 oliver_kanjo
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Name: Josiah
Country: United States
State: Texas
Metro: Houston
Birthday: 6/1/1987
Gender: Male
Interests: God, the Bible, Dance Dance Revolution (DDR), Tae Kwon Do (and heading to the olympics in this sport), Sonic the Hedgehog, C.S. Lewis, writing, drawing at random, singing, worship, trains, Bob Smiley
Expertise: Trains, Singing, Bible and Jesus (see: attending a bible college)
Occupation: Student
Message: message meEmail: email me
AIM:  Dragonair1086
MSN: martialartist007@netzero.net
Yahoo:  houston_texas2001
Member Since:
1/20/2005
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| I guess its a good thing that I didn't post that happy post I was going to write up two weeks ago - at least it means my life is a consistent cesspool of crap and psychos. Furthermore, I probably would've crashed because once my happy thought was up, I would've probably let my guard down and even worse than what has transpired would've happened.
Initially, this would've been a post where I was happy that I was finding myself in the midst of a test from God: being able to accept being single and keeping myself in check while possible making friends with two beautiful women. I'll save their names/nicknames for later because it's amazing how a situation can devolve after two weeks of minimal contact due to massive studying and other side projects. In any event, this epiphany dawned on me after two successful encounters in a group setting, not to mention a well-timed jab from Steve, a new and (then) well-trusted friend. Granted, I wasn't looking for an epiphany of any sort on this subject to begin with, but the short and simple of it is that things went so well that I was over in Spurling for the first time this semester talking over everything and even suggesting how to tackle current issues that they were looking at.
There is some information about this next event that I can fill in that I might not have been able to earlier: I honestly thought I had bombed my second Romans test with Reese, thus forcing me to consider my priorities when it came to the fall break two weeks ago. (Said fall break, by the way, fell in a week after I was in Spurling). Because of this, I had call a friend up to cancel going to the Renaissance Festival in Columbia because I didn't want to blow the Hebrews test that would happen the next week. Said friend, by the way, was Mike, the pervert that had a sexual attraction to me and started the semester off with drama. I only recently found out that Mike got mad because I had a legitimate reason to put the Renaissance Festival below another test from the three classes that are going to make or break my GPA this semester if I don't do a good job. Two things spoke loudly to me, each at their own times: 1) I needed to have done a better job when I only had two questions out of a 17 page study guide show up on a test; 2) Mike is a selfish bitch that doesn't deserve a friend like me if he keeps throwing immature hissy fits that don't become a 45 year old man. If his name was Gregory House, it'd be a different story, because at least that character still has the stones to do the right thing, and is becoming more and more sane as season six progresses. Incidentally, I was very taken aback when I discovered that I made an 81 and not the inverse number on the test. That made my average at that point a 79 instead of something in the fifties.
More annoying and damaging than any of this, though, was what transpired the day that I was supposed to start up classes after the fall break. It wasn't the point in time that I arbitrarily found out that Reese was in Ohio for a funeral for a family brother-in-law, thus giving me two extra days off; nor was it when I went to Wal-Mart to pick up markers and poster board to get a school-signed card made for him. No, it was when it turned gray outside, and I was watching The Price is Right in its entirety for the first time in a few months. Steve, said friend from before, comes in and explains that two women, both of which I admitted I had an interest in to him and King, and the same two women that I had figured God was testing me about, asked him some questions about me. Harmless enough, I begin to figure. Then I hear that it was because they were approached by Brooks and King who clearly violated my boundaries and went to an explicit point where somehow I was an obsessive maniac about the one who I knew already had another love interest to the point that I was willing to pry them apart in order to become said lover, all in the presence of the other interest whom they also said I liked as well. For a split second I denied in my mind that something so heinous could be spread, but then given Psycho Ex and the Hypocrites of the North (referencing only the individuals involved in that spat 3 years and 1 day ago), I had to realize that yet again the illogical becomes possible and even reality, and that sanity is thrown under a bus. So, I approach the Dean of Men and get advice on how to properly confront the issue at hand because my first inclination is to punch someone because this crossed a very personal line by making me out to be Psycho Stalker (which the Hypocrites of the North might agree with only for the sake of spite), hence why I also enlisted the other small group member of the small group I'm in to be with me when I confronted whomever however I was advised to do so in order to avoid said emotional temptation. Thankfully I get what I need, and even get an idea to approach Mr. and Mrs. Rob, since they're both friends of mine and related to Ruth's (first interest's) love interest. I explain myself to Mr. Rob since I figured it was all guys, so it'd just be something us guys would be responsible enough to fix, and so I could get an extra set of eyes on me in case I am doing something stupid and not realizing it (hey, with Asperger's Syndrome, I just may be because of the extra work I have to put into socializing with people). I then approach Mrs. Rob's little brother as advised by the Dean of Men and explain what got started, and assured him that whatever the rumor, I was not that kind of man because the right thing for me to do (which I had been doing) was to let things go on naturally as God provided for their circumstance(s). Then I come to King, wherein I begin to have my doubts when King is completely and honestly clueless about the entire thing. While I couldn't rule out that King might've been lying, there was too much history from last year for me to seriously consider it. With King on the back-burner, I then work to avoid my roommate in order to avoid an emotional confrontation because I'm still struggling to think about either the situation or confrontation rationally. It goes rather well...until...and thus proving my statement that nothing goes well for me whenever its a cloudy mess outside, he runs into me while trying to get some more information out to the Harvest House regarding the situation with Reese and the funeral so that people can sign the poster-board card with the needed information in mind. As he tries to get my attention, the only thing that I can think of is to keep my mouth shut lest I fulfill a line of wisdom that runs, "Better to be thought of as a fool than to open your mouth and prove it." When that doesn't work, I walk off and away...only to have the lost puppy follow me and wave his hand in my face to get my attention. The only part I regret is that I wasn't paying attention, but with one circular motion I used my hand to move his hand, but didn't catch where he was, thus bopping him in the nose with the back of my hand. From there I go to Jon's room (third small group member) where I pull Brooks inside and ask him whether or not the rumor was true, and