stuck in a rut, stuck in a rut, stuck in a rut

this is so absurd. the fact that it's almost 7 am and i am still up is also absurd. i've been trying to go to sleep, twice until now and i got up every time. i've even considered getting some professional help... for about two minutes. because i pretty much know the roots of all these doubts, just as well as i know where these bouts of depression stem from. and i also know darn well that there's nothing anyone except myself can do about it and i also pretty much know what it is. so why should i spend the money, the time and the effort to even ask. god, i miss my childhood. bit of it. i have some very clear images burned in my mind that i miss dearly... and some dull memories of stuff i wish to hell, too. and i can see it so clearly, the traces some of those totally insignificant moments left... and when i think back on those things... it's like watching a movie that you know, and every time you know something bad is going to happen you just want to shout "NO!". and even in present, i watch 'myself' like in the movies. i watch with lofty detachment how i slowly self-destruct myself. not by actually doing anything... but by not doing anything. anything for myself. i ruin my body and my psyche and at the same time i just sit by and watch... and sometimes shrug... and from time to time, i snarl at those who point that out, or even worse, mean to help. and i make sure to push them all away so i can watch myself letting myself go to hell by not doing anything about it, like i'm someone i don't give a damn about. and i am. this is plain sick...

not to touch the earth...

this has been a blog long in the making. both because i hate the content (but need to get it out) and because it's kind of hard to somehow bring cohesion to what i mean to write. i know what it is but it's rather intuitive perception and knowledge. i can't quite grasp it and thus i'm a bit at a loss regarding the wording. (ps: which kind of explains why it took me several attempts at starting it, ending in the change of layout for the blog if nothing else much and then a couple of days to actually finish it, after almost a month of brewing it)

for those who don't recognise the (by now probably boring to be used in the title) pop culture reference, it's a song by the doors. not to touch the earth, not to see the sun, nothing left to do but run, run, run.

------

i might have dropped a line or two before about this online game i've been playing for a while now, tribal wars. as circumstances would have it, i found myself in the position to fight rather fierce defensive battles on behalf of a couple of friends while sitting their accounts. because they claim i am such a top defender. i still laugh that off as a poor joke and consider that what has "earned" me that appreciation was nothing more than a fluke, a stroke of luck. being online at the right time, having more time and more patience than my attackers and no other big deal. still, the 'title' has somehow stuck. as said, i was laughing it off until some while ago when, having nothing better to do than brood on my own thoughts, something struck me.

back in the sixth and seventh grade, during sports class i wouldn't play volleyball with the girls, but football with the boys. and guess what position i was playing? bingo! goalkeeper. a pretty decent one. until we had a match with a team of tenth graders and i decided to defend a shot... which hit me straight in the stomach. then i finally switched. to volleyball. where... need i mention it? i had a rather good service shot but where i really felt and did best was... well, obviously defending.

and all these half serious half playful activities would still mean nothing had i not also remembered a line my mother used on several occasions. all of which were arguments. or rather, her saying something and me snapping. and that line she threw in was "stop being so defensive!". and you know what? i am. constantly.

i'm self-conscious on the brink of paranoina (like... if people look at me more then two seconds on the street i get the feeling i'm running around with my jeans zipper open or so, even if maybe they just read the inscription on my t-shirt); i snarl at whoever crosses my lines (which i never draw clearly - because they aren't - or bother to point out); i don't socialise beyond the point of meaningless chatter and that only when i have to and i most certainly don't bond too much or too easy and at some point i always end up screwing it up big time. i pretty much suck at building and maintaining relationships so i don't even try in the first place; so i kind of keep away from people or rather keep people away from me; i use irony as a pretty efficient weapon to that end (or rather, an extremely efficient one) and a certain wittiness to build an appearance of confidence that flashes out (or should...) "do not trespass". and all this to protect a solitude that i both cherish and dread; that i don't want to give up and that gets me depressed at the same time... and that i run back to whenever defense breaks down.

because in the end, defense always breaks down. it's a rule. however, what they didn't say in the technical notes was that in time, it'll happen to crack more and more often. ever so often i find myself running. i don't know why or from what or who. probably from myself. the last long distance run started around a month or so ago... and i'm still catching my breath from it, so to say.

i spent easter and the day after at work in a pretty much deserted building with instant messaging broken down and most people i talk to away. well, people out there actually do have a real life, as opposed to me. i took off the next week to... well, in the end do nothing. i wanted to get away. i was planning on a trip but in the end was too lazy to take it. so i spent a whole week at home, sleeping, cooking and playing games. offline or invisible, mobile on silent and not being paid attention to. i found out at the end of the week that they've been looking for me from work the entire week, calling everyone they knew and inquiring about me. i haven't even counted the missed calls or the offline messages.

