tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76887382024-03-07T19:58:46.749-08:00ancodiaancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.comBlogger1246125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-70580740833490646262019-05-13T22:29:00.001-07:002019-05-13T22:29:46.948-07:00Test<div dir="auto">Test</div> ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-22241767797056695102019-02-08T01:02:00.003-08:002019-02-08T01:02:25.069-08:00No Proper Time Of Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">...so where was I at before? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I forget, which is nice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was in about November that my current problem began; let’s call it aleph-naught. It’s an enthralling problem, and I have buried myself in it so that I have a reason to keep thinking. When this problem ends, I will still have aleph-one, The Game, and few trivial things to do. And I cannot drag aleph-naught out, because it involves an actual human being, though I am not making great headway into this. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I had another distraction, and that involved a human too, but I’ve had to put that one to the side because, well, let’s just say that particular puzzle solved itself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I am waiting to fall asleep. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">As surprising as it is, considering that I grew up in a time when there was an awful lot of talk about grabbing people out of cults and deprogramming them, it turns out that if someone is actually mentally unwell, there is no benevolent group that will just go get them. I think I am destined to spend my entire life being surprised by how poorly society is structured. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">In other news, Arby died of lymphoma last year. Squooshable, Butler, Cookie, and Sweetie are still alive and well. I don’t believe that I will be getting any other cats after they go, but that’s a discussion for another post. Right now, I’m preoccupied with resolving this aleph-naught issue, and the pills I take to sleep are kicking in. I can hardly walk, and that has really sucked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">But I can talk about all that later. </span></div>
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ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-1105203929789347712018-03-29T16:20:00.001-07:002018-04-27T09:31:49.223-07:00Teaching College Students Be Like...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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'So Stanley Milgram brought in subjects and assigned one to be the "teacher", and one to be... (expectant look at class)'<br />
'Killed!'<br />
'No...the "learner"; remember what we read in chapter twelve. But, unbeknownst to the "teachers", they were the only...'<br />
'Gays?'<br />
'Umm...no; they were the only true subjects; everyone else was a confederate'<br />
'They were all gay?'<br />
'No. No one was gay.'<br />
'When did people start being gay, then?'<br />
'I'm sure some of the subjects were gay, there have *always* been gay people, but being gay has nothing to do with Milgram's experiments'<br />
'But what about the people who were killed?'<br />
'No people were actually killed; at one point, the "learner" stopped responding, and there was the insinuation that he had died, or gone unconscious, but he was really....'<br />
'Gay?'<br />
'Look, we've been over this.' <br />
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ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-62771859154491853502017-06-06T00:45:00.001-07:002017-06-06T00:45:29.876-07:00'cos you make it hard for me to stop<a target="_blank" href="https://youtu.be/fkdVgjNfyo4">Yeah.</a><br /><br />I'm fine. <br /><br />Nothing ever changes. Seriously. It's completely possible that I am immortal. <br /><br />I may test my hypothesis in subsequent days. Or I may get on a real computer and change all this background shite. <br /><br />So I'm sitting here, and sure, I'm smoking. Because reasons. <br /><br />I think I'm going to have to be back here for a while. <br /><br /><a target="_blank" href="https://youtu.be/efNn4WdW3uQ">Unless a meteor shower happens. </a><br /><br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-20613461935776907482017-02-28T10:19:00.001-08:002017-02-28T10:19:46.944-08:00TestOhai. <br /><br /><br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-78849106348435271632014-11-27T20:22:00.001-08:002014-11-27T20:22:24.460-08:00Cos we live in a time When meaning falls in splinters from our lives…Happy Thanksgiving. <br /><br />I'm not dead yet. <br /><br />Neither is Mother Liz, my stepmother's mother…so I guess