The Sky is Purple

Some days, I feel like I might as well be spending my time arguing that the sky should be purple instead of blue. Lot of good that does. Especially since, even if it meant all the world to me, I couldn’t make it purple. It’s blue. So why bother fretting about it?

But blue’s such an ordinary color! Everyone claims its their favourite, but you know they’re probably just trying to fit in. It’s the color of sadness, and it’s so bloody glaring when there aren’t any clouds.

Why can’t the sky be purple? Purple is my favourite colour; it’s more interesting than blue. Regal and cooling, with a hint of red for warmth.

Then again, I’ve heard that the sky really is purple, only our eyes perceive the longer (?) wave lengths of the blue. (Maybe whoever told me this was full of crap, but that’s beside the point). So maybe the sky really is purple, and we just can’t see it because our eyes fall short of perceiving it. Maybe all my fretting isn’t just pointless because I can’t change the colour of the sky, but also because it’s always been purple and I just can’t see it.

Still, it sure looks pretty fricking blue.

Cognitive Dissonance

Cognitive dissonance is an uncomfortable feeling caused by holding two contradictory ideas simultaneously. The “ideas” or “cognitions” in question may include attitudes and beliefs, the awareness of one’s behavior, and facts. The theory of cognitive dissonance proposes that people have a motivational drive to reduce dissonance by changing their attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors, or by justifying or rationalizing their attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors. (Wikipedia, of course)

Often, I feel like, in order to be a Christian, one has to exist in a constant state of cognitive dissonance. I should believe in a merciful God, who orders that all of certain groups of people should be wiped out so that His people won’t be influenced by their gods. I should believe in a just God, who lets children suffer and persecutors become Pauls. I should believe in a God Who fills, when our society if full of people who try to believe in Him, yet can’t seem to shake the oppression of Image or Success or depression.

On Friday, I tried to explain to my therapist that I want to put others’ needs before my own, and I want to WANT it in a way that doesn’t make me a doormat. It didn’t go well. Because I see people who give in all the time, but not because they want to- they do it out of fear, the same way that people act selfishly out of fear.

If I don’t do what this person wants, I’m afraid they’ll turn on me or abandon me. If I don’t remind everyone how funny my purposeful act of selflessness was, they might start to think that I’m a freak. Or they won’t even notice it (me).

If I don’t demand what I need, no one else is going to look out for me. The squeaky wheel gets the grease; if you throw a tantrum, they’ll give you what you want just to shut you up. If I didn’t demand petty things I want to get by, then I’d have to face all the things I need but can’t find the nerve to ask for (people might think I’m weak..)

Maybe I’m just distorting everything. I told my shrink that, CLEARLY I must be distorting things, otherwise it would be working. I’d be happier, or at least have a sense of doing right. Whereas now, all I see are people made “doormats” because nobody’s acting responsible enough to really THINK about what they’re asking of people. I become a doormat and start resenting everyone, because why should they all get to be assholes, when I try all the time to be nice and fail miserably and then make myself miserable anyway? But enough of that.

In conclusion, a list. Other delusions that are essential to my functioning day-to-day in a way that makes me at least appear sane:
1. Saying I’m a crazy person (because I’m not really THAT bad, that they can tell)
2. If I say something’s going to happen, it won’t, so we’re safe.
3. I’m starting to be okay with the idea of never (ever) being in a romantic relationship.
4. The fact that I’ve sabotaged every potential relationship does not indicate that I am some how, severely, messed up.
5. Everything will eventually make sense- like at the end of a story.
6. People are basically good, even though they seem to act like jerks to convince me otherwise.
7. I’m pretty much the luckiest brat ever, and therefore indestructible
8. I’ll write later.
9. I should have let Billsteve kiss me, even though I wasn’t that into hiim. I should have kissed Peter, even though I don’t think I could make him happy. I shouldn’t have asked Joshua to write me a letter (even though he probably never cared much anyway). All this mess was my doing, therefore (if nothing else) at least I had control over it all.
10. I can keep living off the faint hope that someday things might be better, might make more sense. Because there’s nothing else for me to do (and believe me, I’ve tried some pretty stupid options)

Because I, Am A Crazy Person

I also just got two new books in the mail, and have several more coming! I tell you man, when it rains, it freaking pours (hey, didn’t I write a story with that title once? man, I’m cliche! )…

In Honour Of My First Papercut

I thought I’d tell you of the Trials of the Scanner.

