Category Archives: Emotions

On Verbal Diarrhea

On Verbal Diarrhea

I believe that everyone has experienced some form of verbal diarrhea in life where they feel guilt, shame, remorse, and a need to constantly apologize for letting their mouths run inappropriately in a public space. Yes, in public. When it happens in private, those negative emotions rarely follow since letting it all out in private is the sign of an emotionally potty trained human being, nothing to be ashamed of. Of course accidents happen, but they are mainly forgotten or overlooked when they solely occur on rare occasions. We aren’t perfect beings but not everyone (me) appreciates being a bottomless emotional toilet at the whim of a loose arsehole.

Some people never learned how to get it out in private. These people habitually verbal-diarrhea all over their coworkers, family members, and friends on a regular basis. They were trained to spew immediately upon the slightest urge by people they grew up or attracted along the way with similar or compatible social games. Regardless they are unaware that there is a more sanitary way.

There is hope for these people. They most likely have already mastered the art of using real toilets in private so they can apply the same technique to their runny emotions. Upon suspicion that a sticky monologue is brewing, one can politely excuse themselves from their current company. Once exited, they should find a safe place to properly excrete their inappropriate thoughts and feelings. One of the many office private rooms, long walks on the beach, small closets, behind cars, etc. are all examples of healthy places to do this kind of business.

Once finished, it is necessary to clean oneself up and tactfully return to the social scene. If suddenly a relapse is thought to happen, it is totally acceptable to re-excuse oneself and start over until empty.

It is important to reflect on what was encountered or consumed that may have caused these thoughts to come out with such a fluid, un-refined rush. Was alcohol (aka truth serum) involved either recently or the night before? Were you disgustedly assaulted by someone else’s verbal diarrhea and felt the need to fire back or vent on someone else with your own? Or perhaps you genuinely felt ill, skipped lunch (low blood sugar), have too much stress and just lost control? All these factors should be throughly anal-yzed and understood to ensure that next time one can be more prepared to efficiently avoid the need for intense dire relief by: drinking less, seeing specialist doctors, keeping snacks handy, avoiding other loose arseholes altogether, or just simply taking better care of one’s self by managing their own happiness.

Practice is key to maintaining healthy relationships not only in one’s personal life, but also one’s professional life as well.

Taming the Wild

Taming the Wild

I envision that in my old age, after all the major phases of life have passed, I’ll often ponder back on my old emotions. I’ll spend time remembering how long it took me to classify and name them all; how hard it was to tame them to the point that I can appear in public flawlessly, without incident. I’m sure by then they will sit in my mental tool box as neatly arranged packages, patiently waiting until I decide which ones I need to use for life’s now commonplace occurrences. I imagine that by then, they will know how to take their turn and so very few of them will take me by surprise. Even if I am by chance caught off guard, I will have already developed a technique for being caught off guard and so will not cause anyone alarm. Thus all this time I now spend starring endlessly at my ceiling, pondering what the hell just happened, will eventually be spent on more practical tasks. Though I am sure I will miss these ‘oh so wild states of fits and passion’ that so wrongly embarrass and haunt me, by then I will probably yearn to encounter new pieces of myself and wish that it all wasn’t so well organized….

-Singapore June 2012

Old People

Old People

I miss all my old people.  Funny thing is that I didn’t miss most of them much after they died.  They were well-old enough to die naturally.  I doubt they were in much more pain at death than they were over the last few months of life.  All those aches and pains probably got some relief when the power shut off to their brains. Anniversaries of all my old great aunts and uncles are scattered throughout the year.  Sometimes I remember, sometimes it’s just another day.  Of course at the time they departed there were tears and feelings of empty sadness, but life kept me moving forward.

Now, years later, it is a different kind of sadness.  My emotions have forgotten that they are dead.  Gramma and Grampa are just at their house a few towns over.  Or so it feels.  The sadness comes when I feel the need to pick up the phone and call them as if they are in their 60s, alive and well.  I don’t remember them so much as the frail, elderly people who I saw pass away.  I remember them active and relatively young enough to be a source of information and entertainment (stories of days gone by).

I miss the little things.  How they acted so interested in me.  How they looked down on me with a smile that people only give children in their family.  I can remember my great aunt’s face, all old and wrinkled, when she smiled as if she thought I was so cool.  She was born in 1909.  To her a game boy was beyond even a Jules Vern novel.

It’s weird for me to miss things about the past.  I don’t miss many things that people normally do.  Like my childhood friends.  We were going to be friends forever and now I loath the thought of ever having to awkwardly run into any of them around town.  I never had a reason to dislike all my old people.  They were situations to manage of course, but that was a given need for a elderly family member.  Unlike my old friends, nothing else in life has fully filled the void left by that by-gone generation.