what he said. Had he said more than what he did the first, perhaps I might not of moved my (19 page) study guide for Hebrews, sleeping bag, pillow, and House season four to King's room in order to be in neutral territory. I call it neutral because Steve clarifies that it was Brooks and Brit, not King, who were speaking to Ruth and Fritz. Because Brooks couldn't deal with this on his own, he got his mother involved, which then sparked an emotional tsunami that led to the involvement of both my parents and Brooks' family. I only found out about this when I was found by our RD, who brought me down to meet with my RA, where I explained everything, including the mistake in the Harvest House and apologized about it. I then retrieved my cell phone and then dealt with the threats of Brooks' mother who, by the time I called, was drunk. Because Brooks has a bad habit of exaggerating, he made it sound like I purposely walloped him when, as explained above, I had made a mistake. Was I going to apologize? Yes, but not until I knew I was stable enough to be rational in my apology and not make it about me or my boundaries or anything like that - it had its time and place, but now was not the time. However, after talking with Brooks' mom, and having her past experiences projected on me because she was drunk, I just did what I did best and calmly brought it from emotional to rational. Quite frankly, now that I think about it, I shouldn't of worried about my trip to visit Brooks at his place because there would also be my Uncle Ernie to visit as well, to get to know better, and to understand the troubled past that my father has not come to terms with to date. In fact, I'm still considering that and then coming over after his mom leaves for Mexico so that I don't have to deal with anymore complications. Psycho Ex's mother was complicated enough; I don't need to deal with a mother who rules as a psycho matriarch, let alone will probably want to have a rational argument in lieu of her emotional one from last week, hence making her Psycho Hypocrite Matriarch. But, on the flip side, I suppose that taking the heat for trying to be a Christian is also a positive since there is a blessing in heaven for such, as recorded in the beatitudes of Mt. 5. I'll see how I feel come Christmas break. In any event, she explained what Brooks was too cowardly to say, that he was afraid that I hated him for the rumor and would end the friendship. Because of Captain Assumption's purely emotional thinking, this became a bigger mess that disregarded that I was looking for pieces that would help me explain why Josh was closer to the rumor than Brit when I confronted her (in front of Mrs. Rob in hopes that if that cleared anything up, two women could do what two women do best in terms of working on their own shortcomings). When I came back down to my room to finally explain that I wasn't looking to do these evil things that were assumed, Brooks finally gives me a crucial piece, which was that he had stated to Ruth (still, inappropriately) that, "If [I] love[d] her, [I] would try to get to know her better even though she has [her love interest]." Evidently Ruth warped that and then explained that this also was said in front of Fritz (incidentally, her roommate) to Steve with Fritz present. Because of that, it became a matter of boundaries that Brooks and I had to deal with. (On the side, his exaggerations still need to be worked on because he still calls this my "rash judgment" and what not, thus refusing to look at the situation logically and trying to look at the true intent). As of now, I'm waiting until the end of this week to talk to Brit and ask whether or not she took my words, "I don't care if they know I like them" the wrong way, hence crossing boundaries that she had no right to cross, either, even if she's like me as well.
Interestingly enough, though, Ruth gave me two interesting anatomies that demand an answer after she sent a rather rude and unbecoming message via Facebook (and booted me from her friends list to boot, no pun intended). The context and content can be summed up as anger and outrage that I'd even dream of pursuing the truth of a rumor about myself through the proper channels with advice from those in authority, and then screamed (as one can so poignantly YELL via text) for me to leave her alone. The funny thing is that she had a rather interesting set of habits: first, she would always mention that she deals with people bluntly. Fine. However, after getting upset at someone, either her, or someone close to her, would do the very thing that she got upset about, and wouldn't do a thing about it. Interesting. Especially since she claims to be from the Assemblies of God, a Charismatic denomination that prides itself on doing things properly, including spiritual gifts. I would've expected better than what I got because of that. At that point, based on how the Hypocrites of the North were also of similar ideas if perhaps on a more radical scale, I saw no difference between the two. Therefore, since religion tends to spill over into personal life, I can only surmise the following premises regarding Charismatics: the sect is based on hypocrisy and contradiction. Here's how:
In all cases I've dealt with this (including myself), logic is favored on a superficial level, to each person his own comfort level. However, should this logic interfere with their emotions and feelings, logic has to take a back-seat to whatever they're feeling should be the truth. My roommate is consistent proof of this because no matter how many times reality has proven him wrong, he goes back to his old emotional arguments that have no ground, and thus one begins running around in circles. Therefore there is no hope of any "solid" win, so one must be content with knowing that reality has been proven in spite of their emotionally charged presuppositional world. Taking the case of Ruth, it starts with the idea that there needs to be gifts that one will get one way or another from God, gifts that lead to these experiences that somehow prove the truth of reality, experiences that are the basis for unity versus actually looking at the Bible in its proper lighting. Because emotions are the basis of what's right and wrong, which evidently changes with her current mood, whatever Ruth feels is truth is something that nobody can or should challenge, regardless of whether or not protocol and logic dictate otherwise. Despite the challenges she has in learning, she's not innocent enough to rule out this solution that in order to avoid dealing with the contradiction between what is right and wrong, and what she wanted to believe was right and wrong, she took a strong dislike to me trying to clear anybody's name or apologize if I found I was in the wrong.
The reasons I know Ruth isn't innocent enough follows as such:
1) That contradiction I noted earlier was when I said I could shoot myself for taking three Reese classes, which prompted Ruth to tell me, "Don't talk about stuff like that." Looking to find a better metaphor, I changed it to shooting my foot. Fritz, coming in late, and missing Ruth's little thing about her and her roommate coming through a situation where someone talked about suicide, said, "I've shot myself in other places before." Ruth evidently had no problem with that, but then told me to drop the subject when I was pointing out the apparent contradiction.
2) Upon claiming that the song "Barbie Girl" by Aqua was a dirty song, she proceeded to play it and laugh all the while, even though more than just my voice was raised in question to this contradiction.
3) I'm evidently not the only one whom Ruth has claimed was a stalker here at this school. The other guy was, ironically, a part of the group that I was with before all this mess started.
