Sometimes, I Cry

A basic personal update!

-4.0ed all my winter term classes

-father about a week from the bucket kicking

-boyfriend and I back together

Just over a month ago, I started unraveling. The boyfriend was an ex at that time, and still living with me. I broke down one night, and he put me back together. He’s the only person I’ve ever known in my life that I can cry in front of who makes it better, not worse, when comforting me. He fully vocalized all the reasons I broke up with him, and took responsibility for them, this without me really ever telling him. He did the impossible of boyfriend impossibilities: read my fucking mind when it came to “what’s wrong.” This is obviously a dangerous precedent for partners everywhere: reading the mind of an emotionally closed off woman can be done. We agreed to start over, and things have been better. I’ve agreed to communicate more, as I really don’t. I’m much better at stewing and dancing around an issue, spewing fonts of useless knowledge.

Christal, you’ll want to read this update:

I broke up with my boyfriend the day before yesterday.

I’ve slept better the past two nights, and both yesterday and this morning, I haven’t felt nauseated to the point of vomiting.

It was hard. It was the first time I’ve ever broken up with someone. It still is hard. I’ll see him sleeping with just such a look of upset on his face, and it’s heartbreaking. He’s coming around though.

He didn’t do anything wrong, and I didn’t cheat on him or anything, so as we don’t “hate each other” we’re going to still be living together until the lease is up (in August). Dear Sweet Baby Jesus.

He says he goes from feeling absolutely shit, to feeling really just good for a moment. He says he’s finally feeling motivated, because before he felt like he had all the time in the world, and now, (in my words), he’s got his biological imperative back.

In the nearly 5 years we’ve been together, the only time he’s actually done anything with his music was during a brief breakup about a year and a half ago. I hated myself for him not creating, I felt like a Yoko. He’s wanted to quit smoking, and while I do too, I’m less willing to just quit as he is, as in the past I’ve stopped sleeping and shitting when I’ve stopped, and wound up hospitalized for insanity every single time. He’s not going to “keep smoking for my sake” anymore. We’ve made a rule that smoking is only to be outside (I’ve wanted that as a rule for a while, and he’d never agree to it) and we’re both following it, and have both cut back in response.

The kicker for why I broke up with him: I didn’t want to have sex with him, at all. I’d be horny, he’d snuggle up to me, and I could feel my sex recoil. It’s not even that I don’t love him, or find him to be an attractive person, I just really don’t want to sleep with him. Without that desire, all my habitual affections started to feel hollow, and I hated myself.

It’s still hard not calling him baby, giving a quick kiss on the cheek, but I’m learning. He’s done more in the past couple hours than he has in the past 6 months, and even in how awesome he’s being through all this, I still don’t want to sleep with him or be his girlfriend anymore. It makes me feel like yes, I did make the right decision.

Oh, and I got a 99% on my last math exam. Yessss.

Modesty, Rape, Maths, and Muslim dining.

Tonight I will be going over to a new friends’ house for dinner!

We met in math class, and get along very well! She has been having problems with understanding the material though, my opinion being that of a language barrier, as she is from Saudi Arabia. Her English is very good, without even a strong detectable accent, but our prof tends to speak very fast, to the point where I too will have a blank-out of “What did he just explain?”, so I can only imagine how difficult it could be for her.

She is going to cook me delicious, delicious food, in exchange for me helping her with the coursework and homework!

We had a conversation about Muslim women covering their hair, and proclaimed me, “The first American I have explained it to that understands that [Muslim women covering their heads, hair, bodies, etc] is not a form of suppression!”

I forget about how the conversation started exactly, but it got into why I wore a hat or my head covered daily. “My hair is just very difficult, it is very curly and kinky and I don’t like to bother with it.”

“Really…” she probed.

“Well, the only day I have worn my hair down in school, I felt like I got too much attention, I just felt exposed and vulnerable.”

“Why’s that do you think?” she asked.

