The unfortunate loathing

"Cultivate an interest in a person, and by extension their interests. If I like the person, there is often an excellent chance I will enjoy at least some of their pastimes. Then, sometimes it's just my interest in the person that makes the activity engaging but it has let me to a fairly wide variety of short term hobbies at least. Perhaps people are my hobby. "

- The only person who inspires this much hatred in me.

Loathing is a strange thing. I have hated a few people who have done nothing to me...but they invoke a primal reaction within me that raises my hackles. My body winces at the instinct to get into a fighting stance at the mere mention of their name. And oh lord, this woman does it. I hate her with a passion that burns my chest. Once I thought she was gone from my guild, I figured that I was safe from this tension but she returns again. She inspires this much hatred because when she uses her status as a woman to forward her agenda, to tease and then dump, her actions reflect negatively onto me as a teaser as some people have a problem distinguishing intentions by playful people.

This inspired my bad haiku:

Disrespecting tease
Your wit and charms are lost here
Grammar nitpicker

I really dislike her.

Good morning, Boston

As I look at myself in the mirror, tousled hair and skin browned by time and sun, naturally scarlet full lips, a body that I thank my past self for taking the pain and the shame to work to its current level of fitness, I can say to myself: damn, I look hot. I should really fuck every morning.

I enjoy the process more than the ending. I realized this when time was too short to conclude things for either of us. He's a good guy even though he laughed at me for not knowing what a Prius is. That burned me up a little. And also nailed the coffin on any possible unconscious inklings of a future relationship. Thank goodness.

I am planning out my day, planning to do shopping and eating. I already have some ideas for artwork. I am refreshed and revitalized by the unfamiliarity of my domiciled surroundings. Though for sleep, I cannot abide the humming and whirring of the ever hiberating computer and I am awoken by the mere shift of the warm body next to me.

I've been playing way too much WoW since I got here. This touch of agoraphobia makes my heart pound when I contemplate crossing the boundary of this commune. For all of the aloof mannerisms that these hairy guys/quiet girls exhibit, I'm safe in their organized kitchen, their amazing chocolate almond cookies and their inadequately ventilated bathrooms with strands of hair everywhere.

Otay I get ready. Screw you Oldlock, I'm not going to wear myself out for Archimonde.

My brightness

So I let go of my high school reunion. I let go of the short fuse I harbor, let go of my Type A loving, let go of men and women, let go of unrequited hopes.

My new favorite sex education website:
http://liberator.com/videos.php?channel=9&video=120

SS

How beautiful

How beautiful, wonderful is my relief with releasing, pain throbbing in my chest yet it's one of the most reaffirming reasons to be alive. I've carried pain for this long and now I feel...free to have it.

How confusing. A WoW blog associated with these emotions. The person who manipulates XYZ movement for a representation of self. This is all related to how my self, in game and in real life have developed into something new.

A player has remarked several times of how he heard that I'm into pain. I always chuckle to myself, never elaborating on what it is because it's none of his/their business. Yes, I associate pain with change. My tears are a result of searching for a facility that has been buried with the gross mess of daily chores, relationships, to-do lists. I wish to flex it and to radically twist my perspective to accept something new, it results in a medley of reactions that bubble beneath the surface. The low boil has come to its peak. I've found my selfishness and I gladly embrace it. I will live for myself and not for my parents nor my brother, nor for those who do regard me highly and those who think of myself in a slight manner like one thinks of Barbie dolls and mopheads.

So why do I write here? I have a mute audience. It feels like I write on a wall where someone may happen to pass by and glance at scribbles. I think that's why I left Xanga. That need to see who approves of my writing, a popularity contest. There's no winning here.

I am not sorry for who I am or what I write. I will write about the things I love and experience because one day, I will forget and the memory will haunt me because I would not be able to name it.

I am glad because the day where my contract to the many will be on hold temporarily. I will play the game how I want to, be free in my aloneness and loneliness to be beholded to noone. All mothers need a break from their wills being for others, unconsciously listening for that question, ready with answers. In my breaking from the herd, I will relearn how to do things for myself.

This pain of feeling light as a feather brings a smile to my face. The intensive labor of anger had been productive.

Sunshine and lollipops

Sometimes I wonder how my brother does it. How he can live, having picked up dead, burning bodies from the rubble of war. How tense he seems even with his easy pace. He thrives on pretty girls and gourmet food, never skimping for less, always for the better.

I grind my teeth on wasabi peas, relishing the intense pain of a nasal burn one particular pea flares up. It comes and goes within 3 seconds. At the least, it distracts me from the inner pain that stems from fear, want, disappointment, and the darker bloom of thoughts of wishing to end this prickling of tears that threatens to spill onto my cheeks while people carefully watch for me as they exit the elevators. Or they completely disregard me. No matter.

My back is sore, aching on my left shoulder bone, blossoming around my neck and lower back. I am in pain. I think I'm more in pain because of the infatuation. I learned what I want from a guy and it's integrity. It's the drive to do more, do better. And it's a wonderful, terrible thing.

I am on the subway platform, rushing to catch the V at 5:20...I am late leaving the office. I remember feeling vaguely displeased for being in the front car as I'd have to take a long walk to the other end of the platform at my station. I remember thinking that a small gap at the door may not have made it a secure place to lean on. But I bury my head in my WoW raid strategy guides and meticulously figure out my role. The train rolls into Northern Blvd. A violent blow to my back rouses me up and I make a conscious effort to hear the insistent screeching, plastic shards flying, female conductor yelling with catching breaths and the gasps of the passengers. Me with my moods flashing from annoyance, to awareness, to gauging the situation in seconds and feeling my heart leap. Someone jumped in front of the train. The body is in the conductor's booth. There is a gap to look in the booth. Look away from booth, catch breath, cover mouth from rising smoke and potential burning flesh, just don't look at the body, look at anyone else' face to confirm the horrid limpness of the body and pray the conductor is fine. She's radioing it in, to turn off the power, raised voice, fighting panic and disgust.

As I murmur my excuse me walking to the back of the car, I wonder why the other people wish to have the image of a dead body embedded in their brains. There's an open door and I hop out, walking fast, looking through the windows at curious eyes, faces, mouths open. I'm glad for their ignorance.

The walk home is a daze. I observe my cold hands, the slight tremors, the fuzziness of my surroundings. I desperately want a hug or a hand to soothe away the dull pains of my back. I call a couple of friends, sit at my chair, looking, nothing, feeling nothing.

Getaway

My chest is heavy with an upheaval of worry and disappointment, some self-berating swirling, aerating the mixture. I pace in circles, mentally trying to untwine this procedure of figuring out who is the person to prod to action. I'm referring to my high school reunion which is just...something, I cannot even think of the word. This mystery word inspires the want for a catartic release: soothing tears (temporary) or scarring myself (permanent). I think I should go with the tears.

There is so much I want to write but this duty is clouding my vision.