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Sep. 2nd, 2016 | 05:38 pm

I managed to seriously hurt myself at my belt test. And not even doing martial arts; it was during the damn warm-up circuit! I went diving over an obstacle and managed to viciously pull a ligament in my hip. Nothing is torn fortunately but a week later, I still haven't recovered my regular gait. I've had to put together a rehab plan that will last four to six weeks, and returning to full strength is going to take several months at least. Sigh.

There's a hurricane outside my window allegedly. Since it's barely sprinkling, I'm not impressed.

Here's to hoping there's less injury and more excitement in store.

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Bane of My Life du Jour

Aug. 26th, 2016 | 05:46 pm

I hate getting on here and just complaining, but between an unreceptive home life and the demands of the professional world always requiring positivity (unless it's a carefully constructed persona), this is about my only real outlet.

But I also don't want to complain because I don't feel like there's a point.
It isn't particularly cathartic most of the time and my problems are defined. I know what they are and I know what to do to remedy them. I just won't do it. The benefits of solving the problem are outweighed by the effort it would take.

That's the depression talking, at least in part. This slow march towards apathy. The endorphins and seratonin flowing a little less and less.


The opening of this comic (which is goddamn brilliant about Depression) is something I ruminate on. Talking about not being able to access the imagination, when the toys suddenly turned into pieces of plastic and were no longer simulacrum of the characters they represented? That hit me so goddamn hard. I remember that happening to me.
My sixth birthday, it happened. Like a fucking light switch, my Transformers stopped being Transformers and turned into pieces of plastic. I'd spend the next thirty years trying to bang them together, screaming at them to come back to life. I've spent these thirty years pretending to love something that I used to love, just in the hopes that it would come back to me. I've kept a watch for thirty years, hoping that joy would return.

Fuck, this got depressing.
Let's end somewhere else:

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Limits on Infinite

Aug. 19th, 2016 | 05:29 pm

I try very hard to be open-minded. I work very hard to acknowledge the very limited experiences from which I draw my knowledge from and to allow for a considerable variety of lives out there for which i can only barely understand.
I speak specifically in this case regarding sexuality.
A lot has come up regarding LGBTQ lives recently, and it's illustrated for me the limits of my knowledge.
What is pansexual? How is that different from omnisexual? Hell, for that matter, what's the difference between pansexual and bisexual?

For most of my life, before these matters really registered with me, I thought sexuality was a gradient and at one end you had straight and the other end you had gay and most everyone fell somewhere in between.

A quick google search and it seems bisexuality is a sexual orientation (attracted to males and females) whereas pansexual is more of gender attraction based off the gender the person presents as.

I get transexuals and a person who is male and wants to be female, or vice versa. I can even get androgyny. What I don't get is this shift away from the polarity of sex and genders. I understand the need for a blurring of the two groups but A, B, and between A & B seems to make sense. This seems to be getting too complicated.

And queer. What is queer? I thought that was a catch-all term for the whole spectrum. When did it turn into its own designation? Cripes, I know I sound like an old man, shaking his fist at the clouds, but this is getting frustrating.

And asexuals.
I don't believe in them. Or rather, I don't believe asexuals are a sexuality, I believe that's an illness. I'm not trying to sound mean or harsh, but the sexual drive is hands down the most fundamental motivator on the planet, hands down, bar none, to the absolute core. Everything that is even considered alive has a drive towards sex, procreation, etc. Hell, debatably even chemical reactions like fire have a similar instinct. It is so ingrained, it's debatably more ingrained then our survival instinct. So no, I'm sorry, asexuals aren't a sexual orientation. Even demisexuals, those with a limited sex drive and for whom romance and attraction is more personal/cerebral, I can buy. But born without a sex drive is like being born without eyes. I'm not going to argue with you about what you want to call yourself but asserting that there's nothing wrong with you is lying to the world, and yourself.