“Well, America is a very superficial culture, and when I have my hair down and done, it’s very, very curly as well as dark, but for all other features I’m white. I have gotten in the past ‘What are you?’ type questions, and it seems like my hair down is an invitation to touch it. I’d just rather not have to deal with the eyes and wonderings of others.”

She became very excited at this point, when she proclaimed me the first American to “get it”. I could consider that a compliment, but really I feel it’s a sad telling of the ignorance of many Americans to our own superficiality as humans. Our ignorance to the human, and straight male specifically, physiological response to signs of female fertility. Don’t get me wrong, women should be allowed to wear whatever we want, but I would say a woman not understanding that her dressing provocatively affects the heterosexual male body and brain near instantaneously, is a right dumbass, and I wish it were more norm for Western women to understand the power of their forms, and to take responsibility for it rather than constantly display it, and in many ways, abuse their power as women.

I could say to this, that by virtue of the fashion industry, many women have such a perverted sense of their body’s attractiveness, that they are ignorant to their form’s power.

It doesn’t matter how ugly you are, or think you are, in a crowd there is always at least one man who will want to fuck you. I would prefer to limit “that one’s” ability to be distracted by me, so he might carry on his day with proper blood flow to his brain. I don’t do this “for him” I do this “for me”, because I deserve to be observed as a human rather than as a trigger for an erection. Women are, in theory, allowed to wear whatever they please in the US, and that is all fine and dandy. The slut walks, great, women shouldn’t be raped just because they dress provocatively, men just shouldn’t rape. But at the same time, we should look at the evolutionary history of men and women as animals, and realize that just as much as women are force-fed images of impossible ideals of sexual, perfect women, men are too, surrounded by these idols of female fertility. We are animals, and as animals we have hormones, and each individual man wanting to spread his seed has his own individual breaking point. That point is pushed further and further to erection with every image of a sexual woman in media, which in time of masturbatory appropriateness is fine, porn is fine. But in public, in school or at work specifically, when we as humans need to concentrate, I would call it inconsiderate for a woman not to understand that as animals, she is advertising fertility when she dresses sexy, in a way that can and does push the heterosexual male button to have blood flow directed to the genitals.

This could be just as distracting to the bisexual/pansexual/homosexual woman, and as a woman who has a hard time not looking at fine asses and tittes when in public, I would also prefer exercise of modesty in situations where I have to concentrate. Don’t get me wrong, I love leggings, I love wearing leggings, but I recognize I have an ass, a large, perky ass at that, and I can tell when I wear leggings that some men and women can’t help but look at my ass. That is not an excuse for rape, but I am pressing a hormonal button in observers when I dress provocatively. Each person has their breaking point, a number of times that button can be pressed before the body takes over, and many times that breaking point results in rape, and many times that rape is of a woman who is not dressed in an advertising way. One doesn’t have to be dressed in a sexy way for a horny person with low to no self control to realize that the body is there, under the clothes.

I would prefer if I could not press the button in others, if all women could attempt to never press the button in their fellow humans, unless they do want to have sex, right then and there. Modesty is courtesy to humanity, as animals attempting civilized society.

Too, that we teach proper sex education, perhaps even some form of meditation to have further control over our physiological responses, but really, that’s not happening, that likely won’t happen, so maybe you should consider the fact that when you have explosive diarrhea you are going to shit everywhere whether you like it or not, and a boner isn’t that different.

My first class is today at noon, then another at one, and then another from 5.30-10 pm.

I’ve been up since three.

I had a nightmare about a mutated banana in the fridge, that I tried to take off a “growth” part of, and then it started to hiss out an odd mist of purple-blue “wrongness”, and bugs started to crawl out of the vegetable drawer and into the banana, and back and forth, until the banana turned into one of these lovely creatures:

Then, I was outside (in dreamworld) and there were two giant spherical spaceships. At first I was all “ALIENZ” but then I calmed down and told myself “Those are likely just top-secret government ships built by ex-nazis.” Then a third ship that looked like the Enterprise showed up, and slowly started heading away from me and the spherical spaceships, and all was copacetic, as they would have blasted the shit out of those orbs if they were really dangerous, or at least left faster, or something.

