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Archive for Slightly-Crazed Rants Designed To Sway Your Mind

These are the times that try men’s souls

Summer break was much needed. Two years ago at this time, I was running on all cylinders — full speed ahead into the unknown. Last summer, I was recovering. I was adapting to life after a traumatic spring, and when life stopped, I took time to watch everyone’s ways of dealing with life, listened to advice (discarding bad advice and adopting everything that I thought worked). It was in that summer that I made several startling discoveries: 1) People think things are crazy when they don’t understand them. 2) People deal with pain in different ways. 3) I adapt quicker than most people, but live my life mostly in my thoughts, and don’t vocalize them unless I need something cleared up. When life gets hard or something unexpected happens, I tend to think negatively and go into a downward spiral until something or someone breaks me out of it. This spiral ended this summer. That’s right, fifteen months of a downward spiral — stuck in my own head –little-to-no sleep — reviewing the traumatic experience on repeat — thinking it was my fault, if I acted another way, or did this instead, everything would still be okay — stressful day-to-day learning in grad school compounding the issue because I have no time to decompress and forgive.

Let’s put it this way: I was 100% two summers ago. Last summer, I was probably at 10%, burnt out physically and emotionally. This summer, after a month and a half of good living, I’m efficiently back in the 70% or 80% area. By the end of the summer I could very likely back up to 100%, but over the last year of school, I could probably be burnt out to about 50%… I know most people don’t picture themselves as a human lithium battery that needs to be recharged over long periods of time… but it helps me guard against unwanted stress, and not to overextend myself. Everyone always wants a part of you, and if you give too much of yourself, you’ll have nothing left. It’s a sad truth.

I will also be updating this blog more (but not sure for how long, maybe for a year, maybe just until I don’t need to anymore). This is because during my free time, I’ve been doing some amateur psychology research. I was talking to a college student, and she said she just changed from being a psych major — and that when she first meets people she automatically types them as one of the four types of people. Apparently, I am a B/A mix (sometimes called the melancholic type). This interested me because I didn’t know about psychology. I immediately did my own research on personality types and traits, quickly finding the Myers Briggs personality types. There are 16 types, and my type, the INTJ, is very rare, comprising 1% of the population. I found an INTJ forum, and quickly discovered there are people who think like me. The many explanations of the type fit me perfectly. and I found a website that explained how INTJ could attain immense personal growth. One of these tactics was to write my ideas and not have them bottled up in my head, rattling around and causing confusion. In effect, meeting someone and talking about types of people really broke me out of the worst funk of my life (even worse than when my aunt died during college).

Cheers, for now.


Oh the Life of an Academic

It’s been no secret that I’ve been applying to law schools this cycle. It’s very intimidating and stressful.

I think I’ve figured out the schools’ admission strategies thus far. So far, I’ve only been admitted into the lower tier schools. All of these schools need to know if I’ll be attending their institution by April 15th. The higher tier schools do not promise to have made a decision by that point. Plus these schools might only waitlist me and I’ll be in limbo.

This is how the lower tier schools get students. They create an unnecessary deadline so students will get worried (like me), panic, and send in a personal check for so-and-so amount to reserve their spot.

I refuse to settle. This ploy will not work! But we’ll see when April 15th rolls around. Then I’ll be panicking like crazy!

Wish me luck.

Sting is Promoting Illegal Activity

There’s a song out there that I can almost guarantee you’ve heard. It goes:

Every breath you take
Every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I’ll be watching you

Which is kind of strange, because it makes it seem like the singer is omniscient. I mean, who has time to watch every breath or movement someone makes?

Every single day
Every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay
I’ll be watching you

Oh can’t you see
You belong to me
How my poor heart aches with every step you take

Okay, now here we go. The singer is smitten with this person. (No offense to Sting, but he never explicitly says that he’s watching a woman, so I assume he’s referring to a vague, non-descriptive store mannequin.) He takes time to watch his/her/it’s every second on Earth—plus he says that that person belongs to him. Um ownership of a person? Sting you’re crazy.

