I'm this close to finishing my chapter for the social behavioral book, and I'm Very Proud of myself. All I need to do is write a bit more about Behavioral Control and dig up a couple of case studies (which might not even be my job anyway) and cross-reference everything with the lecture notes, and put in the citations, and I will be Good to Go! Think of all the small little pharmacy students who will partake of my knowledge in the future. It warms the heart, almost. Now, of course I would never purposefully try to indoctrinate anyone, but it's very nice to be able to plant little nuggets in the text that advocate questioning the establishment and being a good person. Maybe for some of my examples, I can talk about the harmful patriarchal beauty standards that have become the Subjective Norms for many people and how it is the job of the healthcare professional to go against that. How excellent! We're going to raise a generation of socially conscious pharmacists, and that's how I can do my part (part of my part) to making a better world.
Whee!

Can I just say, my lipstick looks really good right now? I'm out in public, so of course I'm looking nice, but I took a lot of care with my lippy, and it looks absolutely lovely. Also, I'm wearing my new bra and it makes my boobs look So Good. If Bernini could see me, he would want to sculpt me immediately. And I would let him, of course. Because there's nothing like going down in history as a hot nude Last Duchess-style Olympia (what a terrible mix of allusions). You know, I've been thinking about this, actually. If some respectable artist-type person wanted me to model nude for them, I would probably do it? Like, I look pretty nice nude, if I do say so myself, and I'm not at all averse to more people appreciating my beauty. But like, it would have to be artistic and stuff, and not get spread all over the internet so people could call me bad names and send me death threats. I'm not at all into that, you know. Maybe like a postmodern think-piece on the need for liberation in an all-too restrictive society? Oh no, but you know I'm pretty white-passing, so that might be problematic. Unless they accentuated my Asian features, and then that's kind of like yellow-face, isn't it? So maybe not that. But something. Something cool and awesome and inspirational and not Banksy. Do you know, I had a boyfriend who adored Banksy, like he would never shut up about him. He thought the work was deep and meaningful. Also, he pronounced it "Bansky." Oh man, that's such a hilarious memory. Makes me laugh every time. I'm so glad this whole thing with Dismal Land is getting everyone's attention, because now more people can join me in making fun of the pretentious and classist white-boy debacle that is Banksy, and that's something that I've always wished could happen. Oh, and the idea that it's a good thing because it's exposing underrated artists is completely wrong; from what I've heard, he's just taking advantage of relatively-unknown artists, including young people and people of color, and that's just terrible, especially since he's marketing it as a good thing. Don't you think, sometimes, that the establishment is giving us bread and circuses to distract from the real problems (such as, say, Syria), and we're buying into it? I think so. I know I am. Really, it's quite worrisome to think of where the world is going, and how quickly it's going there. Something definitely needs to be done.

Tomorrow, I have to go back to the courthouse to finish with jury selection, and I really don't want to. Now that I think of it, I'm not sure why, because it gets me out of the house, and allows me some time to sit in a cool air-conditioned building and read. But however you look at it, I've lost my enthusiasm for performing my civic duty! Which is really very worrisome. Have I become cold and jaded? Have I lost the fire and passion of youth? Where are the passions I essayed, where are the tears I made to flow? Oh no!
Really, though, I think it's more to do with the jury selection process than the actual civic-duty bit of it. Like, I would be interested to sit in a trial and aid democracy (and I would be more so if the trial weren't ALL OF 10-14 FRICKIN DAYS), but sitting motionless and listening to a racist old judge ramble on about his wife's tendonitis is really not so fun. I think anyone would be put off by that (except for the other old people, who are perfectly happy to join in the discussion). Not only is it boring, it's annoying! I totally get not being able to use phones in the courtroom, I mean that makes complete sense, and I'm not complaining. BUT it makes it hard to pay attention. I'm one of those people who has to be doing something, you know? In class, I can take notes, but here, there's nothing to take notes of (except for all the old peoples' medical issues, and I think I'd rather not remember those), so my mind just wanders. Well, that's okay, I guess. I always have fun thinking about linguistics and social issues and lambasting the patriarchy in my head. Sometimes I even write speeches for myself. It's a good time. The fact remains, though, I don't want to go to this thing! With luck, I can offend the old white men enough that they don't want to have me in their courtroom anymore. That's the hope.

So I've been sleeping a lot, but I probably should go to bed and sleep more now, since I have to Get Up For Democracy tomorrow, and I feel like it's going to be hard enough to stay awake in there anyway. Hopefully I'll get there early enough that I can get some coffee, otherwise it's going to be a time, I'll tell ya what. It's too bad we're not allowed to wear sunglasses inside, otherwise I could lower the shades and take a discreet little catnap. Okay, anyway, time for me to go sleep (ish)! Hopefully I won't have weird dreams! Goodnight!

I'm in the depths of Heat Hell

It's atrociously and disgustingly hot, so much so that it's a genuine outrage and a crime against nature. Every minute I spend outside is a minute off my life, but being inside doesn't help much either, because Dad won't let us use the air conditioner. He says it's "noisy." I don't understand how this is a problem, since he's hard of hearing and can barely follow our conversations (granted, that might also be because of his slow rate of understanding), but who can explain the complexities of man? Anyway, it's horribly hot, so I'm trying to sleep on the couch, but since Talia also needs to sleep downstairs, I have to take the one in the front room so she can have the nicer one, and it feels really exposed. I mean, anyone could walk in here at any time and see my snoring away with my hair all over the place and my boobs probably halfway out of my shirt. Puts a bit of a crimp in my style, wouldn't you say? Maybe I can claim it as performance art.

Aside from the heat, we also suffer greatly from the cruel impressment of time. You see, tomorrow is Sunday already, and on Sundays, we have to teach. I've been dreading it all week, but my dread only seemed to have made it come faster, and now the fateful day is upon us. Gosh I hate it so much! I know I'm making money and I'm so privileged and all- but it makes me want to die or fight or die fighting or something of that nature. What I need is to be abducted by aliens so I can gain some perspective. It's probably hard to worry about your day job when you're miles away in outer space. Failing that, I need to get a better job so I can stop coming home on weekends and teaching these little horrors. (Okay, that won't work, because I'll still have to come home, and I'll still have to teach. But at least then I won't feel guilty about hating it.) There's nothing to look forward to tomorrow either. Like, we teach, and when we're not teaching, we have to be home with the family, and I don't really know which one is worse. So I don't have a reason for getting up except that I have to because we need the room for the kids. If not for that (and the overwhelming heat), I would probably lie despondently on the couch all day and think gloomy thoughts. I'm just fun that way.

On Monday, I have to go back for more jury duty selection. The judge is the prototypical bureaucrat, and is so damn slow that we've barely even started eliminating people. It's such a pain. Like, I'm into jury duty- I've wanted to be selected since high school (at least)- but this isn't what I'm here for. Also, the judge is really racist, and he talks like he's from the south, which he probably is. It's such a pain! I don't want to be selected, actually, cause the trial is supposed to be 10-14 days, and with the Honorable Judge Timesap presiding, it's probably going to be double that. Of course, I can't get out of it by saying that I'm a student, because school hasn't started yet, so I'm pretty much stuck. What a nuisance! All I can do is hope that I manage to offend the attorneys so badly that they decide not to keep me. Maybe I should cosplay. 

I slept for like three or four hours today, so I'm not exactly tired, but I don't want to be awake. I also don't want to sleep, because then it'll be tomorrow, and the amount of strength that I'll need to get through that is more than I probably possess at the moment. But I think I'd rather be asleep than awake. Sleeping is always nice. Sometimes I have dreams about battles, or musicals, or if I'm lucky, linguistics. And no one can try to talk about feelings with me. Oh sleep it is a gentle thing, beloved from pole to pole!

