Womby's blog

Wind Through the Window

"Crisis of decision . . . blah blah blah . . . esophagus . . . ."
"Wait, what?"

The urge to write has risen and deigned appropriate to take over at the moment.

Thus, my presence.

Strangely enough, I know what I want to write about, but I don't want to actually write it.  It has a basis in a conversation - the kind which never truly ends.  While writing may help me develop additional thoughts, the subject is still something that I would prefer to develop said additional thoughts alongside the person that I was conversing with.

As always, we shall see.  My fingers tend to have a mind of their own once I allow them to grace the keyboard.

One thing that I must make sure to be wary of is inertia.  Momentum.  Complacent acceptance.  Part of a conversation I had stemmed around the dangers of attachment, but I feel that a greater peril (at this particular juncture) is that of getting used to how things are.

An event occurs.  You get used to, accustomed to, acclimated to said event (or said event recurring), and then . . . it stops.  However, you have since adopted the belief that the event in question is the default, the standard, the baseline of how things are.

Your world gets thrown into disarray.

Now, this inertia is similar to the issue of attachment, in that the characteristic itself isn't necessarily the most dangerous attribute.  It's the actions that these mindsets cause that lead to the real difficulties.

What happens when your world gets thrown into disarray?

Without order, nothing can grow.
Without chaos, nothing can evolve.

When fundamental things change around you, the usual courses of action are either adaptation or rebellion.  Acceptance or denial.  Either allow for both beneficial and detrimental opportunities.

If you accept that things are not in actuality what you thought them to be, you can adapt and and embrace what the true reality has to offer.  Or, you can perpetually pass up the opportunity to change your reality into what you wish it to be.

If you deny that things have changed, you can mold the world into your image.  You can essentially fight and hold on to that which you hold dear.  Or, you can force a set of beliefs onto a reality that cannot sustain them, leading everything to ruination.

Ruination . . . damn, do I have a flair for the dramatic.

And I need to stop writing these things while engaging in other activities.  My train of thought has completely derailed.

Oh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . lord.

Seismic Fury

Sayre:  guess what?
Womby:  You cut yourself accidentally, and discovered that you have chocolate syrup instead of blood in your veins?
Sayre:  that WOULD be pretty awesome
Sayre:  though i'd end up being some weird emo paradox
Sayre:  cutting myself
Sayre:  then feeling happy after i drink my own blood!
Sayre:  yay!
Womby:  You might not want to give me another chance at guessing
Womby:  It could go on for a while
Sayre:  lol
Sayre:  indeed

An IM conversation I recently enjoyed.  I have fun with randomness, and this also made me think of a few other things.

You'll just have to get inside my head if you want to know what they are.

I'm feeling . . . well, that's it.  I'm feeling.  There are some strong emotions whirling and dancing inside me right now, and I don't know what they are or what they're doing.

I just finished watching the fourth season of House.  And no, this isn't a random aside.  Just a really poorly structured segue.  One of the things that I really enjoy about the show is the music.  I'm a rather repressed and stoic individual (the amusing thing is, some will vehemently argue against that, while others will swear on their lives in support of it - there's a lot more of the latter), but the music in House manages to reach down deep and rip my emotions to the fore.

Now that you know what the music can do to me, and that I just finished watching the last episode of the season, you can most likely surmise the connection to my current state of . . . emotional volatility.

It's been said before, by both myself and by others infinitely more profound, that beneath every cynic is a disappointed idealist.  This tends to lead me to hope for the best in things, but believing that the worst will happen.  The extra fun kicker is that I hope just enough so that I can't actually accept that it won't happen.

Allow me a brief mental detour for the moment.  I need to sort something out, and mayhaps writing will help.

The best lies are the ones that aren't technically lies.  The most often used and arguably most effective is the lie by omission.  Since what you are saying is actually true, you can put forth a lot of genuine conviction into your statements.

I don't feel like delving into the gray area of what is or isn't a lie, and what is or isn't "right."  I know where I stand, and that's enough.

