When I get very tired, I do weird things in regards to sleeping.

This morning, for instance, I woke up around 11-ish (after going to bed at 5:30 and setting my alarm for 1:15pm. Don't judge me! I'm coming off overnight shifts and trying to transition to evenings again). Now, with two hours left to sleep, my logical course is clear: go back to sleep, lunatic! But for some reason, as it often does when I wake up from a sound sleep in the middle of the night, this never occurred to me. Instead, convinced I had to be awake for some reason, I lay there in a half-conscious haze, literally too out of it to think. Normally these states last until my brain finally realizes that I can go back to sleep, that there is no reason whatsoever for me to be up. Luckily this morning tigerphoenix called me and snapped me out of it.

Sometimes when this happens, it's in connection with work. Back when I'd started my short-lived retail job two years ago, I seemed to hover in that half-awake state every night, convinced I had sales to ring up. I remember the half-conscious dreams, if they could be called that, of punching the register keypad... These days, I often have dreams that I'm at work, and have to stay awake to do the orders and answer the phones. How I'm supposed to be doing that while in bed, a fact I am usually aware of in these cases, I don't know. I can only presume that my brain is so stupid and asleep it doesn't even notice these gaping logical gaps. That's what it feels like, remembering those times.

Am I even awake in these cases? Am I dreaming that I'm awake? I really don't know.

Last night I had this strange dream, one of those realistic dreams where you think it's actually happening, where robbers broke in and held my family at gunpoint while one of their member went to take all our money out of the bank. Somehow I managed to get myself alone in the bathroom, and used my cell phone to call 911 for help. Moments later I looked out the window onto the street and saw several police cars passing by to get to my house. Then, abuptly, I was out on the street, walking around to catch up to the police.

This really annoys me. Up till then the dream had been, if bizarre, at least *plausible*, but then my brain had to forget the pesky detail of whether or not I was inside the house because it went for the fancy camera angle. I'm convinced that the vast majority of my dreams are so weird for this precise reason: my brain turns its attention away from some vital detail like who I'm supposed to BE in the dream or who I'm talking to, forgets it, and then makes up something entirely new when it comes back to that detail again.

In conclusion, I hate work.

I think the most frustrating thing in my life that I have to deal with is simply this:

Every time I have an opinion on anything, of any sort, or any time I have a thought or idea that goes against what someone else thinks, my thought opinion is instantly and automatically wrong.

This is true of pretty much everyone I ever have, or try to have, a serious conversation with. Even my best friends and closest companions do this to me, and on days like this, I wonder why people even bother associating with me if they think I'm the stupidest person on the face of the planet.

Is it something inherent in me again? Am I really just utterly stupid? Do I really have no right to my thoughts and beliefs? Or maybe it's just that I don't actually have any friends, and I'm just deluding myself into thinking I do.

Should I really just go through life keeping everything I think and feel to myself? Or should I just accept that no one really cares what I have to say, and go through life vocal and alone?

Hoo boy, I'm a mess.

The other night I had the worst headache I can remember having, ever. Foolish me felt it coming on, but forgot to take my ibuprofen to work that day. The mild, mobile point of pain inside my head, perfectly bearable at the beginning of the twelve-hour shift, was all but forgotten once my neck erupted into searing, screaming pain. A good description would be a screw in the base of my neck, with the muscles extending upwards wrapped around it, stretching tighter and tighter till it felt like they would burst. Not long after that reached its crescendo my head erupted in splitting agony. By the end of the night I was both dizzy and nauseated, and honestly a little afraid to drive home. A ton of ibuprofen and food when I got home salved the ache, and sweet sleep cured it soon after.

I discovered yesterday that a job had opened up in CMU Housing. I worked there for the entirety of my college career, and I can only hope they remember me. I think it's work I could do very well at, and it'd be a definite jumping-off point for my future if I got it. Much more so than my current job. For that reason alone I'm sure I won't get it. Just get me an interview, I pray; I hope my cover letter will distinguish me in that. If not, I keep looking. I can transfer internally in just a few days, if I find a good place to work.

I'm a mess lately. I'm working morning shifts, which I simply find it impossible to acclimate to. I could stand getting up at 8, or even 7, but 6 AM is a bit too much for such a dedicated night owl. So much of the time I spend wandering about in a foggy, sleep-deprived daze.

