clusterwhine

Can I whine? You guys don't mind if I do, right? Hope not. This is a blog, after all, and blogs were invented for whining.

Oh, sure, every so often I'll get frustrated with myself and make a resolution to "stop whining!" or "stop talking about myself so much!" or similar pronouncements. But all such pronouncements quickly go the way of the VHS tape because I want to whine sometimes.

I'm tired, I'm still sick, my apartment is filthy, my computer is dead, I only see my boyfriend on the weekends and I miss him, my phone is dead, I don't get to talk to my sisters enough, I haven't gotten to hang out with my friend Clarissa in way too long, and I again don't care what's happening to Myke again after many vacillations on that issue. It doesn't seem to matter what actually happens at work these days, it just all pisses me off much more than normal. It's like I have a normal person's temper instead of my own. I suspect this is a result of being sick; body energy is used up in the fight against microbes that otherwise would have been available to me in the fight against murderous rage.

My mind is never empty enough for proper writing; I wrote a poem last week and it was okay, but a poem a week is a paltry crappy amount and I'm not satisfied with that. I've been reading lots of books on the Free Library and the prospect of reading another one actually bores me right now. Me! Bored! At the prospect of reading a free sci-fi book!

After I lost my debit card a few weeks ago I've been using this stupid red temp card they gave me at the bank, which you can't use for online bill payments or payments over the phone. So even though I temporarily have the money to do so I can't turn my cell phone back on. And I feel inadequate when I go to my message board because I feel like other people are out doing things to promote chaos and justice, even if those things just involve annoying other message boards, and I'm sitting on my thumbs not making pretty speeches. Not making them because I can't find the mental wherewithal to write any.

Not to mention Anatomy of Trust, where I'm stuck again in the same place I've been stuck for ages, in the stupid levels / transformations paradox. Okay, look. The contents of a trust level--the behaviors that distinguish one from another--may be radically different for different people. But the effect on the personality of the truster is the same in form or it couldn't be studied categorically. Each trust level, while it is in effect, can thus be considered for any person without worrying too much about individual differences. By the same token, the transformations--the experiences through which a person moves another person between trust levels--should be equally generalizable. But it is a big problem. Hard to come at from either direction. If I knew exactly the personality structure components of a trust level, I could sort of ass-backwards reverse engineer what the transformations would have to be. If I knew exactly which aspects of a transformation experience were essential, I could use them to define the trust categories. As it is, it's a dilemma. I don't want to arbitrarily define one without having a good handle on the other because they're so interdependent.

And I don't have time or energy to sit around for hours poking at the problem because when I get home from work all I want to do is hide in my room and curl up under blankies and play Heroes which I can't do because my computer is dead. And my mp3 collection is gone and a lot of my writings are gone and my IM logs are gone and all the pretty pictures me and Dave collected are gone as well as I think our only copy of Where the Boys Aren't 16, greatest exponent of the series, and Maniac Mansion and dog knows what else that I haven't used in forever because all I do on that damn thing is play Heroes. Which I can't do. Have I stressed that point enough? Has that point stressed me enough? I think it is seriously messing with my mind.

It's weird, you can go through privations and hardships of every description, but the chink in your armor is always something that you don't expect to have taken away. You don't mind losing a leg to the grenade blast, but when the flash blinds you as well it's too much, kind of thing. And I can be a sweet pig to everyone all the time no matter how much stupid bullshit is required to go through every day as long as I can come home and play Heroes for several hours. As a substitute, mind you, for hanging out with Dave every day, which I had got used to and then had to get UN-used-to again because Dave can't live in the same house with Dad because it makes him miserable all the time.

Well, fuck, what about what I can and can't tolerate because it makes me miserable all the time? Who do I get to complain to? Who the fuck cares? Everybody's got their own problems and can't help with my situation any more than I can. Oh, great. Now I'm feeling sorry for myself first thing in the morning. Not a good way to start the day at this clusterfuck of an excuse for a restaurant.

2 comments:

Amber J Eidson said...

Awww. Thank you for complaining. It makes me feel better. I wish things were better for you but since I've been generally grumpy lately I suppose there is some satisfaction from not being the only one. I miss you dearie.

Fiat Lex said...

Miss you too. *hugs* And I hope your things worth complaining about get the hell out of your way as well.