What I am wondering about, though, is . . . when you just don't even bring something up.

Heh.  That reminds me of how a few weeks ago, Jeremy was planning on breaking up with Susan, but on the weekend he was going to do the deed, her uncle died.  The rest of us had some amusing conversations about piling on all the bad news at once (the "rip off the bandage quick" method) or to space it out in lesser amounts over a longer period (the "walk slowly into the cold water" method).

Anyway, that situation is actually kind of what I'm referring to.  You hold off on mentioning something because you do not think that the individuals involved currently possess the appropriate mental faculties to effectively handle things.

It reeks of narcissism and arrogance.  You have to believe that what you have to say is so important, that it requires preparation to receive.  And, you have to believe that you know inherently what's best for them.

Well . . . that detour didn't really help me in the slightest.  I don't even feel like finishing up that particular thought process.

I do know one thing.

I'm fucking scared as hell.

Years ago, even months ago, being this scared would've had me pulling into myself and either avoiding or controlling the situation as much as possible.  And if I couldn't do that, I would control myself as much as possible.

It was safe.

It was empty.

But now . . . it feels good to feel.  The cynic in me is saying that I'm heading for a massive nova.  The rest of me agrees with him for the most part, but throws on an extra, ". . . and?"  To be melodramatic and existential, just because life ends in death, it doesn't mean we shouldn't live in the mean time.

I've been told that I'm fucked up and fucked.  But, you know what?  Fuck it.

*************

At the risk of completely throwing off the tone and rhythm of this post, as well as obliterating any sense of a coherent ending . . . .

I hadn't heard from a friend in a while.  Not unprecedented, but it was noticeable enough.  She finally got in touch with me.  She went to the hospital because of stomach pains, and they did a biopsy for cervical cancer.  The current speculation is that she does, indeed, have cancer.  She's keeping me up to date as she finds out more.

I don't mention this to be depressing or dreary.  It just happened to be the most recent and starkest example of something . . . bad happening in the lives of my friends.

And these situations tend to point out that I'm either a hypocrite or an oxymoronic contradiction.  Whenever I hear any sort of negative news, I don't default to any sort of "comforting" mode.  My brain goes right to trying to figure out what could be done.  It comes off a lot as cold and callous.  I rarely ask, "Are you okay?"

The internal dichotomy arises from the fact that my burning soul of fiery justice wants to ride in and save the mo'fucking day.  I fell prey to the "knight in shining armor" syndrome for most of my life.  While I no longer indulge that silly part of me, I still feel the pangs of simply wanting to make things right for those I care about.

I suppose I'm being a bit harsh on myself and it's not really that hypocritical.  I have a desire to make things better, and my calculating mind takes over because it feels it can best accomplish that.  I guess . . . I guess I just wish that every now and then, the mind would step back and give the heart a chance to prove that it can make things better as well.

For great justice.

Tripped and Poked

'Tis after 5 in the morning, and my brain feels like it's going to explode.

In the overstuffed, chunky bits manner.

As I'm writing this, I'm watching some of my hypnosis material, trying to absorb some of the basic fundamentals.  Not necessarily of technique, but of theory.

Prior to this, I just finished up my Japanese lesson for the day.  I do half hour sessions (ish) daily, in an attempt to gain a rudimentary conversation level of proficiency.

Aye, hypnosis and Japanese.  The former is part of my goal to be the most dangerous person you would never expect, and the latter is part of my charge to learn Asian.

Yes.

Asian.

No, I will not explain.  Deal with it.

And prior to all that, I dived into the World . . . of Warcraft.

. . .

Did that sound as corny as it did in my own head?  I figured.

Anyway, aye, *gasp* I'm playing WoW now.  Vern's already called me a traitor (he wanted me to go back to FFXI) and Panda's already planning how to best rub my playing in Jeremy's face, since he just quit.  I made a character that's meant for me to run around with and learn and play the game on my own time and my own terms.  I also made a character (but haven't even logged on as, just created) that's meant to be used as the "static" character.  The Crew has coined the term "static" to apply to the group of characters that only play together as a group.  Nobody levels or does anything without the others.