The second anatomy didn't seem feasible until today at lunch when I spoke with this same guy because I was told that this guy spoke what I was thinking about the situation as a whole to both Brit and Ruth. However, he was clueless about this as well; when I changed the subject (since I was only looking to thank whomever said what was on my mind), he stated that he wished he was back home, got up, and left. Because it was Steve who shared the information with me, I can now explain why I used to trust Steve until today. During the Ruth incident, I hadn't ruled out the possibility that Steve started the rumor in order to play mind games with everyone, achieving an end that I'm clueless in finding out at the present. I'm disturbed that I have to think of it as a possibility again, because this would mean that the "drama trash" comment is the second time that Steve has said something, and said person was clueless about the event. It makes sense because in a recent trip to Wal-Mart, I made a bad joke at the deli without paying attention as to whether there was anyone within earshot. Granted, it was empty, save for those who worked in the deli, so I thought it was safe since we were men. Steve proceeds to give me a lecture in Wal-Mart, and then in the car proceeds to make worse jokes than I on the same subject he criticized me about. This leads me to believe, based on a lot of conversation, that Steve is a superficial fellow who is only deep when it serves his purposes, and his mistakes include mentioning that he played mind games in high school that broke people, and that he doesn't like his integrity to be questioned. These, coupled with his hypocrisy at Wal-Mart, lead me to believe that there is another anatomy that I must consider as well, thus exonerating Ruth and justifying her anger this time around. The anatomy is such that Steve is just as sadistic as he was in high school, that the bane of his existence hinges on whether or not he can manipulate the crowd he's in to play one massive mind game that he executes for his pleasure alone. The reason that questioning his integrity bugs him is not because of his credentials (licensed psychologist, etc.), but because he doesn't want to be exposed for who he truly is, perhaps because said credentials don't exist to begin with. Therefore, in order to isolate me and/or to create chaos within the school, he comes up with a fanciful rumor about a rumor being started based on what he overhears in a conversation. The bad information in said rumor he starts is because he figures the bonds between me and the people involved are as superficial as the ones he creates. It could've been about me and Leia Beth for all it matters, but nevertheless I'd try to understand the entire story and trust them (as far as I could at that moment based on our history).
No matter how it's looked at, the damage has been done because now I'm afraid to even approach Fritz, the one I'm interested in, because I have no idea who she believes and how much involvement she has in the matter. Furthermore, I can only hope that someone has the nerve to look past this and pays attention to everything so that the situation improves somewhere down the line; otherwise, I'll be keeping count of the hugs for a long, long time because it has now been 4 months (give or take) and only two have materialized. Ironically, that'd be about right: 1 hug every two months (1 in June, 1 in August, each two months apart). At this point, I can only hope to see light here come either December, February, April, May, or June, perhaps only once each one of these months, lest it be a really pathetic two hugs per year thing. While I admit that Caspian was rightly critical at one point to call me girl-crazy, with this demonstration in writing, can you really blame me for trying to find acceptance and love in the language that actually tells me this is true? I was hoping that the motherly advice that women are silly until age 25 was wrong (given some of the good marriages I've seen), but it seems that I have another three years to go before I see that the motherly advice is right. This is assuming that the high school mentality doesn't follow me into the workplace, but given college as a senior right now, I'm not holding my breath any time soon. Given the fact nobody listens to me now (with some exceptions) except for the older adults that are in positions of power, I'm almost certain that the lack of communication on the other person's part (except when I know I need to take responsibility for my miscommunication) is going to be the one obstacle and perhaps the downfall of any hope of making a real impact, relationally or otherwise.
This issue aside, on the heels of taking a weekend to myself, our last run of the Rothwell Mini Train turned dramatic when the chair car flipped on us. Come March or April I'll find out whether it was the axle or the rail that caused this dangerous derailment. We had 3 girls age 8 - 10, their parents, and then our volunteer conductor. To give you an idea, I'm the youngest of the volunteers, and then it's a 40 year split, if not more, between me and them. It definitely made cleaning the leaves off the track more crucial so that there was nothing hiding any potential track defects. However, the rain stopped any further running, and of course it's in the rain where we're trying to back the train up and it keeps derailing on us. So, in the rain, we're lifting wet metal cars onto slick and slippery rails that give little or no traction to anything. Very annoying, yes.
The Hebrews test took place in the middle of the Ruth drama thing, so it seemed decent enough to get the back three pages completely filled. Sadly, I couldn't keep the memory verses straight, so I fouled up on them immensely, even forgetting the simpler verses of Hebrews 3. The prayer is that the backside balances the first page because then I won't be in as much trouble as I think I might be for the memory work. I was hoping, especially when the drama started, that the test would've been postponed to today since Reese wasn't at school until the day after, but that would not be so. I almost missed the memo about the Dean of Men proctoring it, but I found it in time and made plans accordingly.
For now, though, since not only I can't get what I what, but also what I need, my tears go by as the guitar gently weeps (these song titles belonging to the Rolling Stones and the Beatles, respectively).
P.S. Why is mankind so intent on hiding behind something? Why is it intent on using emotions, curiosity, ego, and everything under the sun in order to make a pithy attempt at hiding in the bushes with fig leaves?
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| While trying to find something else, I found some gems from back in 2005 that I completely forgot about. Evidently CCCB made it to StupidVideos.com with the following two videos:
Phone Box
Nair Hair
Outside of a video or two I shot within or around Foundation Hall in 2007, the real project that finally diversifies me from doing train videos on YouTube is the stop-motion project, "Gundam MSIA: Father of Peace." Said work, before I was called upon to do editing (and now a whole lot of Research and Development), can be found here in the first installment of episode one:
Ep. 1, Pt. 1 of "The Axel Gundam"
Hopefully I'll be able to help during my remaining two years in Moberly to ensure that it's not one episode every year, but perhaps one episode every two to four months (depending on workload at college) so we don't lose people because they're waiting with waning patience.
On a different note, another something that I thought about concerning the House season seven scenario is a surprising character trait. So that I don't blow it entirely, I'll just be specific enough that one would have to really think. During their travels, House notices that the sidekick tends to keep his backpack on hand. Even when crossing the fields, there's that backpack, and at one point House had to do a double-take because perhaps the guy was hiding something. However, it's not until the backpack is taken in a foreign country that it becomes apparent that there was something the sidekick had never mentioned, particularly because House never noticed it. This forces House to consider how one could share an experience with another, yet come out with a different emotional result. Perhaps this may be the key to changing the bedside manner forever...perhaps even have House consider the idea of God.
Now I can go to sleep now having found this, the thing I was looking for:
Create your own visitor map!
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It's taking all that I can to avoid agree with a quote written on the quote board in our hall that bluntly states, "Girls are dumb." You'd think that I'd be having an easier time being content with being single in light of that.