I'm storngly considering creating a blog just for the expression of my philosophy and beliefs in essay format. I have a lot of these, a lot more than people would credit to me just to begin with, and it would be a nice writing exercise. Who knows, maybe I'd even get some widespread attention out of it. I'm a good writer, I should write.

I've actually been accomplishing writing lately, which pleases me. Not at the pace I want, but a random schedule and an unstable life situation naturally impede progress. My eternal thanks to those who read my writing and help me improve it.

So tired.

Swept up, swept away, can't catch up, can't get away.

One very large problem in my life is gone: I have a new car. I now own a 2003 Saturn Ion. It's definitely not a car I expected to end up with, but the price was reasonable, the mileage was good, and most importantly, I fit in it. If you've never had this problem, consider yourself lucky. Eliminating many car models just because you can't fit in them can be frustrating.

So with transportation, I now no longer have worries such as obtaining food, getting to work, and generally getting about in life. Funny that I managed to exist for a year and a half without one, but on the other hand, my social activities and employment were within walking distance, and I subsisted mostly on take-out and convenience store foods.

As opposed to now, where I eat better and have no social life at all. I'd like to change the latter, obviously. It's just a matter of finding people who are available at the same times I am.

kaote, answer my question!

Of course, with a new car comes a dramatic financial pressure. Payments, plus the increase in car insurance, will leave me extremely strapped for cash. I can get by for a couple of months, though. I still look forward to February, where I can begin looking for a more financially stable position. Even a few extra thousand a year will make a significant difference, especially if it means I can work less overtime. I'm fortunate, now, that I have references I can count on, a strong work experience internally, and the ability to pick and choose what I apply for. There's a lot of good I can do any position, if they give me the chance.

I have to keep hoping.

I am currently in the throes of a vicious cold. My colds all follow very predictable patterns. The first day, I feel the onset of a sore throat, possibly with gradually increasing nasal stuffiness. That night, my sleep is terrible. Sometimes I'm unable to get to sleep entirely, other times (like last night) I'm only able to sleep in bursts, after which I wake up and need to force myself back to sleep again. I think my body refuses to sleep because it can fight the cold better in a waking state. I do know that the next day I usually don't feel as tired as I ought to for having such terrible sleep.

The second day, today for example, is the worst. Normally my colds confine themselves to throat, nose, sometimes cough. Not on the second day! This is the day when the cold kicks my ass. I feel weak, my temperature fluctuates, I have a perpetual headache and the sort of lightheadedness that is particular to colds. Usually the sore throat and the runny nose are both much worse on the second day. Today my nose is negligible, however, though my throat is more than making up with it. Post nasal drip is hell and a half.

Luckily, once I make it through the day it's all downhill. The throat will subside, and the nose will pick up. Usually a week passes before the symptoms are fully banished, but after today they're more nuisances than misery. On rare occasions the cold will descend to my chest, leaving me with a hell of a cough for its duration, but that happens infrequently.

This weekend I will be going to AnimeUSA in Tyson's Corner, VA, with tigerphoenix and some other people. Sometimes I do wonder why I go to cons. I'm not social, I can never manage to make friends the way other people do. I'd like to make more friends, admittedly, but sometimes I consider that a moot point. Still, I hope to have some fun and relax a bit. I don't know what it'll be like, so I'll see!

I'm technically able to keep afloat on 40 hours a week, but I wouldn't care to try it, especially now with my new expenses. So I put in as much overtime as I can. 48 hours a week is normal; 56 is ideal, in financial terms. And again I wish I didn't have to do that.

I'm a frustrated writer right now. All around me people are producing massive amounts of writing, yet I'm unable to. 12 hour workdays, car searches, colds. All these things simply destroy my ability to write. Most of my days I simply have no time to write. I don't anticipate a real chance to write until next week, when I have some days that are only eight hours. I do make efforts at writing while at work, but they're of course sporadic, and suffer from a lack of resources or other works or previous drafts. And on a day like this, where I'm sick, I just can't think. (Which figures. I could accomplish a lot today if I weren't miserable.)

jameel, remind me to shove the latest GetBackers manga in my backpack for you. I work tomorrow and Thursday both. And ehzoterik, remind me to make you an Akabane icon when I get my DVDs back from jameel. I figure you'd like that.

Speaking of DVDs, I found out Amazon.com had Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere" dirt cheap ($15 altogether with shipping), which I had to get, of course. Where the hell is it, though? It's supposed to be here by tomorrow. Not that I have time to watch it, of course, or that I even will watch it till next weekend, but I worry about things going wrong. They so often seem to.

