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10 August 2017 @ 08:34 pm
I ruin everything I'm around

25 June 2017 @ 11:39 am
fuck guilt is a bitch
mood: sorry
being emotionally and mentally stable sounds fun, I wanted to try that this year but look who's failing

17 December 2016 @ 11:24 pm
Christmas is like a reversed scratch and sniff experience, really. Faded smells of ash and sap and matchsticks, distant scent of spruce cloaked in fat and spices, muffled Alf Prøysen melodies mixed with sharp clacking of patent leather shoes.  All of it trying to appeal to my senses. Futile.
26 September 2016 @ 06:49 pm
Growing up, my brothers always got Lego. So much Lego. Every Christmas and birthday, they got Lego. I wanted Lego. I wished for it and asked for it so much. But I never got Lego. Not even, when I in my ragged frustration tried wishing for the revolting pink hued editions. I got soaps. As my brothers were busy constructing exciting new vehicles, I went to the bathroom and flushed down pink bears and yellow elephants and glittery hearts. My parents were not amused. But they never made the connection as to why I was doing it.

I am starting with this not just because it still fucking stings. I remembered it because it reminds me a bit of how my current wishing situation is.

Brief list of things I want and keep reminding people I want:

What I get a lot of:
Not nothing

One of the not nothings I begrudgingly had to accept this year was a jacket that looks so expensive I almost start crying just looking at it. Hanging like a screaming waterproof tumour next to all the other jackets that I barely, if ever, use.

These are all the jackets I own:
·  An old bicycle jacket, which I bought it at a thrift shop many years ago – it’s black and green, with a permanent smell of hard work and a few resilient bloodstains on the inside, a die forever lost in one of the many of pockets, and a few holes down the front that I never got around to patch up. It fits and it works and I like it. Not actually waterproof but I use it when it rains anyway.  This one I use a lot … which probably explains the smell.

·  A vividly orange rain coat mom got me around the same time as I acquired my bicycle jacket. It’s huge and baggy with pointless pockets, and it used to have a belt but I lost it on purpose. The sleeves are ridiculously short, so getting wet is inevitable. It is mostly a last resort jacket.

·  Another aggressively vivid orange jacket mom pushed on me after a mountain hike this summer. It’s napkin thin and feels like being packed in a plastic bag. Mom swears it’ll protect the wearer from rain and wind. It was uncomfortable, and I got super clammy.

·  A long knitted jacket with wooden buttons I randomly found one day. Doubles as extra blanket over my bed in winter.

·  Another knitted wonder that looks like a fat bag with a hoodie. Comfortable but impractical. Also neat to cover my chronically freezing feet at night with.

·  A third knittwork, made by mom. Soft blue and thick as creamcheese. What it lacks in rightness of size, it gives back in lumpyness. I keep it safely under my bed.

·  A purple fleece jacket. Pretty standard. Excellent as stuffing under my bicycle jacket.

·  A black fleece jacket with pockets and cat-ears on the hoodie. Got it at that one DesuCon I went to, before hiding behind a door for a while because I got absolutely overwhelmed by the masses of people. A little short but I like it. Starting to smell.

·  A long dusty brown fabric coat with decent pockets, that I got when I was in Wellington three or four years ago. Perfect for spring and autumn, plus shitty summers and winters. Big enough to stuff with either of the knitted ones (minus the blue) if it gets really cold. Circled between this and the bicycle jacket most of last year.

·  A deep purple jacket of some kind of thick, stiff version of cotton. Only vague recollection of getting it many years ago. The pockets are okay. Don’t know what to do with it, nor use it for. Its main purpose seems to be to mock you for having bewbs. I lowkey hate it but the colour is sweet...

·  A short, purple winter jacket with one properly working pocket and two that are basically just open sores of zippers past redemption. The main zipper needs a good whack with a hammer once in a while to close without the bottom unzipping on its own. Surprisingly effective against cold, were it not for how it does not cover my ass.

·  A white, shortsleeved cropped piece of mystery that I got one late afternoon when I had to bike home from the train station, and it was considerably colder than in the morning. Only thing I could afford at the time. Surprisingly warm. The outside feels like plastic or rubber trying to be leather, with a stretchy collar. Adequate pockets. Creaks a lot. Currently using it as a costume piece in a party scene.

·  A monstrously long, black winter coat that is actually very comfy. It has a million deep pockets! And would have been ideal through the worst of winter, except that the zipper is a total dick that unzips itself from the bottom unless I stick to painfully dainty steps. Put in on top of my bed sometimes.

·  A short, sort of rotund black one that looks like it was made of asphalt and put on a five-month program in a washingmachine. The front zipper is so far off center it would've mauled a naked nipple. Utilising the hood makes one look like an obese Spøkelseskladden. Just one pocket. Not that comfortable. Had it since ungdomskolen, but keep forgetting it for extended periods of times due to the fact that I tend to keep it at the bottom of a heap.

·  Then there’s … the hyper-ultra-advanced, purple item poking me in the corner of my left eye as I type. It’s large and stiff and would probably save my life in a storm. When am I ever going to have a use for this? I can’t afford going anywhere extreme except with my parents, and that means them spending even more money on me to spend 24 hours for several days with someone who hardly says a word, cannot look any of the other hikers in the eyes, and gets panic attacks during dinner at the guest cottages. We’ve tried this before and it always ends up with everyone getting angry with me and telling me how disappointed they are that I’m not more outgoing and bubbly. Sometimes they compare me to the hosts and waiters. I wonder why I am so reluctant to go on more mountain hikes with them. Unsolvable mystery.