I made an undead warrior.  Undead, as that's the race that I think we're all going to be (everyone being the same race lets us start in the same area, and undead seems to give the best variety of jobs while being . . . well, the fucking undead).  Warrior, as I very rarely ever play any kind of character who's predominant role is to get hit in the face.  Repeatedly.  It should be fun and helpful, as two of the other classes that I know people will be are a mage and a rogue (or possibly druid, but then we'd have to rethink that whole undead thing).

Oh, and I named him Preposterone.

Preposterone.

From his birth, he is awesome personified.

I'm also thinking of creating a third character to at least craft with, but also to potentially duo with.  And I'd like to name it Godberry, if it's available.

'Cause, ya know, he'd be king of the juice.

Now, while playing tonight and running around with Panda, I was reminded why I simultaneously enjoy and loathe online games: there are people involved.

Late into the night, Panda invites someone into our little party that he's played with before.  'Tis a female character model, which doesn't really count for much in the world of online gaming.  Hell, I habitually create female avatars as I prescribe to the standard argument of, "if I'm going to be looking at something for hours on end, I might as well make it pretty."

Anyway, as we're running around, I get a whisper from this individual, asking if this was my first time playing.  I reply in the affirmative, and start asking Panda about the person (he and I are using the voice chat, while the other . . . person is just using the in-game text).  For me, when someone sends any kind of private message, personal conversation is essentially initiated.  And when it happens in an online game and when I'm using a female character, I automatically assume that the individual talking to me is one of two things: someone that is really, really friendly, or a guy that's trying to get close to me because he thinks I'm a girl.

You can probably deduce which of the two is most often the case.

This person then asks me if I'm over 21, which was actually an amusing exchange:

"Are you over 21?"
"Aye aye"
"What does that mean?"
"Yes.  I am indeed, over 21"

While I'm trying to process this, s/he asks if I've ever had a certain kind of vanilla flavored whiskey.  Ah ha, so the age question wasn't just a freaky stalker one (well . . .).  S/he then mentions cherry flavored whiskey, and I comment that while I haven't had any similar kinds of flavored whiskeys, "regular" whiskey is pretty much the only alcohol I tend to consume nowadays.

This admittance on my part gets a, "Me too!  You know I'm a girl, right?" from "her."

Um . . . 'kay.

I tell her that I try not to make assumptions about the gender of online gamers.  Or try not to think about it, would probably be more appropriate.  "She" says that "she" actually made a male character first, so that people wouldn't treat her differently.

I'm keeping Panda filled in on the conversation over the voice chat, and he tells me that when he first met this person, "she" told him about how "his old lady just gave birth to his son."

Yeah . . . we were pretty confused.  Entertained . . . highly entertained . . . but still confused.  I also still hadn't told "her" whether I was a guy or girl, and "she" let it slip that "she" thought Panda was a girl as well (Panda's character model also a female . . . a female troll).

Panda logs off, and I tell this person that I'm logging as well.  I send a "Night night ^_^" their way (for I like teh Asian smileys).  I get a reply of, "U 2 sweetie," then "sleep good," then "night," all unprompted.  I repeat my "night night" again (no smiley this time, as this was just getting weird), and right as I click the button to exit the game, I see one last message of "u sure? invite me plz."

I hit up Panda afterwards and we giggle about the whole thing like school girls.

Ah, people.

Anyway, I've been cramming my head with a metric fuckton of crap lately.  Hypnosis study, Japanese study, how to play WoW, and I've even broken out Sharky (for the uninformed, that's the moniker of my guitar).  My word, has that been embarrassing and frustrating.  Embarrassing because I currently suck.  Frustrating because I know I used to not.