This is the tale of heinous scanner,
That repeatedly jammed in a terrible manner.
It grieved me in light of the dreaded mountain of mail
Gathered from the doorstep to this paperwork hell
Never-ending…

Hehe… okay, fine, it wasn’t QUITE that dramatic- I just felt like tying Atonement in because I re-watched it yesterday. Seriously though, I have about a zillion bits of mail that need to get scanned into the computer, and I swear, that evil scanner must have jammed every half hour or so. And, of course, one couldn’t just unjam it, nooooo. One has to commence a magical sequence of clicking things off and programs off and on and trying the same paper only for it to jam again and… I tell you, Oh! How I would have loved to take a baseball bat to that stupid thing. Wouldn’t have helped much though, because I don’t know how I’d finish scanning all that mail without a scanner, hehe…

Protected: No problem, or How My Worldview Shoves Its Way To The Surface Though Frustration

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Random Thoughts About Grad School. And Interviews.

On Grad Schools:

This I tell you, and I tell you with the hopes that you’ll learn from my stupid mistakes: If you are AT ALL considering continuing your studies after undergrad in a field you did not major in, for the love of Jasper Gabriel bon Jingles- MINOR IN IT!! My faculty adviser told me minors weren’t worth anything unless I was sure I wanted to study that subject in grad school. And, given the fact that I wasn’t forward-thinking enough to be considering grad school, (mostly because I hate application essays), I didn’t minor in anything. Stupid, stupid me.

After all, I knew I was interested in film studies and psychology- but instead of sticking to either of those minor programs, I took more English courses (Literary Criticism and Shakespeare) and a not-required Biblical Studies course (Exodus-Deuteronomy) because it was taught by a professor of uber brilliance. Do I regret taking these classes? No, I enjoyed all three (well, not Shakespeare so much as a class, but I was in Oxford at the time, so I would have been happy to study ancient native Haitian basket weaving… or whatever). But wish I had also made room to take more psych courses (even if APU’s psych program SUCKS TO HIGH HEAVEN… regardless of how blindly proud they are of it. I’m sure the faculty members are all very nice people…). Because now I find myself staring at MA program aps and banging my head against the wall because I haven’t taken the prerequisites. Could I trudge my way through the information at the Advanced Level- sure, if I really put my mind to it. But they don’t know that, and that stinkith. So then what? Online classes or MJC? Yuckiness… Gr.

On Interviews:
Due to the fact that I once (ignorantly) aspired to be an Executive Assistant in the film industry, I have gone to many, many interviews. Perhaps this is indicative of my resume’s brilliance (since a resume’s purpose is to get you the interview), or maybe Oxford’s too shiny to resist, or they chose aps at random. But, I never did get an assistant job (and, after hearing how Sam’s bosses treated her, I stopped applying). Regardless, I’ve faced many an interviewer, and this is what I’ve noticed:

Bad:
1. When he/she picks you out of a crowd as “the one wearing all black?”
2. Ending rambling sentences with “and, um… yea. so on?”
3. Sending out mass emails to potential employers in the “To:” section instead of the “BCC:” section (one actually sent me an email back, all insulted and whatnot. Er, sorry? My bad…)
4. When the interview is really short.
5. Going home and deleting all your info on a potential employer because you’re convinced the interview went horribly. They still might call you back.
6. Sweat. It’s just a pain. It screws up your bangs and makes your feet smell weird. And there’s little to nothing you can do about it- RAHH!!

This afternoon, I learned that:
1. Group interviews suck
2. I am not so great at making a good impression when there are three other interviewees around the same little table, and only one question is actually asked pertaining to job-related experiences, etc.
3. Some people, when asked if they have any questions, will ask the interviewer what her favorite color is. (I spell this without “u”s because it was a freaking stupid question)
4. At a group interview, you will get interrupted by loud-mouths. And they might even pretend not to notice that they talked over you.

In my experience, no one cares if:
1. You don’t tailor your resume drastically for each position. Of course, it should show that you can do the job (ie. have previously answered a phone and/or spoken to a human being in real life).
2. You’re nervous. They probably can’t even see you shaking, so grin and ignore it.
3. You spill your purse contents everywhere- especially if the interview is for an internship that they barely pay you anything to do.
4. You call them by their first name. They seemed to expect me to, at least in LA. Don’t know what it’s like up here in hick country though… teh hehe…

So, now I have to figure out how to take prereq classes and write a statement of purpose, as well as still picking programs to apply to. And I start working at a new job tomorrow. This is a good thing but…. AHHhhhhh… *hides*

Top Five

Things that make me queasy these days:

1. the amount of $$ left in my bank account
2. Rom-Coms.
3. My mother lecturing me about how pretty much everything I do/eat is “bad for POS”
4. Glenn Beck (particularly when he’s all choked up)
5. the toxic smell that Jasper creates in his litter box at 12:11 just about every night.

