago, I got in touch with an old friend. Cowgirl, to be specific, the first and only girl with whom I've gotten hot and heavy (outdated references, yay!). We hadn't spoken in years. I sent her a message on Facebook, apologizing for the asshole that I had been. It was something I'd been thinking about doing for a couple of months. It's easy for me to carry guilt, as it seems to be for a lot of Aspies, and I knew that the dissolution of our relationship was partly my fault. I felt that she deserved an apology. But I lacked the courage to ever say anything to her. I just knew that she hated me, that she never wanted anything to do with me ever again.
Boy, was I wrong.
Two days, and it's like nothing's changed, as if those years apart didn't exist, except to make us both better people. I don't understand it, but I also don't care. I'm happy. I have someone to support me, someone that loves me and will always love me, who knows that I have Asperger's and who said, "It explains a lot." I don't mind who I am right now. That is a very funny feeling. But I am definitely not complaining.
So, I no longer want to change the past, nor do I want to revisit it. It's gone, dead and buried, and nothing will ever change that. The only benefit the past has is that it can teach me; I can understand people's motivations and feelings and fears. At the birthday party from hell, I hurt Sayla by being cold to her, and she hurt herself because of it. That in turn hurt me. Alcohol was involved, as well as some horny guys that deserve to be shot for messing around with a young drunk girl. I'll never forgive them for that. I hated it, she hated it, and I think we both wished that things had happened completely differently. But the past can't be changed. All I can do is know that Sayla has suffered and try to think of things that will help her and not make her feel bad.
As for the cut on my arm, that came about because I was stupid and naive, plain and simple. I had lied to myself about Sayla and didn't believe what she was, and when faced with the undeniable truth of the matter, I couldn't handle it. I got hit my Lil' Slugger. ("Lil' Slugger seems to target people in crisis, and the attacks, though violent, lead to some improvement in the life of the victim . . . Lil' Slugger is a supernatural force, driven to rescue the desperate from their tragedies through violence," from the Paranoia Agent Wikipedia page.) That may not make any sense to anybody, but I understand it. When you're stressed out and can't take it anymore, Lil' Slugger comes along and hits you with his bat. When this happens, you are able to skirt responsibility. It's not your fault - Lil' Slugger did it. People can't expect anything from you, not for a while. You have to rest, recuperate from your ordeal.
The scar is a sign of my shame. I wasn't understanding; I wasn't accepting of her. But it is proof of how far I've come. Understanding and accepting are my best traits now. It's fitting that the scar is covered with hair and hard to see. I think I may even forget I have it one day.
So, instead of drudging up the past, I'm going to try to use this blog to talk about important things. Like what, I have no idea at the moment, but I'm sure most posts will involve Asperger's and/or concern for others. There may be wisdom, there may be relate-able anecdotes, there may be a light into the mind of someone called great by a handful of people. Who the hell really knows? But it should all be worth something, to someone.
I said that I would talk about the birthday party from hell, and how I got the cut on my arm, but I was wary of delving into the details for fear that I would get depressed or overly emotional or stuck in the past that is gone forever and can never be changed. Now, I simply feel no need to revisit those scenes. There is no catharsis to be gained from them.
Two days ago, I got in touch with an old friend. Cowgirl, to be specific, the first and only girl with whom I've gotten hot and heavy (outdated references, yay!). We hadn't spoken in years. I sent her a message on Facebook, apologizing for the asshole that I had been. It was something I'd been thinking about doing for a couple of months. It's easy for me to carry guilt, as it seems to be for a lot of Aspies, and I knew that the dissolution of our relationship was partly my fault. I felt that she deserved an apology. But I lacked the courage to ever say anything to her. I just knew that she hated me, that she never wanted anything to do with me ever again.
Boy, was I wrong.
Two days, and it's like nothing's changed, as if those years apart didn't exist, except to make us both better people. I don't understand it, but I also don't care. I'm happy. I have someone to support me, someone that loves me and will always love me, who knows that I have Asperger's and who said, "It explains a lot." I don't mind who I am right now. That is a very funny feeling. But I am definitely not complaining.