I really need to head out to the store and see if I can pick up a pair of leather pants for cheap now that summer's in full blaze.  But not this weekend.  For going to the consumer whoredom districts around me during the weekend is an exercise in masochism, and not even the fun kind.  And, I don't feel like torturing myself in triple digit temperatures by my lonesome.  I'd rather have some company to share that misery with.

Well, as long as they didn't try to throw my hat into the fountain.

Douchefag.

Bloody Chasm

My hands smell like inside and outside.  'Tis a very unique aroma.

I like it.

And once again, I must write while cognizant of the idea that people I interact with beyond the realm of this region of the internet may very well read these words.  I wonder how much I will attempt to cover my ass while I write.

Meh.  Fuck it.  Whether in voice or in text, you came to me.  Deal with what comes out.

Me writing is usually indicative of very specific mindsets, and most often negative ones.  The negativity may be mild, in the case of simple boredom, but then I usually write something random and/or regale a story, be it fictional or real.

Progressing further down the spectrum, general angst and bitterness leads to me ranting about some massive failing on the part of humanity and people, while I cast down bolts of judgment from my ivory tower.

Confusion and frustration over something will usually result in a vomitous mass of words as I allow myself to go stream-of-consciousness with my thoughts.  I try to get ideas out of my head so that I can attempt to analyze them and figure out what's going on inside me gulliver.

Side note: it's been agreed that A Clockwork Orange references and quotes function fantastically as a cultural barometer for a person.  Just thinking about it makes me crave a bit of the old in-out in-out.

*Cheshire grin*

Interestingly enough, a lack of writing doesn't always imply a lack of any of the above mindsets.  I have this odd quirk when it comes to writing of any sort.  If I feel the urge to transcribe my thoughts into documentation, any sort of writing will sate that desire.  If I have a philosophical quandary in my head, but I end up writing a masterfully cheesy haiku over on MySpace, I won't put any of my other thoughts (regarding anything) to the proverbial paper.

I encounter compulsions to write, but I rarely feel the need to write particular things in particular places.  Some venues simply tend to be more conducive to certain thought processes.  I do admit to having fallen into a rhythm in the past with this particular corner of the interweb, and I don't exactly have any real opposition to returning to said rhythm.

While I make no guarantees (even to naught but the whimsical whirls of aether surrounding me), signs do point to me exercising my literary skills a bit more.  I've discovered that there are certain things that I simply don't talk about . . . to anyone.  Though I know it's not because of shame or any of it's relatives, I have no real idea as to why I don't discuss these things with even those closest to me.

There's an amusing irony to this situation in that I actually think it parallels a similar situation.  Granted, that implication may seem obvious given that they are "similar" situations, but all is not what it seems.

And yet, it is more.

Also a big part of me knows that what I think really doesn't matter and will have little bearing on what will happen.  However, knowing and accepting are two different things, and there is still a steadfastly stubborn part of me that continues to refuse to accept.

Remember up above how I commented on how I know there are people that are more than internet citizens gazing upon these words?  Going over what I've written, I can see the myriad of ways of how what I've written can be construed.

The strength and weakness of the written word is its inability to convey tone and meaning without context.

I wonder what I think I mean?

Dandelion Droop

Something new for the sake of something new.

Things are the same and different.

The urge to write is slowly resurrecting itself.

"Interesting" is such an appropriate word.

Pirouette Balance

Been a while.  'Tis a whole new year, even.

Things have been all roller-coaster like since I last wrote.  I've put my more amusing and random thoughts into little blurb posts over on MySpace, which is part of the reason for the complete lapse in updates here.

I come back, though, because I need a safe place, hidden away from my usual life, to convey some thoughts.  My mind is scattered, so there will be no real rhyme or reason to this post, but that doesn't matter.  I'm writing solely for myself.

I've realized something about the way that I quantify and gauge my life, or at least the events and moments in it.  I don't really think about my experiences in terms of "good things" or "bad things."  Instead, I see if I can remember a story about the moment.  If I can recall a story about something, I consider it a positive experience, no matter how many stereotypical negative emotions can also be associated with it.