Lately I've been worrying about my usual problems again. What do I have that distinguishes me? What makes me special? What would someone come to me for, ask me, that I could help them better with than anyone else? I've come to the conclusion that there is nothing, and consequently I feel dissatisfied.

Actually, I take it back; I know more about prose writing than anyone I know. But that's worth nothing.

What a long and rambling post I've written. Well, with my update schedule I needed to. It's probably a symptom of stifled creativity anyway.

Despite what every female I know seems to believe, there is no absolute scale of female beauty, at least not to my mind. (Also, despite what every female I seem to know believes, they are in fact attractive. I cannot think of anyone I'm reasonably well-acquainted with who I and several others do not hold that viewpoint about. There are few things mroe frustrating and futile than trying to convince a perfectly attractive girl that she IS just that.)

There are very few absolute statements I am able to make about female beauty. In fact, I can make exactly two, which I will do so now to get them out of the way:

tigerphoenix is the most adorably, wonderfully expressive girl I have ever met.
cyfis has the loveliest, most incredible hair I have ever seen in my entire life.

All right? Now the rest of this wanders into less quantifiable terms.

I'm speaking solely for myself here, of course. It's possible ad really quite likely that other guys have specific traits or characteristics they look for, and rate them on a scale, resulting in a given girl being more or less attractive to them in absoltue terms.

My perceptions don't work that way.

First of all, I believe personality is inherently imprinted on beauty. So much of how a person looks depends on what that person is like. A girl can have every single classic measure of beauty in spades and beyond, but if they don't have intelligence and a personality of SOME sort, then they're no more attractive than a slack-jawed cow.

This makes it difficult for me to judge attractiveness solely by image. To really know how a person appeals to me, I need to see them move, hear them talk, get a feel for what sort of person they are. People insist this is a cop-out to get me to avoid making a determination, but this is what I absolutely believe.

A body is just a lump of flesh. How you move it, the animation you give to it, means a very great deal.

That being said, I make no secret that I am a leg man. This is not, actually, to say that rationally or intellectualy I consider the female leg to be the finest feature, though they do have many merits. Rather, the attraction is more magnetically primal. A nice set of bare legs draws my eye magnetically (best when actually done with a miniskirt or cutoff shorts; having the actual hip area concealed heightens the allure).

Nevertheless, in legs and in all other features, there is no overriding set of characteristics that can be termed supremely dominant in terms of attractiveness. I have found short, slender girls attractive, and tall, voluptuous ones. But how does one compare the two? Their features are so different that it's impossible to. Can one therefore be said to be more attractive than the other?

Absolutely not. Call that statement a cop-out if you want; I prefer to think of it as being fair, and honest. In all sincerity, I cannot label one as superior, because they both have merits in entirely different ways.

I like to think I have a reasonably enlightened outlook on appearence. So therefore: If I tell you you're attractive, I'M TELLING THE TRUTH!

I hate arguing with people over the appropriate tips to leave, I really do. Generally, the people who undertip have already quite thoroughly justified their decision in their mind. Still, sometimes I feel it's necessary. It doesn't do much good, and it usually tends to leave bad feelings all around, but what can you do? Principle is important.

If a pizza guy is coming out at two in the morning, in his own vehicle, for less than minimum wage, to deliver my pizza, I think he deserves a decent tip for his efforts. It seems most people disagree with me. Or at least they feel three or four bucks on a thirty-six dollar order is okay.

I don't know where these people worked before here (and it isn't the doctors doing this, mind), but *I* worked at a pizza place. I didn't deliver, but I made the damn pies for crappy wage. I have sympathy, or empathy.

Man, I hate people.

So, after doing some thinking, I've decided I need to be a little bit more productive in my Livejournal. Not necessarily along the lines of "this is what happened today, blah blah." Some people take the attitude that their livejournal is for themselves only, and they'll write whatever they want. There's nothing wrong with that. I, on the other hand, take the opinion that my journal is written specifically for the people who read it -- in other words, I want to entertain, or provide information that the people who read it might want to know.

So if I'm going to be more productive, then all I can ask is a receptive audience who is willing to offer an opinion on what I'm producing. So if you want to encourage me, the path is clear, neh?

The more I think about it, the more I feel that I'd like to go back to school for graduate education in psychology. Realistically, you need a master's degree at the very least to accomplish anything significant in the field. And education has always been a particular fondness of mine. I mean, I did it for sixteen of my almost twenty-four years, how could I not want to continue?