There’s nothing to do with these feelings about them.  I can reminisce with those who knew them too.  Or look through old family photos.  but it all just leads to the same thing, welling up in tears of sadness that gets stronger with the thought that my parent’s generation is next.

Waiting for Prosperity

Waiting for Prosperity

Raquel sat waiting by the river for something positively exciting to happen to her. She’d had enough of the boring and miserable aspects of life. Death, loss, being broke, toxic relationships, career setbacks, etc. You name it, it’s happened. All these dark sides had shaken her confidence and belief in the attainment of dreams. She found herself going out less and not wanting to get involved in social activities because of the hidden costs associated with them. As she sat she reviewed all her naïve hopes from years past. “I was going to be great! I was going to put in the hard work necessary to make a grand living, gain respect and create my own small empire of wealth.” It distressed her to reflect on the situation in which those dreams evolved. Unfortunately, far from reality was that time of life. So small was the social circle and breadth of knowledge of how the world really operated, it was no wonder that she had once thought she could accomplish all that.

She in herself had changed too. When those dreams were stamped into her mission in life she had yet to experience her own joys of life outside the buffering childhood. The joys of solitude and general dislike for seemingly pointless and repetitive social cues were pivotal examples of how her own personality blocked her attainment of those dreams. Without at least a tolerance for politics how could she expect to navigate organizations in power or even encourage people to follow her should she wish to create her own environment? Some social constructs were fairly easy to navigate, however, those we generally found easy to everyone else as well making them less lucrative and/or just plain lazy.

In a way she was over those old dreams. After all, many of them had been accomplished so it was just a lingering few that refused to be fulfilled. Dropping the dreams was an option, but the feeling of “if I try just a little bit longer” always kept her coming back to them. The idea that she simply lacked new dreams was also toyed with. But her new found knowledge of the world shrunk her dreams to fit that realistic reality and thus new dreams were actually accomplished rather easy as they we both easily attainable with her current skills or simply dreamt up from a more practical mind.

All of which brought her to today, a place where she believed that simply waiting around for a lucky break into prosperity would do her more good than targeted action.

On Depression as a Matter of Belief

On Depression as a Matter of Belief

Depression is a matter of belief.  Belief that all your worst fears will come true and that you are powerless to do anything to stop the ship from sinking.  Your future is played in your mind-screen as a projection where all the negatives from your current situation are amplified.  No thought is given that things won’t get that bad.  It is a survival mechanism gone faulty.  True we need to know what seedlings will grow into something poisonous, but not everything is bad.  Depression lays with superstition in that it needs no evidence, not display of physical law to prove that the future is unpredictable.   It is evil in the sense that it relies on the great unknown as proof of one’s powerlessness.

“How could I, a single human, fight the great unknown?” I ask myself in despair.  My first response is to shine light on the unknown and then know it.  But the unknowns are infinite in number and strength.  The process of getting to know an unknown leads to the discovery of more and more unknowns.  The never ending chase leads to exhaustion and then more reliance on depression’s comfortable embrace for sustenance to one’s self feeling good enough again before plunging back down into its depths.

Only once depression subsides (or it lets me take a break) do I get to a point where I can reflect on it as if it were one single packet of time.  Seeing depression for what it is helps me to combat it every time, but each new spring leads eventually to a new winter.  Feeling better just makes me wonder what darkness I will have to combat with in the future.  So I scan my environment, on edge waiting for my next trigger.  Picking up signals and using my imagination, as I walk along the streets I project what an evil seed would look like if it were to grow into a full sized monster.  Then suddenly, I am there again, forecasting my future using my everyday routine as a mechanism to prove that my worst fears will one day come true.  Not only do I waste all my time worrying about all the things that will never happen to me, I feel my hopes and dream ly in that same category as fantasies that I can never achieve.

Depression inverts fears and dreams.  It makes me believe my fears will come true and my desires won’t, even though there is simply no way of knowing what will happen.

On shooting yourself in the foot

On shooting yourself in the foot

Yesterday I faced myself as a loser, today I’ve accepted that I’m actually not very smart.  When I go at my own pace and can sort through dilemmas and problems in my own logical order, I make good decisions.  Toss in time constraints and add some pressure and my decision making skills leave me flat on my ass.

The heat suddenly turned up and I started seeing a mirage.  The devil showed me an image of everything I ever wanted and by pointing myself toward his smoke and mirrors, I shot myself in the foot.

The devil is gone and with him went the perfectly good opportunity I tricked myself into not wanting.  So I sit here no further along in my search than when I started just more bored and pissed at my situation.

Yes there are things to do and ways to pass time and keep busy.  But after a few credentials I’ve realized that there is no golden ticket.  All my work has gotten me no where more than to a place where I still make bad decisions under pressure.

 

 

 

My Puppy

My Puppy

I cry for her before she’s gone, My puppy.

She’s not a puppy anymore.  I won’t have her forever.

Is she my favorite of the dogs of my lifetime?  Perhaps yes perhaps no.