So, I no longer want to change the past, nor do I want to revisit it. It's gone, dead and buried, and nothing will ever change that. The only benefit the past has is that it can teach me; I can understand people's motivations and feelings and fears. At the birthday party from hell, I hurt Sayla by being cold to her, and she hurt herself because of it. That in turn hurt me. Alcohol was involved, as well as some horny guys that deserve to be shot for messing around with a young drunk girl. I'll never forgive them for that. I hated it, she hated it, and I think we both wished that things had happened completely differently. But the past can't be changed. All I can do is know that Sayla has suffered and try to think of things that will help her and not make her feel bad.
As for the cut on my arm, that came about because I was stupid and naive, plain and simple. I had lied to myself about Sayla and didn't believe what she was, and when faced with the undeniable truth of the matter, I couldn't handle it. I got hit my Lil' Slugger. ("Lil' Slugger seems to target people in crisis, and the attacks, though violent, lead to some improvement in the life of the victim . . . Lil' Slugger is a supernatural force, driven to rescue the desperate from their tragedies through violence," from the Paranoia Agent Wikipedia page.) That may not make any sense to anybody, but I understand it. When you're stressed out and can't take it anymore, Lil' Slugger comes along and hits you with his bat. When this happens, you are able to skirt responsibility. It's not your fault - Lil' Slugger did it. People can't expect anything from you, not for a while. You have to rest, recuperate from your ordeal.
The scar is a sign of my shame. I wasn't understanding; I wasn't accepting of her. But it is proof of how far I've come. Understanding and accepting are my best traits now. It's fitting that the scar is covered with hair and hard to see. I think I may even forget I have it one day.
So, instead of drudging up the past, I'm going to try to use this blog to talk about important things. Like what, I have no idea at the moment, but I'm sure most posts will involve Asperger's and/or concern for others. There may be wisdom, there may be relate-able anecdotes, there may be a light into the mind of someone called great by a handful of people. Who the hell really knows? But it should all be worth something, to someone.
Monday, February 13, 2012
That Good Night
People don't know what suicide is. The vast majority, at least. To them, it's the coward's way out, or a surprise that no one saw coming. Idiots.
Suicide is a beast, rampaging through your mind, until one day you finally get trampled by it. You never choose to stop and let it get you. It's a matter of fatigue. You fall over because you can't run anymore. Imagine what drowning is like - you kick and beat the water, not wanting to go under, but eventually you run out of energy, and there is nothing you can do. That's suicide.
There are always signs. Just because you don't see them doesn't mean they're not there. They may be little, but if you really cared about a person, you'd notice them. And if you didn't care about the person, you have no right to moan and complain when they're gone. You may not be at fault if your friend or loved one or family members kills him/herself; you may have noticed the signs and tried to help them, and they didn't, or couldn't, accept your help, or maybe it simply wasn't enough. It's not your fault, no more than it's the fault of the dead.
A few weeks ago, I was happy. But one night, as I lay in my bed, I suddenly felt that I should die. I shivered beneath the blanket, afraid. I didn't want to die, but I felt that it was inevitable. Suicide was my shadow, always chasing me and covering me, almost like a protector.
It will always be there, for me and for so many other people. Every time I hear, "It was such a shock" or "She was such a happy girl" or "I wish I'd known," it makes me want to stick my fist through a wall. I'm here, I'm right here! So was she, and him and her and him and him and her and everyone else that slit their wrists or shot themselves or took a handful of pills or stuck a noose around their necks. You don't have to help us, I know I wouldn't want someone to overtax themselves for my sake, even if my life was at stake, but don't you dare act like our death, our suffering, cost you a damn thing if you couldn't even see that we were hurting.
Suicide is a beast, rampaging through your mind, until one day you finally get trampled by it. You never choose to stop and let it get you. It's a matter of fatigue. You fall over because you can't run anymore. Imagine what drowning is like - you kick and beat the water, not wanting to go under, but eventually you run out of energy, and there is nothing you can do. That's suicide.
