Sunday, June 23, 2013

Written by You K. Who

Sometimes I write to piss people off.  I've done it from as far back as I can remember.  Knowing that I have the ability to use words to challenge perception is something I realized when I was just a wee'un.  Pissing people off is really just a side effect of having one's perception challenged.  But it was something I really got off on as a kid.

What made it all the more fun was that I've always been pretty dark.  There are thinks that go on in my head that I have never put on paper or given a voice.  When I was a kid, though, I would say things.  The shit would just kind of fall out of my face before I had a chance to think.  And those things would kind of.  Well.  Freak people out.  At the time, I'd just giggle uncontrollably, not really understanding exactly why it scared the shit out of people, only knowing that the looks on their faces were hilarious.

Fifth grade.  Mrs. Ramsey's English class.  We were supposed to be doing some sort of menial assignment in groups of 5 or 6 students.  I happened to get the group with the Righteous Twins.  You know the ones.  Them.  I'm babbling on about whatever it was I used to babble about, and all of a sudden I say something about "almighty Satan."  I don't remember the exact conversation or my exact words, all I know is that those words were said with a flourish of body language and an incredibly creepy smile on my face.  Almost as if it were choreographed, the Righteous Twins stood up, turned around, and ran.  Literally RAN away from me.  The kids who stayed just sorta stared.  I, of course, am falling out of my chair laughing.

Did I know exactly what I was doing or was it a case of painful social ineptitude?  I don't know.  Maybe both.  All I know is that I have not matured a whole lot since then.  My kid went to church with a friend a couple weeks ago.  He texted me in the middle of it to tell me how uncomfortable he felt.  I told him to run up to the pulpit and holler "I am the devil and I am here to do the devil's work!"  Thankfully, my kid is much less socially retarded than I am.  I probably would have done it.

Believe it or not, none of it has anything to do with my religious beliefs.  Actually, there are probably 3 or 4 people on the whole of the Earth who know what my religious beliefs are.  What I do and why is nothing more or less than to challenge perception.  Not because I give a shit about human beings but because it is fun to piss them off.

Point blank.

My kid's been trying to do just that for the past 4 weeks.  One of his summer semester classes is called "Storytelling."  As soon as he saw the word in the summer class catalog, the look on his face was one I have had a thousand times.  Yet every time he turns in an assignment, all he gets are comments like "Amazing!" and "Wow!" and "You're so talented!" followed by an A+.  He couldn't be more pissed.  In his mind, all that means is that he hasn't sunk low enough yet.  And for my offspring, all that means is that babies are fixina hafta die.

I have decided I am going to write under a pseudonym.  It's the only way.  To get these thinks on paper.  To sink down into the very soul of the depravity that lights my fire is going to require some serious anonymity.  For me to let go.  Disregard mores and taboos.  Relinquish my responsibility over hurt feelings and sullied innocence.  To go beyond the social censorship that I never developed in the way that comes so naturally to other humans.

My little sci-fi adventure has turned into 70,000 words of everything that is wrong with humanity, challenging the line between man and animal, then pulling back and finding that overgrown third tine on the fork in the road where there is no man and there is no animal, just sickness.  Most humans refuse to go down that road.  I refuse to ignore it.  But that isn't the challenge.  The challenge is finding your way back.  That's the adventure.

And so.  I have decided that you will never see my name on any book.  My kid is convinced that people won't stop at burning my books until they've tied me up and burned me, too.

That sounds like it might hurt. 


Thursday, June 20, 2013

Nobody Would Stop To Save Her

I have come to the realization that I am underdeveloped.  It explains everything.  My emotional immaturity.  My height.  My inability to understand and relate to grownup stuff.  I think that's probably the same thing as emotional immaturity, but shut up.  

When I was a kid, the doctor tried to get my mom to put me on growth hormones.  She rightly refused.  My mom's only 4'8".  It's not like I didn't come by it honestly.  It's not a medical problem or a diagnosis.  I am just not tall.  Why does that require fixing?  