she is my step-grandmother. And she is not dead, but it's coming. <br /><br />I am, morally, against the withholding of food and water as a means to hasten death. While I fully support voluntary suicide and euthanasia — including voluntary terminal dehydration (VTD), if that's what blows your skirt up — I strongly believe that a systematic withholding cannot be tolerated because of the potential for a slippery slope-type justification for the denial of fundamental Human rights. <br /><br />And, coincidentally enough, I believe access to food and water is a fundamental Human right. I would be happy to help out if someone needs to park a bullet in their brain, but I want them to have a nice lunch first. That's how I roll. <br /><br />So this was my 2014 Thanksgiving, because my family raises the bar on dysfunction every single year: while Mother Liz is VTD'ing it, and went non-responsive a little over a day ago, we did Thanksgiving. <br /><br />It's demented and sick, sure. <br /><br />My offers to help out were dismissed, largely because, I think, my relatives are a pack of pussies. Or they enjoy misery, both their own and others'. Who knows? I *do* know that I would never let someone I loved go through that; if she wants out, fucking help her out. Damn. <br /><br />Why is everyone so damned weird? <br /><br />Wow. I just hung up with my father, and AGAIN I offered help, and again he got all defensive, saying that his wife is doing a fine job of taking care of her mother. Fuck this shit. I told him that he has my phone number and morphine, and I have the Vistaril and glucophage, so quit being stupid. He said he'd phone if help turning her was needed again. Whatever. <br /><br />Yeah, my morality says I have to hear it from my stepmother. I can't just go all vigilante, even if it's clear that *someone* needs to. Fuck, this makes me angry. And sad. Angry and sad. I really liked Mother Liz; I kind of loved her, really. She reminded me of Mom a lot. <br /><br />I'm going to pretend this shit isn't happening and watch movies. I'm home now. And I moved. More about that later. <br /><br />Hugs and love. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using an app that I drew on an Etch-a-Sketch modified to run Free BSD. <br /><br /><br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-7184562360527056642014-05-22T19:02:00.001-07:002014-05-22T19:02:45.551-07:00Le tiers livre des faicts et dicts héroïques du bon Ancodie. Ok; things are changing, I think for the better. I hope. Soon, I can possibly afford to have a sense of humour again. And maybe a life. <br /><br />This is good. And so is Cookie; she is the best pill-taker there ever was. She approaches cathood as if it were a job, and I have never seen an employee so eager to get promoted (to what, Cookie? Head cat???). <br /><br />Ok; I am going to either watch Columbo or find god-awful movies on You Tube from the '70s and '80s. Or play Infinite Poker on #121. Or I might watch Maude. I missed Logo's Maude Festival because I was in my cups for Mother's Day. <br /><br />Oblivion, ho! <br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using an app that I drew on an Etch-a-Sketch modified to run Free BSD. <br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-24449062623278729892014-04-14T15:43:00.001-07:002014-04-14T15:43:29.761-07:00I wasn't Cleopatra. I clearly have been a raging bastard to someone in a former life. <br /><br />Right now is proof positive that when I need rescuing, no-one is there. Mary is right; I should never worry myself with another's problems ever again. <br /><br />Sigh. <br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using an app that I drew on an Etch-a-Sketch modified to run Free BSD. <br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-63017780005752400812014-03-25T15:14:00.001-07:002014-03-25T15:14:49.597-07:00Swim big fish. I am trying to move. This sucks, as well as the suck part of trying to sustain an increased level of output just to find out that some petty person can interfere so with their stupidity. <br /><br />I am not giving up, I just came very close today. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using an app that I drew on an Etch-a-Sketch modified to run Free BSD. <br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-35712552052714420222014-03-18T20:10:00.001-07:002014-03-18T20:10:15.982-07:00Potentially Useless PostHere's to hoping that tomorrow works out for me. ::clink glasses::<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using an app that I drew on an Etch-a-Sketch modified to run Free BSD. <br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-71355070186311434712014-02-23T15:05:00.001-08:002014-02-23T15:05:39.638-08:00Random thoughts When my eldest aunt, my mother's sister, died, I suppose that I was not prepared. <br /><br />Christ, I still haven't dealt with Weebie's death. <br /><br />I have been operating for so long in what Mary calls 'survival mode' that, basically, I am fresh out of deal and cope. <br /><br />Butsoanyway. <br /><br />My aunt's children, and *their* children, are despicable, mostly. I cannot stomach listing off everything that had happened, so there is no purpose in naming them; their names would be reminiscent of Thirteen Ghosts, anyway. <br /><br />They did NOTHING to help her. NOTHING to try to save her. They had her home cleared out before she was cold in her grave, and I am not joking — my mother's youngest sister kept them from clearing out the house before the funeral, but guess what happened that afternoon/evening? Yes; even her prescription medicine was taken (by a particularly worthless cousin-in-law). Thinking about it makes me rage. Wondering how Mummers could have had, in comparison, such decent children leaves my head spinning. I did not need to find out that one of my cousins is moonlighting as a drunk; I did not need to find out that one particularly wicked wench to whom I have the misfortune of being related tried to turn the entire funeral into an audience. I just … <br /><br />I don't need this shite in my life. Nothing and no-one can fix this. Ever. <br /><br />There are days, like today, when I have an unusual peace. Yesterday evening, I went to see Victor at my new massage place (I have had to change a few haunts to ensure that I avoid the demented stalker), and there was something so perfect about the atmosphere that I felt peaceful, and it has lasted through today. I mostly credit listening to Klaus Nomi's Valentine's Day as I drove through the sunset. <br /><br />I have an application to get off, and I will finish that today, but in the meantime I am writing (here), cleaning a little, laundrymaking, and distracting myself from anything too serious by cataloguing the e/s I desperately need from Ingsoc…err…Inglot. <br /><br />Fuck that; I am still going to call the brand Ingsoc. <br /><br />…and wishing I were at the Quite Overcast beach today. When this is over — and it will be soon — I am going to treat myself, not that sheer peace shouldn't be treat enough. I need a break. I have needed one for a long, long time. <br /><br />And I swear this Holiday Season will be nothing short of completely magical. <br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using an app that I drew on an Etch-a-Sketch modified to run Free BSD. <br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-72735705052995006602014-02-21T18:46:00.001-08:002014-02-21T18:46:17.030-08:00My desktop wallpaper. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=14/02/21/1272.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/14/02/21/s_1272.jpg' border='0' width='187' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />- Posted using an app that I drew on an Etch-a-Sketch modified to run Free BSD. <br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-29365385174902250952014-02-21T18:19:00.001-08:002014-02-21T18:19:46.426-08:00aventures dans le divorce Je me souviens de quitter le palais de justice avec le nouvel avocat de ma mère. Il a roulé avec nous, et m'a appris à jurer en français tandis que ma mère était au volant. Nous nous sommes arrêtés dans un magasin de vins et spiritueux où l'avocat a acheté deux bouteilles avec de l'argent à ma mère lui avait donné. Une bouteille a été mis de côté dans sa serviette. Plus tard, au collège, on me dit plus d'une fois que mon accent était Québécois mauvais, mais à l'époque ... eh bien, après quelques verres, je suppose que tout le monde semble bon. Nous avons parlé en français pour le reste du voyage à son bureau. Il n'avait de voiture.<br /><br />Ce que je viens de me rappeler après avoir commencé à regarder Lethal mais belle et de voir comment le médecin a secouer. Bien sûr, à l'époque je comprenais pas. Ma mère comprenait pas non plus.<br /><br /><br />- Posted using an app that I drew on an Etch-a-Sketch modified to run Free BSD. <br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-21489730646620607742014-02-17T20:45:00.001-08:002014-02-17T20:45:24.349-08:00And come what may, gonna dance the day away...I think I am taking another week from Mary; I am apparently not ready for anyone's humour but my own. I have to recover in my own time. <br /><br />The hardest part about selling oneself is the fear; fear of change, fear of failure, just plain fear. I am pushing through anyway. <br /><br />No, there is no one to be proud, but that's Life. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using an app that I drew on an Etch-a-Sketch modified to run Free BSD. <br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-52329292064538374582014-02-13T23:08:00.001-08:002014-02-13T23:08:41.467-08:00Jocamo fi na ye (the black cat returns!)I am running out of song lyrics; I am down to translating. XD <br /><br />I skipped with Mary this week, for a number of reasons: First, I am tired of being so bloody self-obsessed. The amount of time I have spent in contemplation of All That is Ancodia in the past few months exceeds the amount of time spent in the same way for, oh, MY ENTIRE LIFE, by a magnitude of exactly eleventy-billion and six. <br /><br />I am officially quite over myself, thank you very much. <br /><br />Second, I am as uncomfortable with her talk of 'healthy sexuality' and my need to partner up as I am with my father's occasional talk omitting 'healthy sexuality' and focussing on my need to partner up. I feel no such need. I have felt, known really, that no such beast exists for many years now. The number of people who want to walk through an abandoned amusement park -- taking pictures, talking about robots and zombie apocalypses, discussing serial and spree killers and arguing over whether Phil Hartman (z"l) was channelling a dollop of Jack Cassidy (z"l), or if the persona was just a zeitgeist-like coincidence -- numbers exactly one: <br /><br />Me. <br /><br />Third ... I'm bored. I went to buy makeup. I got Too Faced's lip plumping krappe even though my lips need plumping like Joan Rivers needs another face lift, but, alas, the shite doesn't work. Or my lips are as fat as they are going to get, period. I may try Lip Fusion, but back to my story. I also got TF's smexy powder and kabuki brush, so I shan't be shiny any longer, thanks for caring. While I was at Whatzit, I saw a new brand that is called something like Ingsoc (no, seriously), and it is cheap and the shadows are something like 78% pigment for $7.50, so you know I'll be back this weekend, and I'll drag Meg. They had some stupendous orange and yellow hues, and orange and yellow are the new 'fuck you, I want to put this on my eyelids'. Everybody knows that. <br /><br />Ok, well, you know it *now*. <br /><br />I have basically spent the whole week in hiding, but that's ok, 'cos my sertraline got all upped and junk. I don't think it is working. ::taps foot::<br /><br />Turkey really did a smashing job on my hair. I could cry. I have exactly what I've wanted, a layered hime-style cut with the kind of payos action on the sides. So then I went to buy more makeup, and ended up having the salesgirl try to convince me that Jesus is king and blah. Oh, the hell I go through for being honest. Saying I am not religious does *not* mean I want you to convince me that yours is 'right'. Ever notice that no-one comes up to you and says, 'hey, doll! I'm in the shittiest, stupidest religion of all time, and I'd like to share it with you!'...no? Umm, that would be because everyone thinks *they* are right. Just an observation. <br /><br />Fourth, I can't think of a fourth reason. I have been on a marathon of Very Old Television practically all week, and I am going to go fall asleep watching a massive crush I have had since I was like, six or seven. No, not Batman. I'd tell you all about it, but someone would just think I am hideously demented. <br /><br />But Batman was an awesome guess. That one I'll admit to. <br /><br />Love you, mean it. <br /><br />Oh! Fourthliest was that I do not want to discuss fucking VD. That's right, Valentine's Day. The end of the Holiday Season, and the worst holiday ever. I have never had a nice one. People suck. I plan to be alone. I did buy Borghese gloves and booties for Meg in case whatever closet fucktard she is dating doesn't give her something. Nobody puts Meg in a corner, and all that schmaltz. <br /><br />Okay...back to pickling my brain. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using Speak-n-Blog from my Fisher-Price Chatter Pull Telephone<br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-29388324847198300942014-02-09T23:53:00.001-08:002014-02-09T23:53:12.416-08:00You walk around this town with your head all up in the skyThere are a lot of things that I want. One of them isn't insomnia, but there's not much I can do about that; I am only human. <br /><br />I do not like the general consensus thing. I don't want to be a part of it. I don't know how much I am getting out of therapy any longer. <br /><br />Things I've Learnt: I need better boundaries. I need to trust my gut instincts more. I need to be less afraid. I need to make up for not really having a childhood. I need to not feel as if I am responsible for everything, all the time. I have to talk myself up and sell myself more. <br /><br />Things I Disagree With: There is such a thing as a person who is truly evil. Things are easier when seen in black and white terms. Absolutes (always, never, all, none) are ok. My mother is deserving of condemnation. I exhibit