Oiy vay. Hehe…

From “Called Out of Darkness”

“His was–after all–the Divine Mind which had made the miracle of the Big Bang, and created the DNA only lately discovered in every physical cell. His was the Divine Mind that had created the sound of the violin in the Beethoven concerto; His was the Divine Mind that made snowflakes, idle flames, birds soaring upwards, the unfolding mystery of gender, and the gravity that seemingly held the Universe together–as our planet, our single little planet, hurtled through space.

“Of course. If He could do all that, naturally He knew the answer to every conceivable question before it was formulated. He knew the worst suffering that a human soul could feel. Nothing was wasted with Him because He was the author of all of it. He was the Creator of creatures who felt anger, alienation, rage, despair. In this great novel that was His creation, He knew every plot, every character, every action, every voice, every syllable, and every jot of ink.”
(Anne Rice)

Revolution, Beatle’s Style:

You say you want a revolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it’s evolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
But when you talk about destruction
Don’t you know that you can count me out
Don’t you know it’s gonna be all right
all right, all right

You say you got a real solution
Well, you know
We’d all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well, you know
We’re doing what we can
But when you want money
for people with minds that hate
All I can tell is brother you have to wait
Don’t you know it’s gonna be all right
all right, all right
Ah

ah, ah, ah, ah, ah…

You say you’ll change the constitution
Well, you know
We all want to change your head
You tell me it’s the institution
Well, you know
You better free you mind instead
But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao
You ain’t going to make it with anyone anyhow
Don’t you know it’s gonna be all right
all right, all right
all right, all right, all right
all right, all right, all right

Dead Man

I remember when Jars of Clay’s CD “Good Monsters” was first released. I was, essentially, obsessed with it. It was a bit idolic, but at the time I was more than a little disoriented. I still adore their music, but their music is not what this post is about.

It’s about that one line from “Dead Man” that I used to particularly love: “Do you know what I mean when I say I don’t want to be alone?”

But now, when I think of that song, I can help but think of how many times in the past year I’ve wanted to just scream at everyone to leave me the hell alone. To stop interrupting me with nothing to say, simply because they’re bored. To stop offering their opinion on how I should be conducting my life, getting a job, choosing a grad program, getting a date. Everyone’s got a goddamn opinion, and I’m sick of most of them. Especially the ones coming from people who I’d like to be able to respect, but don’t because their faults glare out at me like their announced in neon over their heads. There are very few people who I love in a sense other than the “required” loving of all people. There are even fewer who I respect, or like. (I have a hard time liking people I don’t respect, and maybe that makes sense).

There’s a chance this makes me a bad Christian- no. No, that’s not what I mean. I mean that I dread that my frustration with people and desire to embrace my introverted nature is contrary to what Christ would want from me. I do fear that.

But Jesus didn’t say that I have to put my family before everyone and everything else, and that if I don’t tell them every choice I make, and think/function as part of a group. And that I’m making people worry too much and running out of chances when I change my mind. No, no I’m pretty sure that all came from my mother. Or someone a lot like her.

I have no idea. NO DAMN IDEA what living like Christ actually looks like. And sometimes I get sick of fretting about it. Because I already feel like I have my very nature and personality against me-because it doesn’t FIT with what contemporary upper middle class American society thinks a college graduate should be like. And I’m sick of fighting myself, of calling myself “defective” because I don’t seem to be very good at this whole being alive thing.

Fuck that. I savor listening to Sufjan and the rain and sitting out in my car reading by street lamp. And tea with milk and sugar. And bizarre encounters in restrooms that remind me that God’s right in the middle of all this, working out the kinks we force on ourselves and showing us how to love others while still begging us to love ourselves. No, not! love ourselves selfishly, but for fucksake, love and treat and know ourselves to be Beloved and Beyond All Measurable Worth because He Loves us. And, well, shit, He loves everyone else too, so how is it that we dare to hate them, how is it that I continue to hate myself, the way that we/I do?

Anyway, all that to say: I fucking know how to be alive. Because I know peace and understanding and sorrow and how to love the feel of cat fur or the smell of rain and still (sometimes) forgive myself for not practicing guitar today. Maybe I’m not making any sense, maybe I’m an over-emotional, self-righteous asshole (or something less dramatically self-deprecating and therefore true). But I do know what it’s like to be alive, to LIVE.

And it isn’t in sitting around my room watching tv online because I’m so terrified I’m screw up to let myself think about anyone but fictional characters that I adore. But maybe it comes out of that, through that. Maybe out of and through all the tromping around those dark forests full of cardboard trees I begin to understand that I’m allowed to need to be alone and undisturbed to find my peace of mind. Or that I’m allowed to freak out and be irrational sometimes. That I’m not even SUPPOSE TO BE this person I think they think I should be. Wouldn’t that be nice?

This is not what I had intended to write.