There are two bed-side tables in my room - one on either side of my bed - with lamps on them. One lamp has been unplugged since some time in March when Megan and I broke up; having spent the previous years three years sleeping on only half my bed, her “half” became a giant storage space for clothing, school books, and my laptop - which needed to be plugged in. Since I wasn’t using that side of the bed anyway, I unplugged the lamp to free up an outlet for my computer.

Fast forward to today. The bed has long since been cleaned off. The computer has been relocated to to other various parts of the house dozens of times. The lamp has never been plugged back in. Not because I had forgotten about it - far from it. Quite often I would walk into my room and think to myself “I should really plug that lamp in” and then find myself doing something other than plugging that lamp in.

In a nutshell, I’m like 7 months lazy on this lamp situation. So you can appreciate just how pleased I was with myself when I walked into my room last night and said, “You know what? Time to plug this lamp in” and then did. Quite giddy, and oh so very delighted, I climbed into my bed and roll over to turn on the lamp.

*Click*
… nothing happens
*Click*
*Click*
*Click* *Click* *Click*

…

I pick up the lamp and tip it on its side to get a better look. There’s no light bulb.

I will not repeat the mistakes I’ve already made.
I will not repeat the mistakes I’ve already made.
I will not repeat the mistakes I’ve already made.
I will not repeat the mistakes I’ve already made.
I will not repeat the mistakes I’ve already made.
I will not make new mistakes when they are obviously mistakes.
I will not make new mistakes when they are obviously mistakes.
I will not make new mistakes when they are obviously mistakes.
I will not make new mistakes when they are obviously mistakes.
I will not make new mistakes when they are obviously mistakes.

I do a lot of judging, I think. I’ll look you up and down, quantify you, qualify you, judge your actions/attitudes/beliefs and put you in a box, but I won’t persecute you for any of it. Want to be a “bad” person? Knock your socks off. Just make sure that whatever destructive, unethical, unmoral, illegal thing you’re doing isn’t going to adversely affect me and mine and we’ll get along fine.

I’ve tried to quantify all this. To explain how I can be so unaffected by the ruinous things I see in other people. I think I accept these things at face value and opt to believe that people are not their mistakes. That people are more than the summation of their sins and ill will. That underneath everything people are intrinsically good. That people can achieve happiness and accord regardless of (hell, because of) the dissonance in their lives. Mostly, though, it’s because I want other people to be able to look at me and do the same thing. There’s a little bit of darkness in everyone. If it wasn’t there, you wouldn’t be human.

Recently, all of this came under scrutiny. Someone I know is doing something so entirely wrong that I just can’t shrug it off. I can’t see things from their point of view. I can’t appreciate their reasons. I can’t understand why they’re handling things the way they are. What they’re doing has lasting implications for a lot of people and I can’t wrap my mind around any of it. This is important stuff, and it’s shaking the foundtions of my beliefs.

A quick psychology lesson for you: When you’re presented with something that you can’t account for with your belief system there are two possible results. You either deny the conflicting material or you try to reshape your belief system to incorporate the new information. Now, I’m not such a zealot that I can deny fact. On the other hand, however, I’m having a hard time accepting this as a that’s just the way things are event.

To put things into perspective: I called Kirsten to talk about it. I haven’t called her since some time in 2003 or 2004 – I always just let her call me. The point being that this is leaving me irate and very very worried. I have a bad taste in my mouth and an uneasy feeling in my stomach. This situation is bad.

If you’ve read to here and can appreciate the tangibility of my concern for said friend, I’ve fooled you – this isn’t about them.

This is about me.

If I’m wrong… If people aren’t more than their sins and ill will… If you can’t achieve regardless of dissonance…

If action without explanation is the defining quality of character…

I think I could be pretty much fucked.

“my ego is exceeded only by my infallibility”

Kate: Where are you taking us?
Richie: Mexico.
Kate: What’s in Mexico?
Richie: Mexicans.

Carlos: So, what, were they psychos, or…
Seth: Did they look like psychos? Is that what they looked like? They were vampires. Psychos do not explode when sunlight hits them, I don’t give a fuck how crazy they are!

“This is my favorite beer glass.”
“Really? I’m going to break it while you’re sleeping. With a hammer.”
“That’s a bit excessive. You could probably break it with gravity.”

“Right now? Probably a blonde.”

At exactly that moment I realized two things. That dating has lost a lot of its meaning and I find myself more and more just going on dates to have something to do when I’m bored; I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little bit worried about the impact this is going to have on my ability to actually meet anyone worth meeting. And also that I wouldn’t mind dating a blonde.

Right now I’m sitting in the school library trying to study for a test. At the same time in the school library, a piano tuner is tuning the library’s piano.

This begs the question: why is there a piano in the library?

Me: Hello?
Her: Hey it’s me. Don’t hang up.
Me: What’s up?
Her: I have a job.
Me: Cool. Where?
Her: I sell recliners to middle aged men with my cleavage. I also have an apartment.
Me: Nice. Where are you at?
Her: Maine. And I have a washer and dryer.
Me: Your own?
Her: Yes. And a dishwasher.
Me: Cool.
Her: You have a dishwasher too, right?
Me: Uh, yeah… ?
Her: Nice. Where do I put in the soap?

so i was cleaning my room today and at the bottom of a pile that was mostly bills and receipts and other assorted goodies that were getting dumping into a large paper bag bound for the garbage can, i found a christmas letter from my grandparents. it had 20 dollars in it.

and while this leaves me feeling excited and slightly aroused, what i can’t help but find a little disturbing is the fact that the card had already been opened… so i’m left to wonder: what so so fucking important at the moment of me reading that christmas card that i could say to myself “oh look, a christmas card… but fuck putting this twenty in my pocket- i’ve got more important things to deal with right now”.