i went back to work in the meantime, am working ever since... but i still miss that trip i never took. i miss last year's skipped holiday and i miss the reason why i skipped it. i still dream about her, and not the way i'd like to. i miss talking to people, but it feels odd to just walk into their virtual lives again like nothing happened. odd and ruthless, as ruthless as was walking out without a word. something did happen and i don't know what myself so i can hardly provide a satisfactory explanation. the best way i can put it is that i just broke down, exhausted from running. though to me that sounds overly dramatic... like requiring medical help or so. i don't. i just needed to seal myself off in my bubble, the only thing that could help me short term, and hurting me a bit more long-term, cutting off another thread - even temporary - that binds me to what is usually defined as real life. people say that's bad and i tend to agree that it's not healthy... though i am not quite sure why...

Your Personality Is

Idealist (NF) You are a passionate, caring, and unique person. You are good at expressing yourself and sharing your ideals. You are the most compassionate of all types and connect with others easily. Your heart tends to rule you. You can't make decisions without considering feelings. You seek out other empathetic people to befriend. Truth and authenticity matters in your friendships. In love, you give everything you have to relationships. You fall in love easily. At work, you crave personal expression and meaning in your career. With others, you communicate well. You can spend all night talking with someone. As far as your looks go, you've likely taken the time to develop your own personal style. On weekends, you like to be with others. Charity work is also a favorite pastime of yours.

The Three Question Personality Test

soap bubbles

yeah, i love soap bubbles. i occasionally go out and buy the crap and spend a couple of hours making bubbles. but that's not the issue of my blog (why the heck is the title never the issue of my blog???).

anyways, i will NOT delete the previous entry, but tnx for the comment anyway. i've said it before that this is the place where i deposit my pseudo-emotional, pseudo-intellectual refuse, so be warned - it's mostly just a pile of garbage here :). but i thought of something to wash it down with (just so you know i am NOT on the verge of cutting my veins or anything).

if i can do anything to help it, i don't get out of the house without my music player (well, except to the shop on the corner and taking out the garbage, i mean, cause that would be plain silly). it's such a deep rooted habit that whenever i forget to take it or go with someone (thus leaving it home) and coming back alone or just running out of batteries... well, that is something that could easily, if not ruin my day, at least spoil a good part of it.

on the rare occasions it happens, i am quite surprised at the "natural" sound of the city - the cars, the buses, the footsteps, the wind, the bits of conversation, the rustling of clothes, noises coming out of houses or building sites or whatever. the feel... strange to me. because i am used to walking around in my little soap bubble, divided from the world not by a glistening layer of water but by tiny ear phones, cutting me off from whatever happens out there. me and my thoughts and my music in a parallel plane of existence, making my way from point A to point B interfering as little as possible with the world out there.

and if for me personally, it is something i like, choose and want (to the point that i get upset when i can't have it), i sometimes stop for a moment to philosophise about how effectively these little devices are helping us (us as in millions of users out there, a considerable number of whom i cross paths with every day) getting cut off from the world, noticing less, interacting less, caring less... making us more and more distinct individuals going our way... you get the point. i am not even going to start debating the pros and cons. whatever. it's just a thought that sometimes crosses my mind.

anyways, i was coming home from work yesterday, obviously listening to music on my player. i was just having a relaxed stroll and the music got to me, so i was kind of walking to the rhythm, moving my head to the song and doing my usual playback. oh, yes, i do that. put loads of passion in it too at times; got me tons! of weird looks and raised eyebrows from people on the street. if it is of any relevance to you, i was listening to young folks (i even playbacked (or at least i hope it was just playback) the whistling parts.

well, along comes a dude entirely fitting the rocker stereotype, all dressed in black, leather jacket, long hair bound back - you name it. listening to his own music, nodding his head to it. for a second we took notice of each other, i smiled to him, he winked to me, i nodded back and we had already passed each other. but hey, it felt good. it was like exchanging some secret signs of recognition between some obscure cult members :))) just two soap bubbles meeting, briefly touching and bouncing away, each on its own way. or just acknowledging the other as just as crazily immersed in some private little universe, living it out, ignoring weird looks and raised eyebrows :)

wormy apple

that's me. i just love metaphors. don't you?

well... i've been... nowhere, i've done... nothing. or rather, i'm still here, killing off my time as i always do. thing is, the couple of times when i felt like blogging, all i could come up with is kara, how much i miss her and how much it still hurts that she... just doesn't exist anymore. but that's become sort of a private thing now, too private even for this blog.

so... no, that is not why i got up in the middle of the night to ramble pointlessly about in yet another blog too complicated for anyone but me to follow. this is about the single most important thing in the world - me. myeah. don't you just love it how i can come across as the ultimate arrogant asshole? i do. sometimes i wish that was all there is. but there's more to this apple than the shiny peel :(.