There are always signs. Just because you don't see them doesn't mean they're not there. They may be little, but if you really cared about a person, you'd notice them. And if you didn't care about the person, you have no right to moan and complain when they're gone. You may not be at fault if your friend or loved one or family members kills him/herself; you may have noticed the signs and tried to help them, and they didn't, or couldn't, accept your help, or maybe it simply wasn't enough. It's not your fault, no more than it's the fault of the dead.
A few weeks ago, I was happy. But one night, as I lay in my bed, I suddenly felt that I should die. I shivered beneath the blanket, afraid. I didn't want to die, but I felt that it was inevitable. Suicide was my shadow, always chasing me and covering me, almost like a protector.
It will always be there, for me and for so many other people. Every time I hear, "It was such a shock" or "She was such a happy girl" or "I wish I'd known," it makes me want to stick my fist through a wall. I'm here, I'm right here! So was she, and him and her and him and him and her and everyone else that slit their wrists or shot themselves or took a handful of pills or stuck a noose around their necks. You don't have to help us, I know I wouldn't want someone to overtax themselves for my sake, even if my life was at stake, but don't you dare act like our death, our suffering, cost you a damn thing if you couldn't even see that we were hurting.
Friday, February 3, 2012
The Long Summer
This is the continuation of the story of my first love and the events that have impacted my life the most. I'm not exaggerating there, and once the whole story is told, it should be clear why everything affected me the way it did, and for as long as it did. But this is part two, the middle.
When I left off, it was summer, and Sayla and I had been phone friends for a while. I had told her that I "liked" her, but we never agreed to start dating. I cannot recall exactly why, but it might have had something to do with us not being able to see each other much. It's hard to consider a relationship that takes place entirely over the phone a real relationship. I also don't remember why we couldn't see each other much. School was out, and neither of us had jobs or anything we had to do. We simply may not have been able to get to one another. Her mother and stepfather worked during the day, I believe, and my parents probably did, too. I wonder if things would have been any different had we lived closer (where it took an hour or less to walk from one house to the other) or been able to secure rides so we could spend time with each other. Everything might have still worked out the same though.
We talked all the time on the phone. Countless hours. It was practically like we were dating. We talked about everything, and as I mentioned before, we masturbated while talking to each other. Sort of like phone sex, but there wasn't a lot of role-playing. It was pretty much us feeling good, knowing that the other person was also feeling good, and talking about how good we felt. When I tell people how many girlfriends I've had, I say two; I'm counting Sayla, even though we never officially said we were dating and never did anything physical, but when you've heard a person have an orgasm, and have talked to them while they were masturbating, I think it's acceptable to say that you were going out. (Plus, it feels wrong to say that I've only dated one girl. First, it's a really low number. Two is a low number, but one is really fucking low. Second, Sayla and I cared for each other. I don't know how she would refer to me, if I'd been something like an ex-boyfriend or just a friend, but she's dated a lot of guys. She doesn't need to add to the total. I do.)
I believe that summer was also when I bought her a vibrator. It was a simple thing, only about $11 at the Spencer's in the local mall. It was glow-in-the-dark, waterproof, and had three different heads you could put on it, little caps that went on the top of it that created different sensations, I guess. It's weird, thinking about it. I bought a 14-year-old girl a vibrator. Granted, I was 17 at the time, but it still sounds weird. And creepy.
The thing about Sayla is, she was promiscuous. Like I said, when I met her, she claimed to be a nymphomaniac, and she wasn't lying. She was bisexual and liked both men and women very much, and had been with who knows how many people of both genders. She probably had more sex by the time she was 14 then I will ever have in my life. Now, I'm not judging her, nor am I saying these things out of anger or hatred. I'm just telling the truth. See, her promiscuity makes some sense. She was molested as a child, and then raped when she was either 12 or 13. The way she put it is, "I figured God didn't want me to be a virgin." At one point during the years I knew her, she also said something along the lines of, "I was molested, and that makes me want to do a lot of sexual things, and I don't like that, but I can't help it." I've met a number of girls that were molested, and they all seemed to struggle with sexual urges. I don't know why that is, but molestation really messes with the brain. I can't fault a person for being messed up.
