You Do it to Yourself, You Do and That's What Really Hurts

I nearly killed myself yesterday.

My friend Freya turns 20-something-today, and last night she held a potluck dinner to celebrate. I foolishly attempted to prepare a dish of baked curry and tofu (because I had curry powder, tofu, and a casserole dish) in my oven, which I had not used yet. After lighting the pilot and allowing the oven to heat up, I set about preparing the curry marinade and slicing the tofu. Once the dish was prepared, I opened the oven to find that the pilot light had gone out. Yes, I'm sure you can see where this story is headed. In hindsight, I think I did, too, I just didn't believe it. I left the oven open, to let it air out, and turned the gas down. I went to find the lighter, and came back. Holding the lighter in my right hand, I reached down and flicked it on.

Now, there are certain things in this life you never want to see. Manatees mating, a sequel to Catwoman, and a torso-sized ball of flame heading right for your face.

Never did I truly think I was going to die. I thought I would be horribly disfigured and perhaps blinded, which, in my mind, is even worse than a quick death. Fortunately for me, I was wearing glasses, and my eyes were shielded from the flames. I got off light, with only first degree burns to a quarter of my face, and on my right hand (where I was holding the lighter). Also, my right arm is smoother than before, and I won't be needing to have my barber shorten up my hair for a while. I was unable to finish preparing the dish, obviously, and spent the rest of the afternoon watching television and keeping cool water on my face.

The pain was excruciating, although not on par with that which Crohn's Disease has caused for me, until I finally purchased a battery of burn-relief products. Oh, boy do I love Bactine.

Afterward (and during) I was extremely depressed over my ex-girlfriend, again. I wanted to call her up, reminisce about the time she burned herself with hot glue, and laugh it all off. But I can't do that, not right now, and perhaps not ever again. I don't miss her as a girlfriend anymore. Of course I miss having someone to hold, and the feeling of lips against mine, but that's all secondary. In that moment, as I sat alone in my apartment with a wet towel draped across my face a-la Phantom of the Opera while South Park played on my television, I missed my friend again.

Just like the waves of pain washing across my face, the loneliness I felt burned so deep because I knew it was my fault.

And Now it's Time to Say What I Forgot to Say

Well, my vow of news-abstinence lasted approximately 17 minutes. I never thought it would last that long. By the way, the BBC reported today that Mad Cow Disease has been found in a goat. Looks like no one is safe, not even mild-mannered gyro-eaters. This vegan is concerned for you, so please be careful. I'm about to go to work in the computer lab for the next few hours. It is such an easy job when we plan ahead, and such a pain in the ass when we don't. In other news, it snowed last night here in Norman, but while the snow is thick, it ain't freezing yet. I hate it when we get ice, mostly because my car doors freeze shut. Man, I HATE that.

Tonight I will be volunteering at a fundraiser for an arts organization. I really hope I meet some interesting, fun people tonight who's life stories I don't already know. I'd be surprised if I did, though. I'm just not that lucky anymore. Well, at least I don't have Mad Cow Disease (but God help me if they discover Mad Soybean Disease!).

Currently listening to: Public Enemy, Splendid, Rilo Kiley, Tobin Sprout
Currently wasting time with: Resident Evil 4 (third time through), Halo 2, work
Currently seeking: picture frames, used laptop, part-time romantic interest

Day After Day it Reappears

I am about to stop paying attention to the news. I realize that might sound like a fool's errand for a journalism student, but it is becoming clear to me that the news as it is currently packaged and delivered is having a deleterious impact on my life. Any sense of self-efficacy, hope for the future, or faith in humanity that I scrape together is never any match for fifteen minutes spent perusing headlines on the Internet. This morning, for example, started out with aces. Episode 1 of Spooks Season 2 finished downloading, and I watched it before I went to work.

What jolly fun!

And then, without even thinking, I visited www.truthout.org, and was virtually pimp-slapped by the confirmation hearings for Alberto Gonzales (he thinks torture is "kinda" okay, as long as we're the ones to administer it, thus insuring that if people are tortured and robbed of their personal freedoms it is at least done in the name of Democracy and Freedom).

On the way to work, one of my favorite songs came up on my ipod. It was "Possum Kingdom," by the Toadies.

Yeah forever!

Then the news ticker on the side of the college where I work informed me that 15 Iraqis and one American were killed today in one attack.

What does it profit me to know these things? Do I feel inspired to take action, to take up arms against a sea of injustice, and by opposing, end it? I'm no Hamlet. I can be decisive, just not effective. In fact I proved back in November that I am pretty impotent when it comes to events outside my little world.

Is there a reason I should keep depressing myself every time I turn on a television or sit in front of a computer? Maybe. I don't know.

(Keep Your Conscience in the Dark)

I've been ill for the past week, and although the source of the infection cannot be proven, I do have my suspects... Consequently, my will to continue writing every day (in a forum that no one reads) has been sapped, and I have been plagued (blessed?) by bizarre feverish thoughts and visions. Throughout this infection and recovery, I have had much time to think and precious little else to do. After much contemplation, soul-searching and introspection, I have come to suspect that my sub-conscious mind has utter contempt and revulsion for the things I do in my waking life.

These suspicions, condemnations and recriminations come to me in the darkest hours of the night, when I awake with a jolt after having fallen asleep on my couch, usually while watching a DVD. I snap back into consciousness suddenly, my mind ablaze with thoughts that are not mine, or at least not those that I hold on to. Last week, for example, I was awakened by the realization that I never pay my bills... only I do pay my bills, and almost always early. On Saturday night I awoke suddenly, thinking "I haven't done anything with my life, and I never will. Kevin Smith did something with his life, but not me." The accomplishments of Mr. Smith aside, I have done some things with my life, and show all signs of doing more things in the future. Finally, last night I awoke thinking about what a horrible person I was for not calling home (I had actually called home earlier in the day, but only spoke with the answering machine).

