But by the time I made this title, I felt better!

I felt bad again today about my ability to contribute to conversations.

I mentioned in the first two paragraphs of last Sunday's post my struggle with being heard and squirming my way into a group conversation. Tonight I was at a small Christmas party hosted by the family of an old friend (Charlie), and I knew about half the people there. And by small party I mean, like, regular-sized, maybe 15 people. Chairs and couches were arranged in a rough circle in the living room. Not a bad setup, right? Right. Smaller-group conversations occurred mostly, but they segued smoothly in and out of larger-group conversations. The setup and logistics were perfectly fine, leaving me to discover: I don't actually know what to say in conversations.

Obviously this not absolutely true, I get along with people and I say things. But a couple specific incidents stuck out to me as pretty bad conversation by yours truly. Here's one:

I'd been wanting to talk to Charlie one-on-one about Avatar and what its noble savage theme could be good for, so I followed him into the kitchen where he was preparing some kind of lovely dip. Charlie hadn't seen Avatar so I planned to focus on the theme apart from the film. I began with saying how Avatar was good or something like that, then described my concept of the noble-savage-vs.-white-man's-burden theme and how it filled me with emotion, and the problem I had applying that theme to my life. Because in my estimation, all of that kind of thing happened centuries ago. Charlie had some intelligent things to say about American Imperialism, and how that is relevant. I had absolutely nothing to say to that. Maybe I just don't have the knowledge? Or maybe I just couldn't think of it fast enough. After the conversational lull caused by me, I started up again with something like "I caught myself feeling anti-human after watching it, because I thought about the patterns in human history of greed and conquest," except I don't think I sounded that smart. Now, there was where my habit became noticeable: too many I-statements! I have this thing when I talk to Charlie where I always end up talking about myself, or at any rate phrasing everything like it is about me.

Anyway, so that's how to over-think and write a paragraph's-worth about a three-minute conversation. After writing it out like that I'm not actually too worried any more. I recommend diary-writing to everyone, it is not only a way to sort out your thoughts but you can look back at tiny feelings and incidents that you've forgotten. I have over a hundred posts spread out over all of 2009 and the last few months of 2008. It is very fun to read them, these personal observations written by a younger me.

I was going to include a paragraph about how I botched a babe-encounter, but really it went OK. I felt nervous, but feeling nervous is not a botch, it is a feeling. I was smiles and enthusiasm, even though I had nothing to say, and really, what was I supposed to say? I was on my way out. Smiles and enthusiasm are OK.

Uh. Yeah. So, see you all next post. Well not actually. Whatever.

Too good

Watched Avatar yesterday. New movie, very good, don't want to talk about it. It was too good to talk about.

Just see it, OK? I know it looks lame with the blue aliens and the badass Colonel (who actually is pretty stupid), but you should just see it because I am not going to talk about it.

Fantasy and sci-fi are legitimate settings, and when used properly they can be vital in getting an important message across.

OK now I'm actually done.

My mum's gonna love paragraph 5

I just finished flipping through some old posts on this here blog. It's amazing how much I've forgotten about 2009 and 2008... so many complex emotions and situations that simply disappeared into the gutters of my subconscious.

My blog-writing style has changed. I get less comments now, and they are my only indication of reader activity... I wonder if very many people read this at all any more.

I suppose I update way less. Also, I might go so far as to say that my blog is less personal. More secretive. I don't spill all anymore, I think about who has access to the posts (ie, everyone with access to the internet) and tone it down a little. And I guess, really, I have much less to spill. I am more together. I am doing OK. I'm no longer tearing myself apart with ill-motivation and severe sleep deprivation, no longer struggling to be happy with who I am. I'm moving on from stalled-out confusion to seeking things out that make me happy.

Such as setting the gears in motion to go back to my old job. I know, I complained about it a lot last year, but I am older now. I am a year older now. Today I called the Boys and Girls Club office and it sounds like they'll take me back full time no problem. Hush, though, don't tell the co-op yet... I plan to give notice at the end of this week, if things work out.

I am happier now because I don't brutally beat myself up anymore. This is going to sound really lame, but when I was at the high school registering for math again this year (this time I will pass the shit out of it, don't even worry), I saw a poster in the guidance office that um, spoke to me I guess? It was a picture of a teenager looking shameful and the caption was "Are you your own best friend? Don't beat yourself up." Be your own best friend. I'd never tried that. Instead of letting the voice in my head say negative shit all the time, I'm seriously altering the habit to be more positive. "You tried your best." "You are just being yourself and that's OK." Also, I corrected a habit that I'd developed at work of saying "fuck my life." You know, like, my pallet would fall over or something, and instead of "shoot" or "damn" I would whisper "fuck my life." Not a very nice thing to say. So, with surprising success, I corrected the habitual phrase to be "I can handle this." It works for everything. Stubbed toe: "I can handle this." Train crossing when I'm already running late: "I can handle this."