Of course, when your body language is bloody obvious, it's not too hard to see that you're avoiding someone or somebody...or both, in the case of Amanda. The minute she actually made eye contact, she went somewhere that I wasn't. As if I wasn't handed a crap situation beforehand that left me wondering whether or not she was repulsed by me, this one reinforced such and idea. To be honest, I really hope for Amanda's sake that Britney is correct in her statement that she may be trying to avoid the "Ring by Spring" mentality that used to be the backbone to the culture of the student body. Otherwise, I think I might be able to tolerate being single much better now that I don't have to worry about the likes of the immaturity that comes from Spurling. In other words, for all the crap that I've put up with from various women on this campus (in chronological order: Stephanie ["Athelle"], Paula, Kayla, Kaci, Ashley, Alisa, and now Amanda), I think it's safe to say that I no longer trust the on-campus women anymore, with rare exceptions (Britney and Leia Beth...and Krystle, whom I hope is doing well in Kansas [or wherever] and is actually happily with the guy she told me about).
Regarding that post about the idea for a House Season 7, a certain discourse crossed my mind that I would love the sidekick and House to have (I haven't given the sidekick a name yet). It would take place on the routine conversation that would be in every episode, something that would happen while on any given mode of transportation (train, bus, plane) to facilitate character development. As the season progresses, there has to be a point in which there is an address on the religious tension between House and his Christian associate. Again, the Christian isn't there to be gung-ho about converting House, but if given the chance, he'd like to try. This would be the first attempt.
House: *reads over shoulder of sidekick*
Sidekick: *is typing away at the sermon he'll be giving at the next local church, but senses House is watching for a change.*
"Are you interested?"
House: "Yeah - call me crazy, but isn't the definition of insanity trying to do the same thing over and over and expecting different results?"
Sidekick: *grins without pause in typing*
"Such as harassing Ms. Cuddy over and over and expecting her to drop clinic hours?"
House: "Touche."
Sidekick: *pauses typing for a moment*
"The 'gears of doom' are cranking something in there, aren't they. Don't worry, they're not due for another oiling just yet."
House: "How thoughtful to use my art-form against me. I'm trying to decide whether or not you're trying to numb their pain or surgically remove gray matter to attempt something more permanent."
Sidekick: *laughs*
"Do tell, am I doing a good job at either?"
House: "You're better than most - you're actually aiming for the gray matter."
Sidekick: "That's a plus."
House: "However, you normally have to actually prep them for such a surgery with the real stuff - good luck finding a precedent for using a placebo to make them think they're asleep during this stuff."
Sidekick: *the smile fades for a moment, revealing perhaps a more perturbed look. However, this is quickly replaced with a thoughtful expression*
"So in other words, Christianity is just a psychological experience? There is no real medicine involved?"
House: "Kind of like making a batch of M&Ms, painting them with Ts, and passing them off as children's Tylenol."
Sidekick: "Interesting thought...so then this Jesus is just all in their heads?"
House: "Yep."
Sidekick: "Like your misery?"
House: *an already stern face becomes a bit more sterner*
"I'm sorry, did we just change the subject all of a sudden?"
Sidekick: "Nope - I'm taking the time to make a point. If Christianity equals emotions, and emotional highs are mere placebos, so misery, by logic, as an emotion, would equal a placebo as well."
House: "And so Sigmund Freud meets Joel Osteen. Only problem is that misery can be proven."
Sidekick: "By subjectivity?"
House: *points to an occupied seat a few row down*
"Take that person for example: based on how he arches his back, there's a good chance he's [fill in your own disease here]. His jacket says he's in the money, but his eyes say he's clueless on how to be an effective shyster. The wear on his shoes says this has lasted for some time now."
Sidekick: "So what does that have to do with misery?"
House: "Simple: misery can physically manifest itself. Perhaps if Jesus were here to give me a good right and a left to show me he was real, I'd have an easier time believing."
Sidekick: "What makes you think that this doesn't happen all the time with God?"
House: "How do you expect me to think that all there is to this thing is saying some half rate prayer and fooling myself to think that there exists this entity of salvation?"
Sidekick: *becomes pensive for a few moments, pondering over this last statement and how to reply. Upon formulating the answer, the pensiveness is now a smug, piercing perceptiveness*
"Perhaps the answer is right there, House: the half-rate prayer, the foolish belief, even our attempt to turn from one way of life to another and our baptism, where we meet the blood of Jesus, is our way to making faith proven in action and deed. It'd make sense, then, why John 6:28-29 would explain the disciples question, 'What shall we do, so that we may work the works of God ?' through Jesus' answer, 'This is the work of God, that you believe in Him whom He has sent.'"
House: *now becomes pensive himself and ponders over what his associate just said. However, too many questions still plague him, and his expression evidences this.*
"Good answer..."
Sidekick: *with a naive and hopeful tone*
"So then would you..."
House: *with a patronizing smile*
"Wishful thinking, but no."
Sidekick: *sighs and stares into space for the moment. After some time to process, he resumes typing*
House: *sets this issue on the back-burner and begins working over the details on the next case they're headed to tackle*
The sermons that are being typed are sermons which are preached off-screen, but ironically bits and pieces manage to fit in a sort of prophetic way because each case seems to deal with the same issues addressed in the sermon. This obviously allows for a good take on the Christmas Story and how either House maybe comes to respect it or screws it up to kingdom come.
Interestingly enough, this inspiration came on the heels of another interesting situation. A new student, Marie, was with me, Britney, and Brooks at the lunch (or dinner) table, and to be honest it was a pleasure talking with her and learning that perhaps our pasts may have something in common. I was going to attempt finding more opportunities to speak with her at the meal times, but as I also learned, Marie not only had a crush on another student, but is oblivious to other people that aren't her close friends when it comes to this. C'est la vie, I suppose, but it'd be nice to catch a break I suppose.
Hug count since summer 2009: still 2, one on Sarah's birthday (June 26), one when Ms. DeVilder showed up the first weekend of school (August 29). I suppose high school was just a time to ensure I wouldn't die from lack of affection, because if I'm not with a girlfriend (Paula being the exception), this is about the frequency at which it happens. This lack makes it incredibly hard to keep myself in check, and quite frankly I'm not too proud of my private life nowadays because of what it has taken to keep myself in line on all fronts.
The Reese testing has begun: 94 on Hebrews, anticipating a 77-80 on Romans as I prepped for it the same way I prepped for Hebrews. Unfortunately, he didn't write Romans that way, so I was out on a limb on a lot of questions that I had never studied for because I didn't think they'd make it. 1 Corinthians is this Wednesday, and at the rate we're going, another round of Hebrews and Romans back-to-back testing will be next week (chapters 2-4 for each one). This is on top of the project due dates, which means I'm going to be up late and running on little sleep. When necessary, I'll use coffee.