Grrrr.   I went off point there for a moment.  Anyway.  Maybe I AM actually underdeveloped?  Stunted maybe?  I'm normally proportioned.  I've got plenty of tits and ass.  I didn't get my first period until I was 16, though.  But who's counting?  

All that meant to me was that at 15, I could rack up the notches on my bedpost without having to worry about getting knocked up.  

Anyway.   It's the only way I can explain certain things about my personality.  Things like my adverse reaction to worky jobs.  And adult definitions of "successful."  My refusal to get an old lady haircut.  Ever.  The sheer terror the idea of getting old evokes.  My relief that my kids are now old enough that I don't have to do grownup Mom shit anymore.  

GODDAMN.  Mom shit is so stupid.  I always thought glove compartments made much better diaper bags.  And if it didn't fit in the glove compartment, the kid doesn't need it.  Strollers are stupid when it's much faster just to sling the little bug over your shoulder and keep marchin.  Bottles?  Fuck that.  I had free food that didn't have to be prepared and never resulted in dirty dishes.  Why would any woman be averse to that??  

Taking them to school?  Bullshit.  That meant I had to get up early.  So.  Homeschooling it was.  It was only later on that I slapped together a more socially acceptable reason for it.  Truth.  Waking up 5-year-old babies while it's still dark outside to send them off to a classroom full of people you don't know is downright HORSESHIT.  So, I just quit.  

Responsibilities?  Fuck.  If my bank didn't do the automatic bill paying thingy, every single bill we have would be completely forgotten.  What?  You mean you have to pay to turn your lights and the faucet on?  Why did no one tell me this??!!  Yeah.  It would be a disaster.  

Even now.  Andrew walked into the living room a few minutes ago and asked if he could go hang out with his friends.  I got this blank look on my face.  Sorta like, "Why the fuck are you asking me?"  Kid's got a driver's license.  He's got money.  He knows the rules.  At least wave at me when you walk out the door so I know you're leaving.  Otherwise, I don't give a good goddamn what the fuck you do.  


It explains everything.  

Wait.  No it doesn't.  I also have hair on my toes.  And I run barefoot.  I rarely leave my house.  And I have once again succumbed to the filthy temptations of pipeweed.  

Holy shit. 

 I'm a fucking Hobbit.



Saturday, June 8, 2013

Fealty Oblique

I have been accused of "not participating in the family" before.  This is not a new thing.  It was years ago, and I am using this blog with the chance that this could possibly be read by family members, so clearly it is not an issue, or accusation, that truly bothers me.  More than anything, I find it funny.  My BFF were talking about this the other day.  And I guess I just feel like giving it some text.

Partly because of the way I was raised, and partly because of my own personality, I have never felt any kind of blood loyalty.  That seems to be quite a foreign concept for many people.  I do understand.  I mean, there are thousands of years of cultures developing upon a foundation of blood loyalty.  Family comes above all else.  You have a responsibility toward your family.  You love them no matter what.  You're expected to maintain those relationships.  Some cultures go farther than others, but there is some function of that mindset in all of them.

My brain has never worked that way.  Never.  Not ever.  And to be 100% honest, I have trouble understanding that concept at all.  In my mind, I have no responsibility to anyone but myself, my husband, and my children.

In my mind, I have no responsibility to maintain any relationships that are not emotionally fulfilling to me.

In my mind, I have no responsibility to maintain contact with anyone I don't like.  Anyone to whom I am completely apathetic.  Anyone who, were they not related to me, I would never cross in the course of my life because we live- psychologically, emotionally, mentally- in completely different worlds.

Uncles, aunts, cousins, even grandparents, even parents, brothers, sisters, great aunts, steps, second cousins twice removed, on and on it goes.