Jeez LouChrist. My parents are out of town and letting me borrow their house, internet included. Every single night so far I have stayed at their computer way longer than I told myself I would. Tonight I was just going to check my e-mail, but then I went on to Facebook, looked at my old blog posts, then wrote this post. Man, writing takes way longer than reading. Yeesh.

At least I'm not wasting time. Watching Carl Sagan videos and writing blogs? Good use of time.

It's all really there

I think going university will help me find my passion. It is hard to say, but I feel like that is what will happen. I am in love with literature and science and truth. They make my insides move in that way, you know?

These videos bloody well make me want to cry. Check them out.

also

This is me talking about myself

I don't think I'm very good at conversation. I don't know when to say things, especially in a large group. I was just at a party where I met some new people and they were nice, and I wanted to impress them, but I didn't. When there are five people sitting at a table, there is usually one to two conversations happening. Occasionally I have a thing to say, but! Someone else is already talking! Shall I say it when they are finished? Deary me, someone else has already cut them off and started up themselves! And then the subject changes and my thing is no longer relevant.

I did find myself in a smaller conversation of three people, but still I did not hold up. Well I did all right, but I didn't impress the indie-rock musician / news reporter babe like I wanted to. She impressed me, she is an indie rock musician! She does a fine job at conversation, she talks about what her job is like and the difficulties associated. I said that I worked in a warehouse, and that before that I supervised children. I didn't say much more, and you can't expect to impress a musician/journalist with boring information like that!

However, I did have a realization last week: I am capable of meeting babes. On Friday night after our comrades had retired, Chris and I decided that we wanted to dance to loud music, so we suited up and walked over to the "local dive" to shake our radical booties. Chris is a great dancer, he got style. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I, too, have style. I like to dance in a very unique manner, and this unique manner attracted multiple young ladies.

The first two encounters were merely annoying. After only a few moments, some drunken harlot began pressing her butt into me, so I walked away briskly to continue dancing. No regrets there, obviously, in fact it made me feel rather big. Few minutes later, same thing, different woman. She was more persistent, stopped only when I put my arm up.

A friend from high school entered the dance floor with her posse of university friends. I said "hi" and was surprised to see her. A little while later, one of her friends, a pretty young woman about my age, tried to kind of dance with me? But not in a bad way, she gave me my space. I felt an impulse rise up, but I pushed it down. The impulse was to ask her name. I didn't, because I was there for no other reason than to dance, and that is what I told myself.

I felt waves of regret the rest of the week. Maybe I could have gotten a date. She was pretty, and just because she is at a bar doesn't mean she is a harlot - I was at a bar, and I'm not a harlot. But silly regrets aside, the experience made me feel a lot better about my chances of meeting a sweet babe. I'm not a bad catch, really, just look at how I dance. So I'm bad at talking in groups of people. Whatever.

I think I'm going to try to volunteer somewhere. I have several motives. One is to do something I believe in and what have you. Another is to make my resume look nicer. Lastly, it will help me meet people that are interested in the same causes as me, and maybe some of them will be babes.

the end

This post needs a name.

I am crazy for The Swell Season. It is an album by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. It is all I can listen to. Everything else pales in comparrison. Much to my surprise, Berkley told me that the artists of this album also starred in a movie together. I know, like, "what?!" We watched it the other day, it is called Once. Damn fab. Dang fabulous. Good movie. It is a musical - but wait! It's not what you're thinking! The music is not spontaneous! It is not sung by a chorus of dainty townsfolk! It's... it's just really good and you have to see it, OK?


I am still on probation at work, for about another month and a half now. I can hardly believe I am still here. I started with three other guys, and as of yesterday I am the last one. The first one to leave disappeared in the second week. Next guy got another job a month later, bartending. Finally the last guy got released (fired!) for having too many sick days and slacking off like mad on one day. His pick rate was 99% of what is expected, and mine is closer to 80%. They say I need to make 100% to pass probation but I'm not sure I believe them anymore. I've kinda been at 80% for like three months now and all they've done is warn me about it.


When they let James go, I found myself wishing to get released that day too. I would go to the library and search for jobs, then have supper with a friend in the evening, then practice guitar and go to bed at ten. I really need to find a job and get outta this place. I am truly disliking it. I am doing a robot's work.


But job-hunting is tough, especially when you work full time already. At least for me it is - I have enough trouble doing my dishes and washing my clothes in this time frame. I am frustrated.


Oops I forgot to pay rent today. I will slip it in tonight and maybe they won't notice. I kept getting woken up this morning, someone is drilling nearby. Like in the building. In the boiler room I think, it sounds like they're just pushing a small drill into the ceiling as hard as they can. Oh well.