Ironically, my biggest problem right now is not knowing enough about graduate programs to make an educated choice. The primary problem consists of: What do I survive on? I'm not willing to go into more debt than I have to, if I can at all avoid it. This is a long-term goal, so it's not something I have to decide right away. I just need to start getting more information.

No one likes to be hated. Unless it's for a very good reason, and that reason is consistent with and necessary for one's continued existence as the person one is (for example, being hated by supervillains is good, if you're a superhero), people in general prefer to be liked. I don't think this is a standard issue for most people, though, as most people don't have people hate them. Hate is a strong emotion.

I, however, seem to have a natural knack for making people hate me.

I think what bothers me the most -- and, frankly, scares me -- is the reasons I'm hated. People who, in my opinion, really ought to know better than to judge someone without knowing them are some of my most fervent opposition -- and these aren't people who can claim to know me. Half the time I don't even understand their reasons for feeling the way they do. Some of them made their decisions based on seeing another person's side of the story, without pausing to consider my reasons or motivations in the slightest. These are people who themselves could and are prejudged, and no doubt rail at the injustice of it, yet they turn around and condemn me without knowing me in the slightest.

And that scares me.

This is normally a post I would leave friends-only, but I'm opening it just for the sake of open discussion. Maybe some of those people who do have a great and not-entirely-grounded contempt of me will see it and give thought to their actions. On the other hand, probably not. But a dragon can hope.

I can't do a retrospective of the past year, really.

All I can do is an introspective of me.

I'm thinking.

(Don't let me slack on this one.)

I have this secret desire to be -- I don't know the proper word -- respected, I suppose it would be, for my talents. And those of you who have been subjected to my various mood swings can probably attest to the fact that when I feel utterly *mundane*, utterly *normal*, I get pissy.

See, I feel that I have totally failed to distinguish myself to anyone. A writer, a reader, a roleplayer, a friend, a cartoonist -- well, any talent I have, I can think of some other people who are better than me, who steal any recognition I'd want to claim for myself from all my other friends, without even realizing it. When it boils down to it, I feel that to anyone I know, I'm a second-best in all categories.

Consequent to that feeling, I feel... utterly unspecial. I can't help but think that people really have no reason or desire to associate with me -- except for convenience, the idea that sometimes I'm around when the other, better people aren't. When the feeling of inadequacy, of mediocrity, becomen too much... I explode.

I dont know how to distinguish myself. I don't know how to get anybody's respect for any particular quality I possess. It's very frustrating.

I am me.

I am imperfect, flawed, error-prone, clumsy, and otherwise less than ideal.

I am sometimes insensitive, often foolish, occasionally outright mean, and frequently less than ideal.

But I am me. And I do the best I can. If that's not enough, deal.

But I am me, and I do the best I can. And I will not let that be taken away from me. At times, I'll forget -- it's a hard thing to remember, and as noted, I'm not perfect.

But I am me, and I do the best I can.

And that is something more than one person reading this should remember about themselves as well.

I am me. And I do the best I can.

And that's what makes me all right.

Where have I been?

My mother remarried. I've been attending the wedding.

Where am I going?

To stay with my tigerphoenix.

What will I be doing?

Having fun. And addressing some problems that have come up for my role-playing, both IC and OOC.

Who am I?

I am the Dragon of Life. Love me. Or hate me. Anything in-between is more or less impossible, for me. But whichever you choose, don't do it half-assed. I don't.

But I prefer to love, and be loved, by you.

I've been accused of being an attention-whore.

I don't deny that appearences are like that, but I think there's another explanation.

To begin with -- I'm an empath. That means I pick up on the emotions of others. That's important to know.

I want people to be happy. Especially people I care about. When other people are happy, I can feel happier.

(This isn't a universal rule. There are dozens of other factors that influence my happiness -- my wants and needs, my surroundings, even whether or not I've eaten. But let's take all that as a given.)

So how do I make sure people are happy? By getting involved with what they're doing, frequently. So I can guide them and help them. The problem therein is knowing when to step back and not get involved -- but that's usually only part of the story anyway...

Conversely, when people I care about are unhappy, I try to take the blame. For one, it's the only real way I have of dealing with the additional stress -- to impose a measure of control on something I can't control at all. For another, I think it's much easier for people to feel better if they have someone to blame rather than a cruel and arbitrary universe.