Going to ask Dr. Fincher if there's a way to eliminate classes on Nov. 23 & 24 so we can have the afternoon of Nov. 19 to Nov. 30 off for Thanksgiving and the National Missionary convention. It was fine to give us Nov. 18-22 and Nov. 24-30 off, but the recent addition of a Wednesday schedule for the 18th and Friday schedule the 19th makes it ridiculous, esp. since they've punished the NMC students with a forced double-skip if they need to leave early. All they'd need to do is start our week on Monday the 16th with the Tuesday classes and do a usual Tue - Fri week that would end on Thursday afternoon. Here you eliminate the Nov. 23 and 24 classes because now you've had your Thursday without need to make up for anything else because of giving us the October break. If they have to make up the Tuesday class that's eliminated (the 23rd), just use December 7th as the make-up day and run two Tuesday schedules back-to-back. At least now there isn't as much interference with the personal side of the student body, and even if two Tuesday class days are ridiculous, some days that seems to be how work and life goes: repeating the same day over twice. | | |
| Just wanted to at least verify that I still exist today, given the tone of the last post.
Also wanted to share a possible plot arc for House Season 7 (if the show doe have a 7th season): because of the status of House's name in NJ, have him travel to various places around the US (maybe even out of the country) to do his Sherlock Holmes things with people elsewhere that could benefit from his diagnosis.
This comes after my dream where I played the part of a new sidekick that he meets along the way, someone who is a bit more balanced but can be just as cynical as House. Furthermore, things get complicated when we're constantly stalked by two prostitutes from whatever the local gang happens to be in the part of town the patient lives. While both House and the sidekick are honor bound to not strike women, when they begin to threaten our lives, sometimes we have to defend ourselves with some physical force - House kind of digs the sidekick's martial arts abilities. Unfortunately I woke up before I could finish the episode I was playing out, but I can fill in the blanks quite easily since it was close enough to the end anyway. Depending on whether the visit is in a hospital or a house call (no pun intended), House either administers the treatment, or sends the patient to the local hospital with specific instructions for the doctor (which when looked at realistically, is a gamble since the doctor could consider this doctor crazy...but, again, with House being recognized worldwide, it's a doctor that knows House or respects his work at the very least and complies).
To elaborate on the sidekick part, like I said, he is balanced - a sort of Wilson balanced, but better because despite the mantra of "Everyone lies," the sidekick is a Christian that, while not intending to convert House, is straightforward and sometimes lets honesty get the best of him. However, he is also wise and only opens his mouth when he needs to do so, or when spoken to by House, a major factor in why House is not entirely annoyed with this concept. Furthermore, you begin to learn that even as a Christian, the sidekick is human and has his own cynical side that provides common ground for himself and House. Maybe, just maybe, depending on how the sixth season ends, the seventh season will open up House's eyes just a little more. Not that it would eliminate the jerk that we actually like, but perhaps House might only be a jerk when it's actually beneficial.
As far as the entrance of the sidekick, four different scenarios ran through my head concerning what became of Wilson:
1) Wilson and House split because some differences in the friendship couldn't be reconciled
2) Wilson transferred from NJ to another hospital, and House hasn't had the nerve to keep in contact with him
3) Same as #2, only House hunts down where Wilson is going to the point of borderline stalking
4) House is just keeping in contact with Wilson by phone from time to time | | |
| After the events that have transpired over the course of the past two weeks or so, academic suicide doesn't sound so bad anymore. I'd extend that further, but if someone did read this, I'd probably be lectured on how I shouldn't give up. No worries - I've found my way around life's main stream, and to be honest it's kind of refreshing to be off the highway for once. However, the sudden change in pace, amongst other things, may be contributing to my horrid lack of sleep, despite heading to bed at 8p Wednesday evening and 11p last night. In fact, tonight, a good metaphorical strip gave me some insight and while it means that I have to reorganize myself again, it also leads me to my past and to the theme in my life that I never noticed before until now. If any women actually read this, you might need the tissue box - this is going to get personal, and it's going to get ugly.
If there were any one word that could describe your life, what would it be? Courage? Kindness? Humor? Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious? I wish I could come up with a positive word that didn't fall into cliche Christian phrasing. If I could, I don't think I'd be having this journal session right now...or at least I'd have a more positive motif. I once told Alisa that the theme was "dark" - I was close. If there's one thing that the darkness has mastery over, it's fear. Afraid is the word I'm after. Having gone through so many bouts with Aspergers Syndrome, I thought I had overcome the one thing that underlies our rigidity to form and perfection. Instead, somehow I managed to avoid it, even bury it, but now someone recklessly dove into my soul and somehow released the chains on that box. After surfacing, I knew I had seen it somewhere - foolishly enough, I broke the seal. There resided my undoing, for even though it was locked away, it knew exactly what had happened last I had seen it. I thought I was strong enough to overcome...but my roots were not the same as before. To rip them out and find a place to transplant them quickly ever since that day I was abandoned by that certain flock seemed to be my only choice in order to avoid contamination. However, on the heel of the three years, my roots long for water and continually rely on the providence that keeps them moist. Thus was my weakness, the entry point in which I would meet face to face with my undoing and would come up with the following conclusions.
I've always been afraid. Ever since crying like a girl at age two to Cinderella, particularly when Cinderella and the prince go off on their honeymoon, or when the king threw his crown through the window, this first experience of emotions frightened me at the same time that it touched me. Seriously, upon seeing the king turn red later on in the scene, I think I had gone to the bathroom by that point. Of course, as a toddler, the music played for their honeymoon was on the ball and very appropriate because of all the things that Cinderella endured. However, not knowing what emotions were, I was scared witless about this feeling I had, this intangible concept that flooded me pretty quickly.
This is all assuming that I even have the right age in mind when I bring this up. Evidently the one person that I've told this to thinks that something traumatic may have created the absence of linear order when it comes to my memories when I was young. I think I agree, and that you will, too, after I share a side of me that I almost think I might need to seek help for. Perhaps being nuts enough to flush a pair of soiled underwear down the toilet when I was four may not be enough, or even the time in which a certain medication gave me the idea to pay people back by actually physically stripping in the special education class. Certainly yelling "I love you" at michiru_paris even though we were only friends was a bad idea, and maybe taking three Reese classes at once may prove I might be a little off-kilter. However, when it comes to dreams in which the old clay-mation "California Raisins" characters come to life, and they dine on me after sneaking out from behind a fridge as brutish cannibals, twice mind you, there's something wrong. When it comes to dreams of being trapped in mother's old red duffel bag, in the style of a red fluffy cylinder when full, with only my sight and no air, waiting for the cannibal raisins to eat me, there's something wrong. When it comes to that other cannibal raisin dream at the preschool I attended, alongside the shadowy silhouette that blocked my path to exit the preschool to escape my fate, there's something wrong. It doesn't stop here, either - the next dream I remember occurred when I was still in my cradle...scratch that, it's the next two, one of which I've just begun to remember again.