Anyways, back to the story. Sayla and I were very close. But during June, I believe, she went down to Florida to visit her grandmother. She was gone two weeks, I believe. We still talked on the phone a lot, using phone cards. One night while talking to her, she told me that she didn't think she would go out with me when she got back. I felt terrible. Beyond terrible. The one girl that had liked me, had really liked me and opened up my world, had shown me what it was like to have a real friend that liked to talk to me and accepted me, was rejecting me.
I don't remember much of the conversation. This was more than eight years ago, mind you. I'm lucky to be able to remember any details at all. She said that we probably wouldn't go out, and I was crushed. This is just a hunch, but I think that she had had sex with someone down there. Hanging out with people, having some fun, got horny, and fucked somebody. She felt guilty about it, knew that I wanted her all to myself, that that sort of relationship was what I expected, and didn't think she could give me that. I think she was trying to protect me. I can't fault her for that, even if I do think it was the wrong decision. But she didn't know how I would react.
I turned in. I wanted to be completely alone. It was like I had spikes coming out of my body, to keep anybody from getting close to me. I made an especially rude comment to Sayla. For my birthday, which is in the middle of July, I went to see Metallica, a band I'd loved for years, down in Atlanta with some friends. When I got back, I was telling her about the concert, and I said, "It was the best thing that's happened to me this summer." I knew it'd hurt her; I wanted it to. I felt like, if I couldn't be with her, then what was the point of us getting so close? I regret that comment even now, perhaps because it is still so vivid in my mind.
I was reading a book about Buddhism as the summer was coming to a close. It helped me to wall myself in even more. Buddhism teaches to discard wants and desires; I tried to discard my desire to be with Sayla, though in the end I only managed to discard my concern for her. I was angry at her. I lashed out at her. I'd feel bad about it, apologize, and try to be nice, but that would make me want to be with her again, and that's make me angry, both at her and myself.
That summer, those few months, are what I remember the most about my relationship (personal, not romantic) with Sayla, which lasted for years. It's hard to imagine that so much could happen in three months. But so much did, especially at the end of July/beginning of August.
I hadn't had a birthday party in July, because I didn't have any friends I talked to outside of school (aside from Sayla), and Sayla's birthday was at the beginning of August. We decided to have an early party for her that would also serve as a late party for me. Great idea, right? Well, neither of us could arrange a party by ourselves, so we had a third person, a girl we both knew (though I didn't know her that well and had never really spent any time around her), throw a party and invite people, procure beverages, and the like. Great idea, right? Yeah, it was wonderful. A night to remember. The story of the worst birthday party ever. At least, the worst I've ever been to, and one of the chief reasons I don't drink around people.
When I left off, it was summer, and Sayla and I had been phone friends for a while. I had told her that I "liked" her, but we never agreed to start dating. I cannot recall exactly why, but it might have had something to do with us not being able to see each other much. It's hard to consider a relationship that takes place entirely over the phone a real relationship. I also don't remember why we couldn't see each other much. School was out, and neither of us had jobs or anything we had to do. We simply may not have been able to get to one another. Her mother and stepfather worked during the day, I believe, and my parents probably did, too. I wonder if things would have been any different had we lived closer (where it took an hour or less to walk from one house to the other) or been able to secure rides so we could spend time with each other. Everything might have still worked out the same though.