I just wish it weren't so damn hot. Maybe I should move to Seattle or something. Ew, but then I'd have to live in Seattle. Whatever can I do? @the government please fix the environment stat pls&thank

I guess I should try to sleep, though. It's healthy and stuff (I think). Goodnight! 

I like making dinner because I can make it however I want, and then it's easier for me to eat, and it's just good all around. And okay, I don't wanna sound egotistical or anything, but when I'm on point, I'm on point, ya feel? It's true, a lot of the time I burn things, or forget ingredients, or do other weird things, but when I don't do any of that, my culinary creations are true masterpieces. That was so today. I made a pasta primavera with coconut cream and ginger and lime, mixed with steamed mixed vegetables and served with roasted lemon-garlic chicken (it should have been lime to go with the pasta, but we didn't have enough limes), and it was really amazing. I marinated the chicken for a few hours before roasting it, so the flavor soaked in nicely, and I got that perfect al dente texture to my pasta. Really, I was very proud. And I feel like it's pretty healthy, because I didn't use a cream sauce or anything, and I put in a lot of vegetables (cooked nicely and without lots of oil), so I feel proud of that too! Now I just need to learn how to cook brown rice, and I'll be in the business.

Xander left for school today. It was sort of sad, because I like having him here, but I'm also happy for him. He's moving on to a new adventure now, and it's so exciting! (And he gets to leave this hellhole house, and that can't hurt) I'm just sad that I didn't get him to buy me any more alcohol before he left. My supply is running dangerously low. It's a little weird to have him going to USC and me going to UCLA, because we're supposed to be rivals and all that, but this way there will be alumni of both schools in our family, so it will help everyone with admissions no matter which route they take. (but UCLA is better though)

Today was Sunday, and I was really proud of myself because I did not spiral into a depressive episode and lie on the couch unable to move because of my abject misery. And I think that really shows some personal growth, don't you? I even taught some students, and I think I did a real swell job. A+ me, good going. After that, Mom and Anselm and I went shopping, and I got this darling little pink-and-white polka dotted throw, which really was something of a highlight of my day. That goes to show exactly how banal my life is, but at least I can take pleasure in the simple things. That ought to be worth something, right?

Okay, now I'm really mad because I read a stupid article on Tumblr about how racial stereotypes exist for a reason, and we shouldn't look too deeply into the criticism of popular media because it's Just How Things Are, and they're so wrong that I can't stand it. I hate how Asians are treated by the mass media, and I refuse to accept some ass-backward white person opinion about How Things Are because they don't know, and I'm not one for Complete Objective Truth, but I'm advocating it now, because the systematic oppression of an entire race of people, and the aiding and abetting of this travesty by the selfsame people who call themselves proponents of social justice is not a good thing and can never be a good thing no matter how prettily they may try to frame it. And I'm just a girl at a computer screen; what can I possibly do about any of it? They're going to continue on in their merry and casually racist ways, patting themselves on the back for Enjoying Diversity, and there's nothing I can do to stop them. I can feel it like a fire under my skin, all the things I want to do and want to accomplish, and times like these, it burns so hot it's almost unbearable. I can't do anything, and it's so frustrating, and I want to go out and lead rallies and build barricades and shout down authority, but all I can do is sit here and be enraged. If someone put a torch in my hand right now, I believe I would take to the streets this very minute, doing my own part to overthrow the establishment that has held us in its miserable and misbegotten sway for so long, and if someone came up to me and asked me to fly to Washington to lead a protest, I would ask to be front and center, directly in the first line of fire, ready to die in my passion for a world that doesn't care. But all I have is me, and I want to explode. As you can see, it doesn't take much for me to work myself up into a proper indignation. Isn't that silly? Oh, but it's not, it's not. The world needs to be changed, and I think I was born to do my part in helping it happen. But I can't, not right now, and that's more exasperating than I can say. What wouldn't I give for a voice to reach the people? All I want to do is fight.

Trash

I say that I'm trash a lot. It's mostly because I have too many feelings about fictional characters, or I laugh at shitty memes instead of actual humor. But when I say this now, know that it's true:

I. Am. Trash.

There are lots of things that go into making me the disgusting garbage person that I am. There's my infernal laziness, my annoying personality, my complete lack of intelligence (ish; I mean I'm sort of smart), even my slutty valley-girl dumb-blonde persona (and I quite realize that those terms are problematic. But if anyone is going to reclaim them, shouldn't it be me?). All in all, I belong, quite incontrovertibly, on the compost heap. 

This is a true fact, and is one that I think about every day, but at this particular moment, it came about because I had to go to church with my family this morning. Call me a heathen if you will, but church on Sabbath is one of the low points of my whole week. It's not that I dislike the services, oh no- I just find it difficult to spend time with my family in this capacity. Mom kicked-started things by telling me that I should get a job because my grandma thought I should, and that I compared badly to Seth because he's working and I'm not (I am, but I guess this doesn't concern her). And I know I should; I hate myself for it. Trust me. But I don't know, it kind of totally pissed me off, like does anyone really like to be told that? My mom basically worships my grandma, and is always rude and insufferable when the topic comes up because she wants to bend over backwards to serve her. Which I sort of respect, because she is old, and I also think that honoring one's parents is a good thing. But, that being said, it's annoying that she's doing this now, because this whole time she was saying that what I was doing was fine, and if I want to stay in LA to do research next summer, that's okay. And it's kind of a given that if I did that, I would be working too, because I have to support myself somehow, but I guess in her mind research and work are totally separate things? Well, what do I know, I'm just a useless lazy academic. Ugh, I disgust myself. I'm not good for anything; all I do is take up space. Even my grandma can see it, and she doesn't even live with us. Someone should murder me.

After Sabbath school (which was okay because I was still buzzed from my Liquid Breakfast), we had to go to church. We met our friends, which is cool, but I totally didn't want to talk to anyone, so I had to be all perky and normal when I really just wanted to die. Which is, you know, not great. So then Mom made me sit on the open end of the pew so that if Dad came along he could sit next to me and not her, and this wouldn't be bad because I would have offered anyway, but she was just so authoritarian about it, and it rubbed me the wrong way. She knows I hate sitting on the open end because it makes me anxious, but I don't think she cares, so she didn't acknowledge it or anything, which I'm not asking for, but it just goes to show the dynamic. Then she sent me chasing all over church for a bulletin, and didn't even say thank you or anything. But this whole time, I'm meant to be cheerful and supportive and act like a good mom to her, which I can do because I AM a good mom, but it made me all grumpy. Like, okay, I know my mom takes me for granted. She ignores literally everything I say unless it's related to her, and she only asks about my life when she can get a funny story out of it or make fun of me to my grandma. She uses me as a personal therapist and takes it as her due, and I don't know if she even likes me (she's my mom, so she loves me, but that's different). And I know all this, and I accept it. But it's times like these when it pisses me off the most. 

I would never complain about this to anyone. I feel extremely guilty even writing this here. I know very well that I'm a terribly person, and I don't deserve the roof over my head or anything like that. Let's just be clear about this. It's not like I would ever show this in any way or anything, so don't worry about me acting badly, even though the badness is well and truly inside me.

Anyway, so we had to wait forever after church because our family is nothing if not inefficient, and our friends were very nice and waited with us (as did Talia's gross boyfriend), which was perfectly delightful, or at least would be if I had been in a better mood. But I wasn't, so it wasn't delightful at all. 

After church, we came back, and Mom and Dad were very cheerful. Mom was normal, but Dad was manic, and it was a completely uncomfortable hour before he finally left for the church seminar. I don't know how he can't see that the bipolar diagnosis fits him like a glove. (Oh wait, yes I do- he's completely blind to anything he doesn't like. Denialism at its finest, y'all) Fortunately, he did go to the church seminar, and he wen out the door just now. Gosh, it's so hard to deal with him! Of course, it's my job to do it, so I feel bad for being cranky (which, objectively speaking, I'm not- cranky for me is barely anything), but it's really really hard to be patient. Wow, I'm telling you, there's not enough alcohol in the entire city for all of this (we live in Blue Zone Loma Linda, so this isn't an exaggeration). I usually end up sitting there scratching the skin off my wrist and thinking "I want to die, I want to die" over and over while everyone else goes on their merry way. What can I say? It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it. 