they should ban self esteem problems. they should be illegal or something. or they should file them under diseases. at least they'd lock me up in some fine and private place to keep me safe from myself. someone once told me i hate myself. i don't think i do. hate is a passionate feeling, i wouldn't put so much energy in it. i don't despise myself either - that too would mean caring in some twisted sort of way. i just... look at myself and shrug. wishing i wasn't there, wishing it wasn't me, wishing i wasn't like that... you name it.

as much as i pat myself on the back, as much as i'd like to hug myself on some rare occasions... on the whole and altogether i don't give a shit about myself. cuts on the arms, suicide letters, that's emo crap for disturbed teens. i find other, more subtle means to hurt myself, by not caring. stuff like not getting a haircut though it's overdue and not going to the doctor's when i feel something is wrong and keeping on drinking coke when i know exactly how bad it is for me. and most of all, not giving a shit about my own company. in fact, finding it undesirable enough to seek refuge in other worlds and to shut it away from others. because i do not believe anyone would want its company. because anytime someone claims or act like they do in some sort of way, i either get suspicious of them 'wanting something' and sucking up or if i know/believe them persons of good will, i think them seriously mislead by some shiny appearance i uphold and to which i know i will eventually fail to rise up to.

normally, i am quite successful at keeping people away. i've been called a turtle or a hedgehog numerous times. i restrict access to neutral areas and to safe worlds. the downside of it is that i occasionally slam the door in the face of the above named possibly good willed people when they, more or less intentionally, try to peep behind the screen or give some sort of reality to a personna. my spikes go up automatically when i need to give out addresses, phone numbers - if they're a must i stick to messaging -, real names, pictures and when asked personal questions - anything that would make me identifieable in the real world... that would turn the personna in a person, because i wouldn't wanna meet the person and thus i don't want anyone else to. which, i am quite aware, is a silly and at times rude behaviour. it serves the higher purpose of keeping me safe from other and the others safe from me. in a way, it is a means of showing straight away that i'm a bitter apple, in spite of whatever shiny peel appealed to them. why let them bite peacefully and after a couple of mouthfuls discover the worms inside? or... that's what i keep telling myself.

well... so much for wallowing in self pity on early mornings, half-awake O_o.

let the children come to me... mwhahahaha

25

Looking for x ray tech schools?

quizzez round two

blogthings.com this time

You Are 3% Homophobic

You're open minded, tolerant, and accepting. And you're not homophobic in the least :-)

Are You Homophobic?

Your Taste in Music:

80's Pop: Highest Influence 80's Rock: Highest Influence 90's Alternative: Highest Influence 90's Pop: Highest Influence Classic Rock: Highest Influence

How's Your Taste in Music?

You Should Be a Science Fiction Writer

Your ideas are very strange, and people often wonder what planet you're from. And while you may have some problems being "normal," you'll have no problems writing sci-fi. Whether it's epic films, important novels, or vivid comics... Your own little universe could leave an important mark on the world!

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

Your Personality Is Like Acid

A bit wacky, you're very difficult to predict. One moment you're in your own little happy universe... And the next, you're on a bad trip to your own personal hell!

What Drug Is Your Personality Like?

You Should Play the Guitar

You're very independent - both in spirit and in the way you learn. You can teach yourself almost anything, even if it makes your fingers bleed. You're not really the type to sit patiently through a music lesson - or do things by the book. It's more your style to master the fundamentals and see where they take you. Highly creative and a bit eclectic, you need a wide range of music to play. You could emerge as a sensitive songwriter... or a manic rock star. Your dominant personality characteristic: being rebellious Your secondary personality characteristic: tenacity

What Musical Instrument Should You Play?

another bunch of tests

... because i'm bored at work...

I Scored a 100%!

1,797,600How Many Germs Live On Your Keyboard?

35

60%How Addicted to Blogging Are You?

48% Geek

31%

muse-ic

p.s.: yes, a new dragon (and that's p.s. from pre-scriptum, duh!)

bryan adams, placebo, bajaga i instruktori, hooverphonic, morcheeba, faithless, kasabian, reamonn, pink, alice cooper, marylin manson, uriah heep... names i'd never dreamed of seeing live and yet i have.

and now muse. the right place, the right sound (though i know someone who wanted to kill the sound technician, but i hardly noticed it then and there), the right people... and definitely the right atmosphere. it's pointless trying to explain to people just why i take 8 hour train rides in stride, unslept nights and another 8 hour train ride back just for a couple of hours of concert. so i just let them raise their eyebrows when i announce i'm leaving for the weekend and shrug off their "another concert?" questions.