sociopathic traits, but am not a sociopath (don't know if she was joking with this one). I should be benevolent to people who are malevolent towards me (yet this is somehow not ass-kissing, and not at odds with there being evil people undeserving of help). I can't do this alone. <br /><br />I think I am done. I am debating. <br /><br />In Other News, I finally fixed my hair; my new stylist is Meg's stylist, and he is awesome (or, as a snowflake unfortunately wrote to me, 'osum'). Meg warmed me that he doesn't talk much, and you know me -- that just won't do. I guess Meg never has *tried* to talk with him; he told me he doesn't talk because his English is bad (he is Turkish). I told him that the general consensus is that my English is hideous. We like each other. Meg is jealous. <br /><br />I am talking myself up and selling myself this week; that's the reason for the new 'do. I now have side fringe. <br /><br />Well, Toorkee is Tony & Guy trained; I figure he knows. Meh; what do I know, other than it's funny to call him 'Toorkee'. I think he likes it. <br /><br />My father's health is declining. He will not do anything about it. More on this later. <br /><br />Right now, I have to attack this insomnia with a vorpal Benedryl. LYMI. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using Speak-n-Blog from my Fisher-Price Chatter Pull Telephone<br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-39325180275995814142014-02-05T16:52:00.001-08:002014-02-05T16:52:32.962-08:00Don't look like much here, but we have everything. 'You know about the machines?'<br /><br />'Yeah, I repair them.'<br /><br />'There's one chasing me now, a gunslinger.'<br /><br />'Gunslinger ... Must be a model 404. Maybe a 406. If he's a 406, he's got all the sensory equipment. It's a beautiful machine!'<br /><br />'He's after me!'<br /><br />'I don't doubt it.'<br /><br />'What can I do?'<br /><br />'There's nothing you can do; he'll get you. You haven't got a chance.'<br /><br />'There must be something.'<br /><br />'Fella, don't kid yourself. There are things you could try: Acid for his visual system; noise for his hearing. No matter what, he'll always be one jump ahead of you! You haven't got a chance!'<br /><br />'Yes, I do.'<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using Speak-n-Blog from my Fisher-Price Chatter Pull Telephone<br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-678547753468235182014-02-03T19:08:00.001-08:002014-02-03T19:08:28.275-08:00Sad But TrueI watch Match Game to calm down. I am up to Match Game '76. <br /><br />Mummers' oldest sister died; the funeral was Saturday before last. Perhaps I can discuss this without getting rabies in a few more days. <br /><br />Mary is right, I cannot save the world; the world doesn't even *want* to be saved. I just need to do me. <br /><br />I have to get back to Match Game; this Dealing With Reality thing is too much for me. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using Speak-n-Blog from my Fisher-Price Chatter Pull Telephone<br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-31021382865499348422013-12-20T18:47:00.001-08:002013-12-20T18:47:16.564-08:00If I ever get off this killin' floor, I'll never get down this low no more. I am making it. My psychologist, I'll call her Mary because that happens to be her name, says that I am fixable. I have been taking the PTSD cocktail (buspirone with a sertraline chaser from my psychiatrist, Dr. A.) long enough now that I can be reasoned with. <br /><br />Ha, ha. Never thought that would happen, did you? <br /><br />We -- Mary and I -- are working on a lot of behaviours, gestures, stances, and speech acts I have that, basically, make me psychopath bait. I am trying. Mary specialises in trauma and anxiety. Dr. A just makes it so I am not beyond talking to. I will probably be on the meds for two years, he says. <br /><br />One of the problems that I have is the question of this whole Greater Good thing; I am not supposed to internalise and/or solve other people's problems. Ok. Fine. Other people are adults, and are in charge of their own mistakes, oversights, mis-steps, and failures in Life. Ok. Fine. I am not obligated to have empathy for everyone; it is not up to me to save the world. <br /><br />Query: Whose responsibility is it, then?