I'm much better at dealing with my siblings, although I'm also convinced that they hate me. Xander's always filled with rage, which is scary, and it's hard to tell what Anselm is thinking, and Talia is so sad, but at least they don't completely disregard my personhood. Don't get me wrong, I love each and every member of my family, it's just hard to take care of them all sometimes, and I get frustrated. But as I'm going through hell, I should keep going. It'll all make me a stronger person one day.

So I went to bed all excited and happy last night because I thought I would get to be home alone for a bit today. But then I remembered this morning that today is Dad's day off from the program, so he's here, and since Xander is at USC and the kids are at school and Mom is at work, there's no one else but me and the Father of Sighs in the house. Which shouldn't be a bad thing, but I fear for my very mental wellbeing here. He's going to come have a Heart-to-Heart conversation with me, I just know it, and it will be deeply uncomfortable. I think I will mix up my vodka-cranberry today. I've been saving it precisely for a moment like this.
Dad just came in and asked me if I wanted to hang up laundry, and I really don't, so I said no, but then he asked if I wouldn't do it even if it was with him, and I was like no??? I just said I didn't want to?? ugh. Now he's going to be all mad at me. But honestly, I think that's better than having to go hang up laundry with him and have him talk to me all serious-like. I'm such a bad person! It's my job to take care of my family, and I'm not doing it! It's hard, though. Like, it's so hard to even make myself get up in the morning, especially knowing what's coming, and then when it does happen, it's so hard to get through. Unless I'm drinking. But even then, it doesn't help as much as it should.

Yesterday we had to go to CKC, which was awful, but now it's over for another week, and we won't have to go back until the next time. I had to teach all these little kids, and they were nice enough, but they all are working on different things, and have different skill levels, so not even the time-honored trick of making them play chamber music together would work. I sure did try though, yes I did! And they all got their lessons, even though some of them were a bit rushed and there was a bit of waiting around involved for some of them. But then one of them went off to throw up in the bathroom and came back, possibly without washing her hands, and now I'm afraid I'm going to catch Child Flu and have to be hospitalized and quite possibly receive expensive and inconvenient surgery to remove my stomach or something. Woe is me! Why must these families be so dedicated to coming every week? Maybe I should invest in a biohazard suit or something. Then that girl's little sister asked me why I had a pseudo-lisp (except she didn't say that, since she's like eight), and I wasn't sure what to say. I mean, it's because my tongue position on the alveolar ridge is lower than average on my sibilant fricatives, but you can't exactly tell that to a third-grader, now can you? She didn't mean any harm by it, and I'm perfectly fine with my speech patterns because I'm a linguist, not a prescriptivist, But I felt self-conscious all the same, and spent the rest of the day trying to avoid making any [s] sounds. Such are the trials we face.
After CKC, we headed home so we could drop off Anselm and freshen up (and I could change into heels and put on lipstick), and then we went off to meet Xander's friend Michael (whose church we played at recently). We're all geeks, so we wanted to go see Ultron and then dissect it afterwards, and everyone was pretty excited about this. It was so worth it! We all hated the unnecessary romantic subplot between Natasha and Bruce (like what the hell, guys, that's so wrong) and were suitably indignant about the treatment of the Maximoff twins. We also had quite a nice discussion about the properties of vibranium, and it was just a really lovely time overall. There weren't that many places open at that time of night, so we went to BJs, and I was okay with this, because I got to eat some egg rolls and a beignet and an obscene amount of ice cream, and I was even lavish enough to order a strawberry lemonade instead of a water (it's not extravagance– it's sophistication). Michael managed to guess my MBTI type immediately, which was very impressive, and I guessed his without any problem, which was probably less impressive because he's an engineer, and therefore more than likely to be an INTJ. I'm still not sure he knows my name, but at least we can talk to each other now. We had a nice discussion about how badly The Imitation Game treated Alan Turing, and how terribly offensive that was to our sensibilities (okay, mostly my sensibilities. But still). He's really such a nice boy. I would like for him to marry Talia.

Okay, I'm back! I was out with Natalie just now. We went to the College Night™ at the local bowling alley, and it was super fun! The last time I was there, I was on a truly horrible date, so this time was much better, and managed to purge the place of all its bad memories. I got three strikes! Which you'd think would be bad, but a strike is really a good thing, and means you knocked all the pins down, and then you get a lot of points! So I got a lot of points, and I was suitably proud of myself. Also, the word "strike" makes me think of labor and revolution and cool stuff, so that was a nice little added bonus. Bowling balls are so heavy, though. I developed a technique based on the one from Parks and Rec, and it worked decently, but not as well as the professional-looking people around us. But who cares? We had a lovely time, and that's all that matters. There were some pretty cute guys there, and they all seemed to be very friendly, especially since we were looking super hot, and that always adds a nice little touch, you know?
Afterwards, we didn't want to go home yet, so we went to the 24-hour donut shop in my town for a little pick-me-up. We got sweets and shared a Thai iced tea, and it was unhealthy and wonderful. We stayed there for maybe an hour, just chatting about random things, and it was so nice that I barely even thought of death or anything. Is this what living in the moment is all about?

Oh yeah, so I got my new bras finally, and they're super cute. I got this silky hot pink push-up one, and then this mink padded one with lace trim, and they both make my boobs look awesome (well, more awesome). Ordering online is where it's at, guys. I don't support Victoria's Secret because they have problematic business practices and disseminate bad information and promote unhealthy body images (and they're hella expensive besides), but it's sometimes hard to find a substitute, you know? Fortunately, I found a cheap online retailer based in the UK, and they have good sizes and decent shipping, so I can get stuff from there. Why do I love shopping so much? Maybe it's been engrained into me because of the materialistic society I live in. Maybe it's an internalized gender stereotype. Who knows? But it's one of the simple pleasures of this life.
Actually, I was hoping to do one last big summer blowout before the kids started school, but that didn't happen. I wanted to go to LA or at least to Irvine and get some good deals on shoes and dresses and such (maybe I could finally even buy the big floppy summer hat that I've been dreaming of for years), but no one wanted to go with me, and I didn't want to go by myself, so sadly that dream never came to be. But let's look at it this way– at least I saved a lot of money.

I should probably go to bed soon, because my habit of staying up until all hours is definitely not a good one. But (in the words of Skye Whatsit from Guys and Dolls) this is my time of day, and there's not a single doll that I'd like to share it with. What can I say? I've never been in love before.
(That was a lie for the sake of allusion. I'm sorry.)
It's really too bad that time passes so fast when I'm not doing something distasteful. If I'm even sort of content, on it goes, into oblivion! And I'm left wondering what on earth happened, and how I got to be so old. (It's only about four months until I'm 21. Can you believe that?) But then during the day, everything goes by really slowly, so I can't win. Tomorrow, we have to perform with CKC, but that's in the evening. But still, it'll be hanging over my head all day. Hmm. Maybe I should do my nails. I'm in desperate need of a manicure. And while I'm doing that, I could try that avocado face mask I read about yesterday, and possibly a hair mask too because my hair is seriously dead (literally and figuratively), and really thin and fragile. (Oh no, my hair is just like me.) Let's have a spa day, guys! I'm totally going to put tea bags all over my face. I'm pumped. Let's do this!
All righty, time for me to go. I will return (probably). Goodnight!

I just had a (pretty short) therapy appointment, and it was pretty good, but now I feel more anxious and sad than I did before, so maybe it wasn't actually that good. Or maybe it was a sign that it worked? You know you have to get sad before you can get happy. (What's happy again?)