I'm not sure exactly why my sleeping self hates me so, but it probably has something to do with all the feelings of guilt, shame and regret that I've buried in order to carry on my daily life for the past 26 years. Only makes sense that the night shift would get tired of dealing with all the garbage after a while.

We'll Have Problems, Yeah, Then We'll Have Bigger Ones

I've been playing the newest Resident Evil game for the past two days, and I believe it is by far the best in the series, and perhaps one of the best five games I have ever played. Unlike previous installments, this game allows you to control the camera angle, manage your inventory, and face off against actual thinking enemies that use real tactics to try and kill you (with more success than I care for). Also, so far this game has opted to simplify the puzzles and complicate the problems you face. For instance, one puzzle requires you to exchange the placement of two decorative swords. In previous games, these swords might very well have been on opposite side of the city, but in this game, they are actually on two different levels of the same small room. That is the puzzle. Pretty simple. The problem arises when you take the first sword upstairs and find an angry group of cultists waiting to kill you. The problem is exacerbated when a bunch of their friends come in behind you, trapping you (and the woman you need to protect) between two groups of mace-wielding super-human maniacs. Now that's entertainment.

Rock on, Capcom. Rock on, Shinji Mikami.

I would write more, but I just realized I'm not wearing pants, and I have dinner plans that will definitely require them.

Show a Little Faith, There's Magic in the Night

This is just a piece of proetry:

When the next gust of wind passes by, it will be the one hundred and forth to blow past the large black cat sitting in front of the store since he first came outside tonight. The door to the small shop is held open by a small wooden box, a little bit wider than the cat, and kept in place by a strong steel chain connected to the wall.

A neon sign burns above him as he stares out across the street at the darkened convenience store and the smooth lines of automobiles parked in front. He blinks through the one hundred and forth, and fifth, gusts of wind tonight and looks further out into the darkness.

There is no romance in the night, only what we bring to it, like a chapel or an empty vessel waiting to be filled with the meaning and gravity given to that which we deem worthy or necessary.

It is not sacred until we make it so. ####

If You Close the Door the Night Can Last Forever

In some ways, I do believe that time is a constant. For instance, I recently (well, two months ago...ish) brought some boxes of my old belongings to my new apartment. They are an unsorted mishmash of papers and other "things" that I accumulated over the past 26 years. Having learned the lessons of my parents and grandparents, I am determined not to have boxes of old crap clog up my life, and in that spirit (here's where we get to the temporal theory) I have been saying to myself for the past two weeks, "I will unpack those boxes tomorrow," and to my amazement "tomorrow" always remains "tomorrow." Consequently, the boxes are not unpacked and are actually sitting in my hallway, where I have been stepping over them on my way to the bathroom since yesterday morning. Not only have I begun to contemplate the nature of time, as well as my own sluggish nature, but I have discovered that I am actually less able to hold my bladder once I know that using the bathroom is slightly more inconvenient than before. In all honesty, the latter troubles me far more than the former, and were I to see a therapist I am sure this would be an expensive problem to explore.

All that aside, I am left marveling again at how small occurrences can lead to changes in our world that snowball beyond our understanding. All I needed was my 2003 tax statement, but now I have a roadblock of memories piled up in my hallway, including gifts from two ex-girlfriends that I thought I had lost (the gifts, not the girlfriends... they're definitely gone), and I lack the will to do anything about it. Recently I ended a relationship of almost two years, and I have been going out of my way to remind myself of all the reasons I now have to be unhappy, up to and including re-reading the inscriptions she put onto various gifts and pieces of artwork she had given to me. And this afternoon I spotted another gift, one I had forgotten about, tucked in amongst the flotsom and jetsom of my life, and my masochistic heart brought the sadness back in again without missing a beat. I question sometime, whether or not our stories are character-based explorations of emotion, or just a chain of meaningless plot contrivances. This week, I'm feeling a bit of both. And as I finish this post, I know in my heart that I will put the past away, and my bladder functions will return to normal... but I also know it won't happen until tomorrow.

I Want to Pledge Allegiance to the Country Where I Live

It's true. At my heart, I love The United States of America and everything it represents. I believe in the spirit of innovation, of exploration and of perseverance that has been the hallmark of the U.S.A. I believe in the inherent goodness of democracy, and in the notion that government must be of, for and by the people.

The reality of our world does overpower sometimes. It happened again this week.

Yesterday I learned that my government is considering something called "Operation El Salvador" in an attempt to change the direction of the war in Iraq. In a nutshell, we are considering the organization of elite, anonymous squads (as were used in El Salvador in the 1980's) to hunt, kidnap, and perhaps execute those suspected of insurgent activities. Due process and the presumption of innocence have no place in this plan, and it stinks of everything that we as the ideological grand-children of the Enlightenment should oppose with our very physical beings. We should fight this attempt to counter terror with tyranny, and I know I should do something to stop it, but I don't know how and I don't know what. I tried to make a difference a few months ago, with a black felt marker, a paper ballot and a vote counting machine. A few months before that, I tried to make a difference by registering others to vote. It didn't do a damn bit of good. I could have stayed home and wept and had the same impact on my world. As Gil Scott Heron wrote in "Winter In America," nobody's fighting 'cause nobody knows what to say. I wish I knew what to say, and I wish I had a voice strong enough to say it.

I love my country, and my fellow citizens. But I am deeply troubled by and horribly afraid of the things one will do to protect the other.