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10 things
1. I hate the way I am unable to ask for help, even though I know I can get it if I ask. I'm always confident I can do fine by myself, until I'm in way too deep, at which point I sink so far into self-loathing that I no longer consider myself *worthy* of help, and just quietly drown. I hate the way I respond to this failure by finding a small dark hole in which to crawl and attempting to minimize my use of resources such as air, electricity, and water, as they are obviously wasted on me, until somebody hauls me bodily back into the sunlight.
2. I hate the way I use story as a mood-altering drug rather than dealing with things. I hate the way I will take any opportunity to retreat into a dream world and stay there, and I hate my own tendency to relate to the outside mainly through stories I have seen or dreamed.
3. I hate the fact that I am unable to follow through on anything, from the sports swings the metaphor comes from, to writing anything longer than 2,000 words, to keeping promises to friends. I hate the fact that once I have done enough of something to prove that I could keep going if I wanted to, I lose my motivation and stop, even if I *like* doing it.
4. I hate that I avoid making bad decisions by simply refusing to make any decision at all until all but one of my bridges has burned, at which point I'm sure I've made the best decision, by default of it being the only one left. I hate the way I try to avoid making enemies or causing unnecessary pain by running away from anything that resembles risk in anything that resembles, or has the potential to become, any kind of personal relationship.
5. I hate the fact that I am so easily satisfied and open-minded that I have no ambition whatsoever, that I have nothing I desire for my future and no best destiny, and thus no way to motivate myself toward it, whatever it is. I hate the way I live far too much in the present and when I do plan ahead, worry more about keeping my options open than about achieving anything. I hate the way I lack all conviction. I hate the fact that I am so non-judgemental that I am incapable of condemning anyone unless I know exactly what they were thinking and why they made the choices they made. Which leaves me as the only person I'm willing to condemn for anything, and even then it requires self-indulgence causing obvious harm to others.
6. I hate how hard it is for me to feel anything. The only emotion I really *feel*, to the extent that it gives me actual physical symptoms such as crying jags and odd sensations in my guts, is shame and self-pity. All my other emotions I *think* rather than feel, I think "I should be happy" so I act happy, I reason that I should be upset so I act upset. I know I *do* have real emotions underlying my actions, but they lurk under the surface like bloated corpses in a brown flooding river, only making themselves known by snagging on the tiller unexpectedly or surfacing in disconcerting flashes when I run through white water. Most of the time, I have the emotional range and perception of a teaspoon.
7. I hate the fact that I deal with anything troubling by avoiding it, and anything that reminds me of it, taken to far extremes. So if I'm upset that I disappointed another person, I'll deal with it by avoiding all people for the next week. If I know I should have read that chapter before the test, I'll be unable to touch anything resembling a book for days. If I missed that fic deadline, rather than warning the mod and apologizing, I'll just drop out of the fandom and avoid anyone associated with it. I hate the way my standards are so screwed up that I'd rather fail by not trying than fail by trying and being less than perfect-- and I hate my resulting tendency to do way less than my best and make myself be satisfied with it.
8. I hate my own facility with deception, and how skilled I've become at telling the absolute truth in such a way it gives entirely the wrong impression, and at diverting people from the parts that are actually important. I hate the amount of time I spent hiding from myself and other people and my bad side, and I hate the fact that I no longer have any idea who I am and am getting more and more afraid to ask the right questions about it.
9. I hate the fact that I'm so self-conscious. That I overthink everything and even when I just go with it, it's because I've consciously made up my mind to just stake it on a quantum coin toss, and even though I try to think about others first, it's because *I've* consciously made the decision that *I* should just so that *I* can be a better person. I hate the fact that I can never be entirely a part of something, because I'm trained to always think it out for myself rather than trusting the group's conviction, so even when I agree it's for my own reasons rather than theirs and so I don't truly belong to them, but hold myself as a vaguely supercilious outsider.
10. I hate the fact that I have no idea how to go about fixing any of these things. I hate that fact that I know that I don't really *want* to fix most of them, because I don't have any better ways of coping, and because I know that if I did a list of ten things I *like* about me, most of the above would be on that list too, only worded differently. I hate the way I use my knowledge of my own inadquacies as an excuse rather than a goad.
(I hate the fact that the closest I can find to proper angst music is blue öyster cult, so I fail even at being appropriately goth gloomy. And I hate the way I use flip comments to avoid being taken seriously even when I *am* being serious.)
Yes, I have had a rather depressive month. You can tell by the relative lack of journal updates, due to avoidance patterns and general self-loathing.