That last sentence pains me, but I'm too tired to write it more gooder.

I often bitch about how much I hate school, and how I only engage in it because I know how necessary it is to accomplish anything.  But, sometimes, classes can be fun or at least interesting.  Those times, I have stories.  I have tales about my Intro to Marketing professor and his glass eye.  I have stories of group projects gone haywire, but pulled through at the eleventh hour.

But, there are also a lot of classes and times where I can't bring up any real story at all.

To take this further, look at the omnipresent Crew.  My friends for over a decade, and I have endless stories about them, and new ones are constantly being created.

Anyway, the importance of me realizing that I value the things in my life in this manner is that it helps me to see what I truly care about and what is really valuable to me.  If I sit and think about my memories, both recent and past, about something, and I can't come up with any meaningful stories . . . then it doesn't really hold a high position in my life.

Obviously, there are things in my life right now that falls under that category.  The big question becomes, then, do I create new stories, or do I let go and move on?

And speaking of moving on, the Crew has moved forward in regards to our hobbies.  I'm a big gamer.  While I definitely have my favorite types (video games, Magic, "normal" card games), I enjoy playing nearly every kind.  Other card games (recently bought a couple starter decks for the World of Warcraft card game, as well as the starter box for Killer Bunnies), board games, pen and paper . . . I just like to game.

Random side note:  Panda and I are making our own game based on a really old one called Hero Quest.  We have a huge customizable board and we're creating the mechanics from the ground up.  It's a long term thing, but it's going to be fucking fantastic.

Anyway, I normally game with the Crew.  Here in Richmond, everyone I know either doesn't like games at all, or is so competitive that gaming stops being fun.  I am ridiculously non-competitive.  I just enjoy playing.  However, I have a good mind for strategy and I'm fairly quick-witted, so I also tend to be pretty good at most games.  Having a person that doesn't care about winning regularly beat someone who only cares about winning . . . it's not pretty.

Back home, though, I always had the crew.  Until now.  They've picked up airsoft, something that I don't have the time, funds, or inclination for.  They've also quit Magic.  About the only game that gets played down there now is Rock Band and some Texas Hold 'em every now and then.

I don't have anyone to enjoy my favored hobbies with, anymore.  About the only saving grace is that we do a decent amount of online gaming together.  But, that only really sates the video game fix, and it ends up keeping me in front of the computer more than is probably healthy.

It also makes me miss Julie.

She emailed me a bit ago.  She randomly found my MySpace page and saw that I had pictures of Wreck on it.  So, she emailed me current pics of her.  It was quite nice of her.  We exchanged a few more pleasantries back and forth, but I think those amount to little more than closure of that part of our lives.

Anyway, when Julie and I split up, I already knew that she'd be the gold standard that I would hold all future interests to.  I've been starting to feel like I'll never meet anyone that will fill those shoes.

Yeah, I know how horrible this all sounds.

You know what, fuck it.  I already had this conversation with Vern.  Don't feel like rehashing it here.

Right now, I'm keeping my eyes on graduating.  I have six classes to pass, and when I do, I can start on the next chapter of my life.  I have no idea what's going to happen, and I can't wait.  I'm starting to feel stagnant and I need something new.  New people, new places, new experiences.

A new me.

Liar's chair

My naively moronic understatement of the decade:

I didn't think it would hurt this much.

Fuck it all.

Just . . .

Dammit.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night.  I miss you like hell.  ~Edna St Vincent Millay

Good night and good luck

Words cannot suffice.

Taking a step somewhere.

The return will happen when it happens.

Glass hurricane

One of those random urges to write again.

Well, mayhaps not so random, as I do have some homework due and it is approaching sleepy night night time.

I have absolutely no clue what to focus on, though.  I was actually pondering religion for the first time in a while a few weeks ago.  I had noticed that every religion through the history of mankind has been wiped away once new collective knowledge was achieved.  The sun, while life giving, wasn't a god.  Sacrifices didn't control the rain, weather patterns did.  Plagues and pestilence wasn't the wrath of god, but simply horrendous diseases and viruses.

