As I was growing up my parents let me believe that I was extraordinary and they believed me capable of extraordinary things. As a result I came to expect extraordinary things from myself. And when these extraordinary things did not come true I believed myself a failure. It is only today that I have come to realize that I am not extraordinary, but actually a plain, average person. I am no more intelligent than the next person, I posess no more talent than the next and I am not destined for greatness. I cannot be everything to everyone, not even close to it. It is now time for me to except my average, ordinary existance and learn to deal with it.
No longer can I beat myself up for not meeting lofty goals, no longer can I accept nothing as the alternative to all. It is time I realized how I really am and lived up to my own relative mediocre potential. There is nothing wrong with being average and ordinary. I can no longer afford to berate myself for not meeting impossible goals and self-appointed expectations. Afterall, it is impossible to be 6'2" when you are in fact only 5'2".
Everyday I see people who are trying to live outside their means, spending more money than they have. I have been doing very much the same in assuming that I am special, that I am something extraordinary. Today begins a brand new life for me. Today I accept me for me. Today I finally begin to live the life I have been given.
we are, i've been told, made up of the bits and pieces of all who ever touched our lives. there are people who leave you, causing you to breathe a sigh of relief, wondering why your paths ever had to cross. and then, there are people who leave you and you breathe a shuddering sigh of remorse, wondering why they had to go and leave such a gaping hole. these are the people who stride toward your person, tread lightly through your heart and tiptoe through your soul, touching your life with love and carelessness and then moving on.
with a pain in my throat, the coppery taste of blood in my mouth
and tears in my eyes despite the brutality i've done my lip.
and i missed you. so, i sent an email. and went to bed begging for sleep to take me.
'so i'm left... wondering how someone i care about is doing. is he well or sad or deliriously happy does he miss me as i miss him? just a note would be enough-- enough to let me know that you breathe still'
and the response
'he is deliriously apathetic doing well doing better he breathes sometimes though sometimes he doesn't
he misses you'
tonight i am weeping rubescent tears...
tonight i am waiting for rain...
E R I N N E R U N G
Serving Size (g): 348 Amount Per Serving % RDA Calories: 620 Calories from Fat: 190 Total Fat (g): 22 33% Saturated Fat (g): 14 69% Cholesterol (mg): 70 23% Sodium (mg): 260 11%
Carbohydrates (g): 90 30% Dietary Fiber (g):
She will go to Seattle tomorrow, then to Canada, then on to Minnesota before spending a month in France, from whence she will return to San Diego to live and work.
I believe it is my privilege to act like a five-year-old about this. We both cried when we said goodbye, then I came home and told my cat "It's not fair!" about a million times, alternately putting food in the refrigerator and sitting on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. The cat showed no sympathy, but tried to bite me because I was sitting in her favorite place.
Of course, we have talked about visiting each other, and calling, and writing, but it's not the same.
It was a good day, though. I am very glad I got to say goodbye to Carissa, sad as it was. I got to go shopping for birthday and going-away gifts for my friends at the huge antique mall in Plano. And tonight was my friend Jennifer's 20th birthday party, so I spent the evening in good company, with good food... except I still hate cheesecake. It's hard to stay in a bad mood when there's Italian food, chocolate, and friends around.
Some random (ack) Work.
I'm trying to figure out how to import this MySQL database into PostgreSQL database.
Surprisingly, I found a good document about this... I had always been wondering how the MySQL User's Favorite Kluge, auto_increment, works in PostgreSQL.
(Scurries to do weird things)
Strange order of noding things... I just realized I had noded about "Log & LOAD!" =)
Home...
The import was rather painless (relatively speaking) - because PostgreSQL has this thing called SERIAL that looks and feels like MySQL's auto_increment. Making PHP to talk to the database wasn't too painless, though, and I still need to work on that...
People: Gabber can be a psychological burden.
Chronology:
Now I finally have an updated version of Gabber... I hope the rest of the day will be funnier.