I will never say, who could ever compare, they are all my favorites.

I love them all so so deeply.

Just one for a lifetime, that’s all I need, but I am blessed with many.

Only a very few so far.

I can do the math.

One day my puppy will be gone.

I will have a new puppy, of any age, that I will also fall in love with.

I will keep her also until her dying day.

I bare this burn of mourning, perhaps too young.

It is easy with humans, they often bring death upon themselves.

Through old age or stupidity or mismanagement of the body.

But puppies, oh if I could have them all back.

I’d keep them forever.

They don’t know any better and they are so loveable.

I cry for her in advance, not because I expect she’ll be gone soon, but because I miss all the rest of my little sisters.

Such sweetness and fun lost yet more born to find.

 

 

On feeling emotionally blocked

On feeling emotionally blocked

I’m blocked.  I can’t finish anything, I can’t hold on to excitement for anything for more than a few weeks (the new boyfriend as the only exception).  Maybe it is just him that I want to focus on and it just makes everything else seem so blah.

I have all these ideas in my free time but I keep getting interrupted by work, family, friends… my real life.  My dream world receives no steady fuel, just stark reality.  I have no hope for excitement arriving in the near future.  Real world goals are not easy.  They are not laid out on a neat syllabus with set milestones for results.  Moral causes are immediately rationalized away as life rolls over them.

I know too much.  I see the next step in everything I have enjoyed and I cannot get there in any of them:

Dancing – teach, make costumes, and travel

Fashion – have a clothing company

reading/writing – write stories

Education – PhD

Career – CPA

Music – learn more about it and put together good performance music

Photography/Videography – learn to put it all together

Travel – need a profitable plan

Yoga is the only place where I have no place else to move forward with.  I think that is the essence of Yoga though to move peacefully with it.  Knowing that in itself make me feel I am at a progressive pace with it.

There is something about the next step in all that I listed above that shuts me down and makes me feel lazy.  It is too hard and I don’t trust myself to have the stamina to follow through.  In some areas I feel I need more education, like a fashion degree, to get me immersed in the culture of things.  But I have taken so so many classes and have a hard time showing up to all of them.  I feel compelled to rebel against the system in place and must gather my freedom.

In many ways I would only be taking a next step for myself with my own money.  That was a down fall of the CPA exam part II failure.  I had no one to be accountable to except myself and I was willing to waste more money on the task just to test my ability to focus. Sigh.  Honestly I don’t even like accounting.  It drains me but pays my bills, so getting my CPA is a difficult task because the subject is just like work and I can’t focus on that stuff for so much of my day.

I need to play.  That need counters my need for goals and productive routines.  I need to play.  It comes down to productive play… Maybe I’ll just let it all go and keep playing for the sake of playing.  Eventually I’ll get over my need to be productive in my free time.  I just wish that work didn’t suck up so much of my productivity and drive.  It could go two ways: 1) just accept it and put more energy into work, or 2) Keep stressing myself out and battling myself in my free time.

I don’t see a clear way out while I’m enslaved to my bills.  6 more months of debt to go.  I just need to remember to make life as awesome as possible in the mean time. Which in itself is another difficult task to add to my list.

On what it all keeps coming down to

On what it all keeps coming down to

It isn’t what people say at the beginning of a conversation that is on their minds.  Wait for it.  The bread and butter will reveal itself.  I know this because I know my own mind.  It never stops living.  My life is a mere continuation of my dreams, but in my waking life I are often interrupted by simple things such as people talking to me, cars needing to be driven, work needing to be done, and bodies needing to be taken care of.  In my sleep there is no stopping the thoughts, they manifest to their fullest without remorse or guilt for any harm or discomfort they cause me.  But I don’t mind, I like to roam free.  In watching my thoughts, I am able to see through the layers by not getting stuck on one topic, so for a second, I get a glimpse of what is bothering me way underneath it all.  Under those layers are the things I wouldn’t say until I was deep into the conversation.  Under the layers are the situations that I wish never happened, the things I wish I could take back, and the things I wish would leave me alone.  I see those issues there, but seeing is all I can do.  If I pull out a topic from the roots and thus finally rid myself of its nagging existence, another topic will fill into that spot.  The process is endless because the spots are always there, grasping issues to apply its emotions to.  Seeing through the layers, clearing them off, and restructuring was just the beginning.  It is overwhelming to climb what you thought was the tallest peak only to finally see how many more mountains are ahead of you.  It is the space they layers fill that needs adjustment.  How to adjust them, I don’t yet know.  From here I cannot see how deep they go because the surface life covers them for most of my day.  When the surface life is very smooth and thick, it crates a nice trail to follow that makes me not think about the foundation built below.  Maybe this is because the deep layers really do not matter so long as life is in order.  So I guess this one comes down to this:  When life is good, don’t spoil the fun.