One problem with having appointments back-to-back with Mom is that she always wants to know what I talked about. And sometimes I talked about her. What does one really say to that? Even worse, though, she usually comes out in tears, and then I have to be a comforter. Which shouldn't be bad, so I sound like a terrible person right now. But I don't particularly like comforting! I'm bad at it! So I feel like I make everything worse. Well, that's my job, isn't it?

Let me tell you about the New and Exciting events that have happened. Xander got a car! It's a lovely little four-door manual hatchback, black, and it has a decent stereo system. We haven't decided on a name for it yet, but I hope it's something sophisticated. Xander wants me to learn to drive stick with it, and actually, I do know how to drive a stick shift, but I'm not very good at it, so it will be an exciting opportunity to learn. We have our permits now (Xander and I do), and we're getting ready to schedule appointments to get our licenses. Isn't that exciting? I don't have a car, but if I get good at driving a manual, I can use Xander's (before he leaves, or if I see him in LA, since we'll both be there next year), and that's something. I take the train a lot anyway. 

Hmm, what else? Oh- I went mini-golfing with Natalie! It probably would have been more fun if I hadn't been thinking about death (my death, obvi) the whole time, but it was still lovely. I always love to see her <3 then, that night was the Perseid meteor shower, so I stayed up until 4 so I could see it. And it worked! I wandered around on the streets like a Romantic person, and there's a lot of light pollution in my neighborhood, but I still saw two meteors, and it was everything I'd hoped for and more. I adore the stars; once upon a time I wanted to be an astronomer, and I still am so fascinated by all the things in the sky. Looking up there makes me feel so alive, which sounds silly, I know, but it's wonderful. I think this is going to be an experience that I'll remember for a long time.

Okay! Mom and I just went to eat at this cute little Ethiopian place, and it was really yummy! We got a veggie thing, so the gravies didn't really soak into the injera that much, but it was still great! We didn't even save any to bring home for the others. Now we're at Mom's work, and she's doing some stuff and I'm taking advantage of the wifi and air conditioning. I'm so easily placated, it's funny. I just go along with everything. That's good, I guess. Although it just means that I'm always vaguely miserable, sort of like the base rate of firing in a neuron. And then I sometimes get more sad, and that's like when the neuron's firing increasing. Very unfortunate. But you know, you do what you can. I never claimed to be perfect.

Why won't my tummy stop making noise? I don't want it to be so loud :( this is such an embarrassing predicament. What if someday I'm accepting my award for my wonderful performance as Cosette on Broadway (or in Hollywood, tbh, I'm not picky), and just as I go to give my heartfelt speech, my tummy busts out with its own rendition of Do You Hear the People Sing? That would be terrible! I suppose I could pretend it was my costar, but that would be so terribly dishonest. Oh my, what a problem I face! 

Here's another problem: my legs are so dry, and no amount of lotion seems to salve them. Instead of being silky and smooth and supple, they're crackly and careworn, and not at all attractive. Maybe I should try coconut oil? Oh yeah, speaking of which, apparently some people use coconut oil instead of shampoo. That seems so gross to me! I don't get it, I mean, I understand putting it on your hair after you wash it, to make it shiny or soft or whatever, but using it instead seems icky. Okay, time to go. Bye now!

Sometimes I think that the day is the worst, but then night comes, when I have to go to bed, and I'm lying there trying to go to sleep, and then I think that this is the worst. It's not just all the anguished groans of all my family members as they pretend not to be having emotional crises, and it's not just me and my anxious thoughts swirling around like really unwanted permanent roommates. It's not even just the excruciating unpleasantness of trying to sleep in the heat. All of these are factors, of course, and I'm not good at dealing with any of them. But more than anything, this is the time when I really have to be alone with my thoughts, and suddenly everything becomes 100x worse than it really is, because my brain is just thoughtful like that. (That was a really depressing pun oh wow) Hmm, so I guess we're comparing two different types of despair here. One is daytime despair, when everything is blank and miserable, and desperate, yes, but more empty than anything else. And then the other one is nighttime despair, when it's all dark and scary and full of brooding thoughts and anxieties that won't go away, and the knowledge that the day is over, and tomorrow will be just another day like this one. They're both unbearable in different ways, so I don't know which is worse. At least at night, no one is usually trying to talk about emotional problems with me (usually). Right now, it's night, so it seems bad, but tomorrow will be coming soon enough, and then I'll probably wish I were still lying in my bed. It's all so situational, isn't it? Well, I guess that's good. I wouldn't want to be the type of person who always has an opinion on what's right all the time. (Okay that came out weirdly. You know I'd like to be right, of course, but it's not all set in stone, you know, and I don't want to be inflexible) now I'm rambling! It must be very late. I have to get up early tomorrow to get the kiddies off to school and then volunteer at the station serving breakfast, so I should go to sleep (or at least attempt to). Morning's coming; I need to be ready! 

Sorry

Okay! So I drank some alcohol, and now I'm able to get up and move around, but honestly, I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I'm having a Very Bad Day, let me tell you. I'm nothing but a burden, and everyone hates me. They do; don't try to tell me different. I'm the absolute worst. And I don't have anything to look forward to, just teaching, which I can't avoid, and then a night with my family. Who all hate me, by the way. Everyone hates me. Which I understand, because I hate me too. I want to get out of here, I want to be anywhere but here, but I also don't want to be anywhere. If I were somewhere else, I would have to deal with other people and their hatred and all the stares and I'm scared of that too. So I don't want to be anywhere, but I also want to be everywhere, if that makes sense (it probably doesn't). I'm scratching up my skin with my nails, because physical pain is better than what's inside my head, but it's not working, and now I'm even uglier than I was before. I think I need another drink. Maybe then I can sleep. And if I can sleep, I can get away from everything for a little while. That's the goal. And I know I'll feel even worse when I wake up, but that's what alcohol is for, isn't it? I'm not an alcoholic. I'm just very sad. I wish someone would come over and beat the crap out of me, and then maybe I'd feel better. Or not. But I wish they would do it anyway. 

How do people die? How does that happen? How am I still alive, when so many wonderful, beautiful people have been killed because of their race, or their sexual orientation, or their gender, or anything else? I'm the one who deserves that, not them, yet here I still am, taking up all the resources and causing nothing but trouble to everyone around me. I'm trash and they're not and I'm still alive, and I don't know why. What is my life worth? It can't be much. I wish I could die saving the world, or at least making a difference somewhere. I'll never make a difference. I just have to teach until everything's over, and everything will be like it is now, forever. I feel so trapped, but that's how I'm supposed to be, isn't it? Maybe if I do exactly what everyone wants me to, I'll be better, and then everything will be okay. But I can't! I can't be perfect. My mom hates me for trying to be a parent to her, even though that's what she wants me to do, and my dad is the same. My siblings hate me for who I am, and I hate me, and everything is so shitty. I can't do it! I can't do anything! I'm useless, and I'm undeserving of anything good, but I'm so privileged, and I still have the temerity to act so self-obsessed and whiny, and it's absolutely hateful. The world would be a better place if I weren't here. What good do I do? I teach shitty violin lessons to shitty brats who hate my guts, and I edit shitty textbooks, and I provide shitty counseling to everyone who asks for it. Oh yes, and I drink shitty alcohol, because nothing is worse than being sober. My life has no meaning, not really. I want to hurt myself, and I want to do something destructive (to me), and I want to go somewhere far away, and I want to explode. And I don't want to be here. I don't want to exist for a little while. Why am I so pathetic? What's wrong with me? I'm so over-privileged in every way. I'm disgusting. If anyone deserved to be killed, it would be me. But I don't believe that anyone does, so that's silly, but then again, there's an exception to everything, isn't there? And maybe I'm wrong. Dad told me that my values were weak and stupid. They probably are. Maybe people do deserve to die, ad if so, I have to be the first in line.