No, this isn't a science versus religion debate.  One of my ongoing beliefs is that religion is a way for humanity to acknowledge and come to terms with the unknown.  The unexplainable becomes the workings of God, Buddha, fate, karma, magick, what have you.

Now, I'm not arrogant enough to think that I or humanity will ever achieve a full understanding of everything.  However, I do wonder . . . just because something is beyond our comprehension, is that alone enough to make it mystical or spiritual?  Also, what if there are various things that we just haven't figured out yet?  Maybe that's why religion has never truly taken a hold on me.

Either way, I tend to prefer discussing religious topics as opposed to espousing on them.  Hearing the thoughts and ideas of others helps stir the brain and allows you to think of things you might not have otherwise considered.  Ironically, religious discourse tends to be one of the more difficult conversations to have with people.

*******

No clever little segue.  My apologies.

Though, I suppose this other idea that's been bouncing around my head is semi-related.  I made many remarks about the concept of "intent versus effect," where what one wanted and intended to happen is overshadowed by what actually happened.  I used to think that that idea was something that could be applied to specific situations, but now I've been thinking that it may very well be an overall truism - the rule as opposed to the exception.

It's probably all the marketing classes I'm taking.  Customers tend not to care about the "why" of a product or service.  They just care about "it."  They don't care about why you choose one retailer or vendor over another; they just care where they can get what they want.

Hell, this very line of questioning is an example.  Does it really matter why I think this way if, in the end, I find myself believing it to be true?  Seems to work that way for religion and faith.

Aha!  There's the connection I needed when I was writing the (non)segue up above.

*******

At least this time, this new set of thoughts is semi-relevant to the previous set.

I realized the other night that nearly everyone I interact with in the Richmond/VCU area is someone that I don't really consider a friend.  They are, at the most, "school bus buddies."  The kind of people you interact with because they are there.

This was wonderfully pounded home this past weekend.  I hung out with the Christian, fashion major outside of campus for the first time.  We spent the day wondering around, and ended up back at my place.

Side note:  Aye, my place.  Womby has a new hole, devoid of any five year old cousins.  'Tis quite nice.

I could've done something.  She had already expressed a desire to drink and willingness to crash over if she got too drunk.  And, she had just broken up with her boyfriend the weekend before.  Instead, the night ended up rather awkwardly because I decided not to try anything.

I have my reasons.  (Apparently, these reasons override any desire for physical interaction . . . I swear, I really do seem to hate myself.)

Anyway, we have very little in common (the mere fact that I reference her as the Christian, fashion major should be quite indicative of that), and we only ever really talk about rather mundane and superficial things.  I'm pretty much just talking to her and spending time with her simply for the companionship of interacting with another person.

So, does it really matter why I hang out with her (and the various other people)?

Huzzah!  Relevance!

Of course, I don't tell people that I'm only hanging with them for just the company.  And it's not like I/we don't have fun.  I'm not "fake" with them.  It's just that the underlying reason I seek them out is just because they're another person.

*******

Wow, that was fairly misanthropic.

To bring things back around full circle, here's a semi religious/spiritual question I've been pondering.

Is death necessary for rebirth?  And is rebirth necessary for ascension?

The first seems rather obvious, as any sort of change requires the ending of the previous state.  The latter, though, makes me wonder.

Longer Stride

I seem to have no consistency regarding whether or not I grammatically title my . . . titles.

I'm a rather cynical person.  However, I agree with George Carlin's idea that my cynicism (well, not mine in particular) is derived from lofty ideals that are perpetually disappointed.

This concept is very much embodied in my views on people and relationships.  I see so very few examples of people (as individuals or as couples) going further and making something special.  All too often, people settle for complacency and bland contentment.

Which is why it is so painfully wonderful to stumble on something that shows me there are people out there that do strive for something magical.

My Early Muir Owl

I admit . . . I teared up.