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Beautiful Day

Aug. 12th, 2016 | 05:53 pm

I spent today walking down the halls of my memory.
During work, spliced throughout the day, I went digging through old writings, rescued from certain doom.
It is everything I expected and hoped it would be. Mountains of humblingly naive essays of pre-teen and teen stupidity. Crazy ideas with just a germ of creativity. And notes and references and inspirations and lines of sheer brilliance, that I could never accurately duplicate or recreate in a thousand years.

And not just salvages of lost works. Oh no, but touchstones to a bygone self. Transporters that, for a brief moment, turn back the clock and return me to who I was years and decades ago. Lifetimes ago.
Imagine it.
When was the last time you looked at the trees lining the street and saw not sound- and pollution-dampening civic guardrails but the edge of the forest primeval?
When was the last time your heart caught in your chest at the sight of your one true love?
When was the last time you cried because something struck you in your heart, when you had no armor to guard against it?
When was the last time you smiled, huge and unguarded, the restrained grin of a child?
When was the last time you beheld a toy and saw not a plastic item born of merchandising and advertising and commercialism, but a personification of your hero?

I have seen beauty and it is the sundering of the linearity. It is the living, breathing moment, when now, then, yet, and forever fuse into one. I have seen a glimpse of the future born from the past.
What did I see? It doesn't matter what I saw. What matters is I saw.
And it is beautiful.

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Hardly Here

Aug. 5th, 2016 | 06:29 pm

Sometimes I have to remind myself that we're all going to be okay.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that today is not next week, or next month, or tomorrow.

I am auditioning for a ghost-writing job.
I test for my blue belt at the end of the month.
I leave for the mountains in a matter of hours.
I can't stop writing, just not on anything useful.

Life is beautiful.

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A Pronounced Sense of Whatthefuckery

Jul. 29th, 2016 | 05:52 pm

Clinton is the nominee, although several political watchdog groups have apparently tallied the state-by-state votes and, if not for votes being thrown out, discarded, etc, Sanders would have won by a wide (meaning double-digit) margin.
LiveJournal was apparently an outlet for Russian anti-government writers, until they all mysteriously disappeared and their accounts deleted.
And in the middle, nothing bu unadulterated exhaustion, fatigue, and general ennui.

At least the sun always shines on TV.

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Adult Life

Jul. 15th, 2016 | 05:51 pm

Not counting my role playing game in, like, an hour, I have three hours of recreational time this weekend.

I like what I do. Really. I just kind of wish...not that I did less of it, but that there was time to do other things. Or rather, time to NOT do anything.

But enough ranting. Off to buy groceries, deposit a check, see if my new publisher's site has gone live, and then play a news reporter in Star Wars. Whee!

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Mad World

Jul. 8th, 2016 | 05:52 pm

What a week, huh? Two men murdered by cops, and five cops murdered.
And in Syria, they're probably wondering what the big deal.

I'm struggling to write these days. Not in the sense that I can't write, but I can't write on topic. I keep escaping into what I call vanity writings, stories that will never see the light of day, just stories that I take pleasure in creating. Part of me is considering returning to writing under pseudonyms again. Less stress, more reward, and more fun. Writing was more fun when all I had to do was finish the manuscript and ship it off to the publisher and that was the end of it. Of course, making orders of magnitude more money now is nice...although an order of magnitude of a super-sized meal at Wendy's isn't all that much.

We're going to be okay.
We're all going to be okay.

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Jul. 1st, 2016 | 05:36 pm

I miss my old vices.

I miss staying up too late.
I miss watching more TV.
I miss eating poor food.

Sometimes I remember the words of someone, don't know who, who said "Good health is just the slowest rate at which we die". Just something that I ponder as I buy cucumbers and spinach instead of Pringles.

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Are You Still Here?

Jan. 17th, 2016 | 09:37 am

Anybody still alive on here?
Anybody still post, comment, or monitor?
I miss this place, but it's gotten to where I only visit for a role-playing game.

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