Nothing's going to change, not ever, and life's not going to get better, so what do I have to look forward to? Maybe I'll fail my classes next quarter! Or maybe I'll get rejected from every graduate school I apply to! Who knows? I know. I know that nothing will turn out right, not ever. I'm the exception, the outlier, and I always will be, and nothing will ever change. I'm going to be this way forever. And I'm so afraid and so miserable and I deserve all of this, but I hate it so much. I'm useless and pathetic. I don't know what to do. Well, yes. I do. I'm going to keep on going as I do, because there's nothing else I can do, and forever is going to be the same as today. Into the night go one and all. 

We had a hilarious performance this morning. Pretty much everything that could have gone wrong did. Here's a nice bulleted list of some of the travesties:
•Talia's not here (she's on choir retreat), so we're short-handed
•Xander didn't finalize the performance with his contact, so we didn't even know we were doing it until yesterday
•As such, our name in the bulletin was "Xander's Family"
•We got stuck in traffic and missed the prelude
•When we got there, it turned out we were doing the postlude too, and we hadn't prepared anything
•We had to do children's offertory on the spur of the moment, and Mom picked Jesus Loves all the Little Children, and it has totally problematic lyrics that everyone was probably thinking to themselves as we played
•Xander's violin got really out of tune, so our entire offertory (the regular one) was all funky
•In our special music, Xander started with the wrong song, so I had to sing the lyrics of Beach Spring to the tune of Come Thou Fount (it actually fits though???)
•Then we all panicked and switched back to our original arrangement (mashup of Gift of Love and Beach Spring/There's a Wideness)
•It was in the wrong key, and I wasn't expecting it, so my voice cracked :(
•Also, since it was in the wrong key, the harmony went all weird
•Anselm's cello popped a string, and he had to spend the entire time trying to fix it
•I switched around the verses and sang them in the wrong order (which no one except me noticed, but still)
•Xander messed up the bridge and the outro, and we didn't know when to pause and when to end
•Because of this, the last verse didn't sound like the last verse
•Not very many people listened to our postlude :( (it's not that kind of church)
•We had to eat haystacks
All in all, it was Quite a Time. I think we did decently, though, and so many people complimented me on my "beautiful voice," so I mean, that's good for me (not for the others, though). Xander's friend Michael is such a sweetheart, and he managed to get a special lunch for us (which unfortunately was haystacks, but beggars can't be choosers), and we got to talk to him. He's like a family friend at this point, and we all like him. So it all ended happily, I suppose.

You know what's not happy, though? Me. I'm not happy. Okay, well, that's nothing new, but I will never tire of complaining about it, because I'm a loathsome and hideous chaos monster who feeds on narcissistic rants about the minutiae of her privileged life. To that end, let me again put forth my catalogue of grievances (just call me Abbé Seiyes; I could start a revolution with my indignation).
I'm never happy, we know this, but it always gets exponentially worse on weekends. Or actually, does it? Maybe not. But weekends are hellish enough, so there's that. For one thing, I know Sunday's coming, and on Sunday, I have to teach, and teaching sucks the soul from my very body, so that's something which I look forward to with the deepest dread all week. But no one likes it when I complain, so I can't, and besides, I can't burden my poor family with my petty dislike of children. But I'm telling you bro, it's the worst. Who hates teaching more than I do? Probably Hercules's teacher, when he got smacked on the head with a lyre. And maybe those people who have to teach like seven grades all at once in one-room schoolhouses (which I didn't know still existed until recently). But I feel like I'm definitely up there.
Also! Dad, being the passive-agressive snake-in-the-grass that he is, has started to wander about town, telling everyone within earshot about his marital problems. Now, they're all descending on Mom to yell at her, and it's very trying. Why must he be this way? I really don't understand. Well, okay, I do, but only in an abstract sort of way. Like, if someone were writing a Dark and Gritty neo-realist novel, this would make perfect sense, and would be something that the thoroughly unpleasant paramour of the title character would do. But in real life, it's much less acceptable. And honestly, it's so terribly trite. At least the townspeople haven't conspired to make Mom a scarlet A to wear around (or maybe an S, for "separation"). Or at least, not yet.
You know what hurts children more than separation? Abuse. Just putting that out there.
My family is honestly such a dysfunctional one. Like, every single one of us could be the subject of a Next to Normal-styled rock musical about the degeneration of happiness in the modern era, and the pain of living with mental illness. It could be a cycle, ya know, like The Ring or something. Each musical would be like three hours long, and they would all come together in the end for some kind of surrealist finale decrying the establishment and all that it stands for. It would be glorious. (I want Samantha Barks to play me)
And like, I understand how lucky I am, and how incredibly bratty I sound all the time, and believe me, that wears on me too, but it's hard to stop complaining (in here, not in real life). And also, it's hard to stop drinking. I'm going to become an alcoholic before my 21st birthday. What ever am I to do?

This is totally changing the subject (sort of; it's still complain-y), but I'm super ugly right now. Or, well, all the time, but right now I feel the crushing weight of my own unattractiveness more than I usually do. I mean, I have nice silky hair, and that's something, and also my boobs are pretty darn boobalicious (and okay, I have an amazing ass, let's be real here), but I have so many other unfortunate features that if someone were writing a Deep and Meaningful retelling of Pygmalion and Galatea where Galatea was the Frankenstein's monster of her dystopian society (because obviously it would be a dystopia), I would be an excellent choice to play her. I wouldn't even have to put on makeup or anything; I could just wander out onstage and everyone would scream in horror and try to cover their children's eyes. Actually, I'm very interested in this premise now. I hope someone writes this one day so that I don't have to, because I would probably not do it justice, and it deserves to have justice done to it. It could be called Galatea of the Fears (as an allusion to Dali's Galatea of the Spheres and also because Galatea would be so ugly that it would be fearful) and it would be very minimalist and cool. It would probably win many awards.
Can people stop staring at me for like five seconds? Like, that would be dandy. Or if they have to, can't they be, ya know, cool about it? Like, they could be staring at me because I remind them of their long-lost child, and they want to leave a fortune to me and pay off all my debt. Or something. That would be perf. But nah tho, all I got is plenty o' nothing (and it's not plenty for me).
Okay, I think the cafe is closing, so I have to leave. I'm afraid this is terribly abrupt, and trust me, I feel deeply Heathcliffian, but really, it fits my image of a Brooding Postmodern Antihero, so it's okay. I should go smoke a special type of cigarette now or something. Anyway, bye now!

In which everything is Terrible

Guess who's back and better than ever!!

Not me

I'm worse than ever

Everything has gone to shit (which isn't a new development), and it's wearing me down, man. I'm about to shuffle off this poor mortal coil and ascend to the stars in a phantasm of complete and utter indignation (and possibly inebriation). I mean, I was drinking whiskey by 8 AM, and that should give you an idea of how my day is progressing so far.

Since the kiddies had school today, and it was their first day and all, I decided to get up and go with them, partially to make sure that Dad didn't do anything weird, and partially to lend a supporting and helpful presence in their hour of need. So I got up, and even though I got about three or four hours of sleep last night, it all was okay. We had breakfast, and I brushed their hair and made sure they had their homework and all that (and I took So Many Pictures, like the proud mother duck that I am), and then we drove off. Dad, true to form, almost made them late, but it's the first day, so maybe their teachers cut them some slack? One can only hope. So we dropped them off, and then the metaphorical shit hit the figurative fan. Dad began to wail and groan and gnash his teeth, and he became so upset that I made him pull the car over, and I drove the rest of the way back. He was so disconsolate that I made the mistake of engaging him in conversation, and then he wouldn't stop, so when we got home, I spent a completely uncomfortable half-hour trying to counsel him through all his issues (actually, no, not all of his issues, he has way too many for that). Finally, he wandered off, and I hightailed it upstairs to pour out my heart to my best man, Jack Daniels. Jack is a good listener, and soon, the world looked just a bit brighter. May the cup of friendship never run dry, truly. 

