Maybe I should rebrand and make this blog more like it was meant to be, which is just a dump for my thoughts.

So what's up with the fascists these days, right? Omg literally my brother thinks you can be a Republican and a good person at the same time, like honey, in this day and age? However, the state of the world is such that I now hate liberals too, so I suppose from a reductionist, inflammatory, uninformed, grossly-calculated-and-undervaluing-of-human-life point of view, it sort of makes sense.

Well, I guess that's why.

Renting in LA is such a procedure, like you have to go on a fuckin quest to collect the bones of four martyred saints and ask the Virgin Mary for a reference, and then the rent is 2000 per month and you live in a cardboard box outside the Wilshire/Western metro, and parking isn't even included. I feel like more people should be radicalized by the time they meet their first landlord, but that may be unrealistic. Surely after you meet your first landlord, though, you should be able to get it together. They're like vampires, but not sexy, and if they kill you, it's absolutely not worth it. However, they can also be gotten rid of with a stake through the heart, if you choose to go that route (*not recommended for people of color). Why do you need my credit history, bro? Just trust me! I do have to say, though, that I would rather starve to death in my own place than live rent-free here. I don't care if that makes me a total Marius (I mean I kinda do), like bro I gotta live my own life even if it kills me!! It might, but then at least I will die before the planet explodes, so swings and roundabouts, innit.

Also, I think more people should want to hire me. I'm superb. I'm exquisite. I have fat tits. Literally, what else could you ask for? Employers simply do not know the blessing among them, and that's the sad fact. It's why they're hiring on Indeed. It's true, I am also on Indeed, but I have a lot more sex appeal than they do, so I feel like it all comes out in the wash. Hopefully one of the interviews I have this week will pan out. I am SO FUCKING SICK of just being at home all day. I want to wear cute professional outfits and gossip around the water cooler with my normcore colleagues </3 What's a guy gotta do to get boomer-level job security around here??

Maybe I'll have to be an assassin. I don't want to, but I've always sort of been convinced that I would eventually be obliged to take up the gun, or at least I have been since I listened to Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge in my young and formative years. After that, I felt, it was just a matter of when before I was inevitably thrust upon the murder scene. I don't even think I would be good at it, really. I'm not what one might call tough. That means I might have the element of surprise on my side, though, because just as no one expects the Spanish Inquisition, no one (outside of a small society of anime nerds) expects the little 100-lb blonde girl to start swinging. Maybe I can hide arson materials in my pigtails like LynZ did when she auditioned for Mindless Self Indulgence. Oh, and you know I need a Ferrari and lots of couture clothes and shoes as well. I'll be like Catwoman!

 I'm trying to figure out why I feel so bad. Everything should suggest that things are going well. I have a job, a good job, and it's remote for now, so I'm even saving money. I guess the thing is that I need to finish the licensing course before I can sign a contract and be paid, so nothing is official. 

Do I need validation and approval that badly? Why does it matter if my mom doesn't think what I do is acceptable? I'm a grown woman, and I don't need to please her, or anyone else, for that matter. All I need to worry about is pleasing my damn self. It's so hard. Why is it so hard? I'm living in a near-relentless storm of negativity, doubt, and disapproval, and a severely emotionally unhealthy parent who is trying to have a codependent relationship with me. I know she's all kinds of messed up, and it all says much more about her than me. But it's hard to live here. I'm doubting my sanity, doubting my reality, struggling to keep my head up when it feels like I'm being slapped in the face every few minutes or so. Heaven help me, I've started to freeze up every time I hear the shuffling of slippers.

I never really got help. And I don't think it's quite fair for my parents to blame me for things that they directly caused. I'm not blaming everything on poor parenting; that's ridiculous. I've done my fair share of stupid shit all on my own volition. But I never even had a chance. Jesus, I mean no one even taught me my times tables or told me not to talk to strangers. I was a little gremlin child living out of a near-literal gutter with no support or guidance or positive reinforcement in any way. All I had was what I decided to be. It kind of worked, I guess; my younger siblings are fairly normal, character-wise, and have good social circles and gainful employment, so at least I didn't fuck them up, too. And my character is on the road to being what I want, and I've always been mostly authentic to myself, so that's a good thing. What if I'd had literally anything to help me, though? Imagine what I could have been if I'd been assessed for ADHD or anything besides being dumb/bad at studying? It's not that I was totally without help. I always asked my teachers for help and came in during office hours or lunch, and they knew I was doing my best, so they were patient with me, even though I'm sure I was annoyingly inept and dense. And everyone knew it was just math. I was so good at everything else. I'm pretty sure at least some people knew what was happening at home, too, but no one really did anything beyond being supportive and giving me embarrassing private pep-talks. I remember my gym teacher (whom I disliked because he made me run the mile) took me aside one day and asked about the scars on my arm that I hadn't been able to hide under the black tourniquet I wore every day (very obvious in retrospect, but I thought I was so sneaky and counter-cultural because I told people it was a symbol of rebellion against the man or something along those lines) because it's hard to wear that sort of thing in PE clothes or in the pool, which is where I think it happened. 