We talked all the time on the phone. Countless hours. It was practically like we were dating. We talked about everything, and as I mentioned before, we masturbated while talking to each other. Sort of like phone sex, but there wasn't a lot of role-playing. It was pretty much us feeling good, knowing that the other person was also feeling good, and talking about how good we felt. When I tell people how many girlfriends I've had, I say two; I'm counting Sayla, even though we never officially said we were dating and never did anything physical, but when you've heard a person have an orgasm, and have talked to them while they were masturbating, I think it's acceptable to say that you were going out. (Plus, it feels wrong to say that I've only dated one girl. First, it's a really low number. Two is a low number, but one is really fucking low. Second, Sayla and I cared for each other. I don't know how she would refer to me, if I'd been something like an ex-boyfriend or just a friend, but she's dated a lot of guys. She doesn't need to add to the total. I do.)
I believe that summer was also when I bought her a vibrator. It was a simple thing, only about $11 at the Spencer's in the local mall. It was glow-in-the-dark, waterproof, and had three different heads you could put on it, little caps that went on the top of it that created different sensations, I guess. It's weird, thinking about it. I bought a 14-year-old girl a vibrator. Granted, I was 17 at the time, but it still sounds weird. And creepy.
The thing about Sayla is, she was promiscuous. Like I said, when I met her, she claimed to be a nymphomaniac, and she wasn't lying. She was bisexual and liked both men and women very much, and had been with who knows how many people of both genders. She probably had more sex by the time she was 14 then I will ever have in my life. Now, I'm not judging her, nor am I saying these things out of anger or hatred. I'm just telling the truth. See, her promiscuity makes some sense. She was molested as a child, and then raped when she was either 12 or 13. The way she put it is, "I figured God didn't want me to be a virgin." At one point during the years I knew her, she also said something along the lines of, "I was molested, and that makes me want to do a lot of sexual things, and I don't like that, but I can't help it." I've met a number of girls that were molested, and they all seemed to struggle with sexual urges. I don't know why that is, but molestation really messes with the brain. I can't fault a person for being messed up.
Anyways, back to the story. Sayla and I were very close. But during June, I believe, she went down to Florida to visit her grandmother. She was gone two weeks, I believe. We still talked on the phone a lot, using phone cards. One night while talking to her, she told me that she didn't think she would go out with me when she got back. I felt terrible. Beyond terrible. The one girl that had liked me, had really liked me and opened up my world, had shown me what it was like to have a real friend that liked to talk to me and accepted me, was rejecting me.
I don't remember much of the conversation. This was more than eight years ago, mind you. I'm lucky to be able to remember any details at all. She said that we probably wouldn't go out, and I was crushed. This is just a hunch, but I think that she had had sex with someone down there. Hanging out with people, having some fun, got horny, and fucked somebody. She felt guilty about it, knew that I wanted her all to myself, that that sort of relationship was what I expected, and didn't think she could give me that. I think she was trying to protect me. I can't fault her for that, even if I do think it was the wrong decision. But she didn't know how I would react.
I turned in. I wanted to be completely alone. It was like I had spikes coming out of my body, to keep anybody from getting close to me. I made an especially rude comment to Sayla. For my birthday, which is in the middle of July, I went to see Metallica, a band I'd loved for years, down in Atlanta with some friends. When I got back, I was telling her about the concert, and I said, "It was the best thing that's happened to me this summer." I knew it'd hurt her; I wanted it to. I felt like, if I couldn't be with her, then what was the point of us getting so close? I regret that comment even now, perhaps because it is still so vivid in my mind.
I was reading a book about Buddhism as the summer was coming to a close. It helped me to wall myself in even more. Buddhism teaches to discard wants and desires; I tried to discard my desire to be with Sayla, though in the end I only managed to discard my concern for her. I was angry at her. I lashed out at her. I'd feel bad about it, apologize, and try to be nice, but that would make me want to be with her again, and that's make me angry, both at her and myself.
That summer, those few months, are what I remember the most about my relationship (personal, not romantic) with Sayla, which lasted for years. It's hard to imagine that so much could happen in three months. But so much did, especially at the end of July/beginning of August.