I slept all day, trying to avoid Dad, and it worked, so by the time I woke up, he was gone, and Xander (bless his soul) had made me a big mug of coffee. Let me tell you, that was the highlight of my day. No matter what happens, coffee has never failed to make me a bit happier (why do I drink alcohol again?). So I cleaned up a bit (with Xander's help), and we talked about our fee~eelings, and then he went upstairs to practice, so I turned on some good ole Broadway show tunes and made lunch for the kiddies. And then they came home! It's so exciting! They're both real school children now! Anselm made some friends, and Talia did a good job on her lit essay, and overall, it was very successful, and none of the things they were worried about came to pass. So that was quite a relief. But then we had to deal with Dad, which wasn't as fun. Fortunately, he went off to his psych appointment soon after that, and we all got to enjoy a pleasant hour or so by ourselves. The thing about psych appointments, though, is that they don't last forever. So now Dad is back, and he's (of course) himself. He cornered me and asked me for a hug, and at least he asked?? Like, he usually doesn't do that much. But I couldn't bring myself to do it, so I said no, and he got all pissy, so now I'm hiding out in the library. I don't think I can deal with another emotional discussion right now. Maybe after a few shots of whiskey. 

Okay, so I realize how bad this all sounds, like what the hell Maria, you're not even going to hug your poor old dad? What kind of monster are you? And trust me, I feel tremendously guilty about that. I hate myself if I don't, but I also hate myself if I do, and this way, I don't have to feel dirty and violated afterwards. See, Dad isn't one to touch people normally. He's extremely possessive and entitled, and frankly, creepy about it, and Xander and I think this has something to do with our social awkwardness today. All our lives, Dad has been unwantedly touchy, and we never really knew it was a problem until we grew up, and by then, it was already weird. Now, he tells us delightful things like, "this is helping you! It's good for you!" and "even if it feels bad to you doesn't mean it is!" and "I know better than you do. This is good for you!" and "come on, don't be mean. I need this!" (All direct quotes). Which is very creepy. I suppose touching us helps him fulfill some kind of physical need or desire or something, but. Like. It's not our job to do that? And frankly, feeling entitled to touch us however and whenever just because we're his kids is Really Frickin Gross. Fortunately, it's mostly just me whom he touches, although poor Anselm does get his share when I'm not watching, but it's bad enough that I honestly dread when he comes over, because I know what's coming. I've started having nightmares about it, like really bad as traumatic ones, which is annoying, because I have enough nightmares already, thank you very much. And maybe it's my duty to provide this sort of vehicle for physical satisfaction, but I'm really uncomfortable with it, and I can't make myself relax and enjoy it, no matter what anyone says. Nor can I just "sit back and let it happen for my own good," as my dad so eloquently puts it. This goes against every fiber of my being, and honestly, I have a right to bodily autonomy just like everyone else, a right that protects me from all people, even blood relations. As I write this now (I haven't really thought about it before because it's so uncomfortable), I realize that it's symptomatic of my dad's general attitude towards me. He regards me as property, and feels so entitled to me and everything that I am, that he sees no problem with using me as a personal therapist or emotional punching bag or whatever he wants, anytime. Not that he's the only one, honestly, I mean my mom has also woken me up to vent her feelings on me, and stuff like that. But my dad is so much worse, and he does it partially knowingly, I think. Why does this happen? Heaven knows I'm the last person to victim-blame, but I'm not really a victim, am I, and I can't help but feel it's all my fault. If I were different, maybe I would be treated better, and I would feel more comfortable being around my home. 

Dad is now having a very loud conversation with his therapist on the phone, and I'm sure this will end badly. Which is to say, it will end with him seeking me out, and because I feel so much guilt over not hugging him earlier, I'm probably (definitely) going to go with it. And then I'll go drink. My life is so predictable lately. During the day, Dad will use me, and when Mom comes home, it will be her turn. I have prescience now- Apollo himself would be jealous. I can see how everything will turn out, forever! It's amazing, really, but who knew that future vision would turn out to be such a curse? (Literally everyone, yes I know, I'm as steeped in classic mythology as the next person) I need a change. Or maybe I don't, but I want one, and in this society, isn't that almost the same thing? 

I've already slept more than I should have today, and honestly I feel like I'll have weird dreams if I sleep again, so I'm awake now, for better or for worse. And it's definitely worse. What am I supposed to do right now? I don't know. I gotta get out of this place, if it's the last thing I ever do~ I gotta get out of this place- girl, there's a better life for me and you! (Well, there's not, but hope springs eternal and all that) If only there was a revolution that I could wholeheartedly throw myself into. I could die on the barricades and all that. It would be very poetic, and maybe people would draw attractive art of me for years to come, and art historians would analyze my luscious curves and flowing tresses and talk about the symbolism of my jewelry. Which, as we all know, is the dream. Maybe they would even make a musical. (Maybe my part would even be an alto role.) Who knows! All I know is that I would dearly love to punch a National Guardsman in the face. 

Aww crap Dad is bothering Talia. Better go intervene. Why must things be this way? Maybe I was a terrible sinner in my childhood (even more so than I am now). Nothing like uncomfortable situations to bring out the best in problematic retribution theology, am I right? Okay, better go. Bye now!

Eventful!

I got my permit! (Again) you see, the first time, no one really bothered with it much, and it expired, but this time, I'm completely determined to see this thing through and get my real drivers' license at long last! It's going to happen. I'm going to make it happen. Having even such a small measure of independence would be unimaginably wonderful, even if I didn't have a car of my own or anything (I'm still working on that bit). It might seem ridiculous that I, a fully grown 20-year-old emotional caretaker of an entire family, would still be unable to drive, but stranger things have happened (like my 23-year-old brother not being able to drive). So it will all be okay. I have confidence!

Another momentous event is happening. Talia and Anselm are starting school tomorrow! Talia is going to be a senior, so it's not really such a stressful time for her, but Anselm is going to be a freshman, and it's his first day of school ever. Actually, it's not, because he did summer school health, but that hardly counts, does it? This is his first real actual day of school, and it's really frickin weird. When Talia started school, it was weird too, but sort of less so? Like, I was only 3 when she was born, so I didn't really raise her, and we've always seemed closer in age anyway. But with Anselm, I actually did raise him, like I fed him and dressed him and taught him while we were still homeschooled (and I still tutor him now), and so on, and even now, he comes to me for stuff. So it's weird to think of him going off to school now; I think I know what a mom would feel like. I'm not sure I like it! But you know, I think he'll be fine. He's a smart kid, and unlike the rest of us, he's good with people, so hopefully he can make some friends easily. He didn't have that much trouble with his assignments, so academically, I think he'll be okay too, although it will take a bit of adjustment, I'm sure. I just hope that he's happy! I wouldn't want him to be miserable or anything. Oh, this is so stressful! Kids will be the death of me yet.

Mom and I went to the homeless shelter to serve breakfast this morning (as we do every Tuesday), and as always, all the men tried to hit on me. But no one proposed marriage, or asked Mom for permission to know me better, or have me a (possibly handmade) gift this time, so I'm counting it as a success. Still, I truly wish this wouldn't happen all the time. I like doing soup kitchen stuff though. It's chaotic and spur-of-the-moment, and no one is too uptight about it. Hopefully, I can do this sort of thing in LA this year (and maybe even do a partnership with NAMI?). After that, we went to play at the VA hospital, since Xander has contacts there, and it turned out pretty well. Talia didn't go, because she's been boycotting all our performances lately, but the rest of us went, and we sounded decent. It's really pretty fun performing together, I must admit. And the people liked it (I think), so that was a success too. I should have warmed up my voice before trying to do Listen, though.