The scope of my emotional focus is quite narrow.  One could even say I have tunnel vision in that regard.  I really don't think I have the mental capacity to maintain relationships with such a tangled web of what is, to me at least, a seemingly random gaggle of people all tossed loosely together by blood and marriage.  If I tried (and I have), everything and everyone I actually DO owe my loyalty to, will suffer.  Including myself.

Why should I be expected to maintain a relationship with an aunt or uncle I don't even really like?  And who I know don't really like me?  Why should I be expected to send 100 Christmas cards every year, complete with some hokey-ass family picture, to a bunch of people I see once a year, or less, or never?  WHY?

I love my mother.  She is probably my best friend.  That is why I love my mother.  Not because she is my mother.  But because she is an amazing person who did amazing things for her daughters and continues to do amazing things every day.  That is why I love her.  Were she a piece of shit, I'd have no qualms about walking away mumbling "have a nice life" under my breath.  No qualms whatsoever.  None.  I've done it before.  It means nothing to me.  Nothing at all.

Heartless?  Absolutely NOT.  As a matter of fact, it is a tribute to those who deserve all the heart I have that I am able to do this.  Otherwise, the people I love the most would be loved with a fractured heart, one that has been fractured under duress by blood loyalty, the feeling that I must continue to care for someone who is not worth my time.

Why should we spend time in our day having conversations with those with whom we have NOTHING in common?  They aren't bad people.  They've done nothing to me.  They are just.... aside from being related to me..... well..... they are just nothing at all.

Why should I use my time and my money to attend their weddings?  Or reunions?  Or get-togethers?  Or anything?  Taking time and money to do those things would be taking time and money away from those who actually deserve it, those I actually love.

It shouldn't really be that shocking to anyone that I feel this way.  From the day I was born, I have never traveled paved paths.  Aside from the few who understand me and love me, it has always been to the chagrin of others.  And once again, I just frankly do not care.

I've never understood why apathy is such a hard concept for most people to understand.  There are times in life when the ability to embrace apathy is the closest thing to true freedom we will ever experience.

To those in my family I love, I would give my life.   To those I don't, please don't take offense.  It isn't that I dislike you.  It is nothing more or less than an act of self-preservation.  I simply cannot see you at all.


Sunday, June 2, 2013

Half-Assed Shit About Annoying Verbiage With a Cool Song At The End

I understand that effluvient is not a word.  However, effluvium is.  I don’t understand why it cannot be accepted that effluvient would the be adjective form of effluvium.  Effluvia is its plural.  It would only be natural that effluvient would be its descriptive cousin, yes? 

Interestingly, this has bothered me for quite some time.  Other things bother me.  Words that people use incorrectly bother me. 

Regime v. Regimen-  C’mon.  Really?  Doctors do it all the time.  I feel every nerve ending in my ass stand on end and all I want to do is slap a bitch. 

Melenic v. Melanotic-  What the fuck?  One has to do with blood in your shit, the other has to do with the color in your skin.  Sorry.  Not even close fuckers.  Just go ahead and die, please?

Tympanic v. Tympanitic-  One is the sound a drum makes.  The other describes your belly when you’re bloated.  PLEASE STOP BREATHING NOW YOU FUCKING IDIOTS. 

Other shit that pisses me off?  Words I hate. 

Guffaw-  I’m sorry.  It’s just the dumbest word ever in the history of dumb words.  DUMB I TELL YOU!

Comeuppance-  Gimme a fucking pretentious break.  Doesn’t “That motherfucker got exactly what he deserved” sound much more interesting?

Vulva-  Ok.  Just stop.  Please.  It’s no different that describing the head of one’s dick as the “urethral meatus.”  I’d just…. You know…. Much rather not.  Pussy.  Cunt.  Snatch.  Twat.  Cooch.  Hell, even Vajayjay is better than VULVA.  God….. it’s sounds like that one aunt you get stuck talking to at every family reunion… you know, the one who brings a jello mold or pistachio salad.  Oh God! Here comes Aunt Vulva!!  RUUUUN!!!!