The first I think may have been influenced by watching animated Charlie Brown cartoons, one of which had Snoopy twist his ears so that they became helicopter propellers, and then he flew off. This translated into a dream where, oddly enough, grandpa showed up in military uniform as I was peering out of the cradle. After realizing he had a rather odd demeanor, I looked out the big triangle window of my parents' bedroom to see a military helicopter hovering. What became one started multiplying, and before I knew it, there were these mini helicopters in the bedroom itself in broad daylight.
The second, however, not so much - all I remember is that it was pitch dark, I was in the cradle, and...well...crap...I don't know why this is scaring me all of a sudden but it is. Either way, it was this creepy smile...think the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, but maybe a little bigger. Anyway, turning to my left, I see this grin, this creepy almost seemingly malicious grin. However, I somehow proceed to think it's staring out the window and I look and see nothing. When I look back, the grin is still there, but now it has a hand that I can outline in the darkness holding an outline of what seems to be a doll or human or something...and it's small, and can tell its eyes are shut. Whether or not it's breathing is another story, but with the head just drooped down, and, from what I can remember, dangling, I highly doubt it.
Then there is the complete hallucination of the old PBS program Shining Time Station appearing in the living room and kitchen of the condominium where I lived the first six years of my life. I know this occurred while I was young yet, still, and hadn't moved out for the sake of transferring over to Longfellow. Details aside, I was actually sleeping on a bed for a change, and all I remember is that while I was awake, I began hearing these voices, voices that were so familiar that I almost wanted to get up and see. Instead I remained cautious and peered through the door that was left cracked open. In the deep purple and blue haze there were the characters "Stacy Jones" and the kids "Matt" and "Tanya" and they were going about a usual day that normally would be portrayed on television.
In the same bed, on another night, I was dreaming about something to do with the Olympics or something. I was holding on to these two chains at the point where the chain ended at the two big circles one would normally place their hands. I evidently was attempting to try a back flip, but instead failed miserable and just threw myself into the water, wherein it proceeded to go from pool water to murky sea water that was quickly filling my nose and drowning me.
Anybody ever have one of those plastic Little Tykes cars that you pushed with your feet and even could sometimes steer? While I desired one of those as a child, it certainly became an object of fear when this dream placed me on the roof of the condominium complex. Somehow, it was like I didn't know any better to stop at the edge of the roof, this flat, red gravely roof...and yet I plummeted, the car and I going face first, the black tar pavement coming to meet my face really quickly and gravity making a rather undesirable impression on my stomach. I would awake just before impact, as I would find myself rolling off the bed as I opened my eyes.
The garbage truck dreams were rather interesting when I had both of them. The first consisted of the BFI truck (the company that served the condominium complex) speeding towards the stop sign like it was out of control. Having only two tiny windows this time, that was all I saw until the thunderous crash and the butt end of the truck flipping into the air, visible to the tiny window of my parents' bedroom. The other BFI truck was one that mother crashed into at the church parking lot in the other dream. Oddly enough, she was giving me an option for the truck to take off without its wheels, or for us to be without a hood, to which I chose the wheels. Off it went, leaving his rear axles behind and back end dragging, but with no sparks.
Finally, there came the psychotic episodes that pushed everything to a level beyond anything I was able to comprehend. Each of them started the same way: I was either sick, or the day was weird, and all of a sudden I felt quite vulnerable. At that point I would see something that I know never should have been, but it'd always be something exaggerated or rather illogical. The memorable one was the giant nickel that tried to slip by in the hallway, followed by two dimes in the opposite direction. This was followed by a hallucination of strings that had random words that I was never able to make out, which turned into hanging barber pole type streamers, and then finally the breaking point where I snapped. I was in hysterics every single time, and while I couldn't explain to you even today why I was hysterical, I always had to accomplish some task that had no rhyme or reason to it, and somehow I had to get somewhere in order to prevent some catastrophe, some cataclysmic event that would effect everyone or else they'd get us. Who would get us, I don't know, but whoever "they" were, they were powerful, they were unmerciful, they were demanding, and they were lethal. The final time this happened was at age 10 when whomever was coming was ready to set the trap and bring the house down around mother and I. To prevent it, I had to somehow support both the corner in the living room and the corner in the dining room so that the house would remain stable. Mother, of course, never understood what I meant, and even went as far to ask me who, of which I couldn't answer her because I didn't have that information. Whoever "they" were, mother just needed to shut up and listen to me about when I hit that point.
All of this to provide the brevity which I attribute to my undoing and the fear that it soldiered alongside it. As much as I want to say that this is a complex psychological case alone, there's still more, and this time it deals with my psychologically demented father.
If there was one thing I do know I learned well from him, other than some technical shortcuts to use with computers, it was fear. When it came to explaining the truth, he would make me afraid when he would lash out when he was so adamant that I was lying to him. When it came to school work, if I wasn't writing neatly, or it wasn't in the format that he'd do something in, he'd throw it all away and make me start over. I was afraid of martial arts, and yet father wouldn't listen and signed me up. When it came to all sorts of random things, either it was done his way, or I was thoroughly sworn at, with all sorts of combinations. When it came to sex, even mother can testify to his leeriness and paranoia. Even though he befriended the cops such as Officer Josh Moore and some others, I highly doubt he ever shared with them that he tried to teach me that just by looking at a cop car they'd think whoever did that was up to no good and would arrest them. In short, no matter what happened, I always came up short, and thus while I was good natured, it was to hide my quest for perfection. Why? Because I was afraid. Afraid that if I didn't do well in mathematics that my worth would begin to diminish. Afraid that if I didn't act up like I did in middle school that I had no worth to anybody else. This is why that, with the knowledge of Biblical truth today, I still stand ashamed that I am afraid - afraid that all the homosexual experimentation between ages 10 and 12 with another friend my age would be my only hope for any real affection, and that this revelation to anyone would pass me off as damaged goods worthy of only the junk yard.