(I wrote this ... last week? but .. never posted it)
27 August 2016 @ 05:38 pm

I remember my old old phone. That one still works, actually. Mostly I just use it as an alarm clock.. I remember it replaced one I dropped into a 2kg can of beans. I remember that it felt clunky because the deceased one had been blue and elegant, whereas the then new one was black and shaped like an industrial cassette. And I loved that. And I loved the poignant CLACK! it made when I slid it shut to hang up because that's impossible with a smartphone. I remember feeling betrayed when the only other person in my class without a smartphone got a smartphone. I remember being peer pressured into accepting a secondhand smartphone and opening an Instagram account mostly out of lighthearted spite but soon accepting the practicality of the thing. I remember when this gave up on me at a most inconvenient morning that was extremely stressful. And that's how I got my until very recent new one. Which is now just  another old one

Reasons why I’m an asshole. Or at least probably come across as one. ? Oh boy here we go:

There are so many things I am uncomfortable with that many if not most others enjoy. Such as birthdays and smalltalk. Maybe especially smalltalk.

But birthdays first, just because god I hate my birthday. And it’s looming which means individuals who insist on remembering it have started pestering me about it. I despise everything about having a day that’s supposedly more mine. I despise the attention, despise any form of celebration, despise getting presents, and I absolutely loathe the expectation that I want to make something out of it when in reality it just reminds me how another milestone is passing and all I succeed at is continuing to amount to absolutely nothing... yeah. Thus, remarking on someone else’s day of birth feels like the wrong shade of weird. "Hey, you're older. How're you dealing with that society-related pressure eh?!" Nope!

Next then. The notorious smalltalk. For one, I never initiate it. Secondly, if someone else does, most of the time my mind goes blank, leaving no words to cough up to avoid awkward silence. Maybe I’m just an inconveniently private person? Asking about anything, even complimenting, feels unnatural and intruding. My theory is that I am putting too much of how I myself feel about these things into the situations. But what do I know. Okay, I do know it’s usually about interest, either genuinely or to be polite. And according to an outgoing people-person teacher I had a few years ago; if you ask someone to tell about themselves, this is a fairly safe way to make them like you. But to me, it all feels like interrogation. “Where are you going? Where have you been? Doing anything this weekend? How are you? Did you cut your hair? Is that a new jacket? How was your day? Where did you study? What do you want to be? W-“ NO! It’s private! This information belongs to me! It’s not particularly special but I am uncomfortable with you trying to extract facts about me! Hence, I cannot ask others either without feeling noisy and rude. I even avoid saying goodbye, or that I’m going, simply because it feels like an obligation.

To be honest I sometimes wonder if maybe I’m just barely above the autistic spectre. There are so many things that takes effort and energy to understand how to properly approach. Or react to. Or understand in general. It’s frustrating and it makes me feel like my mind has been thrown into an arcade game I only halfway understand. But I cannot claim that I am any kind of expert on autism and I really don't want to insult anyone who actually is autistic. So more likely, it’s the unfortunate combination of social anxiety, introversion, plus poor social skills in general.
13 July 2016 @ 09:32 pm

i am very tired of myself and this shapeless, dry fog of blunt white noise covering my consciousness. i'm not sad. frankly, i feel very little. it's on the negative emotions side of the scale but it is so damn vague. like when you've been outside in the cold rain for hours and your body is eerily numb. youcan hit and scratch yourself but you barely sense it. like that. only in the head.

mood: uncomfortable
08 July 2016 @ 01:03 pm

or: On this week’s One Among Many Reason Why I am Fail!

Frankly, I'm not just running. I'll duct tape jackhammers to the soles my feet so i can dig as deep a hole as possible to get away.

There will be plans and people involved get excited. Up until a certain point, I too can be all aboard with almost anything. And I am not exactly sure where my breaking point is. What ignites the doubt and wishes to be Alone. ? Maybe it was talked about Too Much - mentioned over and over, again and again. Or I'll get asked if I'll be coming - not just once but several times. Or the gap between when the idea was initiated, to when the actual appointment happens is just big enough for me to start overthinking. Or someone accidentally phrases their thoughts about my inclusion in a way that leaves me feeling I am not really wanted - it's simply a pity thing. And all possibly out of nowhere it just reaches that place where I start feeling more and more like I Don't Want To Go.

Occasionally someone will sense or suspect that I am making mental escape plans and set in motion ways they think will convince me to not bail. Except that only makes me more motivated to find a way out. Listen, you are trying to include someone who, if you surprise them by dropping a line such as “oh by the way I decided that after the planned plan we’ll go visit this person you’ve never met before yay,” will spend the entire day inventing harebrained excuses and fighting to not giving in to the internal screams telling them to hyperventilate until they explode. exclamation mark. !  And I have had plenty experiences with actually tagging along and regret it for one reasons or other. This is not because I like my own company. Because I honestly do not. But I like it even less when I am surrounded by others. It is usually easier to forget my self when I am not in a situation that causes me to retreat into my own head.

Although I cannot say precisely how fucked up the logic-connections in my brain are, I feel I have figured out that it has to do with expactations. And very likely social anxiety. There is plrobably the big ass biggest bridge linking these two. But back to what I am trying to make my point: When anyone starts showing expectations of me, I balk. I can feel the fortress walls rising with the speed and force of a spacerocket. Sure, I can do wonders out of spite or anger or guilt. But expectations is a kryptonite.

I am not a people person. Nor a social person. I am a socially awkward introvert who has done a lot of crying and panicikng in toilets and basements.


mood: crappy