It's not that late (okay, well it's 1:42AM, but that's early for summer nights), but I intend to get up tomorrow and escort the kids to school, partly so Dad doesn't do anything weird, and partly so I can wish them luck and all that, so that means I have to get up at 6:30 and get ready and stuff. So I think I'll go to sleep now, or at least attempt to. Goodnight! I hope your rest is sweet and lovely and filled with splendorous dreams!

why am I this way

Why am I always so melancholy? It's terrible! I don't want to be! I'd rather be fluffy and light and full of sunshine and dreams, sort of like a postmodern Daisy Buchanan. But instead, I'm a Romantic anti-hero! How embarrassing.

Hmm. Actually, maybe I'm more like a postmodern antihero. I'm a wreck, after all, and I'm not rich, and I don't have a beautiful girlfriend (sadly). I sort of slink around with dark shadows under my eyes, drinking whiskey instead of eating, developing increasingly unhealthy sleep habits, and losing weight day by day. Oh yes, and let's not forget the part where I seem to have found my own particular martyr complex. "Oh, dear me, my poor soul doesn't matter!" I cry, throwing myself onto the train tracks of selfless asceticism. "Please, let me take care of everything! Let me die, and you shall live!" (What an overdramatic little shit I am.) Anyway, it's very unfortunate, and I'm not so delighted with anything at the moment.

At least I look super cute. So there's that.

Right, so let me tell you all a hilarious fact of my existence. Well, okay, it's not so much hilarious as terribly sad and indicative of debilitating problems in my later life that will haunt me until the day I die, but let's not parse words. So! As we all know, boys seem to find me irresistible, which isn't completely surprising, considering my small size and conventionally attractive appearance. But though I understand their ardor, I don't condone it. In fact, it's quite annoying. I just want to be able to go about my day without men trying to hit on me, is that too much to ask? Well, no matter if it is or not, justice is never fair, so that ain't happening. At the moment, DD is texting me about how he wants to "be the best I've ever had" and how he wants to reconcile my heart and grace me with the healing power of love and all that. Very trite. Anyway, I feel like I shouldn't really be replying to him, especially since I think he's pretentious and unnecessarily egotistical, but here I am, making terrible life decisions yet again. At least he can keep up with me (sort of), which is a refreshing change of pace, but then again, he's so horribly pompous about it. And he's so self-satisfied! Like wow, tone it down, man. Maybe this could be one of those lovely stories where the two people who fight all the time develop Deep and Lasting feelings for each other, and their animosity becomes amity? I read lots of Les Misérables fan fiction like that, and it's very cute. But I don't think this guy is going to be my Grantaire (or am I the Grantaire?) because he acts like a sophomore philosophy major, and really, that isn't conducive to Deep and Lasting feelings at all. Oh, woe is me! Whatever will I do? If I were more of a romantic type of person, maybe I would appreciate the situation more, but as it is, it's a bit wasted on me. Speaking of being wasted, I sincerely hope he doesn't try to Fix My Pain or anything. "Ouuhh, Maria!" he would cry, one hand held ostentatiously over his heart, "My love, why must you live such an unhealthy life? You will die! And I will be left all alone! Please, my darling, let me hold you in my burly and sensual arms until you have abandoned all vice!" Ugh, even writing about that sends shivers down my spine. How disgusting! Also, he doesn't have very burly and sensual arms, I don't think. In fact, he looks kind of nerdy. Which is okay, I guess, because appearance doesn't really matter to me, but I think I would look more aesthetic next to a tough and massive biker/wrestler type person. Beauty and the Beast, or a Night Elf and Warlock, or something of that ilk. (Bahorel and Jean Prouvaire?) But, hmm. Maybe he'll be rich someday. That would be good. Given my particular leanings, I'm probably quite likely to end up unemployed, and the more rich people I know, the better. Goodness knows I won't be able to rely on my family; they're almost as impractical as I am. But of course, I would never sell my dignity for a more comfortable lifestyle. That's so not me. Maybe if I had a poor little child living with evil innkeepers in Montfermeil, and I had to send them exorbitant amounts of money every month because my disgusting trash boyfriend abandoned us, I could be persuaded to do something drastic, but other than that, I don't really see it happening. So DD's potential wealth isn't really a draw after all. Too bad.

I'm at a coffeeshop right now, and there's a charming group of people playing D&D at the table next to me, and it's warming this poor old heart of mine like nothing else. I too wish to play! I would be an elf. Or maybe a mage. Yeah, probably a mage. It's totally my aesthetic. But sadly, I have no friends with whom to play, because everyone I know is substantially cooler than I am, and the one's who aren't are complete assholes, and would probably accuse me of being a Fake Geek Girl or something. Speaking of which (well, not really, but it's related to feminism) (sort of), our pastor released a statement regarding the events of the General Conference today, and it was so good. Like, he definitely came down on the side of justice, and he was so clever about it, and his rhetoric was on point, and it just made me really happy. I thought I would share, because to be quite honest, the GC decision (and its implications) was bothering me a lot, and I was more than relieved to hear our church (which is a flagship organization of the Seventh-Day Adventist community) disseminating sensible views. Other than that, though, church wasn't fun. Spending time with my family is always a recipe for disaster. We're all so dysfunctional, especially now, and to be quite honest with you, I feel like my overdramatic angst is pretty much justified.

Okay, I think it's time to leave now. But I might be back later to complain more, because you know I can't go very long without doing that. Bye now!

Because DD asked

What do I want in a romantic partner?

That's a good question, seeing as I don't really care about having one. I'm not aromantic, I don't think, but I never really saw what the big deal was with romance. Capital R Romance, sure- I adore the entire movement. But I think I'm the type of person to write poetry because I like poetry, not because I like the person to whom it's addressed. So it's hard to think of the important attributes. I suppose my ideal romantic partner would be the equivalent of a super cool friend whom I could make out with and stuff. That would be swell. With this in mind, I'm not super picky; I just want someone who would mesh with my values. So!

I can't stand jealousy or possessiveness. Like, I get that it's a human emotion and stuff, and of course it's natural to feel some. But people who let it control them REALLY bother me. I don't belong to you; I don't belong to anyone. And frankly, if you don't trust me enough to hang around people who aren't you, we shouldn't be in a relationship anyway. I mean, gross, right? Keep your possessive ass at least 3 miles away from me at all times, please and thank you. (If we're in the bedroom, it's different- I'm such a bottom it's ridiculous. But anyway) 

What else? I don't like people who refuse to be open to things. Life is a learning experience, and I want to keep learning and growing until the day I die. And if that means admitting I'm wrong sometimes, I'm more than happy to do that! I never want to be a condescending know-it-all who has an answer for everything, and I don't want to be in a relationship with someone like that either. Let's explore the world together! We'll learn and grow and mature and never become stagnant or complacent, and when we argue, it will be fun, because we'll believe in what we're saying. Or maybe not, but at least we won't be stick-in-the-muds about it. I always want to be open to change, and I want my partner to be too.

Sort of in the same vein, I love people who can see the beauty in things. I love beauty; it's my goal to find and create it in the world, through kindness, love, humor, all that- and yes, beautiful things too, like a sunset, or a lovely poem, or a code, or anything! So it's important that the person I ship myself with is amenable to this. Like, cynicism might seem cool, but it's annoying when you're trying to talk about your passion, and they're all rude and yucky about it. They don't have to be a rosy optimist, I mean I'm definitely not, but they shouldn't try to be dark and brooding just for the sake of it. That's totally uncool.

What else? Oh! Patience and understanding and flexibility! All of those are different, but they go together, so I'm mentioning them together. I think it would be exhausting to be around someone with a short fuse, and besides I'm a timid little person sometimes, and it would scare me. Empathy is incredibly important to me, and I'd really want my SO to have it. I'm not saying I want a doormat person- that's no fun, and I would get really bored. I want someone who can challenge me, but who is ultimately kind and understanding, and who will try to see where I'm coming from. That would be the best! This means they would treat everyone with respect and kindness no matter what, unless that person needed a smack down, and even then, they would be mature. That's not too much to ask, right? I don't want an asshole who's only nice to me; I want someone who's genuinely nice to everyone, including me!

first draft of the letter I'm going to send to dad's shrink

Madam,

My name is Maria K–, and I am a third-year linguistics major at UCLA. At the moment, I am home for the summer, and will be until late September, so I have a front-row seat to the events that are unfolding in my family.