Yet it wouldn't quit, this hatred of myself because I was afraid - it would drift into the realm of love and rub my face into the the one thing I was afraid of getting wrong: getting it right. It has never been allowed to rest in peace the fact that after clodian and I broke up, she turned bisexual. Of course, because I didn't get it right, because I made one joke to counter a joke made by her father and his girlfriend, I was no longer this shining example of a boyfriend, and thus unworthy to be considered for affection. The one person that had given me that providential hug those days when I actually could count how many hugs I had ever received because no one ever thought to hug me as freely as they hugged everyone else, now a memory gone sour because she wasn't willing to reconcile with me on that one mistake. Then, turning around and allowing another guy not only to love her, but really love her, her virginity be nothing more than a paper scrap. Ironically, somehow she was strong enough with me...but why not that guy, the one who I saw licking and chewing her neck at school that day, the jerk that had no class and no morals? Because of that, why even her current boyfriend of whom she lives with last I checked? Thus I became very afraid that somehow my dad had tainted me, made me worthless, and it scared the living daylights out of me. I didn't want to become a lonely wretch, a psychological nutcase, a bastard child of lust.
So I searched...and all I met were people with problems that wanted to use me. Christina, the emotionally dependent girl and shortest girlfriend (4 days) I'll ever have. Evidently she had similar issues like I did, and felt worthless if I wasn't dating her. However, I was running away from that myself, and because she wasn't a Christian, how could I help her? Another emotionally dependent Christina would show up in 2004 while finishing my trip through Canada by train, someone whom I actually had the nerve to kiss, not realizing that I'd create another situation for her despite me trying to do everything in Christian love. Jennifer Ditty - a name that I will never forget because of what I did in the van at Star Ranch, something that I was surprised the driver didn't stop me from doing (which was kissing her on the shoulder, by the way). Contrary to what I told her, that wasn't the only way I knew how - I was just desperate and wanted to love and be loved. However, I didn't realize that I'd also be working with an emotionally dependent person, for she gave me the ultimatum that one day in high school to make up my mind. As normal as this might sound, she was ahead of me by three years and in college at the time, and I knew I wasn't ready. However, I had made the promise, one I don't know if I'll ever be able to fulfill, that if I didn't find anyone else to marry, I'd find her. It was a promise made out of fear, a fear that spurred me on because somehow I had the feeling that I'd probably never find anyone else anyway. To this day, I wonder if she actually ever married that one guy she always wrote about, or if she's still waiting. I also wonder if we'll ever cross paths again, or if I could hunt her down to re-establish contact again. If so, I would want her to know the whole truth, even though I'm certain that it would me that I would be rejected as usual. Either she'd wind up feeding the fear, or completely blow me out of the water with something unexpected.
You'd think having one person like my father was enough. Try three, the next two coming in the forms of Alisa and her step-mother. Man, was the step-mom ever nuts like my father - so what if the dishes are clinking, they won't break just because they do what they normally do! At least, that's what I wanted to scream at the step-mom. I didn't like that she tried to hide the fact that she didn't trust anyone (except maybe Alisa's father) when she asked for me and Alisa's honest critique of the Christmas show she put on. It became deadpan obvious when the step-mom tried to get me to choose sides when it came to Alisa and the video store issue, even attempting to get me to discipline her in place of them. Had it not been for the fact that mother was in the van and I was going to meet someone for a movie, I would've let the dev - I mean the step-mom have it about the dishes and the mere duplication of my own father. But I didn't. And I wish I had seen it coming, too, when Alisa was so submissive, too: Alisa did the opposite of what I did and instead of fighting the insanity, she became a duplicate of the step-mom, fears, irrationality and all. Certainly I knew well enough to step back as a boyfriend when her two best friends died in a car crash, but her lack of communication about herself and lack of trust to let me in on the things closest to her after a whole month began to worry me. For some reason, it didn't feel right - I thought that the boyfriend was a lower priority than family and friends when a tragedy struck and so I followed that to a "T", but when I suddenly always become the low priority, it didn't feel right, and I even confronted Alisa on taking the time to come spend time, regardless of her step-mom, because the students were tired of being the taxi driver so the lonely boyfriend could actually enjoy her company for a little bit. I guess somehow her mother caught on to me, and thus manipulated the first break up after three months, the line being "I can't see myself marrying you."
You can imagine the throw back it was to find the same person that said, "I can't wait until we get married" to turn around and tell me the opposite. tirian4princess, her cousin minniefroggy, and the cousin's best friend marinkydinky aside in the whole Charismatic discussion turned debate turned war of words, another failure that I feared emerged. I remember the day that michiru_paris's friend "Ko Inago" had said that I had a beautiful voice and that I was a beautiful man, only to turn around when her friend Kara was present and agree that I was creepy. Then, bring in tirian4princess and her complete 180, where I had turned from "being a tree pointing upward and firmly rooted" to a mere egomaniac that did nothing but research and post his research. Granted, if you've kept with this post, understand that in my fear of being of my father's blood, I had to be perfect in everything, including my theology so that way I could lead others to the one single truth. Nonetheless, though, these people who were so fond of me, and minniefroggy's mother who joked that minniefroggy and I should get married, they were so adamant that I was trying to create fear, chaos, and strife, all because I had first responded to marinkydinky's mother in a protected post (where only 10 people could read) that I was not entirely thrilled with comments and judgments totally unrelated and even cross-ways of the Bible to suggest. Somehow, though, expressing my anger privately was immaturity, a crack that would chasm the minute I questioned my own beliefs and asked what they though when I posted the school's beliefs. I don't quite know where I attacked marinkydinky's mother in either the private post or the quotation of Jack Cottrell's book, but I proceeded to continually ask where because I was dead serious about changing my ways, to the point that I was asking anyone who could read over my posts to tell me if I could've worded something differently or if I may have said something I didn't even know would be considered an insult. Remember, this is me and Aspergers Syndrome asking that, for while I overcame a lot, there was still just as much that I had to overcome at that time, too.
Upon getting the providential message from within that Alisa's mother orchestrated the break-up, as well as Alisa's revelation of her feelings towards Levi, her first love and the person she was engaged to at one point, I took her back thinking that everything had cleared up and was making sense. Not so. In another post, I outline everything in great detail, so let me at least summarize it with better hindsight: unlike all the other couples I had witnessed, or the other people that I had been with, something was wrong when I felt as though I were a mere servant, a low priority that could be dealt with at any time while she went off with her friends and did things. It really didn't make sense when Alisa was invited to a concert, asked me for $20, and didn't invite me to go to the concert, and in hindsight I wonder if I really should've stayed awake to pray to God that one of Aaron's contacts would be able to provided Alisa with the missing money to stay for the semester. It evidently didn't matter a lick, nor did it matter that I was consistently on my knees every Sunday evening before the service began praying that God would help me see if I was doing something stupid in the relationship and not Alisa. At least that's not what her Facebook said one day last semester when she noted that she wanted a man who put Christ at the center, but was finding no one who was willing to do so. Evidently somehow I made no impression, and it would become evident when, surprise, she'd duplicate clodian and not only repeat the same line (after only one month with me) about not seeing me as marriage material, but also dump me because I responded to a joke that she started.