Is this the right way to go about doing things? Not at all. But the unhappiness of others hurts me. It hurts me very deeply. I'm not sure how to properly express it, except to say I share that unhappiness on a very deep and personal level. I don't know of any real way to protect myself from that pain, or cope with it. I don't have any empathic shields, after all; I'm not trained in this at all, and probably never will be.

I'm not trying to excuse my stupidity, just explain it. I'm trying to cope as best I can. I've been conditioned so that my best is rather poor performance.

I'm sorry. I'm trying to be better.

Friends-only is such an inadequate way to post. There are friends out there who will never know what I post, and the occasional random person who I don't want to see what I do. I wish I could exert absolute control over Livejournal.

Still, it beats letting every random person see my worst moments. I'm sorry that those of you who do see what I post have to put up with it.

I want to share a couple of stories with you. (I know what you'll say -- they're not representative, I shouldn't get discouraged, I should try again -- really, I'm not presenting these as arguments. Just stories.)

I am one of the most ADHD people in the world. My mind is a psychotic mess of inattentiveness. I cannot focus on, say, a term paper, unless I have someone talking to me, the TV open, and a book in front of me. When I was younger, I would read five or six books at a time, keeping all my places marked as I cycled through them on whim.

When I was very young, my parents tried to medicate me. Between their bungling and my doctor's, as I understand it, I became a total zombie. Oh, I still had life signs, but my consciousness was virtually numbed. I went from overaction to no action; from inattentiveness to no attentiveness.

I don't actually remember those times. As I said, it was a very long time ago. Since then, I have grown to cope with my disorder, and in fact I think I derive some benefit from it.

I'm not afraid to go on Ritalin, or whatever new drug they might be prescribing today for ADHD. I simply don't want to. I enjoy being this way. It gives a certain vibrancy to life that I find intriguing. Sure, it's frustrating... but I imagine a "normal" life is as well.

..........................

One of my first memories is that of myself at what must have been a doctor's office. They had sneakily adminstered me an intelligence test. I remember, very clearly, the doctor telling my mother that I was smarter than virtually anyone else in the city.

My mother always liked to boast that she was smarter than me. I never believed it for a minute. I think I'm justified in my own superiority.

..........................

As a child, I was a complete and utter terror.

I am a very wrathful person. I am quick to anger, and when pressed, the sheer force of my rage is not something to take lightly. It expires quickly, but when I am possessed, I might as well be mindless.

This is why I nearly got expelled.

I skipped kindergarten. I was ahead of everybody else, to the point where the teacher came to expect that I would know the answer and asked if anyone other than I could respond. So it wasn't more than a week into the school year that I was brought up to the first grade. That's when it started.

I hit people. I pushed other kids around. I even argued with the vice-principal (although in my defense, I was right -- it *was* raining at the time). Reprimands became detentions, which in turn became a suspension. I was told that the next time I caused trouble, I would be expelled.

The very next day, I hit a kid in the face. I don't even remember why.

Through some miracle, he didn't tell. And soon afterwards my parents divorced, and my mother took off for Maryland, myself and my sister in tow.

After that... I don't know what changed. Certainly nothing conscious on my part. But after I entered the new school system, I didn't get in trouble again. I wasn't really that violent any more.

I have no explanations for it. I'm glad I changed. I don't really like hurting people.

.................................

In addition to any responses you might have, I'm curious about one thing -- however you're viewing this, how does my writing appear in your journal? Sometimes I have trouble parsing information in other journals, so I try to write mine in a style that avoids what I dislike.

Picture this situation:

You live near the circuit breakers in the basement of an apartment. You're very good friends with the people on the first floor, and you've promised to keep the electricity on for them all the time. But you're also good friends with the people on the second floor, and you made the same promise to them.

Now here's the catch: every time you the circuit for the first floor goes out, and you flip it back on, the second floor goes out. Every time you switch the second floor back on, the first floor goes out.

Now imagine the problem magnified a hundredfold. An apartment building full of people you care about, all of whom you desperately try to keep power going to. In the end, you fail, and fail, and fail, and fail. And all of these people you care about are angry; or they pull away from you, and look for someone else to do your job; whatever.

In the end, you have two options. You can keep going and going, and trying and trying and trying, and failing and failing and failing, until everybody hates you and you hate yourself -- or you can quit your job.

I think... I think it's time I quit my job.