Recently, my father, C–, entered the BHI program under your counseling, and as such, both my parents have received advice from you regarding how to proceed. Since some of that advice concerned me, I am taking the liberty of asking for clarification on certain points which have come to my attention.

While I believe in the power of physical touch as much as anyone, I believe that it is only effective when all parties consent. However, I have been given reason to believe that you are suggesting to my siblings and I that we somehow owe it to our father to let him touch us whenever he wants, however he wants, and without regard for our comfort. Furthermore, you have suggested that this is especially important for my sister and me, since as women, we must be groomed for further (presumably heterosexual) relationships. Ignoring all the incorrect assumptions you are making with this, and even leaving aside the fact that it is frankly not really your business whom we are involved with and how, I still feel that it is necessary to point out the frightening implications of your assertion. Do you really believe that a healthy relationship is founded on a blatant violation of boundaries? In the contemporary discourse, this notion lies under the umbrella of rape culture. As a healthcare professional, I would hope that you do not endorse this type of thing, and if you do, that is a cause for deep concern. "Daddy issues" stemming from a lack of physical touch have not (and will not) hurt me or my sister in our relationships, but I believe that a constant lack of respect for our boundaries definitely will.

There is another problem that I would like to ask you about. Recently, you told my mother that she should move out and leave my father to learn to provide for our family. Either I am missing something vital in what you said, or you have some very strange ideas of what is tenable, because this does not seem like a good idea in any respect. I understand that my father needs to learn responsibility, and it is important that he becomes a functional member of society, but children are not collateral, and I refuse to allow my siblings to suffer while he works through his issues. If you push this idea, I may have to take time off from school to care for my siblings (and my father), since I cannot let them go without proper care. You do not know me, so I must impress upon you my desperation in this instance; school is what I live for, and only in a case of the direst need would I consider derailing myself. This may not perturb you much, so I will ask you to consider the fact that the kind of household my father would run, even if he were capable of doing so, would not be a healthy one, and would not be the kind of place in which children could thrive, or even grow. He would be happy as an anachronistic autocrat, yes, but at what cost? I believe there are other ways of allowing him to be fulfilled and content without other people paying the price.  

I do not know what my father has told you regarding our family, and I do not want to know. That is between him and you. But I do ask you to keep in mind that his version of household events are necessarily skewed, and he does not share the same perspective that I, or the rest of my family members, do. I know that you have spoken to my mother already, and if you would like to hear from another member of our family, I am more than willing to speak with you as well. Please reply at your earliest convenience; I would like to hear your thoughts on all this, and hopefully, you will prove me wrong in my conclusions.

Best wishes,

Maria

👊💥

So I'm a wreck, and I think my body knows that, because I haven't had my monthly time for the entire month of July, and I don't think that's right, but even if it were okay, my tummy won't shut up, and my ear hurts so badly that I really think I'll be tempted to punch something soon. Why? Who knows. Maybe I sinned too much in a previous life. I can only hope that it gets better overnight and I feel more like a reasonable human being tomorrow. 

Physical ailments aside, though, I have ample other reason to be grumpy. Interestingly, most of them have to do with my family. At the moment, I'm convince that they all hate me, which is of course irrational, or at least I think it is because I'm usually convinced that everyone hates me, but anxiety is a funny thing, and it can be very persuasive. Like, Dad is the de facto Bad Guy of the family (which, granted, isn't without reason), but if he leaves, there will need to be a new scapegoat, I'm sure, and there's no reason it shouldn't be me. I mean, I'd hate me if I met me. Now, I'm not sure how being the family counselor would work after that- maybe they would continue to use me, but hate me for it? That would be a circumstance quite full of drama and meaningfulness and it sounds like a bad 19th century novel. So that's probably what will happen. Of course, then I can expect to be beautiful and virtuous and completely one-dimensional, and I can be swept off my feet by a handsome and equally one-dimensional author self-insert, and we will move to Paris and cultivate our gardens and everything will be roses and honey from then on out. Which sounds like quite a terrible fate, really, except for the moving to Paris part (although I don't love their political situation at the moment, so who knows about that either). But where was I? Right, my irrational fears of everything under the sun. Do you suppose that I'm being a bit melodramatic, possibly? I do. I'm like the self-referential equivalent of a Phillip Roth poem. Why anyone puts up with me is anyone's guess (though not mine, because I'd be sure to imagine something thoroughly unpleasant that would keep me up all night). You know, maybe I should start doing some of those coping strategies that I learned from the Program. It couldn't hurt (probably).

Another reason for my crankiness (as if I needed one) is that it's terribly hot in here. We don't use the air conditioning much, and even if we did, it probably wouldn't help, because the heat has become so engrained in our lives that the idea of heating us has absorbed into the very structure of the house, kind of like House of Leaves, but more exothermic. So when I say my blood is boiling, for any reason, you can be sure that I mean it quite sincerely. I will probably end up creeping downstairs in the middle of the night to bask in the slightly cooler air and make myself an easy target for all the burglars who no doubt want to rob us of all our emotional baggage. That's what I did last night, and it was nice, only then everyone else woke up, and I was the only one sleeping while they puttered around me, unheeding of my slumber. Also, I had really weird dreams. That's probably not a result of sleeping downstairs, though; I think I would have had them anyway. But still, it did lend a surreal atmosphere to the whole experience.

Here's another thing: Andrew has been texting me again, and it's kind of funny, but it's also hella annoying, because every time he does, I'm reminded of the time he told me not to get my PhD because it would hold me back in my personal life. I mean, I told him to stuff it, and I totally won the argument because his logic is abysmal, and he's still in his Sophomoric Philosophy Class Show-Off phase (and probably will be forever, if his age is any indication), but it still ticked me off, and now it's really hard to take anything he says seriously. Why do boys have to be so stupid? I'm telling ya, when my Sydney Carton finally comes along, he won't do any of this stuff. 

OH. Okay, so this is the last one, but it's arguably the worst, and it's been bugging me for awhile, so I must share it and then it can bug you too. So, you see Dad has started a mental health program, which is good (I think), and at first, his therapist seemed quite thoughtful and competent. But THEN she told Mom that physical touch is important (which, I guess), and we should have seven minutes of cuddling every day. Mom demurred, because a whole big problem is that Dad will continually touch us when we don't want him to, and we feel very uncomfortable and disrespected and all that. But then the therapist said that people, especially girls, should be touched even if they don't like it, because otherwise they will grow up emotionally stunted and have problems in their relationships, so Talia and I should let Dad touch us whenever he wants. And I hit the roof. Because this is exactly what I'm trying to prevent, you see. This sort of attitude goes against everything I believe, not even just as a feminist, but as a decent human being, and the thought of a licensed psychologist spewing this bullshit, especially to someone like my dad, honestly scares me. It reinforces his already problematic views, and that's something he totally doesn't need. We were talking a few days ago, and he told me that even if I feel uncomfortable, that doesn't mean it's wrong, and I should just let it happen, because it's "good for me" and because it satisfies some kind of craving of his. Which is frankly one of the creepiest things I've heard him say. Naturally, I'm always going to do my damnedest to protect my siblings, but who's going to protect me? Well, me. That's who. First chance I can, I'm going to go off on this therapist, because this whole situation is immensely fucked up, and if you think I'm done, you're off by a longshot. I'm going to sleep now, because Talia is here and I don't want the light of my phone to keep her up, but you can rest assured that even in dreamland, I am

still deeply unhappy. Okay, goodnight!