I hadn't had a birthday party in July, because I didn't have any friends I talked to outside of school (aside from Sayla), and Sayla's birthday was at the beginning of August. We decided to have an early party for her that would also serve as a late party for me. Great idea, right? Well, neither of us could arrange a party by ourselves, so we had a third person, a girl we both knew (though I didn't know her that well and had never really spent any time around her), throw a party and invite people, procure beverages, and the like. Great idea, right? Yeah, it was wonderful. A night to remember. The story of the worst birthday party ever. At least, the worst I've ever been to, and one of the chief reasons I don't drink around people.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Being a Parent
I'm a big fan of anime, or Japanese animation for anyone not familiar with the term. (If you're incredibly unfamiliar with it, it might be good to read the Wikipedia page on it if you're going to read anything I write, because it's a major part of my life, being my main preoccupation and interest.) Lately, I've been watching a show called Usagi Drop. That translates to Rabbit Drop, as if that explains anything. The title doesn't make a lot of sense, and I doubt it ever will. A lot of anime series in Japan have titles that don't make much sense or aren't relevant to the series at all.
Anyway, the show is about a 30-year-old man who goes to his grandfather's funeral and discovers that he has an aunt - a 6-year-old girl, the old man's illegitimate child. Her mother has run off, and the little girl (Rin) has nowhere to go, so the man (Daikichi) agrees to take her in, unable to bear the thought of her being passed around or taken in by the government. The show is about being a parent; we see Daikichi confused and embarrassed at what is involved in being a parent, but more often, and more importantly, we see how much he cares for this poor little girl, whose father is dead and whose mother isn't even a memory. We see Daikichi take care of Rin, and we see Rin trust Daikichi and rely on him.
I've watched five episodes, and I've cried during every one. Sometimes more than once. I've listened to the opening song many times (I downloaded the whole song so I could listen to it), and I've been humming it under my breath at work this past week. It's gotten to the point where just hearing the song makes me smile, and makes my heart feel like it's going to burst. It's also gotten to the point where hearing the song makes me cry.
The show is touching. I can't even put it into words. But it hits me harder than it would a lot of people, because my dream is to have a daughter. And I'm about at the point where I don't think it will ever happen. I feel old; rather, I feel like I'm going to be too old. Daikichi is 30, and he's just become a parent, so being a parent at 25 is no big deal, right? Except that Rin is 6 when Daikichi takes her in; she was born when he was 24.
Having a child before I'm 26 is a dream, because I'll be 26 in a few months. Starting a family before I'm 27 is unrealistic, too, because I'd have to find a woman I can love, and who can love me. (I'm not the kind to knock up a girl; the very thought of actually having sex with someone scares me. It's too intimate. I have no problem with doing sexual things, but actually joining with someone like that just seems like too much. It takes me a long time simply to be able to talk freely around people.) If I have a child when I'm 28, I'll be middle-aged before she even starts school. By the time she graduates high school, I'll be an old man. Okay, I have a slanted view of age, but it seems weird for an 18-year-old girl's father to be close to 50. Doesn't it?
Of course, that's if I can even get married and have a daughter. You know, I don't have anything against having a son, but it's hard for me to relate to most other men, and I'm afraid that I'd be a bad father for a boy. My own father wasn't really there for me growing up, and I'm not really there for him now. I love him, but I don't know how to act around him or what to say. I don't want that to happen between me and my child. But that's putting the cart before the horse again. I don't know how to meet people; dammit, I don't understand how adults date at all. I don't understand anything adults do, really. How can I meet a woman when I don't know how to do so, and how can I woo her if I don't know what I'm supposed to do? I don't want to be defeatist, but it's like I'm fighting an unwinnable war, where the enemies are everywhere but I don't know what they look like. All I can do is get stabbed and fall to the ground.
I'd be a great father. I'm not very confident about most things, but I'm confident about that. There's a lot I don't know, and I'd need a lot of help, but I'd love my child, and I'd do anything for him or her. A child needs love and support, and I have so much of that to give. The thought that I'll never get to is too much to bear. I don't even care about passing on my genes; they're shitty genes anyway, even without the autism. I wouldn't mind raising another's man child or children, and I wouldn't mind adopting or taking in foster children. But I can't do it alone; a child should have two parents anyway, be it a mother and father or two fathers or two mothers. Hell, I doubt they even let single men adopt or take in foster children. I don't know. I'm just scared at the prospect of the future, or the lack of a prospect.