Other day logs o' mine...
Noded today by y.t.: Log LOAD
I hate it when they fuck with me...
Most of all I hate the self pitying tears welling up in my eyes...
It's soooo good to be home. Not that I went very far away, 'cause I only went to Atlanta, six hours away from here (Daytona Beach).
I went to my high school reunion. I won't begin to shock you with how long ago that was, but it was a long long time ago.
It's strange as you watch yourself grow older, but even more strange when you get together with people you haven't seen in several decades, and observe how they've changed. I was surprised at how many people I could no longer recognize. A look at their name tag was absolutely necessary to gain their identity. But besides all that, the reunion was a hoot. I came away quite proud of myself, for reasons I'm not quite sure of; perhaps for the fact that I didn't make a fool of myself, something I did on a regular basis while in high school. Of course, I don't drink anymore either.
Gifted.
We got the news yesterday that our son tested into the gifted program in school. Both of his older siblings were also in the gifted program, so we're not too surpised.
But now he's been tagged. Marked. Different.
Of course, I'm happy that we're in a school system that has special programs for kids of all types. What I'm not happy about is the stigma that the special students get. At that young of an age, kids are just looking for any non-conformists so they can start crushing them early.
Okay, so maybe I've got some issues I need to work out. :)
I just remember the kids in grade school being so fucking visicous. Even the smallest bit of non-conformity was a good excuse for the teasing and the hitting. I was really bad at conforming. Exhibit One. Exhibit Two. Grade school was too much pain.
I know, I know. Projecting my fears onto the CHIL-DRUN is a Bad Thing. Emotional scars run deep.
I'm sure he'll be fine. He's extremely well adjusted. He gets that from his mother. He's also artistic. He gets that from his mother. He's got a logical mind. He gets that from me. We just have to watch him and make sure he gets to be a child first, and gifted second. It worked for the other two.
Yes, I did worry this much about the other two.
ObRant: I used to work at a toy store. About once a week, we would get a customer who was looking for an educational toy. The story was always the same.
"My niece/nephew is having a birthday and they are extremely intelligent. Do you have any eductional toys for them?"
My answer was always the same. "Educational toys are for kids who need educating. If your niece/nephew is already smart, why don't you get them a fun toy instead?"
Blank stare. "But, they don't need fun toys. They need to develop and grow!"
Sigh. "Well, how about Lego? I hear that's a good creative toy."
"Perhaps you misunderstand me, my niece/nephew is extremely smart and has to have an educational toy!"
"Aisle three, halfway down on the left."
Most people just didn't get it. Most smart kids are tired of getting educational toys. They just want to be kids. Kids need toys. Playtime is important.
And for the record, I don't consider Lego an educational toy. It is definately a creative toy. For me, it's more of a lifestyle.