<br /><br />http://youtu.be/4aWbo84ZENs<br /><br />And no pathetic crapping out with some bullshit about your favourite sky fairy. There is no sanctuary (bonus points for identifying that one), there is no sky fairy, and if you are good all your life, when you die, you are dead just like Adolf Hitler. No one is going to give you a lollipop. No one gave Hitler a lump of coal. The cake is a lie. <br /><br />I am sorry if that hurt you. Santa Claus isn't real either. People lie and people believe incredibly stupid things; just look at Peter Popoff and the Mormons. Get over it. Try not to be one of them. <br /><br />I adhere, generally, to a standard of consequential ethics; in other words, the 'right' thing to do is the thing that helps people, brings pleasure, preserves Life, and so forth. The greatest benefit for the most people kind of thing. <br /><br />As a side note, the antithetical position to my ethical code is that fucked up mess where humans run around killing other humans (including children, sometimes their own) because some god told them to do it, which -- to them -- is a totally legitimate reason to commit any form of fuckery, regardless of the injury it may bring to other humans, including children, sometimes their own.<br /><br />I am not going to pretend that I can even begin to wrap my mind around that point of view, I just thought I'd mention it. <br /><br />Butsoanyway. If I had been all detached and making other people shoulder their own burdens, well... Harry would probably be dead or a homeless bum. Mummers wouldn't have had a chance once she started getting sick. And I could go on for hours; my point is that *someone* has to care. *Someone* has to help. If I am not helping, how am I any different from the narcissists, sociopaths, and psychopaths I am supposed to be arming myself against? <br /><br />I do not want to ever have an evil person in my life again. I am trying to change what I can. Yes, Mary is right, but...<br /><br />...who is supposed to be fixing things if the ones who are able won't because that is what makes them appear as prey to the amoral psychos?<br /><br />I don't have an answer. I give Mary examples, counter-examples really, of how my being 'over-involved' (as she terms it) has worked, has been for the Greater Good, has helped, and she just shakes her head and tries to get me to see that if I fought and did for myself like I do for others, I would be so happy, successful, and scaring the bejeezus out of the sociopaths so badly that they would be racing to get *away* from me. And of course there are examples of where I have failed miserably. <br /><br />I would still like to hold on to my belief that The World to Come is actually something that could be had -- by us, right here, in this lifetime. <br /><br />Or maybe that is just a stupid superstition, as well. <br /><br />http://youtu.be/y1wDEueYocU<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using Speak-n-Blog from my Fisher-Price Chatter Pull Telephone<br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-11670535293758359812013-11-24T07:51:00.001-08:002013-11-24T07:51:25.503-08:00WeekendsI am watching a lot of Xmas movies on Netflix. It calms me down. So I guess that I am off the Columbo, Disappeared, and 48 Hours Mystery kick I have been on for months. <br /><br />Yes, atheists can so too enjoy silly holiday movies. It's not like I'm saying I believe in Santa. <br /><br />Sweetie stays with me a lot because I believe she thinks we are cats together. I'm just a funny-shaped cat who uses a laptop. I guess I am the Head Cat in Charge. <br /><br />Everyone else is fine, even though I am still upset over Weebie dying. Things aren't the same without her. I hate losing family so much, I just have no words. <br /><br />I've been in therapy for a little bit now, and it is helping, I think. I have a psychologist whom I see once or twice a week, and a psychiatrist whom I am down to seeing once a month for meds maintenance. My dx is PTSD. :-/ <br /><br />I have a hard time talking about my feelings, partially because a lot of the time I am not sure what they are, and partially because I feel like I am whining when I do. <br /><br />Work is, well, work. I am trying to make that better. More on that later. <br /><br />This will definitely not be the greatest holiday season ever, but I am hoping it will be ok, and I will come out the other end with a better job and a better life. I am working a lot on Me. <br /><br />And I know I seriously need to fix this page. Sigh...there is a lot I need to fix, and I am going to do all of it. Mostly alone, which my psychologist wants me to change. I am working on that, too. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using an app that I drew on an Etch-a-Sketch modified to run Free BSD. <br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-37304294167387275862013-09-15T11:14:00.001-07:002013-09-15T11:14:12.460-07:00Your nose is longer than a telephone wire...In my latest drama, I am still job-searching, and the Rampaging Fucktard (formerly This Guy, now just RF), is STILL stalking and harassing me. His latest stunt had been to put up fake profiles with my email address on dating websites -- two so far. I am not replying to the tragic men who are emailing me, as it isn't their fault. Everyone with experience dealing with narcissists/sociopaths has told me that ignoring him is the best route, unless I have solid proof that he has violated the order of protection I have, and unfortunately the police are not willing to investigate him to see if he did this; I have to have something solid, like from spraying him with mace when he comes near me. I have a feeling he has had protective orders out against him before, because all of the things he is doing are just 'legal' enough that I would look like a crazy woman if I reported it. So I have been going with No Reaction. <br /><br />I would not wish this idiot psycho on any other person, or I'd be hoping he finds a girlfriend; as it stands, I hope he gets hit by a bus. Ok, truth is that I doubt someone as crazy and narcissistic as he is could ever find someone who would put up with his shit for longer than a few months, and that's if they are charitably-hearted. Like seriously. The biggest mistake I made was feeling sorry for him. Whether it is a man or a woman, learn from my mistakes: if you feel sorry for someone, run like hell. Normal adults do not seem so pathetic that you feel badly for simply stating that you don't want to be around them. And normal adults do not view or phrase things in terms of their self-worth (e.g., trying to prove they are 'good enough' or better with outlandishly transparent lies; statements such as 'you make me feel so great' ...what is going to happen when you 'make them' feel shitty? Also, really, the ludicrous lies and claims of Greatness that just do not measure up to Reality should be a huge red flag). <br /><br />Anyway, the same soft head...err...heart that rescues cats now has me getting mash notes from guys all over the US because this loser cannot let me be. <br /><br />Sigh. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using Speak-n-Blog from my Fisher-Price Chatter Pull Telephone<br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-70936266362807321532013-09-04T16:38:00.001-07:002013-09-04T16:38:33.790-07:00Just for the sake of feeling painI am reading something that I shouldn't. And as much as I wish I could quit, I just simply cannot. It's lies, stupid lies. I know this. At least I am not deluded. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using SomeBlogApp that I don't know how to use. o_O<br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-43094712937968644662013-07-24T19:32:00.001-07:002013-07-24T19:32:00.578-07:00I will not go quietlyWeebie died a little over a week ago. Considering my mental state, I haven't had the ability to deal with it much. It is my fault; I should have taken her in to be looked at instead of assuming she would need surgery and trying to get a little more weight on her. No matter how I try, I still feel as if I fucked up. <br /><br />It's because I did. <br /><br />Today I had an appointment with a psychiatrist because my gyn wanted me to have someone overseeing my Buspar dosing, and christ, did I make a bad call there. I chose to go see the same psychiatrist Harry has used because she managed his epilepsy so well. <br /><br />So much for that. <br /><br />She did not listen to a word I said, and raged at me that I am not a doctor (well, I didn't say, I did not go to trade school, I have an academic degree, but, umm, yes, I am), I know nothing about the brain (that'd be *two* wrong, for those playing at home), and...let's just wrap it up with 'and so forth'. I spent more time hearing about what a worthless piece of shit I am than talking about what brought me there. And then I left. <br /><br />I can only assume she feels that I have no business helping Harry, but whatever. <br /><br />I am tired now. I have to start looking for another psychiatrist tomorrow. The lesson I am learning from this is that there are a lot of fucktard MDs out there with god complexes. And that, in the end, no one really cares unless you agree with them completely, prostrate yourself before them, and take whatever they tell you without question. And after lambasting me for over forty-five minutes (I stayed largely quiet), her 'wrap-up' was to tell me how smart and beautiful I am, and how if I would listen to her, I could accomplish so much; I told her that sounded like hollow, narcissistic love-bombing, and to please just can it. <br /><br />Probably I am not her favourite patient. <br /><br />I may be best off just winging this one, like I do with everything else. <br /><br />Just don't ever fall for the lies. That's the best advice I can give you. Don't ever listen to someone who says your worth as a human being rests entirely on whether you unquestioningly will drink whatever Kool-Aid they are peddling. Don't ever be that desperate for help or companionship, regardless of what you think it is costing you. The 'sunk cost effect' is real, and it works. Just like love-bombing. <br /><br />That's all I have. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using Speak-n-Blog from my Fisher-Price Chatter Pull Telephone<br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-24051622763942316922013-07-10T18:45:00.001-07:002013-07-10T18:45:33.090-07:00And so it goes. Meg is away, playing poker and doing fun things; I can no longer accompany her because of my current (precarious) financial situation, one which is not being helped in the least by the panic attacks I am having throughout every day any more. <br /><br />I have an appointment to be screened for PTSD later in the month; I suppose then I will get stronger medication, I do not know. Probably nothing will change. I am trying to not become a bitter recluse, really no-one understands how hard I am trying, and in a way, my months in a semi-dissociative haze, when I was denying everything, were easier. I have always felt that my dissociations, from extreme compartmentalisation to full-out 'non-presence' (which has only happened a few times in my life) were more of a blessing than anything else, and for that reason, I have no need or desire to discuss, dissect, or 'cure' something which I do not feel to be broken. <br /><br />And for the record, I'm a firm sceptic with regards to DID, I actually think it is an iatrogenic pseudo-disorder stemming from possibly a predisposition to dissociate accompanied by a desire to please and a tendency towards the fanciful and dramatic...on both the part of the pt as well as the therapist. Just my two cents. <br /><br />There is not much exciting right now; it is hard to sell oneself as spectacular when one is actually feeling Quite Worthless. I also have a sneaking suspicion that my case legally was listed as my declining to prosecute; I base this on an unusual comment from the Advocate to whom I had been assigned, but there seems to be nothing I can do about it now. Nor, really, do I care to. I am tired of fighting. <br /><br />I am trying to keep to a normal sleep/wake schedule, even though my mind just does not want to cooperate most days. I figure that the more I force normal behaviour and do not engage in self-indulgent stupidities, the sooner my brain will catch on that I do not give a fuck what it thinks, so it can stop having crying jags, flashbacks, emotional upheavals, and making up fake sounds and smells all the faster. <br /><br />I do believe that things will be better after I change a little more about my life (like my job). I want so desperately to be contributive to things again...that alone will make things better. <br /><br />I haven't felt very friendly towards some of the old group of friends, so I have been keeping to myself a lot. I don't anticipate this changing because, away from a certain few, I realise that I never much cared for them anyway. <br /><br />It is time to try to sleep. I am desperately craving thus awesome chicken sauté from a local Turkish restaurant, but I am not up to taking myself. At least not right now; thinking about doing it is exhausting, and I don't know how to stop that feeling. Maybe the PTSD-specialist psychiatrist will have some drug for that, too. I dropped the counsellor I was seeing; in between not listening to me (I don't need this horseshit 'you aren't to blame' PC fuckery when all substantive evidence, including the Ass't DA's own words, spells out pretty clearly that I am the ONLY one upon whom blame rests in this case), she dealt fabulous advice (such as 'be a bitch!') which I found remarkably unhelpful. But the fact is, this isn't her problem; it is my problem, and I am a fool to look to anyone to change things for me. <br /><br />Anyway...good-night; I will just leave with an archaic thought from Locard, whom no-one appears to read any longer anyway. I think we are all the poorer for it, but...yes; there's that fag talk we talked about, Dr. Lexus. <br /><br />Sigh. <br /><br /><br />'Physical evidence cannot be wrong, it cannot perjure itself, it cannot be wholly absent. Only human failure to find it, study and understand it, can diminish its value.'<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using SomeBlogApp that I don't know how to use. o_O<br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688738.post-73852277894897753142013-06-07T18:58:00.001-07:002013-06-07T18:58:59.425-07:00Moses -- Gorgeous I’m inside out <br />Up and overrun with doubt. <br />The price of pain <br />from self-inflicted wounds again.<br /><br />The need to feel <br />this low and lonely. <br />The need to be <br />this low.<br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using Speak-n-Blog from my Fisher-Price Chatter Pull Telephone<br />ancodiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710323880637892976noreply@blogger.com0