My family has always been very "do the bare minimum and call it fine," and that works for some things, but it didn't work for my mental health, because the bare minimum is just keeping me alive, and in fairness, that did happen, but there's so much more to life than just not dying, and I wish someone had realized that and helped me, because I was so lost that I didn't know which way was up, and I could help myself as easily as I could climb Mt. Everest. Eventually, I did gather what I needed, but it was so much harder than it had to be, and it took so much longer. Actually, all of this could have been avoided with some preventative care, but that ship has sailed. 

 Happy New Year! 2021!

It's not going well.

I really wish I didn't remember hurting like this. Always so familiar, and you can't even laugh because you can barely move. There's a disconnect; you want to do something, anything sometimes, but your body won't obey you. You'll sit in one place for hours if you can get away with it, but of course you can't, because you have no privacy. Everything about you is public property. 

I need to get out of here.

 How can a song, just a simple collection of notes, make me feel things like this? I feel like I can transcend time and interact with my younger self, this time with the added background knowledge of what's going on. I'm a character in my own media. Granted, I'm very high, but I think I would feel this way anyway. That post about how what we're into at thirteen has such a marked effect on us for life was really right. I feel like music helped me discover that I had a soul. It would not be an exaggeration to say that for a few years, until my dad restricted my access, music was one of the few things keeping me alive. I didn't know how to express how I felt, and even if I had, I wouldn't have wanted to, since I didn't open up even to my friends or significant others, but bands like MCR could draw it out of me by sort of putting it into words, and holy shit, man. I smoked last night and listened to Helena, and I damn near cried. I did cry when Cancer came on awhile later. I remember listening to The Black Parade for the first time and feeling like there might be something to this whole "life" thing after all, and I wish I could just package up that experience and gift it to people, because wow it's nuts. Anyway, all of this is to say that I have listened to the Summertime that was in the Danger Days, and it was delicious 🌚 so fresh and moist 🌚 Holy shit dude!!!! I really felt it. Summer, 2013. Eighteen, wide-eyed, ready to take on the world. All the parties, the flirtations, the crushes, the nights out, Market Nights in downtown with Talia; adventures with the girls; nights spent in front of a computer when you're finally able to have some solitude, listening to music to keep the scary thoughts away, because although you scoff and try to hide it, you're scared of the dark. You stay up late every night, partially because you can't sleep, and when you try, you usually stay up reciting prayers anyway (isn't it nice to have OCD and religious trauma), but you make the most of it, writing, drawing, reading, studying-- and planning. You're going to do so much, help so many people! You'll be a lawyer, immigration, you're 95% sure, and from then on, it's a path to Supreme Court justice, whence you will right every wrong, oversee legislature to prevent there being any more wrongs, and generally create the kind of global utopia that keeps Republicans lying up at night biting their nails. And the air smells like oranges, and you still have half an iced coffee left, so is it really that bad that you have to fly across the country in two months? And is it bad at all, anyway? The world is open to every possibility, and so are you. Still, that welcome cool night breeze gets chilly sometimes, and you wonder what autumn will bring. You know in your heart that after this, you'll never see some of your friends again. Memories will fade, unrecorded, stories will be forgotten, people will drift apart. No one's life could end in tragedy-- surely not, not us, not our generation-- but there are so many places to go. This last golden summer, this little sliver of in-between life, trap it in amber, keep it forever between the plastic pony beads of childhood and whatever life will bring you next. All you have is now. You want each minute to last twice as long, and yet, even at the same time, you're reeling with impatience for the future. Sometimes, your heart feels like it could bleed with the passion you feel for everything you do or even could do, everything the world is, everything people are. How can you contain it? You take walks at night, never too far (you know your limits direction-wise, and don't want to get lost with no way of contacting home), listening to music and singing when no one's around, because you're afraid you'll burst if the energy inside you can't be entertained. You want a million things, want to save the world in a million different ways, and nothing will stop you. Not you. And you're so pretty, so sweet and charming, a perfect ingenue beloved by everyone around her, and you have people tripping over themselves to help you if you so much as bat your eyelashes, and you have talent, and promise, and you know this is all too good to last, golden child, but when the time comes, you'll fling yourself into oblivion with tears and a prayer, and you'll never look back. You're brave and resilient, always have been, and thank goodness for that, because as much as you've been through already, poor darling, it's nothing compared to what's coming. So enjoy this mayfly summer, dream until you ache, and don't think about tomorrow. You'll have forever after for that.