International Hearld Tribune (www.iht.com)
BBC (news.bbc.co.uk)
New York Times (www.nytimes.com)
Panapress (African) (www.panapress.com)
China Daily (www.chinadaily.com.cn)
The Moscow Times (www.themoscowtimes.com)
I woke up early this morning and wandered the house in the dark. I had to take odd steps in the hall to keep the creaking floor from waking Stefanie, but I managed to get to the kitchen and then out the back door without too much fuss. Outside it was humid and cool and the overcast muted sunrise made everything seem just that much greener. I slipped on my shoes and stood outside in my sweats and a t-shirt. Two months ago I'd have had a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other... I quit smoking a few weeks ago and I was too lazy to fix a pot of coffee... I could still feel the familiar sensation and even checked the pockets of my sweats for a lighter and my smokes... smoking is far more of a comfort addition than nicotine any day... I tucked my fingers beneath my arms and walked cross armed around the yard as I took in the new shoots and flowers, some new dill was starting to peep out of the same pot in which I'd planted oregano... damn. I'd have to re-arrange that one - hopefully without killing either one. I have three rose bushes that are starting to bloom. One, a climbing rose that's practically gone wild, was covered with purple-red blooms and it's spectacular - despite the wild looking flowers. The rain last night weighed them down and most of them drooped from the weight. The other red climber was near the corner of the house and it only had a couple of full red blossoms above odd, pale green leaves... I wondered if there was something wrong that would cause the leaves to be so pale. But the last one was a prize. This one was a pink, Queen Elizabeth climber that hadn't bloomed in two years or more. I'd bought it originally seven years ago and it sat in it's original pot on a cookie sheet for a year in the first apartment, its single pale and sickly shoot stretching in an arc across the wall eagerly catching unwary visitors with its thorns... the second year it sat beside the unused fireplace in our second apartment - I was told by my roommates that it was to go in a place that they would be less likely to get caught by it's sinister spikes. By this time the cookie sheet base was a rusted mess - but remained beneath it until we moved to a third apartment... where the odd, determined survivor rose went into the ground for the first time. We'd moved in late spring and I put it in the ground almost immediately. It stood solitary by the open steps by the back fence, its eager thorns constantly catching people- and most times drawing blood - fucker! It bloomed for the first time that year, one single perfect pink rose supported on a long, slender stem... I was intensely proud of it and I heaped praise on it as I pruned the rose from it - then drew back a bloody finger from a vicious thorn- fucker! My own price to pay for beauty, I suppose. For the next few years it grew and changed - always growing toward the sidewalk, always catching clothes and skin in its barbs. Everyone hated the damn thing - I thought it was perfection. When we moved to our new house I transplanted it - almost killing it in the process and it took all of last year to recover, finally shooting up new canes as it adjusted to the new home... but no blooms ... ...Until this year... Already I'd noticed that there were more buds on it than ever... six. I'd watched them as they went from tiny kisses that puckered skyward with new crimson leaves to bulging pods slowly shifting to a greedy shade of emerald. As I rounded our fence to see the buds that it offered this year I saw a flash of pink through the leaves... Three of them had shed back their leafy folds to reveal lipstick pink buds on long, perfect stems... I moved around it, taking special care not to get caught in the thorns, and leaned forward to smell the faint fragrance. Sweetness... I beamed... they would be perfect... as I moved away from these; the wind nodded the canes into my shirt. Of course, when I pulled back from it a thorn caught my arm deep and drew blood... fucker... ...they will probably be in full bloom by the time I get home today -I'll need to buy some bactine before I start pruning...
I woke up early this morning and wandered the house in the dark. I had to take odd steps in the hall to keep the creaking floor from waking Stefanie, but I managed to get to the kitchen and then out the back door without too much fuss.
Outside it was humid and cool and the overcast muted sunrise made everything seem just that much greener. I slipped on my shoes and stood outside in my sweats and a t-shirt.
Two months ago I'd have had a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other... I quit smoking a few weeks ago and I was too lazy to fix a pot of coffee... I could still feel the familiar sensation and even checked the pockets of my sweats for a lighter and my smokes... smoking is far more of a comfort addition than nicotine any day...
I tucked my fingers beneath my arms and walked cross armed around the yard as I took in the new shoots and flowers, some new dill was starting to peep out of the same pot in which I'd planted oregano... damn. I'd have to re-arrange that one - hopefully without killing either one.
I have three rose bushes that are starting to bloom. One, a climbing rose that's practically gone wild, was covered with purple-red blooms and it's spectacular - despite the wild looking flowers. The rain last night weighed them down and most of them drooped from the weight.
The other red climber was near the corner of the house and it only had a couple of full red blossoms above odd, pale green leaves... I wondered if there was something wrong that would cause the leaves to be so pale.