Before, during, and after all these events, is it any wonder that I find myself afraid? Afraid to put myself out there because I attract women who have drama and problems in their lives? Afraid to say hello because my awkwardness due to Aspergers is still evident, afraid to keep something steady because once they find out about this past, they'll probably repeat history? Yet, as much as I wish it stopped there, my former roommate had to drop the most awkward and destructive bombshell on me this semester.
On Facebook, I was asked if I could keep some information confidential between me and him. I agreed, not knowing that I'd be involved in learning the real reason he moved last semester: he had been sexually attracted to me. However, true to my word, it stayed with me, along with his homosexual attraction to another guy that was my age (and given that former roommate is twice my age plus one, that's just wrong, awkward, and nasty). At least, this was until I received a message from him on Facebook via the private message system, a message I didn't expect since I thought that this issue was between us and that we came out with a mutual understanding.
"[I] know last night must have been a shocker, but know that [I] am an arrogant, inconsiderate jerk who wants to be happy. [G]reg makes me happy, thoughts of him make me happy, and [I] deserve happiness right now. [T]he Christian [friends] [I] have just do not do that for me. [E]xcept you and [J]osh. [I]f you could be there for me every weekend and whenever [I] am depressed[,] it might be different. [G]reg is here, and that makes the difference."
Couple the two phrases in italics together for me, will you? Do you read it the same way I do, like this: "I'm a selfish, immature brat who is going to get what he wants however he wants it, and right now I want my happiness." If not, tell me what you come up with, and then couple it with the fact that I knew he was sexually attracted to me. All of a sudden I had a bomb threat that read that anyone in the group of friends that played the card game Redemption was in trouble because if he had been sexually attracted to me, who else would he be sexually attracted to aside from Greg in order to satisfy his happiness? How would he do it if he was willing to do whatever it took to achieve that? Even if the former roommate I knew didn't do that, I didn't know my former roommate anymore because he just threatened not only a group of students, but minors in the group as well. However, that had to be a close second to my first priority: how do I deal with a sexually deviant Christian? 1 Cor. 5 and Rom. 1:24-28 came to mind, but I wasn't sure, but thankfully the night I received this, the Dean of Men and the VP of Student Life were doing curfew checks. With their advice and the RA's prayer, it became evident that I at least had to keep my former roommate away until we could settle this and make sure that he would repent and turn away from this sin. In the end, after all the drama that my former roommate caused because he initially didn't want to repent, he made his repentance public at least in the meeting with the Dean of Men. However, two things have changed since then, and I think you can guess one of them:
First, I no longer trust my roommate because he kept trying to dodge the real issue at hand, and even online tried to blame me for slander even though he wrote it and I interpreted it in a way that I felt that safety was compromised on a number of levels. Even after the Dean of Men put my former roommate in his place, he still tried to give me the run around after the fact, and because I caught on I will only trust him so much now. Yes, I did tell him I was good with the situation, but only to the extent that he had repented in a slightly more public setting with more than just me present and was looking for help. However, I was glad I was referring to that alone because the run around given after the meeting was all I needed to know that I needed to tell the group that while it's good between me and the former roomie, he is not to be trusted like he was before. Evidently he is very unwilling to look at other points of view because somehow his own point of view has to be the one that everyone else follows, something reminiscent of my own father.
Then, there is the damage that I finally caught on to after lunch: I attract gay men with drama in their lives, too. Which means it could've been my former roommate who sent me so vulgar an email my second semester at school that explained that they were looking to sexually violate me. Even if not, what does that make me? All of a sudden, my identity just got shot to the bad place because here I thought I was a normal guy with some abnormal circumstances and some interesting people...which didn't bug me much since at least I knew that I had done my part to be myself. But now being myself includes the following tag line: "Attractive to older, balding gay men." Which means either I've been in the wrong places at the wrong time, or else my identity is something that I dreaded all along. And I am scared stiff and afraid. Would it explain why Amanda C. so awkwardly left and then decided to dine while paying me little attention? Is that why she could so vainly throw around the phrase "I love you" twice when she picked me up from martial arts that one night? Is that why I've attract a thick-headed version of me who is completely blind to logic and anything but her own beliefs, including some rather weird ideas on demon portals and what not? Did the entire Conway/Mitchell/Wheeler families find out and turn away because they saw my identity? Was my identity that frivolous to Alisa and clodian even then?
I am afraid now. I fear that if they would say yes, that I would have to run the opposite direction to avoid the drama. I fear that if they say no, that somehow the taint of my father is that strong in the blood, and my desire for perfection was worthless. Therefore, I am afraid to open my mouth and say anything, and even afraid to wake up in the mornings wanting to face the people with hope, yet facing the truth that the logical and mature (or so I thought) ones will evidently choose someone else over me when given the choice. This worthlessness scares me - a worthlessness confirmed by the very person that is getting married Saturday afternoon when I attempted to do the right thing and be a Christian. A worthlessness confirmed that if I'm not relying on what my father does in order to make my own living, it's not worth talking to me about (which is strange for a person who I've known to play Halo all hours of the night despite the fact that he has no job outside of household chores). A worthlessness that some in the student body would proceed to lecture on because of the so-called "requirement" they find in the Bible that you need to be married before you can minister. A worthlessness that scares me because each day I live it out, one affection-less, cold day at a time...and nothing can be done about it. I can't change the people, but I can change myself. Therefore, why not save myself 5 - 8 more years so that way the autistic girl that I know can have a life with someone who will give her the freedom of choice to live, contrary to the belief of her parents that she'd never be able to live on her own with her Autism? Better yet, why not track down Victoria, the one person who accepted me and called me handsome from the bottom of her heart, and meant it, whom I wanted to get it right with and managed to screw that up, too. Selfishly, I pray that she is not with the boyfriend she mentioned back in 2005 when we last spoke - I want to make it up to her because I recognize even more than I did then just what a gem she was, despite the little things that could improve with just a little bit of work.
I am afraid. Is it game over? | | |
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