Since you’ve gone I’ve been lost without a trace
I dream at night I can only see your face
I look around but it’s you I can’t replace
I feel so cold and I long for your embrace
I keep crying baby, baby please

Then a sudden shift occurs. It’s actually the only shift in the song. I assume the first two stanzas are repeated so much because it signifies all the monotonous days where Sting used his binoculars to stakeout this person’s home/storefront. He seems particularly distressed when this Third Act comes along. I assume this person discovered his mobile surveillance unit and ran away or eventually had their arm fall off and was thrown unceremoniously into a dumpster. I guess we’ll never know.

As you can see, “Every Step You Take,” is a song about stalking. If you ever found yourself enjoying this song, you are a sick freak and should be put in jail. I may even do it myself.

Can You Spare a Square?

It has been brought to my attention that Sheryl Crow recently urged the public to use only one square of toilet paper when they drop a deuce. Well, Ms. Crow, I know you are trying to be a humanitarian by promoting eco-friendly ideas, but you’re an idiot. As you may well know, there are all types of shits: wet, dry, smelly, enjoyable, read-an-entire-magazine, explosive, et. al. If you are trying to tell me that one square of toilet paper is going to be sufficient to wipe myself, you are insane.

Sheryl Crow

I also know, Ms. Crow, that you probably think you are an expert on the subject. You’ve been effectively shitting for your entire life (I presume—though maybe in your wild youth you got a little too experimental and had a hospital trip or two), but you really make you’re money telling people to soak up the sun, and through other shitty songs that I can’t even remember. (“Shitty songs.” Oh, the irony.) You use your vocal chords for profit. Music is your specialty. Stick with it.

Maybe your problem is remembering your ex-boyfriend, Lance Armstrong, who was so in shape he probably was only in the bathroom for thirty seconds at a time. I really can’t tell what you’re motives are here. Do you legitimately want me to hate you?

Her “one square” sentiments remind me of that old Seinfeld episode where Elaine Benes is in a bathroom stall and finds, after relieving herself, that there isn’t any TP. What she does is try to convince her stall neighbor: “Can you spare a square?” but the stranger just leaves and Elaine is stuck in an uncomfortable position.

What I say to you, dear reader, is this: Should celebrities have press coverage over mundane things that they have no right talking about in the first place? Should Sheryl Crow grow some cajones and hold her tongue? Should Fox and TBS show any more Seinfeld episodes? If I reference another, I will be angry with myself. It’s been off the air for about ten years.

Being a Clay Pigeon

I guess I don’t see what other people see. What’s so important about working again? If you don’t have any expenses, it’s pointless to actually have a 40 hour/week job, right? People seem to need a purpose—to fill their day with something to do, and to feel needed. That usually means taking meaningless jobs to live off until you get the education you need for the job you actually want. To get that job, you need either experience or a series of little pieces of papers that prove your worth—a high school diploma, a college degree, et. Al.— and you work all the way down the line until you have a comfortable position that you don’t mind working in until you get arthritis and keel over like a rusty sailboat.

But is it worth the effort for the diplomas? You have to pay money to earn the degrees. This means you will have debt for years. And as an employee that sees people’s finances on a daily basis (when I’m not sick), I have to say people make the dumbest decisions even if they’ve been to school for eighteen years. People don’t know how to handle their money. They slide into even more debt, in addition to what they have to pay back in student loans, and then they have to work overtime at their jobs to survive.

Thompson Hall

So I guess college is important in that way. You are almost guaranteed to work off your debts—credit for your student loans, home loans, credit cards—in the field that you want to. You won’t be working in the grocery store for fifty years, but then again, you don’t really have a choice to stop working at any point. You might even start a family, and then you’re screwed until you’re in your sixties.