But the last one was a prize. This one was a pink, Queen Elizabeth climber that hadn't bloomed in two years or more. I'd bought it originally seven years ago and it sat in it's original pot on a cookie sheet for a year in the first apartment, its single pale and sickly shoot stretching in an arc across the wall eagerly catching unwary visitors with its thorns... the second year it sat beside the unused fireplace in our second apartment - I was told by my roommates that it was to go in a place that they would be less likely to get caught by it's sinister spikes. By this time the cookie sheet base was a rusted mess - but remained beneath it until we moved to a third apartment... where the odd, determined survivor rose went into the ground for the first time.
We'd moved in late spring and I put it in the ground almost immediately. It stood solitary by the open steps by the back fence, its eager thorns constantly catching people- and most times drawing blood - fucker!
It bloomed for the first time that year, one single perfect pink rose supported on a long, slender stem... I was intensely proud of it and I heaped praise on it as I pruned the rose from it - then drew back a bloody finger from a vicious thorn- fucker! My own price to pay for beauty, I suppose.
For the next few years it grew and changed - always growing toward the sidewalk, always catching clothes and skin in its barbs. Everyone hated the damn thing - I thought it was perfection.
When we moved to our new house I transplanted it - almost killing it in the process and it took all of last year to recover, finally shooting up new canes as it adjusted to the new home... but no blooms ...
...Until this year... Already I'd noticed that there were more buds on it than ever... six. I'd watched them as they went from tiny kisses that puckered skyward with new crimson leaves to bulging pods slowly shifting to a greedy shade of emerald. As I rounded our fence to see the buds that it offered this year I saw a flash of pink through the leaves...
Three of them had shed back their leafy folds to reveal lipstick pink buds on long, perfect stems... I moved around it, taking special care not to get caught in the thorns, and leaned forward to smell the faint fragrance. Sweetness... I beamed... they would be perfect... as I moved away from these; the wind nodded the canes into my shirt. Of course, when I pulled back from it a thorn caught my arm deep and drew blood... fucker...
...they will probably be in full bloom by the time I get home today -I'll need to buy some bactine before I start pruning...
My wife and I met them about eight years ago. They were a picture perfect couple - he worked as a saleman for a firm that sold industrial products, she stayed home with their two boys with a third on the way. We hit it off well from the first. They were one of our "couple" friends. I could talk to him and my wife to her and everything was great.
They moved away about 4 years ago, so she could go to school. We kept up. We visited. We knew they were having some problems, but we didn't know how bad. Then one day, we get a call from him. He is in town with the kids and wants to go out to eat. They come to the house and we all go the restaurant. At dinner, he breaks the news. Perfectly good dinner, shot to hell. How can you eat with ten-pounds of lead in your stomach?
We have had the horror of watching our two friends become singles. It's like having ringside seats at a flaying. These two who cared for each other once now are at odds. They say all of the right words about how they don't wish the other ill, but you can tell they don't mean it. He feels betrayed, she feels justified. Both mouth words about doing it for the kids. Both act as if life is all the same, but it isn't.
And here we are, feeling like property that gets split up in the divorce. We have let them both know that we are not choosing sides. We won't let them make us part of their conflict. We will see them both and will cry with them and laugh with them. We won't let them bad mouth the other in our presence. As my wife so beautifully put it , "We lost the couple. Losing either of them as individuals would be unbearable."
I got an e-mail from him yesterday that has haunted me since then. It was full of ire and venom. And the question I keep asking myself is this: how can two people who used to care about each other come to this?
WHAT A WEEKEND... Oh my it's not Monday but Tuesday the weekend was SO good I added a day.
Friday the kids went to Grandma's and then Netlvrs_Girl and I went out to dinner with another couple and we had a little play time. Then after sleeping till noon we went to our BDSM club. They had a great demonstration of bondage and suspension. I was tied in a sack and hung from the ceiling a suprisingly calming experience. We then simply hung out and then went home with a girlfriend and went to bed.
The next day was a pot-luck at the club and more demos but this time needle play and fire play.