 I got my MA after all! And Emily is going to come and join me in the US! It feels like things might slowly be on the path to better, and of course I don't want to get my hopes up, but it seems like this might be it! Maybe I can finally stop moving every time my lease is up. And Emily and I can be together, and not have to worry about being yanked apart all the time. We can get jobs and get married, and have a nice life until the economy totally tanks and the planet explodes :')

Not three hours ago, I had an interview for a position in San Diego. I don't know how I did, but I have the feeling that I won't get it. They said they were interviewing other people, and I would hear back if they wanted me, so now I just have to live in limbo forever :( I guess I'll continue to apply to things, though, because I don't know if I can stand this warehouse job anymore. I'm currently at home on Covid watch, because my dad was infected, and I was exposed to him, and I thought I had some symptoms. The test result came back negative, but I know 25% of tests are false negatives, so I don't totally trust it. I would feel so horrible if I became Covid Mary, you know? Best to be careful.

The job market is pretty tough, though. It's a big event when someone gets so much as an interview. I've sent in seventy applications in the last week, just on Indeed alone. I've heard back from two. And I know it's not me, because I'm pretty qualified in general, and especially for the jobs I'm applying for. There are just too many applicants and too few spots. My friends are struggling too, and I feel bad for them, but at the same time, at least we're not struggling alone, right? Our entire generation is fucked. Maybe we can be the ones to tear it all to the ground and build it up from scratch. 

I don't want to cook. I think it's because I'm "in my groove" as it were (read: hyperfocusing), and I don't want to get up. That's valid, but I do need to cook, so I'm going to get up now. Computer time is done for today! We can do more tomorrow! Sometimes, you just have to treat yourself like a four-year-old, honestly. Anyway, that'll be that. Time to make some curry!

I want to speak with my own voice.

 Imagine being a Pisces 😷 The guy I hated in high school is one. Of course, there are good Pisces as well, but being a Pisces is really a state of mind rather than some kind of immutable predestination. Especially for the men. Have you ever met a Pisces homie who's a man? They're so terribly rare :(

Lowkey, I'm sort of angsty, and it sounds so silly, but the truth is, I feel like people don't believe in me. My mom doesn't want me to move in with Emily. She wants us both to live with her. In her tiny apartment. What the hell, man. Like, does she think I enjoy not having a bed? But I was talking about my plans, which of course is my first mistake right there, and she was being so dismissive and negative. All she had to say was "oh, you don't need a bar" when I mentioned that one place has one. I was sort of offended LOL. It's clear that to her, I will never be more than a drinking problem in a tight skirt. Which, whatever. Fine. But isn't that even more reason for me to want to get out of here? I can't stay here forever. I don't know why she seems to think I do. I guess it all comes down to me being incapable of normal life. Ah, that old saw! I don't see why, though, because I've lived in more places than all of my siblings. But it's okay. I'm going to find a place, and get the hell out of here!

Now I'm high. Anselm is a bro, and shares his weed with me frequently. I don't like to drink around family (except Talia), but marijuana is getting me through this trying time. Sometimes, you just gotta relax. Also, I've been sleeping super well ever since I got back into legal terra MJ. It's really nice! I can just knock out and wake up feeling mostly refreshed. Although, I have been more tired lately because of work :( it's really a bummer working there, let me tell you. I'm not a fan. But I'm making some good money, so I guess it's worth it. 

I think I like Cheezits way too much :( I can never stop at just one, even if I tell myself that I absolutely will. I always eat a whole lot, and then I'm full, and then I can't eat food that's better for me. Very bad! It's really hard to eat in a healthy way here, though. It's hard to do anything in a healthy way, in fact, and when I do, it's not looked well upon. Mom seems to take offense when I want to change anything, or do things in my own way. Also, she seems to think I'm a child. Of course, I'm not doing a good job disproving that when I'm late to work in the morning, but holy goodness, Mother, please let me grow at my own pace. It's like, if I don't satisfy her standards, I'm a failure, no in-between, and no ifs, ands, or buts, either. And I do get it, but it also pisses me off, even though I try hard to find the humor in it. But encouraging me to work ten-hour shifts on the warehouse floor with only a couple of 100-calorie granola bars to fuel me is bad, right? That's not healthy? I truly don't know, though. And I guess I do still have some weight to lose. Still, I'm somehow reminded of those ghosts who are dead, so they want everyone else to be dead as well. Mom is miserable and unhealthy, and she wants us to be the same way, subconsciously. Very subconsciously. If she knew that her behavior comes off this way, she would be horrified. Nonetheless, that's how it feels to me, and it doesn't feel nice. No matter of her true intentions, she comes across as having very little respect for me. I need to talk about it in therapy-- along with a host of other stuff-- but the agency won't call me back. So annoying. Maybe I should call them again.