I have always had a crush on someone or other. So far none of my crushes have been good ideas. Wonder if that’ll ever change?
I hereby start the theory that the Loch Ness Monster makes a sound that is identical to the opening of the Rolling Stones’ classic hit “Sympathy for the Devil”. Including the bongos.
If I could be a cartoon character I’d be Binky from Matt Groening’s Life in Hell because I am, already. No LJ quiz is necessary.
I’m a pretty angry person a lot of the time, but I haven’t been physically violent since I got jumped by a bum in 1995. The mere suggestion of violence leaves me twitchy and unbalanced for a week or so. Even violence in movies makes me feel like I’m the one who got beaten up.
I’ve seen a big plane crash and a suicide, both before adulthood. I still like airplanes and I’m still against suicide.
When people tell me I should do X or Y or Z about the problems I’m so worked up about, I get upset. Sometimes this is just because advice is generically upsetting. Also, quite often they’re suggesting consolation prizes of various kinds instead of actual happiness. “People like you sometimes make do with this prosthesis!” or “Sometimes hapless losers in your position go to a special kind of meeting in a rehab facility and receive binders full of information on how to be mediocre!” I call this Special Olympics Gold Medal Syndrome. I hate broken shit, mediocre stuff, and all the other consolations given out to losers. This is, in fact, nasty snobbery on my part, and also a fine defense against actually fixing anything. I’m rather proud of it, as one might be proud of a particularly outstanding goiter.
When I’ve read a long book, I write in the same style as that writer for a while afterwards, sometimes for months. It’s like garlic sweating out.
We live as we dream, alone.