The night before last, I dreamed of a volcano going off in AK, and at the same time some ancient animals had time traveled to our present. I lived in a van by the river, and was about to fuck an old HS friend, and decided I should wash myself in the river pre-coitus as I was likely rank. Then I started to remember why I shouldn’t fuck this old friend, was there someone else in my life? is there someone else in my life? And I woke up and there was my boyfriend. I don’t live in a van by a river, I live in a house, with my boyfriend, and I shower, and go to school.

Thank sweet caterpillar, school starts up again today.

The illusive beast of “logical theism”

I refuse to believe (ha), that all xtians, all theists, are lacking logic.

But, gal darn-it, the more I speak to theists I know, the more I find any personal attachment to any sort of theism illogical.

I don’t think I should blame the concept of an all sweeping, all encompassing, intelligence that is or could be somehow beside and greater than the singular human consciousness and experience for the individual human consciousness’ opinions on what that intelligence or entity might be or entail.

But, that is becoming difficult. I would like to say “No, it’s the church and institution and history of many, many theists united that create the illogical theists I meet today. The format is flawed, the format is tainted, and in the individual’s fear, and weakness, they choose to look at the idea of God as something the nullifies all of proven reality! It wasn’t all like this once! Science, observable reality, and a God can co-exist in a single person! It does in me, doesn’t it?”

Does it? Do I still believe in something that humanity would historically label a monotheistic God?

About a year ago, I fell in love with the term ignostic, and unlike my personal history with descriptive terms of my beliefs, political and spiritual, this has stuck and still sticks.

“Do you believe in God?”

What is God?

“God is everything!” yes “God is in every person and every star!” yes “God is reality outside of the singular human perspective, outside and encompassing all of time and known space!” yes

“God is Jesus Christ!”

Maybe there once was a guy who was born, and maybe that guy was a philosopher beyond those of his time and area. Maybe, he had a direct line to some all-encompassing singular consciousness that has existed and does exist. But if there was a guy who was a manifestation of the infinite totality by some sort of massive weird ass shit, his name wasn’t Jesus, his name never was Jesus, and saying you believe that Jesus is God, and only Jesus is God, and God’s name is Jesus, well fuck, I believe you believe in a falsehood. I think you are trapped in a machine of falsehood and imposed delusion. If there is a Satan, I think it is manifested in you. I think you are the banality of evil. I think you play the victim while slaughtering all hope for a better future reality. I think you are a fucking pod person, I think you are a single link in the chain that is everything that is wrong with the world. I think you chose appearances over reality, I think you are constantly running from yourself. I don’t think you really care about what “God” might be, or “Christ” might be, because I don’t think you could be talking like you are about “Jesus” if you really did. I think you are lazy with your mind, and just want to belong to something established, whether it be a good thing or not, and that you blindly believe the terms you use and the ideas you hold can only be good by circular logic, just to feel special for once in your life. I think you are the real life manifestation of the werewolf, or vampire, or zombie; that there is a parasitic feedback loop inside of your head that makes you a monster, and that your hunger is destroying your humanity, and giving credence to all your personal foibles, because man was born into original sin, and really, somehow, believing and giving yourself to a concept attached to an historically incorrect name, an historically incorrect story, and a perverted text, somehow excuses your past, somehow makes the things you have done gone just by asking. And the things you might do that are “wrong”, that are “sinful”, just yell and beg and plead in your head to this historically incorrect name and molded concept to “make you better”. Don’t confront yourself, don’t confront your mortality, pass the buck to Jesus, and if he doesn’t help you, you just aren’t believing hard enough, or he just doesn’t think it’s “the right time” for you to get past your hardships. Don’t try anything else, don’t think for yourself, don’t work to make yourself better, not unless Jesus tells you to, not unless you know it is what God wants.

Maybe all Christians aren’t like this, but I know at least one, and one is enough for me to say, Christianity can and does ruin people.