Yearly Archives: 2003

Scattered Veil

I’ve real­ized that I have a hard time look­ing in the eyes of peo­ple I can’t stand.

It’s as if I don’t want to be dis­hon­est to them. That no mat­ter how much I hate them, I still feel like they deserve to know the truth. At least I can be…hon­ourable about this, inde­pen­dent of how I feel about the per­son.

I hold hon­esty at a very basic lev­el of human integri­ty. I can’t believe how many peo­ple I know who pre­tend to be friends with peo­ple they can’t stand. It all seems so pho­ny, unless they’re forced to be friend­ly due to spe­cif­ic cir­cum­stances (such as being mar­ried into a new fam­i­ly, mov­ing in with unknown room­mates, etc.). Sometimes the false friend­li­ness gives peo­ple the wrong idea, and they start to hang around even more, and every­thing just gets worse.

I’m glad that I find it hard to lie to some­one, although I’m also a lit­tle scared by the fact that it’s so hard for me to hide some­thing such as this. I’ve always been a ter­ri­ble inter­preter of body lan­guage, and in turn have nev­er had much luck with hiding/manipulating my own. Of course I can hide it when I real­ly want to, but it’s a lot hard­er when I don’t give a shit about the per­son. Most peo­ple, I don’t care enough about to actu­al­ly hide any­thing.

And it shows.

Non-Drinking Test Run

Aaron and I tried a “non drink­ing” test run at the Honest Lawyer yes­ter­day. I’ve nev­er real­ly need­ed alco­hol to have a good time around peo­ple like Aaron and Trolley. For some rea­son I already get pret­ty hyper and already act crazy around them, like I’m an ener­gy sink. I’ve always viewed alco­hol as anoth­er tax that I was shelling out for, like cig­a­rettes or lot­tery tick­ets for some.

It was good to be more con­scious about every­thing going on and not have to feel like shit the next day. Aaron wants to try giv­ing it up alto­geth­er or drink­ing every oth­er time we go out, but I’m pret­ty fine with cold turkey. I doubt I can com­plete­ly give it up, espe­cial­ly since red wine goes with my beef spaghet­ti so well and the fact that so much alco­hol tastes so good by itself, but I’ve nev­er real­ly felt the need to swig the liq­uid courage. The crav­ing for an occa­sion­al binge will always be there, of course, but those are few and far between.

Un- Median 2 a

I’ve always been a per­son who, rather unfor­giv­ing­ly, either loves or hates some­thing. It does­n’t mat­ter what, it can be a movie, a per­son, a hair­cut, any­thing. There is rarely an in-between for me.

All the things I dis­like just make me appre­ci­ate the things I like more. The more I dis­like some­thing, the bet­ter the appre­ci­a­tion.

I once thought that this was a bad qual­i­ty, but now I actu­al­ly pre­fer to be this way. I know so many peo­ple who either enjoy every­thing, or can nev­er be pleased by any­thing. Every time I meet one of these peo­ple and ask for their opin­ion on some­thing, I can nev­er trust it.

It ends up being that I only trust the opin­ions of peo­ple who love and hate like me, Trolley for exam­ple. This may be the only bad part. I hate to think that I may be becom­ing more closed-mind­ed by exclu­sive­ly lis­ten­ing to peo­ple sim­i­lar to me. The only way that I can try to keep an open mind is by under­stand­ing that every­one has their own opin­ions, no mat­ter how much I do or do not respect the per­son them­selves. No one is ever right or wrong.

And it does­n’t even mat­ter if they agree with me.

The Un-Housebroken Cat

Patches pissed all over Nick’s new lily-white futon matress yes­ter­day. Somehow it soaked through the matress and even reached the bot­tom. He’s been incon­sis­tent­ly incon­ti­nent the last week and threw up twice over the week­end. I’m bring­ing him to the vet for a check up to make sure it’s not a blad­der infec­tion or sick­ness. I hope it’s some­thing health relat­ed, as opposed to a men­tal prob­lem, such as fear or ner­vous­ness with Dolly run­ning around. That way it can be fixed, where­as a men­tal prob­lem is much more dif­fi­cult to cure. Dolly is still attack­ing him, half play­ful­ly and half force­ful­ly, but Patches does­n’t like any of it. He’ll sleep on my bed for pro­tec­tion at night, usu­al­ly on my ankles but some­times on my pil­low.