For those who are freaked out everything is safe, sane and consentual. It's definately NOT for everybody but is very fulfilling in my life.
After injuring myself (not related to the activities of the weekend) and seeing the doctor. I had a great trip so see the in-laws but got hit with a stomach flu.
Well tonight I'm off to a class at the club for dom's and then home to bed.
Why can't I have a few more days in the week to do all of this stuff?
I have a nice little website* devoted to medieval Celtic literature, as well as some other stuff (essays, photos from my trip to England, whatever). So why is it my email for that site looks like this?
jmdelan@msn.com Add Inches To Your Penis! zkkzmaowwj@Chat.ru UNIVERSTIY DIPLOMAS, LIKE NOW INFOQUEST4_@YAHOO.CO... CONGRADULATIONS!! YOU WON!! pharma65843@freecomm... HERBAL SEX PILL! bjorkmo@hotmail.com Teen Sluts -- No Age Verification bjorn318@hotmail.com Teens having sex with dogs and horses (bestia... bjorn318@hotmail.com Young girls sucking horse dick (bestiality)
OK--WTF? Especially the last three (oh you crazy Scandinavians!) and why would I want a diploma from a site that can't even spell university or believes in checking for mistakes?
Oh well. Everyone's gotta deal with this. It's the curse of a hotmail account.
Website: http://www.geocities.com/branwaedd
I know, it's Geocities. Deal with it. I can't afford anything else.
"I always thought that sunshiny people were stupid. That cheerful was really empty. I thought that it took angst to be deep. You disprove everything."
I considered this, unsure of what to say. I know that the girls he has dated before have some very serious issues they should have dealt with before trying to commit to relationships. I am also the oldest person he has ever dated (by three years), and the only one who has lived independently of her parents. But I didn't know what to tell him. And then a miraculous little voice came from my mouth. I don't know where my words came from... I have never given these issues enough thought to formulate the marvelous response I gave him.
"When I was younger, I was too full of self-doubt and self-loathing to form a proper identity. But it was easy to make comparisons, and I thought there was more depth in a depressing character than a cheerful one. I was comparing Tori Amos to Madonna and felt like I could identify with the misery, not the bubblegum. But there is no depth to images... only to real identities. It took time and experience and hardships and hard-earned triumphs to find who I want to be. And I'm still exploring and expanding on that. But now that I know that I can be whatever I want, now that I am more than a two-dimensional figure of a person... I can't help but be happy."
He stared at me, not knowing that I wasn't sure where the words had come from. "You're an amazing person, Jennifer." "Thank you, darlin."
..And the ants descended on our impromptu picnic, the sun rewarded us with his approving warmth, he lovingly tangled his fingers in my hair, and I pondered what I'd just said. I really have come a long way.
Two days ago, on May 20, 2001, I graduated from Carnegie Mellon University, with a bachelor's degree in computer science. (On an amusing side node, my roommate was somewhat miffed by the title of her degree and was considering petitioning for a spinster's degree).
I'm going to graduate school in the fall, still at CMU, so it's not like I'm making a big change or anything, but this still feels like a fairly major step. In less than 20 days, I will be 21 years old, and I have a college degree. ...an adult by anyone's definition...
And yet, I don't really feel any differently than I did when I graduated from high school.
Right after the graduation, the dean of my college congratulated me and said "Well, now you're a real person.". Maybe that will take a little while to get used to.
Spotted a long arthropod scurrying across my bed. Emptied out a jar of knick-knacks and trapped him. Watched him, with equal measures of revulsion and awe, lapping the base of the jar for a while and decided that my attempt at robotics would be a waste of time.
Finally, saw Amores Peros with girlfriend. Afterwards we talked about her significant ex (again!) whom I am soon to having the pleasure of meeting. Joy...
It was a clear sky and the stars were all out but I didn't recognise them.
The gods smiled on me.
It took a half hour of arguing with managers, but eventually I got my free macaroni.
Joy.