But enough of that. Tonight I decided it was past time to start working through my flintknapping book, teaching myself pressure flaking with glass. (Pressure flaking rather than the infinitely cooler percussion flaking, because that requires cobbles of some cryptocrystalline rock, which are a lot rarer around campus than broken beer bottles.) I was marginally sucessful-- at least, I now get a chip of some kind about half the time I try, although I have no control about what size or shape it will be, and am not getting anywhere toward an *edge* or a *point* or a *shape*.
The book claims most people can knap an adequate point after only an hour's instruction, and that gathering the tools and the materials are really the hard part. Which, okay. I'm willing to blame most of it on my remarkable slowness at learning these sorts of skills, I tend to pick up a bad habit which sort-of works right away, and then have trouble losing it. Yeah, an ancient and chalky clamshell, a rag, a chunk of old concrete and a broken bottle are probably less optimal than the supplies you can order at the back of the book.
But if I need a sharpened antler tine or 4-gauge hard-drawn copper wire mounted in wood in order to make glass knives, it wouldn't come in nearly as handy if I need to, say, hijack a Russian submarine, or sneak a weapon into a warlock's castle, or improvise a low-KE projectile to get through an evil overlord's personal shields. Since those sorts of eventualities are why it's a useful skill to learn, of course. So I want to stick to found materials for tools, too. I might try various types of hard plastic, next, for the flaking tool. I wonder if any part of a ballpoint pen would work.
. . . You know, I suppose starting an entry with a litany of self-loathing and ending it with an account of how much fun I had slicing my hands to shreds with a broken bottle is not entirely reassuring. But it was fun. The smashing things moreso than the bleeding on them.
Oh, and happy birthday,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stellar_dust! Only half an hour late in your time zone.
2. I hate the way I use story as a mood-altering drug rather than dealing with things. I hate the way I will take any opportunity to retreat into a dream world and stay there, and I hate my own tendency to relate to the outside mainly through stories I have seen or dreamed.
3. I hate the fact that I am unable to follow through on anything, from the sports swings the metaphor comes from, to writing anything longer than 2,000 words, to keeping promises to friends. I hate the fact that once I have done enough of something to prove that I could keep going if I wanted to, I lose my motivation and stop, even if I *like* doing it.
4. I hate that I avoid making bad decisions by simply refusing to make any decision at all until all but one of my bridges has burned, at which point I'm sure I've made the best decision, by default of it being the only one left. I hate the way I try to avoid making enemies or causing unnecessary pain by running away from anything that resembles risk in anything that resembles, or has the potential to become, any kind of personal relationship.
5. I hate the fact that I am so easily satisfied and open-minded that I have no ambition whatsoever, that I have nothing I desire for my future and no best destiny, and thus no way to motivate myself toward it, whatever it is. I hate the way I live far too much in the present and when I do plan ahead, worry more about keeping my options open than about achieving anything. I hate the way I lack all conviction. I hate the fact that I am so non-judgemental that I am incapable of condemning anyone unless I know exactly what they were thinking and why they made the choices they made. Which leaves me as the only person I'm willing to condemn for anything, and even then it requires self-indulgence causing obvious harm to others.
6. I hate how hard it is for me to feel anything. The only emotion I really *feel*, to the extent that it gives me actual physical symptoms such as crying jags and odd sensations in my guts, is shame and self-pity. All my other emotions I *think* rather than feel, I think "I should be happy" so I act happy, I reason that I should be upset so I act upset. I know I *do* have real emotions underlying my actions, but they lurk under the surface like bloated corpses in a brown flooding river, only making themselves known by snagging on the tiller unexpectedly or surfacing in disconcerting flashes when I run through white water. Most of the time, I have the emotional range and perception of a teaspoon.
7. I hate the fact that I deal with anything troubling by avoiding it, and anything that reminds me of it, taken to far extremes. So if I'm upset that I disappointed another person, I'll deal with it by avoiding all people for the next week. If I know I should have read that chapter before the test, I'll be unable to touch anything resembling a book for days. If I missed that fic deadline, rather than warning the mod and apologizing, I'll just drop out of the fandom and avoid anyone associated with it. I hate the way my standards are so screwed up that I'd rather fail by not trying than fail by trying and being less than perfect-- and I hate my resulting tendency to do way less than my best and make myself be satisfied with it.
8. I hate my own facility with deception, and how skilled I've become at telling the absolute truth in such a way it gives entirely the wrong impression, and at diverting people from the parts that are actually important. I hate the amount of time I spent hiding from myself and other people and my bad side, and I hate the fact that I no longer have any idea who I am and am getting more and more afraid to ask the right questions about it.