well... so here i was... trying to sleep away eight hours on the train (which i kind of did... kind of, because it was a zombie like sleep that left me both tired AND with a stiff neck), greeting old friends, meeting new ones... fast forward over hours in queue and aching feet... climax... sleepless night (it was fun... kinda high... but fun), a walk through cold empty streets in a deserted sunday-morning city, yet another bunch of friends and then the even longer eight hours on the train back... and from the station straight to work. needless to say it took a while for humanity to regain me from zombiehood (am not sure they did so entirely, though). definitely worth it, both musically and socially.

goodbye to you, my trusted friend...

and a long over due blog it is, too. i meant to do it right then, but it was just too much. it still feels kinda wrong to write about it, like sealing it in a box and stoving it away. it's probably better than keeping it inside, but... it's like burying her a second time. the first one was hard enough. and it is so ironic that in the last blog i have expressed my concern over her health... and now... this.it is so unfair. she has done nothing to deserve it. and yes, i know there are millions of people out there suffering, hurting and dying from diseases and i, quite frankly, don't give a shit. they are statistics to me and nothing more. this dog was my friend. this dog has not hurt, harmed, bitten or upset anyone (well except me, when chewing on my favourite t-shirts). and yet, this dog has gone through pains i can't and don't even want to imagine, has gone through the despair of not understanding what is wrong, through the vain hope of us being able to help. i hope that she has gone before going through disappointment at our impotence. but no one and nothing will get it out of my head that those haunting yells didn't have the note of a plea for help in them. and no one and nothing will, i think, rid my of this totally irrational guilt that i couldn't do anything for her. just like i can't escape a whole train of other "if only's" regarding her. like... if only i had taken better care, spent more time, paid more attention to possible signs i might have missed, had more patience, didn't snap during the last days... it's weird, i still can recall the two nights when i just couldn't baer it anymore to hear her cry. the first one, i took a sleeping pill that totally numbed me at first and totally knocked me out afterwards. i just fell asleep next to her, she has probably cried like she had done the previous nights but i couldn't hear. the second time... i snapped at her, then sat down next to her, leaned to the wall and the fridge, put one hand on her head, cuddled under the blanket and tried to sleep to the music in my headphones, ignoring the wails i heard during the song's ending and renewed beginning. i still can't bear to hear this particular song.

it was one thing to know that she will only live until my parents come back... another thing to accept that. in spite of making arrangements for visiting the doctors in budapest, taking more days off to do so, making provision of painkillers (i have become an expert at administering injections to dogs... and i could've sworn i would never be able to actually pierce living skin with a needle, let alone a muscle)... i knew deep inside that there was nothing left to be done. just like i knew it had to be my decision to put her to sleep.

the last day was horrible. the painkillers and anti-contraction drugs started to have nearly no effect at all though i had increased the dose to nearly the maximum. she was crying almost without a break, she was desperate when there was no one in sight. we longed for the vet to come, to relieve her and at the same time we knew we actually counted down the last couple of hours of her cruelly short life. i can only imagine how helpless she must have felt being pinned to the ground, having to call for our attention for such basic needs like thirst, hunger and having her diaper blanket changed, or how desperate she was lest we should leave her alone. unlike rocky, who seemed to have come at peace with himself, who had taken his goodbyes in his silent way, she had a will to live. she was young, strong and... condemned. by a stupid degenerative disease, but in the end, by me. i am glad we did it at home. moving her would have meant more torment and agitation. at least she was in her territory, she knew the doc, she didn't complain when she was given the ketamine that knocked her out. i now partly understand why they didn't let my dad in with rocky. it was mesmerizing to watch the vet prepare the needle, knowing it is what will eventually kill her, even though it is the best option for her. she went peacefully in her drug-induced sleep, with her head in my lap.

for some reason i kept stroking her ear and playing with her soft ears in the car, on the way to the place we meant to bury her. my dad had dug her grave a couple of feet away from where rocky lies and i don't want to know how he felt while he was at it that morning, alone in the field.. she was heavy to carry, as inert bodies are. i wish i had some other last images of her etched in my mind than the ones i have. but the ones that keep coming back is the despair in her eyes in the last days, her head lolling to one side with her tongue hanging out while we were carrying her in a blanket and her rolled up in the grave. i gave her her favourite chewed out toy and a puppet i had given her to hold in the last days. when my dad jumped down to level the first layer of earth over her, it was almost too much. i felt the urge of just wanting to take her out of there.

it's over a month later now. she died on the 5th of september. she would've had her fourth birthday on the 14th. on the 19th four years ago, it had been rocky's turn. she had been the one to partly cure that pain, but we had never expected her to have such a short life. and yet... i slowly find myself wanting a dog again. because nothing... absolutely nothing compares to that. :(