The thing is, even when you eventually buy a house, you’ll probably get a thirty year mortgage from a financial institution, like a bank or credit union, you’ll pay over a thousand dollars a month so you’re house isn’t taken away. And then, after you pay for the full thirty years you can still have your house taken away. You never stop paying for a house. You won’t be paying the bank or credit union, you’ll be paying quarterly taxes to your town or city’s escrow slush fund. If you don’t do that, they kick your punk ass into the street.

So, like I said, it would probably be easier to walk through life with little-to-no debt until you you have to settle down and spend the big bucks for a home. Education is important, but even if you go to a state college you are being taught by professors with doctorates. They have the same qualifications, they just believe in the value of an economical public education as much as I believe in being a cheapskate.

Sometimes it’s easier to be a target of ridicule by taking the road less traveled by: the inexpensive path that keeps your options open. You’d be surprised how many people choose a school with a name over a long-term plan with a concept.

50% Off All Day-Old Bread

There are scratching posts that cats have. I never had a cat, but I assume that the posts are to keep the cats busy, sharpen their hunting skills, and help them keep their claws in good form.

The Claw was the villian from Inspector Gadget, who if I believe correctly, always had his evil plans thwarted by a dog, a prepubescent girl, a detective who hid in trash barrels, and a bumbling idiot who was a social misfit with the best intentions. Now what I say to you is this—when I think of scratching posts—and this is essentially imperative at this stage of my life—should I be thinking of an 80’s cartoon about a guy with a metal arm and a slightly overfed cat?

I went to the emergency room twice last week. The first time the fine gentleman said I had strep throat and prescribed me penecillin and vikodun. I was less than pleased when I had to go back and see him again. This time he said, “Yes, that is definitely mono,” (notice that he is Indian because he doesn’t use contractions), pumped two liters of intravenous fluid into me with a mix of steroids for my throat, and told me not to play soccer for a month because my spleen might explode. Why thanks Doc, not only will I not play soccer, but I probably won’t leave my couch.

And I get mono during the worst possible time to get mono; I’m not just talking about the summer, which is a major disappointment, but during the time where I find out if I’m going to London for the semester. (I can’t exactly go bug Claire when I can’t go see her.) During the time I would be going to the Karate Hall of Fame with Katie for her induction. During the time where I was in the middle of summer classes (my last classes as an undergraduate) and I had to drop out because I’m contagious!

Stupid, stupid mono. You control me now…but I will enjoy killing you off. Muahahaha. It figures I have to get the cucharacha of sicknesses. It’s like a bunch of bad senstations rushing through the body and logjamming in my poor throat. And I’m only saying “poor throat” because it’s unhealthy, the thing has had so many mentions in this entry that it could be living off royalties for years.

On the bright side, I don’t have to work. I get to watch television all day, and I can make contorted faces into the mirror and you will never know unless I write it down, which is highly unlikely because it makes me look like an idiot.

Also, I’m finally having a really gigantic burst of creativity lately—which is probably a byproduct of the vikodun—but I’m not complaining, no, not me, look at the lady over there and shake her out. I want to keep these heavenly pearls so that I may bathe them in water and pour them down my gullet forever and ever, until the time comes where I put them in my medicine cabinet and pretend that I don’t have them anymore. When I had my wisdom teeth lasered out (sharks with “lasers”) I didn’t stop bleeding for two straight days. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I was prescribed vikodun and roxacette but my dad wouldn’t let me take them. After I was healed, the pills were gone. Were they thrown out? I don’t know, maybe, maybe not. However, I hadn’t eaten in five or six days with this mono business and my throat hurt the bejesus out of me, yes the bejesus out of me, so I had my slightly girly hands around the bottle the entire time, glaring at my dad with the shifty eyes that Homer Simpson taught Mel Gibson to do. And it worked. Great Success! High Five!


Also, I’ve been getting crazy LSD-like hallucinations from these vikodun. Crazy bright-colored, images of people that change every few seconds. And I’m pretty sure I watched a shadow act out a scene for a good ten minutes. But I wasn’t moving. I tell you, that Shadow should hit Broadway. I’ve never seen better.

This is my new blog. We now have an informal agreement that you will read more entries in the future.