9. I hate the fact that I'm so self-conscious. That I overthink everything and even when I just go with it, it's because I've consciously made up my mind to just stake it on a quantum coin toss, and even though I try to think about others first, it's because *I've* consciously made the decision that *I* should just so that *I* can be a better person. I hate the fact that I can never be entirely a part of something, because I'm trained to always think it out for myself rather than trusting the group's conviction, so even when I agree it's for my own reasons rather than theirs and so I don't truly belong to them, but hold myself as a vaguely supercilious outsider.
10. I hate the fact that I have no idea how to go about fixing any of these things. I hate that fact that I know that I don't really *want* to fix most of them, because I don't have any better ways of coping, and because I know that if I did a list of ten things I *like* about me, most of the above would be on that list too, only worded differently. I hate the way I use my knowledge of my own inadquacies as an excuse rather than a goad.
(I hate the fact that the closest I can find to proper angst music is blue öyster cult, so I fail even at being appropriately goth gloomy. And I hate the way I use flip comments to avoid being taken seriously even when I *am* being serious.)
Yes, I have had a rather depressive month. You can tell by the relative lack of journal updates, due to avoidance patterns and general self-loathing.
But enough of that. Tonight I decided it was past time to start working through my flintknapping book, teaching myself pressure flaking with glass. (Pressure flaking rather than the infinitely cooler percussion flaking, because that requires cobbles of some cryptocrystalline rock, which are a lot rarer around campus than broken beer bottles.) I was marginally sucessful-- at least, I now get a chip of some kind about half the time I try, although I have no control about what size or shape it will be, and am not getting anywhere toward an *edge* or a *point* or a *shape*.
The book claims most people can knap an adequate point after only an hour's instruction, and that gathering the tools and the materials are really the hard part. Which, okay. I'm willing to blame most of it on my remarkable slowness at learning these sorts of skills, I tend to pick up a bad habit which sort-of works right away, and then have trouble losing it. Yeah, an ancient and chalky clamshell, a rag, a chunk of old concrete and a broken bottle are probably less optimal than the supplies you can order at the back of the book.
But if I need a sharpened antler tine or 4-gauge hard-drawn copper wire mounted in wood in order to make glass knives, it wouldn't come in nearly as handy if I need to, say, hijack a Russian submarine, or sneak a weapon into a warlock's castle, or improvise a low-KE projectile to get through an evil overlord's personal shields. Since those sorts of eventualities are why it's a useful skill to learn, of course. So I want to stick to found materials for tools, too. I might try various types of hard plastic, next, for the flaking tool. I wonder if any part of a ballpoint pen would work.
. . . You know, I suppose starting an entry with a litany of self-loathing and ending it with an account of how much fun I had slicing my hands to shreds with a broken bottle is not entirely reassuring. But it was fun. The smashing things moreso than the bleeding on them.
Oh, and happy birthday,
stellar_dust! Only half an hour late in your time zone.
...
Also, evil overlords are no longer using those personal shields. I..they found that way too many people were reading Dune (or just watching the sci fi miniseries...or the infinitely more hilarious one from the 80s with Sting as a harkonen) and finding the vulnerability. Plus, they dont work in deserts, and we...they like hanging out in Palm Springs.
A new system is currently in the works, and you can be sure that when it is completed, the plans will not include a blatantly obvious flaw with the comment "Proton Torpedos HERE" added on.
Re: ...
You know, I don't actually remember that part from the one time I read Dune? It's just become such a basic sci-fi trope that I could probably name half-a-dozen stories that use it without even trying. And actually, I think there is some high-tech body armor actually in use now that has a similar vulnerability, although I could have just imagined that.
Ha!
Re: Ha!
Re: Ha!
Of course, it also made a huge mess I had to clean up.
Although I don't remember playing with it as a kid; I learned about it in Mr. Snow's class and immediately latched onto the sf applications.
Re: Ha!
And cmon? you havent seen the cheesy dune? With the block figure shields? And Patrick Stewart as a war minstrel?
You haven't lived my dear.
Re: Ha!
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I hear ya' on that one, sister. X_x
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Were you involved in the thing that appeared outside my door this morning? It had your name on it. If not, you should really look into the things that your name gets signed too. d-:
3. ... kinda
4. ... kinda
5. yep. sort of. The first part, anyway.
6. yep.
7. ... kinda
So, ok, you might be slightly more messed up than I am. d-:
I'd rec you some angst music, but I can't really think of anything good at the moment ...
Oh, I talked to mom on aim the other night and she said you seemed upset when you told her .... a thing, and she said I should maybe call you. I didn't. Should I?
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I was more upset about telling her than about the thing itself, really. I'm in curl up and hide mode right now. I should probably call you, actually, as you're the birthday person...
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