The world is scary. But it's not living that scares me. It's not living, being alive and with breath in my lungs but not doing what I want to do. That purgatorial existence where the days simply go by. I don't want that. I don't want that at all.
Anyway, the show is about a 30-year-old man who goes to his grandfather's funeral and discovers that he has an aunt - a 6-year-old girl, the old man's illegitimate child. Her mother has run off, and the little girl (Rin) has nowhere to go, so the man (Daikichi) agrees to take her in, unable to bear the thought of her being passed around or taken in by the government. The show is about being a parent; we see Daikichi confused and embarrassed at what is involved in being a parent, but more often, and more importantly, we see how much he cares for this poor little girl, whose father is dead and whose mother isn't even a memory. We see Daikichi take care of Rin, and we see Rin trust Daikichi and rely on him.
I've watched five episodes, and I've cried during every one. Sometimes more than once. I've listened to the opening song many times (I downloaded the whole song so I could listen to it), and I've been humming it under my breath at work this past week. It's gotten to the point where just hearing the song makes me smile, and makes my heart feel like it's going to burst. It's also gotten to the point where hearing the song makes me cry.
The show is touching. I can't even put it into words. But it hits me harder than it would a lot of people, because my dream is to have a daughter. And I'm about at the point where I don't think it will ever happen. I feel old; rather, I feel like I'm going to be too old. Daikichi is 30, and he's just become a parent, so being a parent at 25 is no big deal, right? Except that Rin is 6 when Daikichi takes her in; she was born when he was 24.
Having a child before I'm 26 is a dream, because I'll be 26 in a few months. Starting a family before I'm 27 is unrealistic, too, because I'd have to find a woman I can love, and who can love me. (I'm not the kind to knock up a girl; the very thought of actually having sex with someone scares me. It's too intimate. I have no problem with doing sexual things, but actually joining with someone like that just seems like too much. It takes me a long time simply to be able to talk freely around people.) If I have a child when I'm 28, I'll be middle-aged before she even starts school. By the time she graduates high school, I'll be an old man. Okay, I have a slanted view of age, but it seems weird for an 18-year-old girl's father to be close to 50. Doesn't it?
Of course, that's if I can even get married and have a daughter. You know, I don't have anything against having a son, but it's hard for me to relate to most other men, and I'm afraid that I'd be a bad father for a boy. My own father wasn't really there for me growing up, and I'm not really there for him now. I love him, but I don't know how to act around him or what to say. I don't want that to happen between me and my child. But that's putting the cart before the horse again. I don't know how to meet people; dammit, I don't understand how adults date at all. I don't understand anything adults do, really. How can I meet a woman when I don't know how to do so, and how can I woo her if I don't know what I'm supposed to do? I don't want to be defeatist, but it's like I'm fighting an unwinnable war, where the enemies are everywhere but I don't know what they look like. All I can do is get stabbed and fall to the ground.
I'd be a great father. I'm not very confident about most things, but I'm confident about that. There's a lot I don't know, and I'd need a lot of help, but I'd love my child, and I'd do anything for him or her. A child needs love and support, and I have so much of that to give. The thought that I'll never get to is too much to bear. I don't even care about passing on my genes; they're shitty genes anyway, even without the autism. I wouldn't mind raising another's man child or children, and I wouldn't mind adopting or taking in foster children. But I can't do it alone; a child should have two parents anyway, be it a mother and father or two fathers or two mothers. Hell, I doubt they even let single men adopt or take in foster children. I don't know. I'm just scared at the prospect of the future, or the lack of a prospect.
The world is scary. But it's not living that scares me. It's not living, being alive and with breath in my lungs but not doing what I want to do. That purgatorial existence where the days simply go by. I don't want that. I don't want that at all.
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